#They both find it rather embarrassing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

steveslevis · 6 months ago

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can you see right through me?

azriel x mate!reader

summary: after finding out you're mated to the Spymaster of the Night Court, you can't help but feel self-conscious, thanks to the jealous remarks made by patrons at your bookstore.

warnings: mentions of self-hatred and self-sabotage, angst!!!, body image issues, depression, mentions of death, azriel is an idiot but he figures it out ok, mentions of sex & the mating frenzy

word count: 9.5k (oops...)

Ever since finding out that you’re mated to none other than the High Lord’s Shadowsinger two months ago, everything in your life has flipped upside down.

You’re not just some ordinary bookstore owner anymore, you’re now part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle by default. Your status as a citizen in Velaris has completely changed, but you refused to quit working just because of your mate, much to his disappointment. He’d rather you just stay with him in the House of Wind, filling your days reading your favorite books instead of selling them, but you insisted. You wanted to get to know the male better before immediately accepting the bond, moving in and forgetting about your old life, especially after hearing all the things people say about you and your new mating bond when they’re in or around your shop.

You have to deal with sidelong glances and whispers from almost everyone who comes into your tiny shop next to the Sidra, have to hear the spiteful unmated females who might kill to be in your position.

“How do you think she got him? Do you think she slipped one of those banned love tonics into a drink or something?”

“He could be mated to anyone, and the Cauldron picked her of all people?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already rejected the bond, I don’t ever see them together.”

“She’s definitely just using him for his money and power, she had to have manipulated him somehow.”

“I thought he was with the Morrigan, she’s much more fitting for a male like him, much prettier.”

Every snide remark hits you like a knife to the heart, but still, you keep your composure throughout every single day. It isn’t ever until you’re in the safety of your own apartment above the bookstore that you allow yourself to mull over the comments, to let yourself fall back into old self-loathing habits.

You quickly learn how to contain your sadness to your end of the bond, blocking Azriel from seeing the pain that you endure on a nightly basis. You’re convinced he would be so embarrassed to see you cry yourself to sleep, to see you poke and prod at your skin in front of the mirror, to see you skip over meals in order to appease that incessant hatred filling your mind, to see you become filled with so much disgust in yourself when you replay the remarks over and over and over again.

The comments never seem to die down as weeks pass, and you slowly convince yourself that they’re all right, that Azriel is going to reject the bond because you don’t deserve him. You don’t see him often anyways, as you’re both preoccupied with your jobs throughout the week, which doesn’t help the fact that you’re convinced that he doesn’t want to be around you.

You’re stuck between trying to change yourself to fit what you think the Illyrian would like in a mate and rejecting the bond before he gets the chance to break your heart. You eventually decide it’s worth a shot to change yourself into the ideal, beautiful mate that you think he wants you to be before being stung with the inevitable heartbreak that comes with rejecting a bond.

Sundays used to be your favorite day of the week because you get to close shop at mid-day and spend the rest of the day reading at the foot of the Sidra or walking around to the nearby shops.

For the last few Sundays, you didn’t feel like doing anything aside from wallowing in self-pity in your bed. You never let yourself do just that, though.

You’d taken it upon yourself to change your lifestyle after thinking long and hard about the women that he’s surrounded by in the Inner Circle. All of them are tall and toned and so strong, more in shape than you’ve ever been in your life. All of them have natural beauty and grace that you could only wish to have.

Every Sunday for the last month, you’d spent the afternoon running or doing some kind of training in order to “fix yourself”, to look an inkling more similar to those beautiful high fae of the Inner Circle. This Sunday was no different.

You closed the bookstore around noon and headed up to your apartment, changing into training clothes before deciding to go for a long run after a day of extremely ruthless comments. You slip out the back door of the bookstore to begin your run, but are halted almost immediately when you walk straight into a wall of leather and warm skin, shadows skittering around your shoulders as you take a step back.

Azriel peers down at you as you frown at him, concern lacing his features when he takes you in. His heart races as you stand in front of him, excited to finally see you after not seeing you for over a week. He swears you look different every time he’s seen you recently, your frame beginning to thin out in ways that concern him, but he knows better than to bring that up.

“S–Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” you say meekly, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket while avoiding direct eye contact with the male.

“It’s quite alright,” he says gently, watching you closely as his eagerness extends down the bond to you. “Where are you going?”

“Was just gonna go on a run,” you reply with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as the self-doubting thoughts swirl around in your mind even more in his presence. “Did–did you need something?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my mate whenever I please?” he teases, which makes your eyes widen in fear that he’s actually upset.

“I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean it like that!” you stammer, shaking your head at him apologetically as you take a step back, backing into the door behind you.

“Hey, no it’s alright. I was only joking.” Azriel says quickly, one of his hands coming up to caress one of your arms. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise, I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure it was okay that I stopped by.”

You shake your head again, blinking before looking up at him with a frown. He wants more than anything to ask you what’s bothering you, but can see that you’re obviously already distraught about whatever it is, and doesn’t want to pry. Since he’s known you, you’ve always been closed off, like him, about your emotions. So, he opts to change the subject instead.

“I did have a real reason for coming over here though,” he suggests and you nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Rhysand requests your presence at dinner tonight.”

“T–The High Lord?” you question, and Azriel nods. “W–Why is he requesting my presence at dinner?”

“Well, we have family dinner once a week, and he claims it’s not a complete family affair if my mate isn’t present.” he explains, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I tried to tell him to fuck off, because I know you’re typically busy on Sunday nights, but he insists that you come this week, at least this once.”

There’s a pleading look in your mate’s eyes that makes you nearly melt at his feet, and you know you can’t say no to him at that moment.

“I–I, yeah, I can come tonight.” you say finally, giving him a weak smile as he grins down at you triumphantly.

“Perfect,” he retorts, his shadows dancing around you with equal excitement, “I’ll meet you here around five? It’s just over at the River House.”

You nod quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek before bidding you goodbye. The small gesture makes your heart flutter, but you can’t help but wonder how forced it is, can’t help but wonder if inviting you to dinner is a ploy to bring you in and publicly reject your bond.

There’s no way in hell you’re going for a run now.

You spend the next five hours pacing around, thinking about what you’re going to wear if you want to even come close to looking as good as the other females that will be there. The clothes in your closet are few and far between, but you finally decide on your nicest dress, one that's made of a gauzy navy fabric, adorned with silver embroidered stars littered over the bodice. It’s more revealing than most clothes you wear, but it’s the closest thing you have to the clothes that the Inner Circle wear. It takes you almost an hour to feel presentable in terms of makeup and hair, and by the time you’re done, you hear a knock on the back door of the store.

You throw your shoes on quickly before making your way down the stairs, mentally preparing yourself for the evening as you do.

Azriel’s eyes go wide when you open the door, something like amazement and confusion mixed in his gaze as he stares you down.

“I–I’ve never seen you wear anything like this, it’s beautiful,” he starts, unable to tear his gaze from the flowy dress, “You’re beautiful.”

Your chest aches at his compliment as your mind tries to convince you that he’s lying, but you smile up at him weakly nonetheless. He extends his arm for you to take, ready to lead you to the River House across the Sidra.

The two of you are greeted by more people than you’d expect when you enter the High Lord and Lady’s home, but you recognize them all before they get a chance to introduce themselves. You’ve only met Cassian and Nesta prior to this dinner, so the first hour was spent essentially introducing yourself to each of them one-by-one. Azriel stays by your side through each introduction, hand on the small of your back as his shadows swirl around your hands comfortingly. He can tell that something in you has changed since he met you a few months back, that the light and excitement in your eyes when you first found out he was your mate has since dissipated. There’s an unmistakable lump in his throat as he thinks too much into it, wondering if you’re having second thoughts about him.

Dinner comes and goes as smoothly as you hoped it would. The nauseous feeling roiling in your gut keeps you from eating much, only pushing the food around on the plate while taking miniscule bites to fight off any comments that any of them might have about your hesitancy. You’re only roped into conversations every once in a while, so you’re able to sit back and explore the dynamic between the group a little more without much involvement. Azriel mainly stays silent, only making a few remarks here and there.

With a snap of the High Lord’s fingers, dessert appears in front of everyone along with more wine in each of your glasses.

“I propose a toast,” Rhysand suggests after getting everyone’s attention, eyes landing on you finally, “to Y/N, for bringing our Shadowsinger so much happiness.”

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you force a smile, raising your glass as the others do too. ‘Cheers’ is mumbled by everyone before they all take a drink, and Azriel reaches over to squeeze your hand that’s sitting on the edge of the table. You turn to look at him, noting an unfamiliar look in his eyes that you nearly mistake for love, before your thoughts are interrupted by a loud laugh from Amren across the table.

“I, for one, am so grateful that Y/N finally came along after all this time.” she says with a sly grin, “because I think if she wouldn’t have, then the Spymaster would’ve continued to pine after Mor for the rest of eternity.”

There’s a collectively uncomfortable murmur from everyone at her words, and Nesta jabs her in the side with a warning glare as she notices the smile on your face falter for a split second. You could feel all color leave your face as your heart plummets to your stomach, the female’s words confirming all of your doubts about your current situation. Azriel shifts his eyes to you then, but you bring back the same composed mask to your face, the same one you’ve held for the last three months any time someone made snide remarks at you, while you try to avoid his burning gaze. You give the female a withering smile, ignoring the worried stare from the male at your side as you do.

“Truly, I’m grateful the Cauldron deemed me worthy of being a welcome distraction to such a male like him,” you say in response with a laugh, hoping your voice comes out in a joking tone as you try to mask the disappointment in your wavering voice.

The comment is enough to earn a few chuckles from around the table, pushing away any awkwardness that stemmed from Amren’s comment. You’re able to skate through the rest of the evening without any snide remarks from the Inner Circle, glad that you’re one step closer to getting the hell out of this house as the group finally starts to stand from the table.

Azriel follows closely behind you as you bid everyone goodbye, exhaustion raking over your bones as you give one final wave to the High Lord and Lady before turning toward your mate.

There’s a look of worry shining in his eyes when you finally peer up at him, shadows skittering anxiously around your wrists in the meantime.

“Ready to go home?” he questions, forcing a smile onto his face as he guides you towards the front door when you nod.

“You don’t have to walk me home, Azriel.” you start once you’re out of earshot of everyone else, stopping in your tracks to look at him again. The look on your face is almost unreadable, but his shadows whisper to him about your pain and embarrassment as the two of you stand on the outside of the front door to the River House. “I’m truly fine to go by myself, you don’t–don’t have to bother to go out of your way for me.”

His brow furrows and a frown pulls his lips down at your words, finally seeing the slightest glimmer of sadness and disappointment shining in your eyes as you speak. He only shakes his head, taking a step towards you before he speaks.

“I–You’re not a bother to me.” he says, unsure of what else to say to you, “If you’re upset about what Amren said, please know that she always says bullshit like that when she’s drunk, I have not thought about Mor in that way for centuries–”

“Truly, Azriel, it’s quite alright.” you interject with a pained smile. “You didn’t ask to be mated to me, I understand if you’re preoccupied with other love interests or if you just don’t want to be with me.”

The Illyrian opens his mouth to speak, but is downright dumbfounded by your words to the point where he simply closes his mouth again. He very obviously had been reading the situation wrong this whole time, as he thought that giving you space was the right thing to do in order to let you process the very new bond from your end. He realizes then that you needed reassurance and not space, but it could very well be too late now. Before he can protest, you’re taking a step closer to him in order to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before stepping away.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I get it, I really do. And–And if you need to reject the bond and never want to see me again after tonight, I’ll understand.”

Oh, fuck. You think he wants to reject the bond.

Hazel eyes meet yours then, and you swear you see a twinkle of regret and hurt shining somewhere between the bronzy flecks, but it’s almost undetectable. Such a miniscule expression that you tell yourself that you imagined it, that his face never changed and that he truly does not care about what you’re saying to him now.

He shakes his head as you take another step away from him, as you turn on your toes to walk away from the townhouse, away from him. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in then, as the bond to his heart hums with a sadness he’s never felt before. He can feel the bond quivering in pain between your souls, threatening to wither away if either of you even thinks about truly rejecting the bond.

But you don’t feel it because you’ve expertly blocked the bond out for the last month, because you truly believe that there’s no way Azriel could ever truly want you, because you’re convinced that he wants this.

There’s no hesitation in your step when you turn your back to the male, walking in swift strides towards the bridge to cross the Sidra to reach your little apartment on top of the bookstore. You refuse to let him see how much it kills you to freely offer up a rejected bond, you can’t let him see how you’re crumbling with each step you take. So you stay steady in your gait, hiding your shaking hands in front of you as you blink back the tears that threaten to spill.

If you would’ve looked back in that moment, you would’ve seen the tears that spilled down the shadowsinger’s cheeks. If you wouldn’t have blocked out the bond in that moment, you would’ve felt the way you almost tore his heart out of his chest as you walked into the darkness.

Azriel didn’t follow after you though, he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. He’d fucked up so badly by not showing you how much the bond truly meant to him, by simply assuming that you needed space.

So, he simply sent a shadow to make sure you got home safely and sat down on the front step of the townhouse.

He sat on that step for almost two hours, staring at the stars and cursing himself for all of the mistakes he’d made.

You only get one mate in your eternal life, and he really fucked it up this badly already?

Memories of the first few times the two of you had met replayed in his mind as he sat there, remembering how your eyes glimmered with the most love he’d ever been shown in his life.

You were shy and quiet, something he wasn’t used to from being around the Inner Circle for so long. After living with the loud, boisterous crown for centuries, he was used to emotions being expressed outright. So, he’d mistaken your meek behavior for disinterest, mistaken your nervousness for distaste. He thought you’d needed space, needed time to get used to his brooding and intolerable presence, needed room to process the sudden bond. But, fuck, was he wrong.

Everything becomes clearer to the male as as it nears midnight. The ache in his chest becomes more and more painful with each passing minute now, and he realizes that he has to get you back, he has to fight to make you understand how much you mean to him.

_______________________________________

Nesta Archeron started her Sunday much earlier than usual this week, thanks to her mate’s early morning departure. Cassian woke her by rustling around their shared bedroom before dawn, seemingly flustered as he tried to gather his leathers and put them on in the dark.

“You’re not very good at being quiet, General.” she remarks tiredly, sitting up in the bed to flick one of the bedside faelights on.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, shooting her a sympathetic smile as he nearly trips over the leathers he tries to step into. “Rhys said there’s an emergency in Windhaven, Az and I are leaving soon.”

She only hums in response, watching him finish getting dressed in comfortable silence. Cassian stands over her at the edge of the bed after tugging on his boots, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek before heading out for the day.

Nesta knows then that she won’t be able to fall back asleep, so she decides to reach for her latest read on her nightstand. Once she grabs the book, she realizes that she’d finished the night before and is completely out of books to read. She knows then that she’ll have to make her way into town, deciding to take a trip to your bookstore at the base of the Sidra for the first time.

She took her time getting ready, slipping into a gray dress and her usual boots before heading downstairs to eat breakfast. It was a little after seven in the morning when she made her way towards your bookstore, basking in the chilly morning air as she walked along the river.

It took her all of thirty minutes to reach the store, where she was met with a locked door and a dark front window. It was well past opening time for the store and there were no other signs on the door to suggest otherwise, but your store was definitely closed.

“I’m not surprised,” Nesta hears a female say from behind her, giggling to her friend as they pass the storefront, “I’m sure she’s been rotting away upstairs because the Shadowsinger broke their bond or something like that. The store’s been closed all week. A lesser fae store owner like her did not deserve a male as beautiful as him.”

Nesta turns to see the culprits of the spiteful comments and laughs, and the two High Fae females’ eyes widen upon her whipping her head towards them.

Their smirks fall immediately, the one who was speaking starts to open her mouth but Nesta only holds up a hand to shut her up.

“I don’t know either of you females–and I’m very glad I don’t–” the sharp-eyed female spat out, “but I do know the Shadowsinger and his mate. And all I have to say is that if I hear either of you coming around here to harass her or if I hear of you spewing more lies about her relationship, I will be sure to mention it to the High Lord and Shadowsinger. I’m sure neither of them would be very happy to hear the rumors flying around.”

The females nod feverishly as Nesta stares them down with that silver fire flickering lowly in her eyes, both mumbling apologies under their breaths as they scurry away.

Nesta lets out a huff, turning on her heels to make her way towards the other bookstore across town, where she only finds two new books for herself instead of the countless romance novels she knew she would’ve found at your carefully curated store. The remarks from the two females about you aren’t lost on her as she makes her way through the city, their spiteful words and evil giggles running through her mind as she replays the scenario.

Instead of trekking all the way back to the House of Wind after gathering her books, she makes her way to the River House in order to spend the day with her favorite person–Nyx.

The day goes by quickly between reading and rolling around with the toddler and his mother, and it’s evening before she or Feyre even realize it. Three Illyrian warriors clad in leathers make their way into the drawing room where the two females lounge on the couch, looking exhausted from a day of crisis management at the camps.

“Long day?” Nesta says as she raises her eyebrow at the three males, stroking Nyx’s hair as he sleeps silently on her chest.

Her mate only grunts in agreement, coming over to press a kiss to the crown of her head in greeting. The High Lord is greeted by Feyre with a loving stroke of his cheek, smiling up at him sympathetically. Azriel only stands at the threshold, looking more brooding and closed off than usual.

“Well, good news is you can tell us all about it at dinner.” Feyre suggests, trying to lighten the sour mood of the three males as she reaches for Rhys’ hand to intertwine into her own. “Nuala and Cerridwen just finished making some delicious stew and I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”

Dinner seems to lighten the mood quite a bit for the group, quiet conversation carrying through the dining room after Cassian and Rhysand get their complaints out for the day. Azriel sits on the other side of Feyre, silent for the majority of the meal, only engaging when Cassian involves him.

A burning question gnaws at Nesta as she takes in the sad, hazel-eyed male, she can almost feel the pain radiating off of him from across the table as he stares intently down at the barely touched food in front of him. It’s hard to read the male, so she’s not entirely sure what the sadness is about, but she has to know eventually.

“How was your day, Nes?” her thoughts are interrupted by Cassian’s words and his elbow nudging hers lightly.

“Great, for the most part. Got to spend it with my favorite nephew,” she jokes, grinning briefly over at the babbling toddler being fed by his mother. “But I did find something very interesting on my trip to get some new books this morning.”

She notes how Azriel’s eyes flicker towards her then, intrigued by the mention of going to a bookstore.

“Oh, did you go to Y/N’s store? I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to take a trip over there to get some new books.” Feyre asks while forking some food for her son.

“Well, that was the original plan.” Nesta retorts, lips pulling into a half-frown before turning towards the shadowsinger, “Have you heard from your mate lately, Azriel?”

Azriel drops the spoon he was holding into the bowl of stew with a loud clatter, obviously taken aback by the question directed towards him. The room is silent as he finally looks up, seeing four expectant pairs of eyes staring back at him, Nesta’s gaze the harshest out of all of them.

“No, I haven’t heard from her since Saturday.” he says, willing his voice to be strong as he feels as though he’s going to throw up.

“Hm, interesting.” Nesta hums, eyes sharpening even more, if that’s even possible, “I tried to stop by the store because I finished my last novel last night, but the door was locked and the lights were all off. Then I ran into the most interesting pair of females who I overheard say that the store had been closed all week.”

“All week?” Feyre questions, a frown on her face now too.

“You haven’t heard from your mate for a week and you haven’t thought to try to contact her?” Rhys interjects, disappointment laced in his tone as he stares down Azriel from across the table, his honed gaze rivaling Nesta’s.

“She–She hasn’t left her apartment since last Saturday.” Azriel grits out, stopping anyone else from their questioning. “She thinks I want to reject her, to reject the bond. And I’m starting to think I should.”

Everyone goes silent then, even Nyx’s babbling is hushed as a thick air of tension fills the large dining room. Azriel’s hands are shaking as he stares at his untouched glass of wine, shadows slashing around his wings angrily now.

“Why do you think that?” Nesta’s the only one brave enough to question him, unafraid of facing the upset male. “What makes you think you should reject the bond?”

“I fucked up. I thought she needed space, thought she was overwhelmed by me, by all of this, by being part of the Inner Circle by default.” he says, a pained expression on his face as he finally looks up to Nesta. “I hurt her and I didn’t even realize it. She needed me and I wasn’t there for her. I can’t figure out how to make it better, I–I don’t know how to take away her pain. I’ve been her mate for less than six months and I’ve already lost her trust in me. I don’t deserve such a sweet creature like her.”

“Do you want to reject the bond?” Nesta persists, and he knows she means to ask if he loves you or not.

“I don’t. But–”

“There’s no but, Azriel.” Cassian interrupts firmly, “You either want to, or you don’t. And you don’t want to reject it, I know you don’t. You’ve never been happier than you were when you realized you had a mate and that it was her. You need to get your head out of your ass, stop pitying yourself and start showing her that you want to be with her. If not, you’re going to kill the poor female. You’re gonna fucking kill her from a broken heart.”

_______________________________________

In all honesty, you don’t know what day it is anymore. You’ve sat in the dark in your apartment above the bookstore all alone for Gods know how long, letting yourself wallow in the sorrow that fills your chest every time you breathe.

You can’t remember the last time you ate, the last time you did anything aside from stare at the wall next to your bed, save for the times that you’ve gone to the bathroom. It truly feels like you’re dying, like you’re withering away into nothing, and you might as well be. You don’t know what day it is, but you do know that Azriel hasn’t tried to contact you since you left the River House on Saturday, you do know that he wants nothing to do with you.

You hadn’t realized how much you had grown to rely on the male’s visits and nervous glances, how much they’d excited you, until they were no more.

The golden thread in your soul quivers every time you think about him, but you don’t let yourself think about missing him for too long. You always shut down before it gets too bad, and push yourself back into the thoughts of self-hatred, the thoughts of how you wish you’d just cease to exist already. There wasn’t anyone around anymore to check on you, anyone to make sure you made it through this bout of depression like there used to be. Your sister and mother have been gone for years, and now your mate, the one who gave you a sliver of hope for the shortest time, is gone too.

When the first knock falls on the door to your apartment, you barely hear it over the incessant ringing in your ears. You choose to ignore it, thinking whoever it is will go away eventually if they stand out in the late evening cold for long enough.

But they don’t.

They knock, and knock, and knock, and knock for what feels like thirty minutes, each knock getting louder and more insistent than the last.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep to ignore the sound, but it doesn’t work. After what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, the knocking finally stops.

What you don’t hear–or see–in that moment is the shadows that slip under the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly unlocking it for their master to slip inside, and the other shadows ahead of their master that report back to him about your state before he makes his way up the stairs.

Moments later, you hear the creak of the stairs and your heart sinks, but you feel too weak to move, too weak to save yourself, and for a moment, you thank the Cauldron that some intruder has finally come to put you out of your misery in one way or another.

You don’t expect the weak, broken voice of a male at the top of the stairs as you’re laying with your back towards the threshold, the sadness in an all too familiar voice when you hear, “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.”

It takes every ounce of strength out of Azriel to walk over to the bed after taking in the sight of your studio apartment in complete disarray. The place is unkempt and needs plenty of repairs just from what he can see with a quick scan, but that’s not what hurts his heart the most in the moment. You facing the blank wall, staring mindlessly ahead as you’re curled up in a ball at the edge of your bed is what breaks him. He finally makes his way over to the wall that you’re facing, but you don’t look up at him, unable to take the energy to complete the small gesture.

Azriel falls to his knees in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke your hair. He takes you in fully then–your unkempt hair, chapped lips, red cheeks and heavy eyes–you truly were dying from a broken heart.

“Y/N,” he says gently, trying to keep his voice as strong as possible while choking back tears. You take a long moment to finally look up at him, a look of confusion and then delusion crossing over your face as you do–you had to be dreaming him, right?

“I’m–I’m so fucking sorry, love. Gods, how long have you been laying here?” he says, and you only blink up at him because you’re not even sure of the answer, numb to it all at this point. “Are–Do you want me to help you? Can I help you somehow, please? I–I wanna fix this, I wanna make you better.”

A strange noise leaves your throat then as your brow furrows at his words, your delusions during depressive episodes have never said anything like this to you before, and that’s when it all feels too real. You slowly realize that this is very much the real Azriel kneeling in front of you with tears shimmering in his eyes, clasping your very clammy hand between his very warm ones. Tears brim in your own eyes now, the weight of the entire situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d ruined yourself before he’d even broken the bond, so now you’ve hurt him by somehow signaling to him of your suffering.

“‘M sorry, A–Azriel,” you croak out, the first words to have left your lips in days.

“S–You’re sorry?” he says, voice more stern than before, shaking his head persistently, “No–No, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about, love.” He squeezes your icy hand then, giving you a weak, bitter smile, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner, okay? I’m so sorry and I’ll apologize until the day I die for not being here for you when you needed me. I–I wanna help you now, if you’ll let me. Will you let me help you? Can I take you home with me to get you some help?”

Despite the confusion and sadness swirling around in your deprived brain, you nod at the male, who jumps up almost immediately after you nod. He slowly peels the covers off your frail form, heart breaking at the sight of you. He pushes the ache in his chest down to be strong for you then, gently scooping you up into his arms. The two of you are engulfed in shadows seconds later as Azriel shadow-walks to the House of Wind as quickly as he can.

You don’t remember much from your first moments at the House of Wind, other than the fact that there were a lot of people around you in a very short amount of time. You recognized some of them, the High Lord and Lady, along with Cassian and Nesta, but other faces were less familiar. One woman came into the room you laid in, tugging a warm blanket over your body before using what you could only assume was healing power on you. She’d mumbled something to Azriel on her way out before patting him on the shoulder, and that was the last thing you’d remembered before finally falling into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week.

Sunlight streaming in through the curtains woke you later on, you weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been out for but you’re sure it had been for more than a few hours at this point. You groaned lightly as you stretched your weak legs, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings fully for the first time. The room smelled of mahogany and amber, a familiar and inviting scent you knew too well to not understand whose room you were in.

Though alone at the moment, you know he’s not far, as his shadows skitter excitedly around you as you attempt to sit up in the bed.

The door opens not even two minutes later, the shadowsinger standing in the doorway with a tray of what looked to be steaming food, a glass of water, and some medications. He nearly drops the tray when he sees you sitting up in the middle of his bed, not expecting you to already be awake and so alert. Without a word, he strides over to the large bed, placing the tray on the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d positioned on the side where you laid.

“Hi,” he says with a sharp inhale, giving you a weak smile as he searches your eyes for any emotion he can find.

“H–How long was I out for?” you ask meekly, the full weight of your actions crashing down on you all at once. “How long have I overstayed?”

“What?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down as his heart sinks. You truly think you’re burdening this male, when all he wants is for you to be safe and to feel loved. “You haven’t overstayed, I brought you here to heal, I wanted you to come here to get better.”

You shake your head then, blinking harshly at him as you refuse to believe what he’s telling you. “N–No, you only came to find me because I’m–I’m stupid and didn’t give you the opportunity to reject the bond before I mourned what we never had.” you insist, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this, please–please, you can reject it now, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

The level of self destruction going on in your mind was on another level that Azriel couldn’t deign to comprehend in the moment, but he knew it wasn’t just by your own doing. He can see the internal turmoil you’re going through, can feel your peril down the bond that he now realizes you’ve been shrouding in your own shadows for months, can feel the way you’re tearing yourself apart from the inside out. He reaches for you then, hands coming up to cup your cheeks gently as his shadows rub soothing circles along your back to calm you down, though you continue to babble apologetically about how he should hate you and how you’re the one who should be apologizing for everything.

“Y/N, hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” he coos gently, thumbs stroking your cheekbones softly to bring you back to the moment as you finally lock eyes with him, “I don’t want to reject the bond, I never wanted to reject the bond.”

You try to shake your head feverishly, but he doesn’t let you as his hands stay on either side of your face. “Nesta told me about some females she heard outside your store on Sunday, who said some pretty foul things about you.” he begins, having to reign his anger in as he speaks about the females, “Is that something that happened a lot at the store? Did females that come into the bookstore say things to you about us often?”

You can’t even look at him now, dread and self-loathing gnawing at your chest as you think back to all the hateful comments thrown at you throughout the last few months. You shake your head slowly now, brow furrowing as you try to push down the bile rising in your throat.

“No, it only happened a–a few times.” you lie bluntly, staring down into your lap as you try to pull away from his touch again and this time he lets you, watching closely as you attempt to stand from the bed. “I want to take a bath.” you say, attempting to change the subject to something less painful.

Azriel is there to catch you when you all but fall when trying to stand on your own two feet, hands landing on your waist to situate you back on the edge of the bed, “You’re not supposed to be getting up on your own yet. You didn’t eat for almost a whole week, you’re too weak to stand right now.” he says softly, hands firmly planted on your waist still, “Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? This food will still be warm when we return if you’d rather bathe now.”

You nod wordlessly, brow pinched in frustration at your current situation. Azriel easily picks you up, carrying you bridal style into the en suite bathroom and sitting you on the edge of the large tub as he draws a warm bath. He turns the tap off once it’s nearly full, turning on his heels to leave you alone in the bathroom for some privacy.

“A–Azriel,” you call out before he shuts the door, making the male stop in his tracks to face you, heart nearly shattering when you look at him with wide, shameful eyes. “Can you help me bathe?”

The male is at the edge of the tub in an instant, nodding at you gently. He looks away as you strip out of the clothes that you’d been in for a week, tossing the dirty pajamas into a pile at your feet before stepping into the tub slowly. He helps you ease down onto the bottom, letting go of your hand he didn’t realize he’d grabbed once you tug out of his grasp to wrap the arm around your knees you pull into your chest.

You settle into the water, letting the warmth engulf your cold limbs as you lean your head back to dip your hair, up to the scalp, into the water. Azriel gives you a few minutes to relax in the water, watching as your muscles finally relax slightly under the caress of the liquid. He reaches for the bottle of shampoo eventually, eyeing you closely as he pours some into his hands to lather it. You lean your head up as he does, giving him a small nod of invitation before he reaches for your scalp.

There’s nothing but love and tenderness behind his caress, fingers combing through your damp hair to thoroughly clean it. He’s careful with every movement, making sure to not make the wrong move and send you spiraling for one reason or another.

It’s such a tender moment as he gently tilts you back to rinse your hair with a cup of water that it nearly makes you sob, but hold back for him to continue.

“Can you promise me that you won’t ever let yourself get like this again?” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he runs conditioner through your hair. “I–I don’t know if I can handle seeing you so sad ever again. I won’t let you destroy yourself over my stupidity, not when I’m the one to blame for this whole situation.”

You tense at his words, chest tightening as you hear his voice crack when he chokes back tears. It takes you a moment, but you finally turn to face him, your own tears blurring your vision as you look up at the hazel-eyed male.

“It’s–It’s not your fault, Azriel.” you say, shaking your head insistently at him, “It’s my fault for making you feel obligated to be nice to me, I–I know you didn’t ask to be mated to a lowly, lesser fae bookshop owner when there’s plenty of beautiful high fae females out there ready to accept your hand in marriage at the drop of a hat. I shouldn’t have tried to pursue you after the bond snapped, I–I should’ve let you reject it then so you could go be happy with whoever you want to be with.”

“It’s you I want to be with, Y/N.” he insists, hands shaking as they fall from your head. He falls to his knees then, pivoting so he’s face-to-face with you when he continues, “I don’t care that you’re lesser fae, I fucking hate that you’re considered that anyways, it’s a disgusting term. I’m not even a high fae myself, I don’t care about title or status or whatever else, I only care that I’ve finally found my mate.” Azriel is trying his damndest to keep himself from falling apart as he speaks, “My mate, the love of my life, the one that I get to spend the rest of my days with. I know you feel like I pushed you away and I know I made you feel unwanted, but I thought you wanted space. I know now that you don’t, and I promise you that I’ll spend every waking moment, from now until we die, showing you that I am so fucking happy that you of all people are my mate. I love you.”

Whether he realizes it or not, Azriel projects his passion and love down the bond in the moment. Your deceitful brain would’ve told you he was lying had it not been for that tug and flow of warmth between your souls, if it had not been for the true, unadulterated ache you felt in your chest when he said that he was happy that you were his mate.

Tears well up in your eyes once more as you stare at him, really taking him in, in full form, for the first time. He’s so beautiful, and though there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that still tells you that he’s lying, deep down you know that he’s all yours. Something blooms in your chest then, something stronger than you’ve ever felt, something so compelling that you can’t just sit and stare at him anymore.

You don’t say anything as you continue to stare up at him, reaching your shaky hands out of the water to cup his cheeks. He almost flinches when you do, taken aback by you initiating the touch, but he doesn’t. With the strength gifted to you by the love confession of your mate, you’re able to maneuver onto your knees and tug him a little closer, crashing your lips into his in a gentle, watery kiss.

“I love you, Azriel.” you murmur against his lips when you finally pull away from the kiss for a short moment.

He smiles against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss as his hands grip your forearms to keep you from slipping in the tub.

“We really need to get you cleaned up before we can finish this conversation, yeah?” he encourages in between kisses, smoothing down your wet hair as it drips on the side of the tub.

You breathe out a laugh, nodding at him before turning to let him continue washing your hair, and then moving on to your body. Each touch threatens to set you on fire, but there’s no sexual intention behind them, only loving caresses meant to wash you clean of the last week of pain.

After getting you out of the shower, Azriel slowly dresses you in one of his large shirts, mumbling an apology about how he’ll be sure to bring some of your clothes over if you’d like him to. You only smile at him softly, knowing you’ll be bringing more than a few of your items over soon enough.

He insists that you eat after your bath, bringing you back to the bed where the soup is still steaming hot, likely thanks to the House that Azriel explained was imbued with magic and would do anything you wished it to. You eat the stew after taking the handful of medications and strength tonic that the healer, Madja, had given him for you, relishing the feeling of the warm food settling in your stomach.

The change in your energy level after the strength tonic is astonishing. You feel as though you can run for days, but know better than to try something like that in front of your terrified mate. But, there is one thing that you feel like you need to do at the moment, something that’s long overdue.

You’re laying in Azriel’s arms when you finally get your burst of energy, sitting up abruptly enough to make him sit up with you. There’s a look of wild concern on his face when he reaches for your hips, steadying you as you pull your legs to the side of the bed.

“Are you alright?” he questions immediately, brow furrowing when you miraculously stand on your own two feet. “Do you need something? The House can get you whatever you need.”

You give him a small smile, leaning down to caress his cheek before kissing his forehead gently.

“I wanna get this thing myself,” you state matter-of-factly as he raises a brow at you. “You stay right here, alright?”

Before he can protest, you’re walking towards the door of the bedroom to swing it open. You shut the door behind you, leaving the male in the room without a word.

The House is magic alright, you confirm that when you’re on your way down the stairs and it lights the way for you, only letting the fae lights on the direct path towards the kitchen light the way. It knew exactly what you were doing.

You’re met with a cutting board, a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a bowl of grapes next to an empty plate when you enter the kitchen, a lone fae light above the counter lighting the area so you can prepare the plate. You make quick work of cutting the cheese and bread, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking incessantly as you saw into the sourdough. It only takes you a few minutes to lay everything out on the plate and the House takes care of the rest, then you’re on your way back upstairs, on your way to change your life forever.

Azriel shifts quickly on the bed when you return, sitting up straight as he locks eyes with you. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when his eyes flicker down to the plate of food in your hand, realizing what you were up to when you left the room.

You give him a nervous smile, gripping the plate with two hands as you make your way over to the bed, careful not to tip its contents onto the floor as you quiver. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating in the moment, as you feel like it’s about to beat through your ribcage with one more loud thump.

“Y/N…” he trails as you shakily extend the plate to him when you perch on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with a look you can only describe as certainty. “Are you sure about this? You want to accept the bond right now?”

“If you don’t eat this food right now, you might as well send me back to my little old apartment so I can try to die of a broken heart again.” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you give him a watery smile and push the plate closer to him.

He takes the plate from you then, but doesn’t grab any food at first, looking back up at you before he does. He leans over, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before taking a shuddering breath.

“I promise you that after this bond is accepted, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you are so much more than all of those evil things that those females said about you. I’ll spend every waking moment showing you how perfect you are and making up for the time that we didn’t get to spend together,” he begins, planting a kiss on your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, “now eat that food, please. I’m tired of waiting.”

He smiles at you then, leaning back on the bed as he grabs for a piece of bread and cheese, ready to spend the rest of his eternal life with you, with his mate.

_______________________________________

It takes almost a whole month for the mating frenzy to die down enough for the two of you to be able to integrate back into society. Rhys insisted on letting the two of you stay in the Cabin for your time away, but you opted to spend your time in Summer in a secluded bungalow for the four weeks instead.

When you do return to Velaris after your time away, Azriel insists on taking another week off from spymaster duties to get your bookstore back on track and to help move your belongings to the House of Wind while the two of you look for your very own home, somewhere closer to the Rainbow where you can continue to run your bookstore. You don’t dare to protest your mate’s wishes, letting him alternate between packing the little amount of things you have upstairs and taking inventory in the store while you run the register.

It’s a sunny Saturday when you open your doors for the first time after over a month of being closed, and you’re much busier than you’d expected to be in all honesty, though it seems many of the females coming in are just being nosy to see how true it is that you’re actually back in the flesh.

There are less snide remarks thrown your way now, but still enough that they make you flinch every once in a while. They don’t bother you anymore, though. During your time away, Azriel showed you how much you meant to him and how beautiful he thought you were in many ways, with his mouth, with his hands, with his tongue, with his…

“Do you think she’s single again? Like…do you think he actually rejected the bond?” you hear a high fae female say on the far end of your busy shop, her eyes darting in your direction as she speaks to a friend.

“I hope so, there’s no way he actually–Oh my Gods.” her friend says, eyes wide when they fall on none other than the shadowsinger himself emerging from the back room of your store, a dozen books in hand.

A satisfied smile spreads across your face as Azriel walks behind the checkout counter to press a kiss to your forehead before placing the books next to you. The sound of the females whispering hastily falls on deaf ears as your mate turns to you, grabbing a small piece of paper off the top of the pile of books he’d been holding.

“Found six more copies of both of those romance novels you said you were out of, so no need to order more until those are gone.” he says while pointing at the books. “You really need a better inventory system.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll just hire you to do it for me instead, since you’re so good at it.” you tease, shooting him a smirk.

“As long as I’m compensated fairly, I wouldn’t mind.” he jokes with a wink, pulling you in for an embrace to speak to you lowly. “On another note, you are officially fully moved into the House of Wind. So once you’re closed up for the day, we’ll be able to go home and officially christen the bedroom.”

“We’ve already christened that bedroom,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at him, “it’s been thoroughly christened, multiple times at this point. And if I remember correctly, it’s the first place that was christened by us.”

“And?” he says, lips quirked up into a smirk, “I plan on christening it multiple times tonight, and the next night, and the night after that…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly as you pull out of his grip, “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re beautiful and the love of my life.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It was safe to say that you’re getting nowhere past the mating frenzy phase of your relationship anytime soon.

And you’re okay with that.

taglist (add yourself here!): @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @Buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #acotar x reader

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witchywithwhiskey · 24 days ago

Text

what good girls get after movie night

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

summary: movie night in avengers tower gets interesting when you and bucky barnes test the limits of your secret relationship.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), thunderbolts* spoilers, smut, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, edging/orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, come eating, semi-public fooling around (under a blanket during movie night), 'need to be quiet so we don't get caught' trope, sneaking around/secret relationship, dirty talk, light degradation, praise kink, teasing, biting, pet names (sweetheart, baby), established relationship, both bucky and reader are members of the new avengers—let me know if i missed something!

word count: 3.1k

a/n: here's my first ever entry for @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event!! idk yet how many weeks i'll be able to write for, but i'm gonna try to do a couple at least. and to start us off, we've got a very dirty Bucky Barnes and some New Avengers tower shenanigans 😅 hope y'all enjoy! ♡

prompt: “Mind your own damn business.” | [Secret Sex/Relationship | Embarrassment | Denial]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

It was movie night in Avengers Tower—or rather, New Avengers Tower—and you plopped down in one of the end seats of the overstuffed couches in the lounge.

You always made sure to show up early so you didn’t end up crammed between John Walker and Ava Starr. Their bickering could ruin any movie.

Sure enough, the pair entered the lounge not long after you, arguing about who won some sparring match during their training that day, and whether it was cheating for Ava to use her powers. She was threatening to phase into his room and stab him while he slept as they took their seats on another couch.

You breathed a sigh of relief that they weren’t sitting near you. The seat next to you was still open, and you had hopes for who would take it—though you tried not to look hopeful as the others filtered in.

Alexei Shostakov, Yelena Belova and Bob Reynolds entered the lounge a few minutes later. Yelena flopped down on the floor, while Bob sat on the couch closest to her, the two of them having a conversation that was much more civil than the continued bickering between John and Ava, which had devolved into threats of bodily harm.

Alexei went straight for the remote to the massive TV before settling into the lounge’s only recliner armchair. Everyone had long ago agreed that was always his spot because he fell asleep five minutes into the movie and snored like a fighter jet mid-battle.

Just before Alexei hit play on the movie, Bucky Barnes slipped into the lounge and took the empty seat next to you. Immediately, your heart began to beat a little faster, and you tried to hide your joy as you looked around at the others on the team.

You’d spent hours wondering whether everyone else knew you and Bucky were sneaking around together, trying to keep your relationship secret so it wouldn’t get back to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Neither you nor Bucky knew how Val would react, and you both figured it was easier not to find out.

That night, no one was paying you and Bucky any mind—Yelena was snapping at John to shut up while Alexei’s recliner creaked loudly as he settled into it. You figured they either hadn’t noticed how close Bucky was sitting to you, or they didn’t care.

Knowing The New Avengers as you did, you truly couldn’t determine which was more likely to be true.

Finally, the movie began. The sound was turned up to a nearly deafening level, and you let your worries about what the team did or didn’t know fall away.

A few minutes in, Bucky grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and he casually tossed it over the two of you. When you looked at him and caught his eye, the ghost of a smirk danced at the edge of his mouth, and you shot him the barest smile in return.

Glancing around the room, you made sure everyone was engrossed in the movie before curling into Bucky’s side. You threw your legs over his thigh while his metal arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you into his body.

Ducking your head, you hid a pleased smile as you got comfortable. Your body relaxed into Bucky, your fingers holding the blanket up to your chin so it covered as much of your entwined limbs as possible.

Snuggled up with your secret boyfriend, you settled in to watch the movie in peace. But Bucky had other ideas.

While everyone else was focused on the TV, Bucky shifted so he was curled more around you, his hand slipping onto your knee beneath the blanket.

Just that touch had tingles of warmth dancing up your thighs to settle heavily between your legs, your body already beginning to crave Bucky’s. But with the team littered throughout the room, you did your best to ignore your reaction to Bucky’s touch.

Then, oh so slowly, Bucky began to slide his hand up your thigh. His palm was blazingly hot through the thin cotton of your leggings, teasing you with his heat when you truly wanted him to be touching your bare skin.

The higher his hand got, the less you could ignore it. Especially when his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh, earning a choked whine from you.

“Bucky,” you gasped on the softest exhale you could manage, well aware that there were two other super-soldiers in the room. No matter how loud the TV was, there was always a chance someone would hear you, or—god forbid—sense you another way. “We can’t.”

Lifting your head, you looked around the lounge with quick, sharp eyes.

Thankfully, Alexei was already asleep, the loud rumbling of his snores drowning out the quieter moments of the movie. Bob looked totally engrossed in the TV and Yelena was playing with one of her knives while she kept an eye on Ava and John, who were bickering again, though about what you couldn’t tell.

“Shh, sweetheart, watch the movie,” Bucky murmured teasingly in your ear, clearly having done his own sweep of the room and noting that no one was paying any attention to the two of you.

Bucky took advantage of the team’s distraction to slide his hand even higher up your thigh, until his big palm was cupping your pussy through your leggings. It was all you could do to bite down on your plush lower lip and hold back the sharp gasp that wanted to escape. His hand was so big and it felt so good pressing between your thighs.

A smirk slashed across Bucky’s face, his hungry eyes watching your expression closely so he could devour each and every one of your reactions. He pressed his fingers into your throbbing slit, watching as your lips dropped open and your eyes went hazy from the pleasure pulsing in your pussy.

He kept rubbing your cunt, and you knew the moment he realized you weren’t wearing any panties under your leggings because a soft growl rumbled in his chest. You’d already soaked through your leggings, and you were certain his fingers were growing wetter and wetter with every swipe of your pussy.

“You’re such a little slut, baby,” Bucky purred, ducking his head so his mouth was right against your cheek. You could feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin, and you squirmed on his lap, trapping his hand between your thighs, which only made him chuckle. “You wanted this, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

His words were so condescending and filthy, they had your heart racing in your chest, battering against your ribs. Embarrassment heated your cheeks, but you didn’t protest Bucky’s accusation—because he was right. You had foregone wearing panties hoping it would give Bucky easier access to do exactly what he was doing.

“You wanted to fool around during movie night, didn’t you, baby?” Bucky murmured, his impish grin pressed into your cheek. “You wanted me to rub your bare pussy through your leggings while the rest of the team are right here.”

It was so dirty, what the two of you were doing, but you didn’t want to stop. So even though his last words weren’t a question, you nodded. You lifted your eyes and looked at Bucky from under your lashes, letting him see all the naked desire in your expression.

Bucky’s grin widened, turning wolfish and hungry as his eyes sparkled in the dim blue light of the TV. His hand rubbed your pussy harder, thumb pressing tight circles into your clit, dragging you tenaciously toward the edge of your release.

“They could catch us at any second,” he warned, his voice still low enough that only you could hear. “And then they’d know just what a filthy little slut you are for me, huh?”

“Bucky, please,” you rasped on a stifled sob, turning your head and burying your face in Bucky’s neck. Your shoulders trembled, fingers curling into fists as you clung to his t-shirt. The pleasure rolling through your body was made even more overwhelming by the need to keep quiet.

“Don’t worry, baby, I won’t let them catch us,” Bucky rumbled soothingly, his hand between your thighs slowing to draw out your pleasure. “You just be a good little slut—stay quiet and let me play with your sweet, greedy cunt during the movie.”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered into Bucky’s neck, pressing a kiss to his skin as you spread your legs wider for him beneath the blanket.

“Good girl,” he cooed against your temple, making you quiver from the pleasure.

For a long while, Bucky rubbed your dripping cunt through your leggings, getting the fabric soaking wet while stoking your pleasure to a constant, burning heat. He was merciless, playing with your clit and your puffy pussy lips as if trying to get you to slip up and make a sound.

For your part, all you could do was try to be good. You muffled your moans in the warmth of Bucky’s neck, huffing out soft mewls and breathless whimpers that were drowned out by the movie playing on the TV and Alexei’s snores.

When you thought Bucky was going to edge you like that for the entire movie, he pulled his hand from between your thighs. Without warning, everything sharpened around you, your mind surfacing from the haze of constant pleasure.

Despite the reprieve from his torture, you nearly whined at the sudden loss of Bucky’s touch. Your fingers curled tighter in the soft cotton of his t-shirt and you were about to say something—but then he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and slid his big hand inside.

Bucky’s warm, calloused fingers pushed between the messy, swollen lips of your pussy, and the feeling was so good—so filthy and exquisite—that you were nearly helpless to it. At the last second, you ducked your head and sank your teeth into the hard muscle of his pecs to stifle the moan that demanded to spill free.

A grunt came from Bucky when you bit him, and you lifted your head in time to catch him glancing furtively around the room. When it was clear that everyone else was distracted by the movie or each other, you both breathed a sigh of relief.

Bucky’s fingers, which had stilled against your pussy, slipped deeper between your thighs. Two pushed into your hole, spearing you open and sinking inside you to the knuckle. They stretched you deliciously, stroking against your sensitive inner walls, and for a moment, you forgot yourself.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you breathed on a sigh of delight, pushing your face into his neck in a belated attempt to muffle your sounds of pleasure. He smelled like salt and leather and you wanted to lick him and moan with abandon.

“Shh, ya gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” Bucky chided you, his tone warm with affectionate teasing. “You don’t want anyone catching us, do you?”

Pleasure was throbbing through your body, so sharp and insistent, you could hardly bring yourself to care about getting caught anymore. You just wanted some relief—you wanted to come.

“Need you,” you whined as quietly as you could manage. “Please,” you begged pitifully, tugging weakly on Bucky’s shirt, as if that would sway him toward giving you what you wanted.

A reprimanding growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest and when he spoke, his mouth brushed against your ear, his words filling your head.

“If you can be a good girl and be quiet for the rest of the movie, I’ll take you back to my room and show you what good girls get,” he said, and then, as if deciding to make his point even clearer, he went on. “Good girls get to come on my big, fat cock while I spill my seed in their greedy, hungry cunt.”

His words were a lightning bolt straight to your pussy, and you nearly moaned again. You had to bite down on the base of Bucky’s throat to stifle the sound, and as soon as it passed, you pulled your mouth away to respond.

“I can be good—I can be good, I swear,” you promised in a rushed babble, a whine in your tone as you nodded your head against Bucky��s shoulder.

“Good girl,” Bucky purred in your ear, his metal arm tightening around your shoulders and tucking you deeper into his chest. All the while, his fingers fucked your dripping hole slowly, torturously, ramping up your pleasure before easing you back down.

Bucky brought you to the edge three more times before the movie ended, rumbling in your ear to be a good girl and not come on his fingers so he could reward you later. It was a near thing each time, but you managed it, your body trembling more and more beneath the blanket concealing your bodies.

He’d let you wind down after each edge while he slipped his hand from your leggings and licked your desire from his fingers. His eyes would glimmer with barely leashed lust as he held your gaze, making you watch him taste you while you quivered in his arms. Then he’d start the process all over again.

By the time the movie was over, you were wound so tight, you knew you’d explode the second Bucky slid his cock into your aching, hungry cunt. And you couldn’t wait another minute for that release.

The second the credits began to roll, you yanked Bucky’s hand from your leggings, the super-soldier letting you free his fingers with a low chuckle. Then you tossed the blanket off your overheated bodies and hopped up, heading straight for the door with Bucky hot on your heels.

“Where are you two going?” John called as you tried to make a hasty escape, drawing all eyes to you and Bucky. “Don’t tell me you guys are tired already, we only watched one movie! Bucky might be ancient, but what’s your excuse, rookie?”

“Mind your own damn business, Walker,” you snarled, hurling the comment over your shoulder as you picked up your pace.

You didn’t care anymore if the team knew about you and Bucky and what you got up to when you were alone in the tower. All you could think about was the pounding pulse between your thighs and your need for release.

Looking over your shoulder, you caught Bucky’s eye, and he looked just as desperate and hungry as you felt. With a jolt of understanding, you realized he didn’t care if anyone else knew either, and the thought made you smile happily at him. His wolfish grin answered you and urged you on.

As the two of you retreated from the lounge, you heard John whining to the others, “What’d I say?” The last thing you heard was everyone else—save for Alexei, who was still asleep in his chair—laugh at him.

Once you were out of sight of the team, Bucky hauled you over his shoulder and took off. He jogged through the winding hallways of the tower until he got to his room. There, he pushed quickly through the door and locked it behind him, before tossing you down on the bed.

“Leggings off now, unless you want me to tear them off you,” Bucky growled, already yanking his clothes off.

You grinned at his impatience, as if he wasn’t the one who’d tortured you for the last two hours by edging you during movie night. But you decided to save your teasing for later, because you wanted him too badly to say anything. Instead, you just tore of your own clothes as quickly as you could.

Then Bucky was on you, his hips bullying between your legs, his cock smacking against your wet, needy pussy. Your thighs spread wide to welcome him into your body, your lips parting on an obscene moan when he crushed you into the bed with his heavy form.

In one thrust, he was inside you, and you let loose an uninhibited scream of pleasure that filled his room, bouncing off the walls and shattering the stillness of the night.

Just as you’d predicted, you came the moment Bucky slid home inside your pussy, your release helped along by the way he was grinding the base of his cock into your clit. He knew exactly what he was doing, pushing you over the edge with relentless efficiency.

And you were helpless to it. The pleasure coursing through you, crashing over you in blissful waves had you trembling and whimpering beneath him, riding out the overwhelming release with your thighs wrapped tight around his waist.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you’re coming like a perfect little slut on my cock,” Bucky praised you, brushing kisses to your cheeks before capturing your lips in a filthy kiss. “You were such a good girl, so quiet and perfect for me while I played with your pretty pussy.”

Bucky started rolling his hips, thrusting into you with deep strokes of his cock, filling you up over and over again. You could feel the twitching and throbbing of his hard length, but he didn’t let up, just set a brutal pace, pounding into your cunt. Before your release had even fully subsided, he was urging you toward another.

Gripping your jaw in one hand while he braced himself on his metal arm, Bucky held your face still, his eyes locked on yours. There was a promise of pleasure in his feral gaze, in the slash of a smirk on his face, and you couldn’t help the eager grin that pulled at your lips at his next words.

“Now it’s time for me to show you what good girls get after movie night.”

Bucky Barnes was a man of his word, and show you he did. He fucked you long and hard, making you come so many times you lost count, until the evidence of your pleasure was seen in the uncontrollable quivering of your exhausted thighs and the amount of come—both his and yours—making a mess as it spilled from your body.

Meanwhile, the rest of the New Avengers team gave Bucky’s room a wide berth for the night. They all had a good idea about what the two of you got up to when you slipped away from the others to be alone; they all knew about your “secret” relationship and your not-so-secret cuddling during movie night. (Thankfully, that was all they knew about.)

Well, everyone knew about you and Bucky Barnes except John Walker. But he was always the last to figure out anything.

All told, it was a pretty standard movie night in the New Avengers Tower.

thanks for reading!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

#hotbuckysummer2025 #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #witchywithwhiskeywork #established relationship #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan #thunderbolts #the new avengers

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sacredsorceress · 2 months ago

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☆.°*Dating Bob Headcanons*°.☆

pairing: bob reynolds x f!reader word count: 1.3k a/n: just a few of my headcanons for what it would be like to be in a relationship with bob!! if you'd like to see more let me know! warnings: mention of therapy, addiction, memory loss- anything that would've been in thunderbolts*

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・inbox・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Ironically, I think Bob is a guy that is comfortable with what life hands him and outside going to Malaysia to try to find himself (or more drugs) he's resigned to accept whatever the universe throws at him- both good and bad. I don't think he'd be the type to join a dating app or feel a hole in the place of where a partner should be unless he began to fall for someone around him. Meaning, the two of you would have likely met in his past or you were a member of the New Avengers.

Unless you have the most enviable confidence on the planet, your friendship budding into more would have been a SLOWWWW burn.

As much as the team picks on Bob (with love), they would be very wary of you starting a relationship with him.

If you were on the team, once they got the inkling that you had feelings for one another, they would iterate to you a million times that you had to be sure about this. You would have to be serious about a future with him: no games. You breaking Bob's heart could send him into an episode that not only hurt him, but everyone else.

I think there are two scenarios to the start of your relationship: either you made the first move or he did- but it was only made possible by the reassurance of the team that you would actually say yes to him.

"Well I don't know guys," he'd argue , fiddling with his sleeve. "What if she doesn't-"

"She could not have been more obvious!" Yelena laughs.

"But-"

"Bob, you have a hot girl with super powers in love with you." John would say. "Do something about it or I will."

And obviously the idea of John making a move on you would be enough to propel him into confessing (a bit awkwardly) his feelings for you.

I think a lot of the first moves would be on you to initiate, because as much as he would want to kiss you and sleep in your bed (and more), he would be so afraid of you saying no or making you uncomfortable that he would hesitate.

King of Consent. If he did make the first move on you it would be because he asked you first. In the first few months of your relationship it's rare that he would touch you without asking.

Oh my god. I think if Bob had friends from his past that he still sometimes spoke to (now that he's clean and in a better mental state, I imagine him trying to patch up old wounds with good friends), he would ask you if it was okay if he told people you were together (as if you'd be embarrassed to be dating him)

You'd take a photo together and he would nervously ask if he could send it to this old friend from childhood and your heart would just swell.

"Of course, Bob. Tell him I say hi."

You would catch him smiling at the photo on his phone- a sweet closed mouth one- as he sent it to his friend.

Sent: Me and my girlfriend :)

Even if you're usually a people pleaser, when it comes to Bob, you'd have to become his biggest advocate because no one is more of a people pleaser than him. Recall when he was in the facility and offered to stay back and die for the convenience of everyone else? Yeah.

Sometimes Bob would ask you to come to his therapy appointments with him so you could fill in the gaps in his memory for his therapist.

You would also join some sessions at his behest because he wasn't always 100% transparent with his doctor and having you there encouraged him to be more honest (not only because you could tell when he was lying, but because he wanted to be better for you.)

Bob has an addictive personality so he doesn't drink anymore, but if you go out for the night, he'll ask Yelena to go with you just to make sure you're safe.

Yelena, who was going out with you anyway and would rather die than let you get hurt, would just pout.

"You are so. adorable." She'd sigh. "But yes. I will watch her."

NYC may get cold in the winter months, but you have a human heater in the form of Bob who would gladly take your freezing hands in yours, bring them to his lips and blow hot air on them to warm you up.

Speaking of the colder months, this man LOVES a hot cocoa. Bob doesn't love the crowds at festivals or markets because all the noises, people, touching can be overwhelming but he'll bear them with you if he can turn his brain off with a hot chocolate in hand and let you guide him.

He blushes bright red when you wipe his milk mustache away with your finger then pop it in your mouth.

When you giggle at his pink cheeks he blames it on the cold (sure bob).

He doesn't get jealous as much as he gets insecure. If Bob saw another man get touchy with you or you laugh at his jokes, he wouldn't be angry, but he would start questioning if he was good enough for you.

Although the sentry serum gave him a lean, muscular build, he would still compare himself to Bucky and Walker. Walker may have been an asshole, but Bucky was nice, successful, conventionally attractive and more stable than him. What did he bring to the table?

When you caught him second guessing himself, you'd be quick to snap him out of it: reminding him that there was no one else in the world for you besides him.

Now if you, got jealous- he'd be shocked.

A new intern would start working for Valentina and you could just see it in her eyes: she wanted him. It didn't matter that you were an Avenger yourself or that Bob would never in a million years be the type to cheat on you, you could feel the heat bubbling in your chest just threatening to boil to the surface.

When you butt into the conversation, placing a hand against his chest and introducing yourself as his girlfriend he didn't even know what to do. The girl, not keen enough to compete with an Avenger, took the hint and went on her way.

"What was that?" He'd ask.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bob."

You'd just humph and go back to whatever it was you were doing and Bob would be left there with his face red, scratching the back of his neck knowing he's got the most amazing woman on the planet (Time Magazine's issue on the New Avengers made that a blatant fact) jealous over him.

His room is probably pretty bland. Because of his past and the most recent thing he did pre-experiment being back-packing, I imagine that he doesn't very have many things. Whether it be clothes, games, knickknacks- you name it- he probably started out with close to nothing and everything he has now has only been accumulated since joining the team.

Because of this, when you two share a bed it would probably be in your room. He likes the character of it and how it reflects your personality and interests. It makes him feel safe, loved, and homey in a way none of the things from his past ever could with the negative memories tied to them.

If you're not home, he'll text you updates about everything he's doing that day.

10:57: Good morning :)

11:31: Had a bagel for breakfast.

12:45: The fridge is making a weird sound.

3:22: I finished my book. There was a cliffhanger :0

4:10: Miss you :)

And that's just a little bit of the cute little life I think you'd have in a relationship with Bob :)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

hi!! first set of headcanons for our man bob!! if you're interested in more or have some other headcanons besides just general dating ones you'd like to see- my inbox is always open!! xx

#bob x reader #thunderbolts #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #bob headcanons #bob fluff #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #bob thunderbolts #bob thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #thunderbolts bob x reader #bob reynolds fanfiction

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yandere-daydreams · 2 months ago

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tw - physical abuse, mentions of kidnapping, themes of marking/ownership. based on this ask.

Suguru has your name tattooed just below his collarbone.

It's subtle. Black ink pressed into neat kanji, bold lettering camouflaged behind the swirls and patterns of his other designs. Yours emerges from the back of a brilliant, white and blue dragon, while Satoru's hangs below, settled into the spiraling pupil of the dragon's eye. You try not to look for it. Really, you try not to look at him at all, but he makes it difficult - always forcing your hand against his chest, always asking you to read out the only names that have or will ever matter to him. It might be a little more romantic if he didn't seem so proud, if he didn't purr out his affirmations of love with quite so much self-satisfaction. He wants evidence of his claim to you, of his right to you, and what could be more telling than carrying your name so close to his heart?

Satoru wears two wedding rings.

Technically four, if you count the engagement bands he keeps on a delicate silver chain around his neck. It's embarrassing, honestly. He'd always been the one to propose - first to Suguru, when they were fresh out of high school, then to you, on the first anniversary of your abduction. The two of you aren't actually married (no, they'd never let you stray far enough from their countryside estate for that), but Satoru likes to pretend, and Suguru likes to indulge him. He calls you by all the right terms of endearment, brings home cake and flowers every few weeks for some invented milestone, whines when he finds your rarely-worn ring stuffed under the mattress or broken into pieces on the floor. He's always wanted something domestic, something mutual. Your continued imprisonment may eliminate any hope for the latter, but he can still try to nudge you towards the former.

They've both carved their names into you.

Suguru's, first, stretching over the small of your back. The lines are jagged, the scarring ugly and only just beginning to heal around the roughest patches. He did it on impulse - as a punishment for trying to run away, as proof that you'd never really be able to get away from them. He wanted to make himself a part of you, and in a way, he did.

Satoru's had to be inflicted later on, after weeks of building jealousy and off-handed comments about how unfair it would be to leave you so lopsided. His name was handled more with more care - engraved in your shared bedroom rather than the back of Suguru's car, using a proper scalpel rather than a rusted pocket knife. Suguru held you while Satoru did the dirty work, nuzzling into your tear-streaked cheeks and promising that they were only doing this because they loved you, because they had to make sure you knew who you belonged with. That did nothing to stop the pain, of course, almost as intense as the bitter hatred you feel every time Satoru presses a line of kisses up the length of your spine or Suguru settles a hand over the ruined mess of skin and flesh that you once called your own. Satoru holds up his rings to your scars, and Suguru offers to get another line of ink, and they try to convince you that you're all on equal ground. You're not, though. Obviously, you're not.

As violently as they refuse to admit it, Satoru can take off his rings, and Suguru can cover up his tattoos. Your claims to them can be removed, or hidden, and if they ever wanted to, they could leave, separate themselves, run.

For whatever reason, you just weren't given the same choice.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo satoru x reader #yandere geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #yandere gojo satoru

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luxcuriousao3 · 3 months ago

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Task Force 141 + The Best They've Ever Had

Just thinking about you being the best fuck the boys have ever had.

warnings: smut (obvi), piv, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, protected sex, fingering, briefly mentioned s/m but no actual s/m, reader is kinda a fuck boy (fuck girl?), slight hint of dacryphillia if you squint maybe, no use of y/n

Gaz

You go for Gaz first—he's the prettiest, and he's incredibly smooth. He charms you easily, makes you comfortable enough to invite him back to your place despite having just met that night. He's all confidence and no arrogance. He knows he looks good and he knows he fucks good. He's sure he's going to blow your mind, leave you aching for more…

Instead, you give him head so good his climax comes early, his come flooding your mouth. A broken moan leaves him when you swallow and look up at him through your lashes, a sweet, innocent smile on your face, but your eyes are sultry enough to get a man hard in seconds. His spent cock twitches valiantly, but his orgasm was so strong that he knows he won’t be able to go again for hours.

He’s incredibly embarrassed, but he tries not to show it, and gets you off twice in apology—once with his fingers and once with his mouth. You see him out at the end of the night. He was hoping to stay longer, perhaps get to fuck you after all, but you’re a busy woman, and you’ve got things to do early tomorrow morning.

Gaz doesn’t tell the rest of the boys about this particular hookup, knowing he’d never hear the end of it from Soap—but he keeps the memory of it close for long, lonely missions.

Price

Perhaps surprisingly, Price is your next victim hookup. He doesn’t get out much, but you manage to catch him on one of his rare nights off.

He takes you back to his place, a small but neat flat not far from the base he’s stationed at. There’s a fine layer of dust on all of the furniture, showing how rarely he’s home, and he’s amused by you jokingly asking if he’s actually breaking you into someone else’s apartment.

He pours you both a glass of wine, and you talk for a while as you drink, continuing to get to know one another. Well, it’s really just him getting to know you—he’s a private man, and he knows how to talk without actually saying much—but he finds that he doesn’t mind that. You’re quite a talented speaker, genuine and animated about every topic that comes to mind. Your little quirks and mannerisms only make you more attractive.

Once both your glasses are empty, and the two of you have drifted close enough to touch, he cups your chin in one hand and leans down to kiss you. He can feel you smile against his lips, and you pull away with a little giggle that makes his brows raise in curiosity.

“Your beard tickles,” you tell him, before sitting up a little more so you can kiss him again. It’s endlessly endearing, and he can’t stop himself from deepening the kiss, his cock chubbing up in his jeans. He’s eager to find out if his beard will tickle your cunt, too.

Not too long later, he gets his answer—a resounding yes—as well as discovers a new addiction. You taste like heaven, like well aged whiskey, like his favorite brand of cigars, and he suddenly realizes he no longer wants to die in the field in some fiery blaze of glory.

He’d much rather you just smother him with your cunt.

Unfortunately, he has a duty to his country, so he reluctantly shifts you off of him so he can breathe. It’s for the best, really, because he’s about to come just from eating you out. You don’t give him a chance to rest, though, moving down his body and sinking down onto his hard cock. You both gasp at the same time—Price from the pleasure, and you from the stretch. Clearly, you hadn’t realized just how thick he was, and now you’re tearing up and pouting while sat on his cock. He shushes you sweetly, stroking your cheek and rubbing your clit, enamored by the adorable picture you make. Soon enough, the sting fades, and you start riding him like your life depends on it. He plays with your tits the whole time, sucking and licking your nipples, his hands on your hips guiding your movements.

When he comes, it’s pure ecstasy. He’s never felt this good before, not even with his ex-wife. He knows then that he wants to keep you—and he can only hope that his seed filling your sweet pussy takes root deep in your womb.

Silly you forgot to put a condom on him, and of course, he didn’t see any reason to remind you. You sigh when you realize, and mutter something about getting the morning after pill. His grip tightens on your hips for a second, but he forces himself to relax. It’s only eighty percent effective, he tells himself. There’s still a chance.

Ghost

You meet Ghost next. You see him at the bar, all broad shoulders, bulky muscles, and towering height. But what makes you throw caution to the wind is the mask. You sidle on up to him, give him your signature sweet smile when he looks you up and down, and don’t let it phase you when he just grunts in reply to your greeting. It takes longer than it usually would to get Ghost back to your apartment—most guys are raring to go once you give them the signal—but after a few gentle touches, one long winded ramble about a topic you’re passionate about, and a couple shots, he gets that familiar look of want in his dark eyes, and you know you’ve got him, hook, line, and sinker.

You don’t expect him to be a gentleman, but he insists on making you come on his fingers before he even takes his clothes off. It’s actually really fucking hot, and you’re even more eager than usual to return the favor. You sink down to your knees to try and suck him off, but he effortlessly hoists you back up and tosses you onto the bed, slowly undoing his belt and pulling it off. You spread your legs wide for him and bite your lip, half hoping he’ll snap the belt against your cunt or bind your wrists with it. Instead, he tosses it aside, opens up his fly, rolls on the condom, and presses inside you. He’s fucking massive, and you grasp one of his hands in yours as you whimper and whine through the stretch. He goes slow, at least until you’re adjusted—and then he’s obeying your demands as you order him to give it to you harder, faster, more, more, more.

Ghost has to keep stopping to just grind into you, because the way your tits bounce as he rails you, the sounds you’re making, and the tight, hot, wet grip of your pussy is too fucking much. He’s never been one for hookups really, hasn’t fucked anyone in ages, but there was something about you. Pretty face, beautiful body, and clearly into him, even with the mask—it’s not something he experiences often. He’s struck with the sudden urge to pull off the mask and kiss your lips, swallow every gorgeous gasp and moan you let out—but he can’t, won’t, so instead he buries his face in your neck, panting harshly as he thrusts into you, hard and fast, just like you’re begging for.

When it’s over, and he’s filled the condom with a frankly concerning amount of come, he stays buried deep in your pussy, with you pinned beneath him, his face still tucked into your neck. He doesn’t want to move, and the fact that you seem content to let him stay like that only makes him want you more.

When you finally shift like you want to get up, he has to fight the overwhelming urge to just ignore you. Instead, he finally pulls out of you and sits up, letting his eyes rove every inch of you as he does up his trousers. That little smile you give him makes his heart stutter, and he's torn between fleeing and begging you to let him stay.

You make the decision for him, thanking him for a great fuck and asking him if he needs you to call him an Uber.

Pride stinging and chest aching, Ghost walks back to the barracks.

Soap

Soap’s a stray dog that just wants a forever home. A handsome, lonely, loveable, eager mutt. So when he’s pounding into you in the back seat of your car because he was too excited to wait till you got back to your place, moaning and grunting and whining like the puppy he is, the words just slip out.

“Want ye, want ye tae be mine, please bonnie, want ye all fer myself.”

You coo at him, finding how pussy drunk he is adorable, and thread your fingers through his mohawk to pull him in for a kiss. He groans into your mouth as he comes, humping you through the aftershocks of his orgasm. You giggle, pulling back to nibble at his stubbled jaw as he pants in your ear.

“So?” He asks, voice wrecked but hopeful, and you feel a little bad when you realize his words weren’t just dirty talk. “What aboot it, lamb? Will ye be mine?”

“My pussy that good?” You tease him, trying to let him down easily. You can tell he realizes, his eyes tightening just a little in disappointment before his expression smooths back over into the cocky one he’d charmed his way into your pants with.

“Best I’ve ever had,” he answers, and you can hear the truth of it in his voice, even as he winks at you, holding up a two fingered salute. “Scot’s honor.”

“Pretty sure it’s scout’s honor,” you correct him, but he just smirks and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. “Scot’s honor is better. We’re a loyal bunch.”

And Christ, but he’d be a loyal dog to you, if only you’d keep him.

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cloudtransprncy · 4 months ago

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Purr

Wonyoung X Male Reader | 5700 words Tags: Hookup, backshots, manhandling, rough, hot as fuck, WAP

White ears, pink ribbons, and an invitation to find out what this kitty does behind closed doors.

The house is packed. Bodies everywhere. Bass so heavy it makes your drink ripple in its plastic cup. Some frat's Halloween party where the costumes get lazier and the drinks stronger as the night stretches on. You've forgotten whose place this even is. Friend of a friend of a roommate, maybe.

You lost your friends about an hour ago—last saw them heading toward the keg in the kitchen, now they're ghosts in the digital ether, not answering texts. So you've been wandering, drink in hand, caught in the limbo of being alone in a crowded room.

You adjust your half-assed cowboy hat—the only real evidence of your last-minute costume besides the checkered shirt and boots you already owned.

Four drinks in and the world has that pleasant blur around the edges, like someone's applied a subtle filter to reality.

That's when you see her.

She's leaning against a metal railing at the edge of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by three equally stunning friends. They're all laughing at something on someone's phone, heads bent together in that conspiratorial way that creates an invisible force field. One gloved hand wrapped around the bannister, posed in a way that seems both accidental and perfectly calculated. White cat ears with pink ribbons perched on dark hair that falls straight down her back. Her makeup is precise—eyeliner sharp enough to cut, blush high on her cheekbones, lips glossed pink. There's something distinct about her features—delicate but arresting, wide eyes that seem to absorb everything while revealing nothing.

Her outfit is simple but effective. White halter top. Pink satin skirt. Thigh-high black boots. Pink gloves past her elbows. Her body creates a silhouette that doesn't seem entirely real, like she was drawn rather than born.

She watches the crowd with this expression—not quite boredom, not quite amusement—like she's mentally captioning everyone's photos with comments they'd never want to read.

Then her eyes catch yours.

And they stay there.

You drain your drink. It's more for something to do with your hands than courage, but it serves both purposes. As you watch, a group of guys in basketball jerseys approach her circle. There's some back and forth, laughter, and then her friends are peeling away, following the guys toward the kitchen. She stays behind, waving them off with a dismissive flick of her gloved hand.

Perfect timing. You push through the crowd toward her, bumping shoulders with strangers who've already forgotten you exist before you've passed them.

Her eyes track you the whole way. She doesn't pretend she wasn't looking. When you reach her, she straightens slightly. The movement is subtle but deliberate, like everything else about her seems to be.

"And what exactly are you supposed to be?" You gesture vaguely at her outfit.

She blinks slowly, a half-second too long to be natural. "I'm a slutty cat," she says, voice softer than expected but somehow cutting through the music. "Can't you tell?"

You look at her again, taking your time now that you have permission. "I see the ears. But I don't know if that explains"—your eyes move down deliberately—"everything else."

She doesn't react to your gaze the way most would. No embarrassed laugh, no looking away. If anything, she seems to catalog your reaction, filing it away for later reference.

"And you're... what? A cowboy?" She reaches up, adjusting your hat with one gloved finger, letting it linger just long enough to make a point. "A little basic, don't you think?"

"Last minute," you admit. "Not all of us plan our slutty animal costumes weeks in advance."

She laughs—genuinely, you think. It sounds different than the practiced social laugh most people deploy at parties. "Maybe you need to get closer to appreciate the details," she says, voice dropping into something more private.

You step in. Close enough to notice things. The expensive perfume that probably costs more than your monthly coffee budget. The tiny rhinestones at the corners of her eyes that catch the light when she blinks. The almost imperceptible chip in her nail polish on her left index finger—the only flaw in an otherwise flawless presentation.

"I don't even know your name, cat girl."

"Wonyoung," she offers, gaze alternating between your eyes and mouth with scientific precision.

"Wonyoung," you repeat. "I'm—"

"Doesn't matter," she interrupts, something playful but challenging in her expression. "Tonight's not about names."

The directness catches you off guard in a way that makes your pulse quicken. You place your hand on the railing beside her hip, close but not touching. A question.

"No? What's tonight about then?"

She considers you, teeth briefly catching her bottom lip in a gesture that seems both calculated and unconscious.

"Alright, cowboy. Dream date vibes—go," she says, leaning in with playful curiosity in her eyes.

You grin casually. "Oh you know... some Boba, then some backshots."

Her eyes widen before she erupts into genuine laughter, head thrown back. "Oh wow! Honestly, I respect it." She leans in teasingly. "But I don't think you're hot enough to be saying shit like that."

"Oh, so you are checking me out?" You raise an eyebrow, amused.

She tries to suppress a smile, gives a playful scoff. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Too late—you already laughed." You smirk, stepping closer.

"It was a pity laugh," she says, biting her lip, playfully defensive. "I felt bad."

"Nah, you're a bad liar. I'm definitely your type."

There's a beat. The music pulses between you, bass dropping on some remix everyone will forget by morning. She glances down, then back up, eyes mischievous.

"Alright, fine. You're halfway to my type."

"What's the other half?" you ask.

Her voice drops lower, as she traces her fingers lightly down your arm. "Someone who can handle me."

"I can," you say, voice low, matching her energy.

She smiles, fingers tangling with yours, pulling you closer. "Let's see if you're all talk, then. My place is 10 minutes from here, and you saw my roommates leave with some guys so..."

The bass drops. The crowd surges. Bodies push and her body presses against yours for a moment. Something clicks into place. Simple chemistry. Complex consequences.

Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow with purpose. You've both just recognized something neither of you has named yet.

You look at her—really look at her—and wonder briefly about the reality that exists beyond this moment. The classes she attends. The coffee she drinks in the morning. The books on her nightstand. All the ordinary things that make up a life outside of this charged exchange.

But tonight isn't about that. Tonight is about following the electric current between two bodies and seeing where it leads.

"Lead the way," you say.

...

You don't even remember the Uber ride.

Just fragments. Her thigh against yours. Her mouth hot on your neck. "God, I want you," whispered against your ear, not caring if the driver heard. Her gloved fingers slipping under your shirt, tracing your stomach, then lower. Her climbing halfway onto your lap, skirt riding up, while the driver pretended not to notice.

"God, I can't wait to get you alone," she'd breathed against your mouth, her tongue sliding against yours again, tasting like cherry and tequila and bad decisions you'd never regret.

All you know is that now you're in her bedroom, and Wonyoung is on her knees on the edge of her mattress, those glossy lips stretched around your cock while you stand before her.

Her room is a trip—glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, walls plastered with posters and polaroids, fairy lights strung around her bed frame casting everything in a soft pink glow. A Hello Kitty plushie stares at you from the pillow. The contrast between the cutesy bedroom and what she's doing to you right now is fucking with your head in the best way.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, watching her take you deeper.

The cat ears are still perched on her head, though slightly askew now. Her pink gloves are soaked with spit, one hand wrapped around what she can't fit in her mouth, the other cupping and squeezing your balls. The satin fabric against your skin feels unreal—slick but with just enough friction to make your knees weak.

Spit drips down her chin, pooling on her white top. Her lipgloss is destroyed, smeared across her lips and your cock. She pulls back, just enough to swirl her tongue around the head before taking you deep again, making a show of it.

"Get on the bed," she says, pulling off with a wet pop, voice raspy in a way that makes your dick throb. "I'm not done with you."

You climb onto her pastel sheets, pushing aside a few stuffed animals. She's on you immediately, shoving you back against the pillows, her body lithe but surprisingly strong for someone so small. The way your hands practically span her entire waist is a heady reminder of how delicate she is compared to you.

"Stay still," she orders, straddling your thighs, then lowering her mouth back to your cock. Your hands find her shoulders, feeling how narrow they are beneath your palms, how fragile her collarbones seem under your fingers.

She takes you deeper this time, relaxing her throat around you. The wet heat of her mouth is almost too much. You reach for her head, but she grabs your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your hips. The look she gives you from under her lashes is pure power—this tiny girl somehow in complete control despite her size.

"Fuck, you're strong," you murmur, testing her grip and finding yourself genuinely restrained.

She pulls off just long enough to say, "Don't underestimate me just because I'm small," before sinking back down, taking you impossibly deep for her size. The contrast of her petite frame handling all of you makes your head spin.

"Fuck, your mouth," you groan, watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder.

She pulls off completely with a wet gasp, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. She takes a deep breath, then deliberately lets a string of spit fall from her mouth onto your shaft, using it to stroke you with one gloved hand while maintaining eye contact. The sight alone nearly makes you cum.

"You like it messy?" she asks, her voice husky, already knowing the answer.

Before you can respond, she swallows you down again, taking you impossibly deep in one fluid motion. Her throat constricts around you as she holds there for several seconds, nose pressed against your pelvis, before pulling back with a desperate inhale. Saliva runs down your length in rivulets now, soaking into the sheets beneath you, dripping down to coat your balls.

She establishes a rhythm that's driving you insane—deep, gurgling strokes with her mouth while her gloved hand follows, twisting slightly on the upstroke. Her other hand massages your balls, now slick with her spit. The wet sounds are obscene, sloppy and loud in the quiet bedroom.

"Wait," you gasp, feeling the pressure building, "I'm getting close."

She doesn't slow down. Instead, she somehow intensifies her efforts, one hand working your shaft in perfect sync with her mouth, the other pressing firmly behind your balls in a way that makes your vision blur. Your muscles tense, toes curling against the sheets as you fight the building pressure. You want this to last, but her technique is unreal.

She pulls off suddenly with a gasping inhale, strands of spit connecting her mouth to your cock in a spider web pattern. Without missing a beat, her gloved hand maintains the rhythm, now twisting on each upstroke, her thumb circling the sensitive spot just under the head.

"Not yet," she says, her voice raw and husky. "I want to play with you longer."

She looks up at you through mascara-smudged lashes, face flushed, hair clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, and you've never seen anything more erotic in your life. Her lips are puffy and red, glistening with a mixture of spit and pre-cum. She licks them deliberately before taking another deep breath and swallowing you down again.

This time she does something with her throat—a controlled swallowing motion while you're deep inside—that has you seeing stars. Your hips buck involuntarily, but she takes it, accommodating your thrust with practiced ease. Her nose presses against your pelvis as she holds you there, throat contracting rhythmically around your head. The pressure and heat are unreal.

She keeps you on edge like this—bringing you close with intense deep-throating, then backing off to focus on your shaft with her hands or gently sucking just the tip—for what feels like an eternity. Your breathing is ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as you struggle to hold back. Your hands fist in her hair, not guiding anymore but just holding on for dear life.

The sheets beneath you are soaked with her saliva, your thighs slick and shiny in the dim light. She seems to revel in the mess, deliberately letting spit run down your length, using it as lubrication for her gloved hands. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth and hands working in tandem fill the room, punctuated by her gasping breaths and your strangled moans.

Just when you think you can't take anymore, when the teasing edge has become almost painful, she takes you deep again, her throat working around you with purpose.

"Fuck, now I'm really gonna cum," you warn, your voice strained and desperate.

This time, she doesn't back off. Instead, she looks up at you with determination in her eyes, maintaining that crucial eye contact as she takes you deeper than before. One hand grips the base of your shaft firmly, the other massages your balls with precise pressure. She swallows deliberately around the head of your cock, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, hitting that perfect spot.

You lose it, your release hitting the back of her throat in hot, heavy pulses. There's so much that some escapes the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to swallow it all. She doesn't stop or slow down, continuing to work you with her mouth and hands through your orgasm, extending the pleasure to almost unbearable levels.

Her throat works visibly as she gulps down your release, making obscene swallowing sounds that only intensify your pleasure. Her eyes water from the effort, mascara beginning to run in faint streaks down her flushed cheeks, but she never breaks eye contact. There's a look of triumph in her gaze, a satisfaction at reducing you to this trembling, groaning mess beneath her.

When your orgasm finally subsides and you're twitching with oversensitivity, she slowly, deliberately pulls away. Thick strings of spit and cum stretch between her lips and your cock, forming an obscene web that breaks and falls across her chin and neck. Her hand continues to stroke you gently, milking the last few drops from you.

She sits back on her heels, breath coming in heavy pants, lips dramatically swollen, chin and chest glistening with a mixture of saliva and the cum that escaped her mouth. Her cat ears are somehow still hanging on, though now sitting at a rakish angle on her disheveled hair. The gloves that once were pristine pink satin are now darkened with wetness in places, sticky and slick.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, genuinely stunned by what just happened. Your cock is still hard, barely softened by the intense orgasm.

She notices, a knowing smirk spreading across her messy face as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand. "Told you I wasn't done with you yet," she says, her voice absolutely wrecked in the sexiest possible way, rough and raspy from the workout her throat just got.

She reaches behind her, unzipping her white halter top and pulling it over her head. Her breasts are small but perfect, nipples pink and hard in the cool air. The cat ears wobble but stay in place.

"You're so fucking hot," you tell her, reaching for her waist.

She stretches, arms extending above her head, back arching in a way that's distinctly feline. Her small breasts lift with the motion, nipples hardening in the cool air. Her eyes hold a challenge as she slowly moves toward you.

"I want your mouth on me," she says, her voice husky with need.

Instead of letting her climb over you, you suddenly sit up, grabbing her by the waist. She gasps in surprise as you flip your positions, pushing her down onto the mattress with firm hands. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating at your show of strength.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, your voice low as you hover over her. Your hands easily pin her wrists above her head, one of yours enough to hold both of hers. "Tell me again."

"Yes," she breathes, arching into you despite being restrained. "Please."

You release her wrists and move down her body, deliberately taking your time. Your hands slide along her sides, feeling how tiny she is beneath you. When you reach her thighs, you push them apart without gentleness, making space for your shoulders. She moans at the manhandling, her head falling back against the pillows.

You hook your fingers into her thong, pulling it to the side rather than removing it. The first thing that hits you is her scent—musky and sweet with a hint of sweat from dancing all night, but undeniably arousing. There's a faint trace of her perfume mixed with the raw smell of her arousal that makes your mouth water.

"Fuck, you smell good," you tell her, your breath hot against her inner thigh.

She's already wet, her folds glistening in the dim light. You study her for a moment—she's pink and swollen, clearly aroused. She's shaved but you can see and feel the slight roughness of hair starting to grow back. The texture is oddly intimate, more real than porn-perfect smoothness, the slight stubble creating friction against your fingers as you trace her outer lips.

You start slowly, just running your tongue along her seam, tasting her properly. She's tangy and sweet, with a hint of salt from the night's exertions. The flavor is addictive, making you groan against her. Her hips buck at the vibration, seeking more contact.

"Oh fuck," she gasps when you finally circle her clit with your tongue. Her hands find your hair, fingers tangling in it but not directing, just holding on.

You explore her with your tongue, discovering which motions make her thighs tremble, which spots make her breath catch. You alternate between broad, flat strokes and focused attention on her clit, learning what she responds to best.

"Please," she whimpers after a few minutes of this teasing. "I need more."

You slide one finger inside her while continuing to work with your tongue. She's incredibly tight, her inner walls gripping your digit eagerly. The contrast between your larger hand and her small body is stark—one finger feels substantial inside her.

"More," she urges, lifting her hips toward your face.

You add a second finger, feeling her stretch around the intrusion. You curl them upward, searching for that spot that will drive her wild. When you find it, her reaction is immediate and dramatic—her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips.

"There," she gasps, her hands now gripping the sheets beside her head. "Right fucking there."

She's watching you now, propped up slightly on her elbows, her gaze heavy-lidded but intense. The sight of you between her legs seems to turn her on almost as much as what you're doing to her. When your eyes meet, she bites her lip, a flush spreading across her chest.

You maintain eye contact as you suck her clit gently while stroking that spot inside her. Her breathing quickens, her stomach muscles visibly tensing with each curl of your fingers. Her wetness increases, running down your palm and wrist.

"Don't stop," she pleads, one hand reaching down to touch your shoulder, nails digging into your skin. "I'm getting close."

You increase the pressure of your tongue, maintaining a steady rhythm as her breathing becomes more erratic. You can feel her inner walls beginning to flutter around your fingers—the first signs of her approaching orgasm.

She reaches down with her free hand, spreading herself wider for you, giving you better access. The gesture is incredibly erotic—her taking an active role in her pleasure while still letting you control the pace.

"Just like that," she encourages, voice tight with building tension. "Don't change anything, please, I'm so close."

Her thighs start to tremble, her hips making small, involuntary movements against your face. You curl your fingers more firmly against that spot, sucking her clit with slightly more pressure, and that's what pushes her over the edge.

You feel her start to tense, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. The inner walls of her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers as her breathing becomes shallow and rapid. You maintain your rhythm, not changing a thing as her orgasm builds.

"Right there, right there," she chants, her voice tight and desperate. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna—"

She cuts herself off with a sharp gasp as her body goes rigid, suspended on the edge for several breathless seconds. Then she shatters, her back arching dramatically off the bed, thighs clamping around your head with surprising strength. Her release floods your hand and chin, her wetness increasing dramatically as she comes undone.

"Don't stop, don't stop," she begs as waves of pleasure roll through her. Her hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with tension. Her stomach muscles contract visibly with each pulse, her entire body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm.

You work her through it, continuing to stroke that spot inside while gently sucking her clit, feeling each aftershock ripple through her slender frame. Her pussy grips your fingers in rhythmic spasms, pulling them deeper as if trying to keep you inside.

Only when she weakly pushes at your forehead, oversensitive and spent, do you finally relent. You plant a soft kiss on her inner thigh before gently withdrawing your fingers, watching her twitch at even that small movement. Your hand and chin are soaked with her arousal, glistening in the dim light.

She collapses back, chest heaving, limbs splayed across the pastel sheets. Her skin is flushed pink from her cheeks down to her chest, a thin sheen of sweat making her glow in the dim light. Her thong is still pushed to the side, her pussy visibly swollen and wet from your attention.

"Holy shit," she breathes, one arm thrown across her eyes. "Give me a second."

But even as she's still recovering, you're already hard again—painfully so. The sight of her completely undone by your mouth and hands has your cock throbbing with need.

Before she can fully catch her breath, you flip her over onto her stomach in one smooth motion. She gasps in surprise but immediately pushes her ass up, instinctively assuming the position. She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with renewed interest.

"Harder," she says, her voice still breathless. "You can be rough with me."

You grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as you lean down to bite the sensitive junction between her neck and shoulder. She moans, the sound vibrating through her slender frame. Her nails dig into the sheets, bunching the fabric in her fists.

"Yes," she hisses, pushing back against you, her ass rubbing against your hard cock. "Like that."

You trail bites and kisses down her spine, feeling each vertebra under your lips. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingers easily spanning her sides. The pink skirt is still bunched around her waist, exposing her perfect ass and the thong still pushed to the side.

You grab the thin fabric of her thong and rip it off in one motion. She gasps, then laughs, the sound quickly turning into a moan as you push two fingers back inside her from this new angle.

"Fuck," she breathes, her back arching deeper, presenting herself to you even more. "Your fingers feel so good."

You curl your fingers upward, finding that spot again easily. Her reaction is immediate—her whole body shudders, a string of curses falling from her lips. You add a third finger, stretching her, watching her face twist in pleasure as she looks back at you.

"You're so fucking tight," you tell her, feeling her clench around your fingers. The view from behind is intoxicating—her slender back dipping into a perfect arch, pink skirt still bunched around her waist, her face half-turned so you can see her reactions.

"I want to feel you inside me," she says, voice husky with need, pushing back against your hand. "Now."

You position yourself behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding your cock to her entrance. From this angle, you can see how tiny she looks beneath you, her waist narrow enough for your hands to nearly encircle it, her ass perfectly round and invitingly raised.

"You're so fucking wet," you murmur, sliding your length through her folds to coat yourself in her arousal.

"Please," she whimpers, pushing back against you. "I need you inside me."

"Ask nicely," you tease, holding the head of your cock at her entrance but not pushing in.

She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes narrowed despite her vulnerable position. "Please fuck me," she says, but it sounds more like a demand than a plea. "I need to feel all of you inside me."

You push into her slowly, watching your cock disappear into her inch by inch. Her mouth falls open, a low moan escaping as she's stretched around you. The view is intoxicating—her back arched deeply, her skirt bunched around her waist, her long dark hair spilling across the pastel sheets, and your much larger frame positioned behind her smaller one.

When you're fully seated inside her, you both let out a shaky breath. She feels impossibly tight from this angle, her inner walls gripping you like a vise.

"Fuck, you're deep," she gasps, reaching back to grab your thigh, urging you to move.

You start with slow, shallow thrusts, watching her reactions carefully. Her fingers dig into the sheets, her face half-buried in the pillow but turned enough that you can see her expressions. Each time you push in, her features twist with a mixture of pleasure and sweet strain.

"Harder," she breathes, pushing back to meet your thrusts. "I won't break."

You tighten your grip on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you pick up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin joins the chorus of her moans and your heavy breathing, filling the dimly lit bedroom. Her cat ears have somehow managed to stay on through everything, wobbling with each thrust.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against her back, one hand sliding around to her throat. You don't squeeze, just apply gentle pressure, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. Her reaction is immediate—a full-body shudder and a tightening around your cock that nearly makes you lose control.

"Yes," she hisses, reaching back to grab your hip, encouraging you to go harder, deeper. "Fuck me like you mean it."

You pull your hand away from her throat only to deliver a sharp slap to her ass. The sound echoes in the room, followed immediately by her gasping moan. A pink handprint blooms on her pale skin, and you follow it with another slap to the other cheek.

"Again," she demands, her voice rough with desire. "Harder."

You comply, bringing your hand down with more force. She cries out, her inner walls clenching around you in response. The contrast between the delicate curve of her body and the harsh sound of your palm connecting with her skin is intoxicating.

You pull her upright, her back to your chest, your cock still deep inside her. With one hand, you gather her long hair, pulling it aside to expose the slender column of her neck. Your lips find her skin, tasting salt and the lingering sweetness of her perfume as you drag your tongue from the curve of her shoulder up to just behind her ear.

"Oh god," she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder, giving you better access.

You continue exploring her with your mouth—the nape of her neck, the sensitive spot where her shoulder meets her throat, the delicate ridge of her spine. Your free hand slides up her torso to cup one small breast, thumb circling her nipple as you lick a path across her shoulder blade.

She turns her face toward you as much as she can, and you lean in, gathering saliva in your mouth before letting it fall onto her parted lips. Her tongue darts out to catch it, a primal gesture that makes your cock throb inside her.

"Fuck, that's hot," she breathes, her pupils blown wide.

The headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall now as you guide her back down to her hands and knees, but neither of you care about the noise. Her moans get higher, more desperate, her body trembling beneath yours as you drive into her with increasing intensity. You can feel her starting to tighten around you, the first telltale signs of her approaching orgasm.

You reach around her slender body, your hand finding her clit, circling it in time with your thrusts. She cries out, a sharp, broken sound that tells you you've hit exactly the right combination.

"Right there," she gasps, her voice strained. "God, don't stop."

You maintain the rhythm, the pressure, the angle—everything that's working for her. Her inner walls flutter around you, gripping you tighter with each thrust. She's close, so close you can feel it in the way her body tenses beneath yours.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, her voice breaking on the last word. "Fuck, I'm so close—"

"Look at me," you demand, tugging her hair to turn her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours, glazed with pleasure but focused on you. "I want to see you when you cum."

That does it. She breaks apart beneath you, her body clenching around yours so tightly it almost hurts. A string of curses and broken moans falls from her lips as she comes undone. You can see every emotion cross her face—the initial shock, the overwhelming pleasure, the surrender. Her thighs tremble violently, her entire body quaking with the force of her orgasm.

The visual of her coming apart combined with the rhythmic grip of her body around your cock pushes you right to the edge. You're seconds away from your own release.

She senses it, somehow aware even through her own pleasure. "Wait," she gasps, reaching back to stop your movements. "Not yet."

Before you can react, she's wriggling away from you, turning around to face you. Despite having just experienced an intense orgasm, she moves with surprising agility, pushing you onto your back and straddling your thighs.

"I want you to cover me in your cum," she says, her voice raw and desperate, eyes wild with desire despite her recent release. "All over my face."

She leans down, taking you into her mouth again, tasting herself on your cock. The sight of her—flushed and sweaty from her orgasm, cat ears somehow still clinging to her head, eagerly sucking you after you've been inside her—is almost too much.

That's all it takes. You pull out quickly, one hand stroking yourself as she positions herself, her back against the pillows, cat ears still somehow clinging to her head as she looks up at you eagerly.

Her hands grip your thighs as you stroke yourself once, twice, three times before exploding across her face.

The sight is fucking obscene—ropes of white painting her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, one streak catching on her long lashes. She moans as it hits her, tongue darting out to taste what landed on her lips, eyes never leaving yours. A few drops land on the rhinestone necklace still around her neck, creating an obscene contrast with the delicate jewelry.

It's the most erotic thing you've ever seen in your life.

When you finally roll off her, both of you breathing hard, staring at her ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, she turns her head toward you with a satisfied smile, your release still glistening on her perfect face.

"So," she says, voice raspy and smug, "convinced about my costume now?"

You laugh, genuinely laugh, turning to face her. "Most convincing costume I've ever seen."

She stretches beside you, body elongating in one fluid motion, arms above her head, back arching slightly off the bed—every movement reminiscent of the animal she's dressed as. The motion causes her breasts to lift, and despite what you just did, you feel a stirring, your cock hardening once again.

She notices, a sly smile spreading across her cum-streaked face. "Careful, cowboy. Look at me like that again and we'll be going for round two before I even clean up."

"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?" you ask, reaching out to trail a finger along her collarbone.

She catches your hand, bringing it to her mouth and placing a kiss on your palm that somehow feels more intimate than everything you've just done.

"First," she says, sitting up and finally removing the cat ears that have somehow survived the entire encounter, "shower. Because as hot as this was—" she gestures to her face, "—I can't have a proper getting-to-know-you conversation with cum in my eyelashes."

You laugh again, surprised by how easy it feels with her despite the circumstances of your meeting.

"Lead the way, slutty cat," you say, and she pulls you up from the bed, toward her bathroom, her naked body as graceful in motion as it was beneath you.

And somehow, you know this night is just the beginning.

#cloudtrnsprncy #cloudtsmut #kpop smut #malereader #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung

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itsthecline · 7 months ago

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INTRODUCING… LONG TERM GF!READER

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ long term gf!reader who had been around forever , longer than rose , longer than wheezie even. she grew up next to the camerons , and so she always knew them— it helped that their parents were friends. she did girls days with her mom , sarah , and mrs. cameron once a month every month. after mrs. cameron passed away , they continued to do it , inviting wheezie to join them. mrs. cameron loved her , and always poked fun at her son for having a crush on her.

long term gf!reader who asked rafe out. it was fifth grade at lunch. she walked up to him and his friends at the table , standing over all of them. “do you want to be my boyfriend , rafe?” she didn’t realize that mrs. cameron saying ‘just ask him , honey’ implied not doing it at school lunch in front of everyone. obviously , a young rafe was a little embarrassed , cheeks and ears turning red , but he nodded and you skipped away happily. who knew they’d actually last?

long term gf!reader who was there for rafe for everything no matter what. she knew from a very young age that he was her soulmate , and so she also knew she had to stick it through. to be fair , it was easy when rafe lied about certain things so nothing seemed as bad. even if he hadn’t , he was sure she would go along with it anyway , but he felt better keeping her away from the dirty details as much as possible.

long term gf!reader who wanted babies and wanted them soon. after they got engaged probably when they were in barbados she kept bringing it up. “when are we going to have babies?” “how long do i have to wait for you to give me what i want?” “can we try for a baby now?” it was incessant , and rafe didn’t really mind. he wanted kids with you someday too , but he always said no. “no , honey. not yet,” he’d coo. when they did decide to start trying , she got pregnant right away. she dyed her hair back to her natural hair color , knowing it would be too much maintenance to keep bleaching it , and she went full mommy mode.

long term gf!reader who’s best friend was louisa cameron. genuinely , the youngest cameron stole her heart the minute she was introduced. she always babysat her when needed , had play dates with her growing up. she always loved babies , so wheezie was perfect. as they both grew up , she was the one to invite wheezie on the girls days. they’d have their own sleepovers despite rafe being annoyed she was sleeping in wheezie’s room down the hall rather his.

a/n okay , so this is going to be a regular series with some smau in there as well , so the fc is nicola bc she’s hot but ofc picture whoever you please for the parts that aren’t smau! this is going to be a lot of posts of them through their relationships ( and maybe some fics about the actual obx plotline thrown in every once in awhile ) but i want you guys sending ideas in as well because we all see rafe in a different light and i want to encapsulate all of that in this universe’s rafe:)

also: i was doomscrolling the other day and saw a series about high school girlfriend!reader and it inspired me to start this as well… as soon as i find that account u bet ur ass i’m sending y’all over there<3 and if y’all know who it is plssssss pls pls lmk

taglist @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

#introducing…#long term gf!reader #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron smut #rafe x you #outer banks rafe #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe obx

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sunsetcupid · 4 days ago

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GREEN WITH ENVY ; F1 GRID.

synopsis: When you find out that your celebrity crush is coming to the paddock, it is only natural that your boyfriend reacts a certain way, be it possessive or ostentatiously charming.

trigger warnings: Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive remarks; Mentions of abandonment

a message from the author: I think that the drivers would be so funny in this situation! (Note: I added Daniel Ricciardo, though he technically isn’t a driver anymore. *Sobs loudly*) More “what-if” situations coming soon!

ISACK HADJAR

He doesn’t act insecure. In fact, he acts more confident than usual. Puffing up his chest, pulling you closer to him, definitely using more physical touch and a lot of pet names.

You can see how his demeanor changes as soon as your celebrity crush pays attention to you. He’s not outwardly possessive; he knows that even as your boyfriend, he doesn’t own you, but he still doesn’t like the “greedy way” the celebrity is eyeing you.

He over analyzes everything – from the greeting you give them to how you squeal when they say that they’re a big fan of yours.

You have to comfort him later that night, running your fingers through his curls in the idle manner he absolutely adores. “Nobody is as amazing or perfect as you. Not even Timothee Chalamet.”

OSCAR PIASTRI

He hates being called icy, but that’s exactly how he acts when he finds out the news. Yeah, so what if your number-one celebrity crush is visiting the paddock? You’re his girlfriend, and no hot shot from Hollywood could ever take you away from him.

Yet the doubt still worms its way in. Especially when he sees just how flustered you become, cheeks burning and words a quick stammer, and he has the sudden urge to have a passionate make out session with you in front of them. Modesty? Gone.

He makes you wear his jersey – a papaya-colored one with his last name inked on in bright black letters. Just so they’re aware.

LANCE STROLL

He’s not worried at all. Instead, he’s the epitome of a “cool guy”. You’re surprised he’s not behaving weirdly, but you’re too embarrassed to ask. Later, you cave, and he says, “They’re meaningless to me. We’ve been dating for years now; you would have left already if you wanted to.”

Despite this, however, he still leans in close to you, blocking the celebrity off from getting too close. You love it. Lance is not a particularly controlling guy, but those little movements? Chef’s kiss.

Afterwards, Lance orders a big bouquet of flowers and surprises you with a new stack of books that had been on your wishlist. “Do you think that they know you as well as I do? That they love you as much as I do?”

LANDO NORRIS

“I’m going to tattoo ‘Lando Norris’s girlfriend’ on your head while you’re sleeping.” Lando warns you the night before the celebrity is due to arrive. You know he’s joking, but you can barely sleep – from both the threat and the excitement.

He turns into the most boastful, overly friendly person known to mankind. Loud laughter, rapid-fire jokes, anything to distract the celebrity from you. He even slaps the celebrity on the back, so forcefully they start coughing. (You almost started crying from laughing so hard.)

Adding onto this, he gets super competitive. He starts comparing accomplishments (“Was he in the running for the 2024 Driver’s Championship? I didn’t think so.”) to even the height difference (“I’m like ten centimeters taller than him! Do you want to date a garden gnome?”). It’s hilarious.

CHARLES LECLERC

He becomes quieter, more subdued. Rather than being bolder and more outgoing, he lets you spend time with the celebrity – though he’s fully aware of how long you’ve been crushing over them.

While you’re chatting it up, you can hear him muttering in French. Not even curse words, just sentences like, “Who does he think he is? He’s like a peacock, trying so obviously to flirt with her. She’s mine.”

You buy matching outfits to wear to quell his nerves, albeit Charles not vocalizing any of his fears – that you might decide he wasn’t good enough for you and run away forever. (A foolish delusion, because no one was better than Charles Leclerc.)

DANIEL RICCIARDO

When he finds out, he immediately throws on a dramatic act. “I’m going to be abandoned! You’ll be disgusted with me as soon as you lay eyes on them, and you’ll leave me forever!” The only way to get him to be quiet was to kiss him, and that turned into something a lot more steamy…(Not that you’re complaining!)

Before the celebrity arrives, he starts drilling you. “So, you like him because of their chiseled abs? Their humor? Their accent? I have to be prepared, baby. I don’t want them whisking you away.” You roll your eyes, but secretly, you’re in heaven. It’s so hard to make Daniel jealous, but this is the perfect way to do it. Or so you thought…

…Because the celebrity becomes quick friends with Daniel. Of course he does; Daniel’s personality is magnetic and full of charm. Later, Daniel kisses you on the forehead right as you’re snuggling into bed, and says, “You have an amazing taste in men, baby. He’s awesome.”

Credits: Dividers — @sisterlucifergraphics

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sttoru · 8 months ago

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clan leader!satoru, whose smile isn’t actually a. . . smile. it serves as a gentle (yet not-so-gentle) threat to whomever it is dedicated to. a lot of the gojo clan members, as well as members from other noble clans, have heard of that infamous smile and know of its true meaning.

ever since marrying you, that smile often finds its way onto his lips. it’s not because of you, but rather because of the ones interacting with you. satoru didn’t ever expect to feel so possessive about someone he initially didn’t care for.

a marriage of convenience is all that your relationship was for. it purely existed for the sake of a connection between two famous families. your first weeks together have been awkward. any form of affection - any touches or loving words - were for the sake of his image.

however that all was fated to change: satoru eventually found himself falling for his wife.

your kind personality, your subtle smiles, the embarrassed expression on your face whenever he teased you in front of others even if it was all a faux display- an act of being all lovey-dovey. your inner and outer beauty was slowly becoming more apparent to the white-haired man.

you don’t know when it started. you can’t recall why satoru is suddenly acting affectionate even behind closed doors. usually, he’d drop the act the second you’re in your chambers. now he continues to compliment you, pepper you with chaste kisses as long as you allowed him to… even refer to you as his ‘dear’, ‘pretty girl’ or ‘sweetheart’ to your face like it’s nothing.

you shrug off your own guards and maids when they curiously inform you about their lord’s sudden change of personality, which was supposedly all because of you.

“ah, my wife,” satoru’s voice echoes above the loud chatter in the main hall. you turn your head and find your heart racing for some reason as he addresses you in that gentle tone.

he makes his way through the crowd, eyes never leaving your face, even as other important figures try to catch his attention to talk business. “i was greatly worried about you,” your husband sighs.

a gloved hand cups your face and satoru leans in, his glossy lips inches from yours. you’d think this was part of the fake arrangement, but there’s this genuine hint of adoration behind his cerulean eyes that you cannot ignore.

“i— my apologies,” you murmur softly, eyes darting around the room while you try to ignore the loud thumping of your heart. “i was simply talking to one of the guards,” you explain and nod your head to the bulky man standing next to you.

the guard respectfully bows to satoru the second you introduce him. your husband doesn’t respond for a single second, his fingers twitching lightly at his side. he can’t stand the thought of you talking to another man while he isn’t around.

is it for your own safety? or is it because he’s jealous and immediately wants to get rid of any man who dares speak to his precious wife? perhaps it’s a mixture of both.

“i see,” satoru replies. his eyes darken for a second before he catches himself. the corners of his lips curl upwards, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

that familiar sight makes you nervous. you’ve seen it before, when your husband would subtly threaten others for whatever reason, while hiding his true feelings behind that smile.

��well,” satoru continues, his arm wrapping around your waist. he pulls you against his side and places a kiss on top of your head while glaring at the guard through his white eyelashes.

“thank you for keeping my wife safe,” the clan leader says through that tight smile, trying to keep it as ‘genuine’ looking as possible. he has a reputation and image to uphold after all.

you’re about to say something, but are cut off as satoru adds another comment. “i’m here now, so you can return to your post.”

it isn’t a suggestion. it is an order— a command. a disguised threat.

the guard immediately picks up on the subtle hint and nods without saying a word before walking back to his spot at the doors. you can hear the faint whispers from others as they also seem to recognise that change in satoru’s demeanour.

it’s not like you’re totally oblivious to what’s happening either. you look up at satoru and place a hand on his chest, trying to catch his attention. “satoru,” you whisper his name.

the white-haired man immediately snaps out of it and excitedly shoots you that boyish smile of his instead of the fake, cold one he wore on his face just a second ago.

“you called, my dear?” satoru tilts his head, bringing a hand to rest over yours on his chest. your eyes widen a bit at the way he seems to relax and look at you with that same devoted gaze.

you don’t think it’s an act anymore. the words die on your tongue and you can’t recall what you wanted to say anymore. those sparkling blue eyes and charming smile have you rendered speechless.

“…it’s nothing,” you mutter under your breath. you have no clue how you’ve managed to turn that once, cocky, overly confident and cold-hearted ruler into a total softie for you. it’s something you still need to process yourself.

satoru doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, glaring at the men who pass by, shooting them that fake, threatening smile if they looked like they desired to converse with you.

you’re his wife, and that’s that. he silently wonders when you’ll realise that he actually fell for you. perhaps you are already aware of it, but hide it from him on purpose.

whatever the case is, satoru will make sure that you know his true feelings for you. one day he will tell you those three words explicitly— if it wasn’t obvious enough through his sudden change of behavior.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x you #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk x female reader #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #is this a tease to my other clan!leader gojo fic? perhaps.... :D

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lqveharrington · 4 months ago

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Perfect Replacement | R.L.

summary: Remus begins to worry about your well-being after seeing you act much differently than before.

pairing: remus lupin x Black Family!reader

includes: use of Y/N, mentions of abuse (both mental and physical), unfair treatment, bullying, cursing, allusions to receiving the dark mark, burning out, angst, smallest bit of fluff (lmk if i missed any!)

a/n: lowkey, this one was sad and requested by someone a while ago… i’m swamped with my own school work so this was a little vent fic for me :)

From the moment you were born, Orion and Walburga knew what you were meant to be—what you would always be known as. You were the Black Family’s spare. If Sirius or Regulus was injured in a way magic wasn’t enough to heal them, you were the person they tore open to find missing parts. You were nothing but a tool.

Worst of all, they refused to recognize you as even part of their family. What they wanted was a male heir and—being the first born before Sirius by mere minutes—you ruined their lives. Sure, the legacy would’ve still been able to continue with Sirius, but Walburga and Orion were furious when they saw a girl be born into the Black Family.

It was always your fate to be their spare.

When you were old enough to attended Hogwarts, they were quick to dismiss your presence. You were no longer theirs to care for as long as you stayed there. Hell, they even called Sirius—who was sorted in Gryffindor—back for holiday while you—who was sorted into Slytherin—stayed at Hogwarts with the school's staff.

However, they learned that Sirius was no longer fit to be the heir of the Black family. So they did what they did best—throw you into the deep end with no safety. Instead of letting Sirius get away with his stupidity, you were to take over his responsibilities until Regulus was suited to become the heir.

You were constantly watched to ensure perfection. It didn't matter if you were the top of your class or not—you had to maintain the role of the perfect heir. The useless heir. Coming home every summer just to be scolded at was never ideal, but you tried. You pushed through all the extracurriculars until you couldn't feel the weight of pressure on you anymore. You just kept going.

You kept pushing and pushing until the worst thing happened at home.

Sirius left. He left you and Regulus with your wretched parents. He left you with more scars than you could count that you swore he didn't care much for you either. It truly was you against the entire Black family—with little help from Regulus whenever he wasn't being trained to be the Black family heir.

“Letter from mother.” Regulus tossed the cream envelope in your direction, unaware of how closed off and fragile you became since Sirius left.

You peeled the envelope open and did a quick scan of the letter, humming at the usual demands from you. Nothing new. “I need to go study, Reg. I’ll see you later."

“You'll come find me for lunch, right?” He grabbed your wrist like he would when he was younger, alarmed that his whole hand could wrap around the joint with ease.

“I need to study for my NEWTs.” You give him the best smile you could muster, making your steps quick as you left the Great Hall. You loved your younger brother, but your parents would have your head if they found out you were talking to him rather than studying for your final exams.

You swiftly looped around the castle corridors—potions, charms, and transfiguration textbooks in arm as you made your way toward the astronomy tower. No matter how many times you’ve studied in Hogwarts’ library, you found it easier to work in the tower. The library was filled with all kinds of students—even the ones who weren't there to study.

Just as you made a sharp turn to the tower stairs, you slammed into someone more than half your size—all your books and parchment scattering to the floor. Immediately, you apologized and rushed to grab the papers and books, face warm with embarrassment when the person handed you your quill your cousin Narcissa bought you.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” You clutch the books tighter to your chest and move around the figure, unaware that it was one of Sirius’ friends.

The one who watched you were a careful eye since you hopped onto the stool with a worried look in first year.

The Marauders were scattered about their dorm. Peter was munching on some kind of bread, Sirius was hanging upside down in his bed, and James was on his usual session about how Lily was the most perfect girl when Remus walked in with an unreadable expression.

James slowly came to a stop before tilting his head at the lanky boy, tossing a pillow in his direction. 'What happened at the library, Moony? Madam Pince refused to let you check out anymore books?"

Remus ignored James and caught the pillow with a swipe of his hand—his attention only on the curly-haired boy in front of him. "Padfoot, do you know what's going on with your sister? She looks like she might be ill.”

Sirius froze at the mention of you, ultimately falling from his spot on the bed. He rarely saw you back at home that he didn't know anything about you anymore. At least, not as much as he knew about Regulus.

“I… I don’t know.” He admitted and ran his fingers through his hair in guilt.

“You don’t know?” Remus repeated in disbelief. He didn't think that when Sirius left, he would forget all about his twin sister. She looked exactly like him—only now, she looked like she could break with one wrong touch. "She could be seriously sick—"

"Look, I'll get Regulus to ask her what's wrong." Sirius crossed his legs and frowned when Remus still looked unhappy. "What?"

"We both know you won't willingly talk to your brother." He said and stood from his spot, mind running through different scenarios as to why you looked so malnourished—why you were so malnourished.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at his best mate, "Why do you care so much about my sister?"

"Why don't you care more?" Remus scoffed and left the dorm, leaving the rest of the Marauders confused with his sudden interest in the Black's eldest child.

Though Remus cared little for the Black family, he knew you never wronged anyone. In fact, he believed you were Sirius' foil. When Sirius was off pranking someone with James, you were always studying for your next class. When you weren't studying, he found you speaking quietly with Regulus in the Great Hall. You were so quiet and reserved that Remus refused to believe you were Sirius' twin for so long.

He rarely spoke to you, but he knew something was definitely wrong. And he would get to the bottom of the issue.

“Miss Black, you need to take care of yourself. Your brother is concerned for you—“

“He should not be concerned for my wellbeing. Instead, he should be concerned about his grades in Care for Magical Creatures.” You huff and push away Madam Pomfrey’s wand from your arm, tugging your robes over your body in a rushed manner. “I am perfectly fine and need to get back to my studies before the night takes away all the light.”

You leave the hospital wing and glance at your watch, silently cursing yourself for wasting precious time on a silly check up Regulus insisted you get. Although—you had to admit— you were too exhausted to make the trek up the astronomy tower to study. So instead, you made your way toward the library instead, the candles in the corridors lighting your path to the quiet space ahead.

Finding an open table, you get to work as quickly as you can. You flip open you defense against the dark arts textbook and begin your studies, hands shaking and eyes blurring with how exhausted you were. Willing yourself to push on, you started to mutter the words you read, unaware of the brown-haired boy looming beside you.

“You’re not casting a spell, are you?” A voice spoke from your right, causing you to jerk in surprise.

Lifting your head up from the book, you meet warm, brown eyes, the feeling spreading across your chest before you pulled your attention toward the book once more. You couldn’t get distracted, not when you were running out of time before the holidays.

“No.” You answer truthfully before continuing to mutter about the three unforgiving curses, each one worse than the last. You’ve encountered two out of three of them and you prayed you never had to witness the last.

Right as you went to turn the page, the person moved to sit in front of you—your eye twitching in irritation. This was your spot for the rest of the evening and you would like to not be distracted by… whoever this person was.

Huffing, you flip the page in frustration and speak once more. This time with annoyance. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to study for—“

“I see that.” The mysterious figure pulled out his own book, raising his brows when you nearly looked up from your book to see what he was reading. So close. “I’m here to merely observe. You are the top of our graduating class.”

“Incorrect.” You keep a shaky finger on the last word you left off on, finally taking a proper look at the boy who decided to distract you. “I’m tied with…”

“You don’t want a tie?” Remus rested his head in his palm, hiding a small grin at your shocked expression.

You swallow thickly before going back to your book, refusing to acknowledge his presence for the rest of the time. It wasn’t like you were intimidated or embarrassed by the boy. You were just confused and stunned by him. Why was he suddenly interested in you when he stuck so close to your twin? Perhaps your mother or father sent him as a spy—but he was a half-blood, so you doubted that was the reason.

Remus sighed and began to read Jane Eyre, occasionally glancing in your direction. He noted that you were still here mentally—well, as far as a mere five minute interaction goes—but your physique seemed way off. Though you weren’t as tall as your brothers, you were a hell lot paler and way too ill-fed to even look remotely related to them.

By the time Madam Pince kicked the both of you out, Remus memorized the way you looked and stored it for later data. He thought that you would snap under the weight of all the textbooks and parchment you were carrying. He also swore you memorized each of the textbooks—catching you repeatedly murmur the different facts you learned over your hours of studying.

But as Remus went to turn toward the Great Hall, you continued to go straight down the corridor—worrying him. “Black, you’re not coming to have dinner?”

You stop walking and hesitate before settling on your normal excuse. “I’m not hungry.”

“You studied for over two hours. Surely a snack or even just water—“

“Lupin, I’m fine. I don’t need—“

Before you could even finish your sentence, a familiar voice rang out clearly. A voice you haven’t heard since he left you all alone.

“Moony! There you are! We’ve been looking for you.”Sirius clapped Remus on the back, unaware of your presence. He never truly acknowledged your being—you assumed he learned it from your mother and father. “Where were you?”

Remus’ eyes darted in your direction after the initial surprise from Sirius faded, but you were already fleeting down the hall—Mary Jane’s echoing with each step.

“Just…” He paused and shook his head, directing his attention back to the younger Black sibling and following him into the Great Hall. “Studying.”

Unfortunately for you, it became Remus' habit to constantly be around you when studying. No matter where you went to study—whether it was the damn astronomy tower or back of the library—he found you. It became impossible to hide from him and you knew you were losing valuable time studying if you spoke to him.

So you just stopped.

"I brought chocolate today." Remus spoke, finding you by the edge of the Black Lake. "A piece offering."

Your eyes briefly flickered up to meet his and glanced at the chocolate, but you immediately fell back into reading, making him frown. You were frustrating him just a tad bit. It was the day before holiday break and you decided to spend your time on the freezing grounds studying than inside with a cup of hot tea doing something else—he wasn't even close to figuring anything about you.

You were just a ghost of a person.

“Lupin, I can’t focus.” You whisper as you felt his gaze on you, frustratedly reading the same line over and over again.

Remus muttered a quick apology and went back to War and Peace. But he couldn't focus. All he could focus on was the sound of you shaking underneath all the layers of clothes you had on. He pursed his lips and sighed, removing his own overcoat and draping it over you.

Freezing at the sudden warmth enveloping your figure, you meet his brown eyes and give him a smile that could be noted as a grimace. "Thanks..."

He hummed and took a bite out of his chocolate, letting you read for a couple more minutes before speaking once more. "Do you plan on studying over the holidays as well?"

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek. Were you going to spend your entire holiday studying? "Depends on mother and father. They might coupe me up in my room and make me study all holiday. Or they may decide to finally let me join in opening gifts with Regulus—not like I'll get anything."

It took you a second to realize what you said to the boy sitting beside you. Honestly, you didn't know what he was doing to you.

Remus' eyes narrowed at your confession the second you covered your mouth with a shaking hand. You were never supposed to talk ill about your parents or you family—especially not to some… to a Gryffindor and half-blood!

“I-I have to go.” You stutter and quickly gather your things, rushing back into the castle without another glace toward Remus.

When you came back from the holidays, you looked even worse than before. Remus took one look at you and knew something went down back at the Black house. Although you did look more fed then most days, the circles underneath your eyes were more prominent and instead of rolling up your sweaters like usual, you wore them normally.

What happened?

But Remus wasn't the only one to notice the changes. For once, Regulus noted the changes in your demeanor. Rather than using your time to study for charms or transfiguration, you began to read books on the dark arts. The textbooks that once belonged to Bellatrix were passed down to you, causing Regulus to do his own digging into your sudden change of studies.

“What're you reading Trimbles' book for?” Regulus asked quietly as you pushed food around your plate, gaze locked on the ink in the book. "Did Bella get through to you about the dark arts?"

You subconsciously touch your left arm and bite your tongue. You could say it was your cousin's fault for she was the one to suggest you become one of them anyway. Yet you would never speak ill about her—you supposed it was her way of showing she cared for you.

"No, it's just interesting."' You clear your throat and stand from your spot. "Finish breakfast, I'll see you later."

"You didn't touch anything on your plate." Regulus frowned and stood up as well, following close behind and grabbing your left arm. "What are you hiding from me?"

You winced and quickly pulled away, "Nothing, Reg, leave me be."

"I can't do that! You're my sister and I care about you—"

Quickly finding your way out of a conversation you didn't want to have, you weaved your way in between the Gryffindor boys that deemed themselves as the Marauders, subconsciously grabbing Remus' hand and dragging him with you.

“Hey—!” Sirius gaped at his best friend being stolen from him, earning a glare from his younger brother.

“Fuck off, Sirius. Something’s wrong.” Regulus quickly spat out and chased after you and the lanky boy.

Sirius' eyebrows knitted together before letting out a loud sigh, following his brother to wherever you were taking Remus. After all the time he spent away, you and Regulus were still important to him—even if he rarely showed it.

"What's happening?" Remus stumbled into an empty classroom and glanced at your heavy breathing figure, face twisting in confusion as you leaned back on the wooden door in exhaustion. "Why were you running?"

"I didn't mean to pull you with me." You rub your face and wander over to a desk, sitting in the chair as your thoughts swallowed your mind. "I just needed an escape from Regulus. He can be nosy."

Still confused, Remus simply nodded and sat at the desk opposite of you, wincing when he heard Sirius' shouting from outside the class. You let out a quiet laugh at your brothers' bickering before those laughs quickly turned into quiet sobs, shoulders shaking from the weight of emotions packed into each one.

"Oh." Remus murmured and patted his pockets down, taking a bar of chocolate and snapping a piece off. “Eat, it’ll make you feel better.”

You wipe your tears and look down at the chocolate, your stomach growling at the lack of food you’ve eaten today. Sniffling, you take the chocolate and nibble on it, unaware of Remus’ smile.

“Better?” He asked softly, biting into the chocolate himself.

There wasn’t an answer from you, but he knew it helped somewhat—your tears subsided and all that could be heard was your occasional sniffling and hiccups.

Remus had so many questions he wanted to ask you yet he knew it wasn’t his place. Though only one really stuck out to him.

“Why did you bring me here?”

You purse your lips and fiddle with the loose strings on your sweater, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know.” You say truthfully. But before Remus could say anything else, you continued—eyes shut because to you, the confession was quite embarrassing. “Maybe I just got used to you always being there and I…” You drop your head into your hands and sigh loudly, “I trust you more than my whole family.”

He raised his brows but made no effort to say anything else—knowing you had more to say.

“You care for me in a way my siblings will never understand.” You murmur and peek between your fingers to find him slouched over to hear you clearly. “I can’t… I can’t tell you anything about what happened at home.” He opened his mouth to protest but you stopped him. “But I’ll consider keeping the odd friendship you chose to start.”

Remus narrowed his eyes at you and—for a brief moment—he wanted to refuse. He wanted to know what was happening, why you were more conscious about how you dressed. Yet he couldn’t find himself wanting to object your offer. If he could keep a close eye on you like this, so be it.

“You’ll tell me in due time, alright?” Remus gave you the rest of his chocolate bar, noticing the way you tugged your sleeve down once more.

“If it’s fitting by then.” You give him a weak smile. “Besides, I think I can still be the top of the class without you. After all, I am the perfect replacement.”

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mattsundaes · 1 year ago

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patience

soshiro hoshina x f!reader

It's more than a little difficult to hide your attraction to the Vice-Captain of the Third Division when you accidentally find yourself sparring with him in your pajamas in the middle of the night. Especially when he's wearing that goddamn shirt.

wc: 4k

c: 18+ ONLY, smut, slight power imbalance, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), edging, unprotected p in v

“You get sloppy when you’re tired.”

A knee digs into the back of your own as you find yourself pinned face down on the training mats, the steady grip of a hand trapping both of your wrists against the small of your back. The vice-captain’s voice is tinged with amusement as he lets you go, easily dodging the kick you send his way as you roll in the opposite direction and jump to your feet, breathing hard.

“Fuck you,” you pant out, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

He raises an eyebrow.

“—Vice-Captain Hoshina,” you finish, offering him a patronizing smile.

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, Hoshina begins to circle you slowly, “Officer Furuhashi had to do seventy pushups last week for that, ya know.”

While he’s not wrong about your sloppy footwork, the late hour is hardly the top contender of blame for your piss-poor performance in this impromptu sparring match.

Rather, the real issue at hand is the workout shirt that Hoshina’s currently wearing, the black, skin-tight material leaving little to the imagination as it clings to his firm, defined abdomen.

Clad in nothing but your pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you had made the mistake of slowing down to peek into the slightly ajar door to the training room on your way back to the dorms, curious who was still awake at such a late hour. Your breath had hitched at the sight of the vice-captain working through a series of complex sword maneuvers by himself, mouth going dry as you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of his bare hands and arms—features normally obscured by his suit on the field—and that goddamn shirt.

Naturally, he’d spotted you lingering and cajoled you inside, mouth curving sideways in a smirk as he reminded you of a few glaring mistakes you’d made earlier during training with the squad.

Now, your level of exhaustion is a moot point when it’s all you can do to reign in the traitorous swell of desire building in your chest as the sleeves of his shirt dig into his biceps each and every time he moves. The muscle that keeps fighting against the high neck of his shirt isn’t helping, either.

This heady, insistent tug you feel toward him, this dizzying, smoldering attraction that has a penchant for clouding your better judgment—it’s nothing new. Your eyes developed this unfortunate habit of instinctually straying to the vice-captain the day he volunteered to give you a tour of the base when you transferred to the Third Division, a problem that only increased tenfold the first time you had a front row seat to his…competency in dual swordsmanship.

(It’s borderline embarrassing—the way even thinking about him wielding those blades sets your heart racing.)

You’ve learned to ignore it, despite the flirtatious undercurrent to each and every interaction you share.

And yet—sparring alone with him right now while the rest of the base sleeps, sweat dripping down your back as your skin burns all over with the ghost of his touch, seeing this stripped down version of one of the Defense Force’s most lethal weapons in a moment that feels far more intimate than it has any right to be…it’s difficult to remember why you should.

Hoshina uses his forearm to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, tongue darting out along his bottom lip, and a subtle shudder runs through you as you track the unconscious movement. Unfortunately, his keen eyes don’t miss the trajectory of your waning focus, and he takes advantage of the opening, the room quickly spinning as you find yourself on the floor beneath him once again.

This time, you’re lying on your back, both hands pinned above your head, his fingers incidentally laced with your own. Hoshina’s wide-eyed and panting, and you can tell you at least accomplished something—he clearly hadn’t been intending to hit the floor with you until your survival instincts kicked in enough to gracelessly drag him down on top of you.

As you go to pull free, you find something solid pressed between your legs, and it’s an effort in and of itself to stifle your gasp at the feeling that instantly curls hotly in your gut at the friction. Belatedly, you reorient yourself to find that you had hooked your left leg around his waist during the fall, and the firm wall of muscle that you’re two seconds from accidentally dry humping is his thigh that’s slotted between your legs.

Hoshina’s face sobers as he stares down at you, and you swear you feel his fingers flex minutely against your own, his expression now unreadable.

Seemingly continuing his earlier thought, he muses, “Well, I guess I get sloppy when I’m distracted.” Your heart thunders in your chest as you find yourself balancing precariously on the tightrope of what could very well be an incredibly bad decision.

If you were smart, you’d let this moment pass.

If you were smart, you’d tap out and tell him you’re going to bed, letting out the rest of your frustration with a hand between your legs, your soft, quiet moans muffled by the spray of the shower water or the layers of your duvet.

But the words are wrestling their way past your teeth before you can stop yourself as you ask, “What could possibly distract the vice-captain of the Third Division?”

He laughs under his breath, and for a wild moment, you think he’s about to kiss you when he leans in, but his lips skirt the shell of your ear instead as he murmurs, “You don’t normally wear this when we’re trainin’ with everyone else.”

Hoshina’s lower half nudges you slightly for emphasis, his hands still occupied by your own, and you belatedly realize—with embarrassment—that you’re the one now essentially holding them in the grip of your fingers. However, the thought is quickly replaced by another jolt of pleasure as the movement presses his thigh just a hair more firmly against the heat between your legs.

At the slight widening of his eyes, you also realize something else—that soft, little moan in your head wasn’t so silent after all.

He tilts his head and sighs, “You make this real difficult for me sometimes.”

You’re far too aware of every place your bodies are touching.

“What do I make difficult?” you ask carefully, surprising yourself with your boldness.

He regards you with a look like you should already know what he’s referring to. “Ignoring the things I think about when I’m around you.”

Your mouth goes dry, a polar opposite to the arousal now soaking into your panties. “Maybe you should stop ignoring them,” you whisper before you can think better of it.

Hoshina groans, fingers tightening around yours, eyes falling shut. “Don’t say that.”

Freeing one of your hands from their entanglement with his, you reach up, pushing his dark violet locks out of his face. “Why not?”

He leans in, mouth so close to yours you can feel the heat of his exhales as he murmurs, “Cause I might be the vice-captain of this division, but I’m not above fucking you right here on the floor.”

Heat sears insistently in your lower abdomen, and you shift just enough to press into him again. He audibly breathes out through his nose, and you tilt your head slightly askew as you stare up at him. “Are you asking me to beg, then?”

You’re suddenly very grateful to have unconsciously pulled the door shut behind you when you walked in, given that this training room can only be opened from the outside with an authorized key fob after hours.

Hoshina laughs a little incredulously under his breath, tongue curling against the inside of his cheek. “I’ll make you a deal.”

You raise a brow, imploring him to continue.

“We’ll forget about those pushups for that mouth of yours, but…” he trails off, one finger ghosting over your lips. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

It’s instant—the way your brain briefly short circuits as you take in the full meaning of his words.

“I—what?”

He smirks. “You might be one of the most talented officers in this division, but your patience could really use some work.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

Smiling up at him sweetly, you shift so that your leg presses against the erection noticeably tented at the front of his pants. “Then teach me.”

You’re not prepared for it—the way all of the air leaves your lungs when Hoshina’s lips come crashing into yours. There’s no pretense to the way he claims your mouth, swallowing down the tiny little gasp that crawls up your throat, one hand cupping the side of your neck as the other reaches out to pin both of yours back to the floor. You push back a little, just for the thrill that arches down your spine when he tightens his grip, pinning you down even harder.

His tongue dances along the seam of your lips, thumb stroking the sensitive spot where your neck meets your jaw, and he groans a little when you part them, deepening the kiss. A blistering wave of arousal floods your veins as Hoshina does what can only be described as fucking his way into your mouth with his tongue, and you’re helpless to control how eagerly you take him in. Truthfully, you’ve never felt quite so turned on over the taste of someone else’s saliva, so desperate to feel the filthy, slick slide of their tongue and lips slotting and tangling with your own.

It takes you a minute to realize that you’ve started grinding against his thigh, but clearly he’s well aware, because as soon as you stop, he murmurs against your mouth, “Go ahead, keep going.”

Compiling without hesitation, you drag your clothed pussy down against the friction of his leg once more, and he bites down on your lip as you moan at the delicious sensation.

“Does that feel good?” he asks coyly.

You nod, losing any lingering senses of embarrassment over dry humping your vice-captain’s leg as you observe the way his pupils are blown wide with lust, gasping and panting as you rut against him even harder. Panties damp with arousal, you wouldn’t be surprised to find a wet spot forming against his pants, as you can already feel the surplus of sticky fluid dripping down your ass cheeks.

You could come like this.

“Stop.”

Freezing immediately at the tone of Hoshina’s voice, you open your half-lidded eyes to stare up at him, lips parted slightly.

“Didn’t say you could come yet,” he reminds you, expression tinged with amusement. “But show me how wet you are.”

He releases your hands, and you nearly whimper when he pulls his knee away, shifting to place his knees on either side of you. He slides both hands down your sides, stopping at your hips, and he trails two fingers along the waistband of your shorts, curling one of the short, loose strings around a digit before continuing his journey down your mound.

A hum of satisfaction leaves his lips as he feels the way your juices have soaked clear through the little cotton shorts. You whine in frustration when he drags a slow, deliberate circle over your swollen clit through the fabric, rocking your hips upward.

Hoshina looks like he wants to say something, possibly to chide you for your impatient behavior, but clearly the other thought in his head wins out when he slides his hand up the bottom of your shorts and hooks a finger in your underwear, tugging them aside.

Despite his teasing, the pressure of his fingers through your clothing is still nothing compared to the feather-light touch of his fingers drifting down the length of your slit.

“Fuck,” he murmurs softly in approval, sliding one digit into your wet hole.

Your pussy spasms at the sensation, and you moan for him, which only spurs him on further, earning you a second finger. The stretch still isn’t enough, and you buck your hips into his touch eagerly.

“How the fuck are you so wet,” he mutters, one hand slipping up your shirt to clutch your side as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the lewd, wet squelch contending with the rising volume of your moans.

It’s impressive—how close you are to coming already with just two of his fingers massaging your slick, tight walls, his thumb barely teasing over the bud of your throbbing clit. It’s nearly laughable compared to how long it took the last man who touched you to get you off.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to come,” Hoshina comments, curling his fingers inside of you, and you gasp.

He swiftly removes them, lips curling upward at the dismayed look on your face as you cant your hips upward into nothing, the wave of pleasure building inside of you unceremoniously crashing at the breakers before reaching the shore.

“Hoshina,” you whimper, not caring if it sounds a little pathetic as your chest heaves.

“I thought we were working on your patience,” he replies, before sticking your fingers in his mouth and licking your slick arousal clean off of them.

The warmth stirring inside of you turns molten, and your nipples feel achingly hard against the cotton fabric of your t-shirt. When he reaches down to cup your chin, your mouth falls open of its own volition, and you don’t hesitate to take his spit-soaked fingers between your lips instead.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes out as you suck on the digits, a thin trail of saliva escaping in the process and dribbling past your lips.

You reach up, threading your fingers into his hair, and you tug his mouth down toward yours. He strays off course, licking the spit from your chin and dragging his tongue across your lips.

He follows the curve of your jaw with his mouth, lips blazing a trail of kisses down the side of your neck until he begins to nip and suck at your collarbone while his hands slide down to ruck up your t-shirt. He seems pleased by your lack of a bra, eyes darkening at the sight of your plush breasts bared before him. His fingers are precise as they cup one, thumb slowly dragging across your peaked nipple before he leans in and laps at the supple, sensitive skin.

You arch upward into his touch, gasping out his name, and he groans, taking your peaked bud into his mouth. Despite the fact that you know he won’t let you finish, you reach between your legs anyway, keening as you dip two fingers into your empty, wet cunt while Hoshina turns his attention to filthily sucking on your other breast. Legs spreading wider against the cage of his own, you plunge a third finger in, and Hoshina makes a displeased sound, mouth abandoning your tits to trail down your stomach.

“D’you think of me when you touch yourself?” he asks with a hint of amusement in his voice, his hands gently pulling yours away from between your legs before sliding off your shorts and panties.

“Maybe,” you pant out, fingers now pressing down into the soft mats beneath you.

“Maybe?” he echoes, nose brushing against your clit.

He pauses, and you can feel the warm huff of air that hits your slit as you whimper a strangled “Yes” when he lazily begins to slide a single finger back into your needy cunt.

Another fresh thrill of arousal shudders through you as he calmly replies, “Good girl,” before he spreads your legs even wider and drags his tongue through your folds.

You blink back the spots from the bright ceiling lights that dance against your eyelids as your entire body arches upward off of the mats, the grip of his hands on the globes of your ass the only thing keeping you grounded as Hoshina groans lewdly at the taste of your pussy, lapping another broad, hungry stroke,

You’d do anything to come at this point, tears now pricking at the corners of your eyes as another blazing hot onslaught of pleasure trickles through your limbs, ruthlessly dragging you toward the edge.

He abruptly stops again, his lips covered in the slick sheen of your arousal when he looks up at you.

“Hoshina, please,” you whimper.

“Soshiro,” he exhales roughly, hips aligning with yours as he makes his way up your body to press a wet, filthy kiss to your lips.

“Soshiro,” you repeat a little breathlessly, and he kisses you again, more roughly this time.

You can feel his thick erection as it presses down against your naked mound through his pants, and there’s little you can do to hold back your urge to roll your hips upward, dragging your wet, naked heat along his shaft.

“Soshiro,” you say again, more desperately this time, and he groans, grinding back down against you with more fervor at the sound of his name on your lips.

Slipping a hand between your bodies, your fingers fumble with the button of his pants, and he’s quick to take over, making quick work of the zipper. He guides your hand to his dick, wrapping your fingers around its thick girth as he asks, “You wanna feel this inside of you?”

The mere suggestion makes your woefully empty walls clench, and you can feel a fresh dribble of arousal leak from you. Giving his cock a few experimental pumps, you nod feverishly.

“Put it in then,” he murmurs, and there’s something undeniably erotic about the way he lazily stares down at you, waiting.

You guide his shaft toward your slick cunt, rejoicing just a bit in the slight shudder that wracks through him as you rub the flushed, leaking head of his cock against your slippery folds, his precum mixing with the lubrication of your wet juices.

If you thought you were desperate to come on his fingers and tongue, the heady buzz of need that’s been steadily buzzing inside of you is nothing compared to the gushing flood of desperation at the feeling of Hoshina’s length splitting you open. You’re a little too tight for him, but it feels so good—the way he replaces your hand with his own to stuff his cock the rest of the way inside of you. Your cunt greedily clenches down on each inch until you’re suddenly empty again.

Hoshina—Soshiro—fucks like he fights: all teasing, taunting confidence. Every move he makes is pointed, purposeful. So you know he’s left you woefully empty now solely to bask in your frustrated reaction, just to hear your subsequent gasp of pleasure when he plunges back inside of you once more.

You’re so fucking sensitive right now, it’s ridiculous—white-hot bursts of pleasure ignite in your abdomen with every little push and drag of the shape of his cock against the plush, tight grip of your cunt.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he hisses, exhaling roughly as he pulls out of you entirely once more, firmly gripping the base of his cock like he’s just as close to coming as you are.

Leaning down, Hoshina drags his lips across yours in some messy approximation of a kiss, his breath hot against your cheek as his mouth veers off. Turning your head to the side, you nip at his bottom lip, and he molds his mouth to yours, tongue slipping into your mouth.

Your muscles tense with anticipation as you feel the heavy weight of his cock pressing against your cunt, your ass lifting off of the mat to chase the friction with brazen need. But Hoshina’s hand slips between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his shaft, and he positions himself lengthwise with your slit.

Any sounds of protest promptly die in your throat, only to be replaced by a wanton moan that Hoshina swallows down as he deepens the kiss while he begins to roll his hips, sliding his throbbing cock up and down through your drenched, sticky folds.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, fingers digging into his back as you writhe beneath him, nearly seeing stars each time the head of his dick catches against your sensitive, swollen clit.

There’s a thin line of spit between your lips as he breaks the kiss, watching you burn from the inside out with relentless, intoxicating tremors of pleasure.

“Not yet,” Hoshina murmurs, slowing the rocking of his hips as he lines himself with your quivering entrance once more. “When I make you come, it’ll be on my cock.”

When he buries himself inside of you this time, you choke out a sob, the ache between your thighs reaching a fever pitch as he stuffs your pussy full to the hilt. And you swear he must feel the way your cunt is gripping him—begging him to stay buried deep inside of you, to finally let you cream all over his cock—because he sounds wrecked as he roughly moans your name against your mouth.

One of his hands slides along your arm, fingertips lacing with yours as the other cups your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple.

“You feel so fucking good,” he exhales, eyes wide, his hair far more mussed than you’ve ever seen it on the battlefield.

Despite the protest of your trembling, tightly-wound limbs, you wrap your legs around his waist, keening as you use the heel of your foot to press him even deeper inside of you and pant out, “Harder.”

He doesn’t hesitate to oblige, his steady strokes turning rough when he begins to pound into you, a litany of curses tumbling from his lips as your tits shake with each snap of his hips.

You’re so fucking close—and you know he feels it, how fucking badly you want to give in to this torrential downpour of pleasure that’s threatening to drag you under.

“Come for me,” he finally commands in a sultry, gravelly tone that you’re certain will fucking haunt your wet dreams for years to come.

It’s not difficult to obey—not when your entire body has been reduced to a dripping, trembling, desperate coil of tension, slipping along the tightrope of a tauntingly close climax for far too long. Shockwaves of the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt grip every nerve ending from head to toe as your climax erupts, and Hoshina’s groan is downright filthy as he feels your pussy gush all over his cock.

“Shit,” he pants out, muscles tensing hard as you ride out your orgasm, eyes falling shut while your cunt spasms and contracts against his shaft. “Shit, shit.”

You’ve only just finished when he quickly pulls his cock from your quivering hole and groans loudly, barely giving his shaft half a stroke before ropes of hot, thick cum are spurting all over your bare chest, spilling all over your tits.

It’s quiet as he sits there kneeling between your spread legs, chest heaving just as hard as yours as you try to wrap your head around what the fuck just happened. Subtly, you reach down to pinch your thigh, not quite convinced your late night waltz to the kitchen wasn’t just the product of a fucked up dream.

Hoshina shrugs off his shirt, hardly giving you time to ogle what the hell he’s been hiding beneath there before he begins wiping his cum off of your chest. When he’s finished, he stands, and you slip back into your clothes as you watch him ball up his soiled shirt and grab his jacket.

He pulls you to your feet, and the way his hands slide down your sides to smooth down your wrinkled t-shirt is oddly intimate, his fingers straying lower to briefly toy with the hem of your shorts. Instead of putting on his jacket to make up for his lack of a shirt, he reaches around you to settle it over your shoulders, the familiar, dizzying scent that you’ve come to associate with him enveloping your senses.

–

And when you accidentally wear his jacket to training the next morning, you find what must be a spare key card to his room left nestled in one of the pockets.

There’s a coy smile on his lips when he spots you staring down at the white piece of plastic, shrugging before he returns his attention to the rest of the gathered officers.

#soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #kaiju no. 8 #dee writes

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