#flowing fanciful fabric

[surferofrowdybliss]

©Deborah Coulter 2024

*Collage for week of May 26...a passion for spacious outbursts in colorful flights of fancy.

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] You = me?

LIs react to you/MC showing up to a date dressed exactly like them.

(Genre: Fluff; tw: mild suggestiveness)

SYLUS 

You stroll in with a suit jacket worn exactly the way he does- draped like a cape, the crow brooch glinting under the dim ambient light of the restaurant. Sylus raises a brow as he takes in your appearance.

"Kitten," he purrs, standing to pull out a chair for you. "Are you mocking me… or tempting me?" His fingers brush the brooch. "Because if it’s the latter, this game ends with that outfit on my floor." 

It sends an electrifying heat coiling deep within you, but you refuse to let your composure slip just yet.

You mimic his posture, chin lifted. "I just wanted to see if I could pull off power better than you." 

He laughs, low and indulgent. "Oh, you do."  

___

XAVIER 

Xavier freezes mid-sip when he sees you in his signature hoodie-and-tee combo, the tea hovering in front of his face as he looks, or rather, stares. His cup clinks when he sets it down.

 "You're… me."  

You wink, copying his serene smile and slipping into the seat opposite him. "Do I look like a fallen star now?"  

He reaches out, fingertips grazing the fabric. "No. You look like everything… everything I love,"  

Then- rare mischief flashes. “You'd look even better with me. At my place, in my be-”

“Xavier!” You yelp, stopping him from finishing what he had to say.

He beams at you. “I meant, napping in a hoodie is very comfortable. So we should try it together,”

___

ZAYNE 

Zayne’s chopsticks pause over his plate when you slide into the booth, dressed in his go-to all-black attire.

His stare lingers on you.

 "…You even got the correct height for the rolled sleeves."  

You adjust imaginary glasses. "Based on observational data, this was the optimal outfit for unconventional seduction."  

A beat. Then- he leans in, his voice a whisper. "Your confidence interval is 100%."  

Your heart flutters in your chest at the way a hint of a smirk grazes his lips.

"Let's eat now, otherwise the soup dumplings will get cold." He says lightly to remind you to sit, picking one up with practiced ease and placing it into your bowl.

His gaze for the rest of the evening is weighted with a certain intensity, one that promises more to come, once you return home with him.

___

RAFAYEL

“Hey Rafayel,” you greet, your hand brushing his shoulder lightly as you walk in from behind him. “Sorry I'm late,”

There's a short beat of silence.

Rafayel's butter knife clatters onto the plate. "Is that-? Are you? ME?!"  

You do a spin, the white fabric flowing around you. "Who else?"  

He springs up, hands fluttering over your hair and outfit. "Oh, Miss Bodyguard you look absolutely stunning- wait, do a pose! Pose like I do!"  

You flick your hair and angle your shoulder to pose. His jaw drops.

 "I’m OBSESSED! This is art!"  He declares.

Then, suddenly, he takes your hands into his. His tone turns serious as he asks you softly. "But you have to tell me. Am I also art to you, Miss Bodyguard?”  

You grin at him. “Of course, you're the true embodiment of art itself,”

He preens, bringing your hand up and pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand. Then another, and another, until you almost have to physically sit him back down on his chair and remind him to stop the PDA and eat.

--- 

CALEB 

Caleb chokes on his water when he sees your handmade sweater. He turns away quickly, coughing and spluttering into his elbow before he spews water all over the fancy steak frites on the table.

You make it to the corner table, a small little alcove that has an L-shaped sofa bench against the wall. With him being closer now, you can see that pink tinges the tips of his ears as he clears his throat. "You- you made this? For our date? For me?"  

You mimic his shy grin, sliding your bag off your shoulder as you slide into the plush bench, knees touching his. You stretch out your arm so that he can admire your handiwork. "Just a bit of stitching with ready-made items. Had to match my favorite person."  

His hands hover, like he’s afraid to wrinkle it. "I… I love it.. And the sweater paws- pipsqueak, that should be illegal,”

“Too cute to handle?” You tease.

He pinches your cheek, then squishes you in a tight hug. “Never, pipsqueak.”

His heartbeat says otherwise.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Concept: Elrond is, by Middle-Earth standards, a perfectly respectable level of fancy. You know, he's an elf-lord, he has plenty of robes with intricate embroidery or layers of flowing fabric, he wears finely-crafted jewelry, especially during formal occasions. He's elegant, but not gaudy– there are some tasteful references to his various ancestors in his outfits, he's got a whole image. He assumes that this is like, standard for the Noldor.

What Elrond failed to realize when he sailed to Valinor is that the expectations for "Middle-Earth elf lord with vaguely Noldorian implications" and "Noldor prince in the Blessed Realm" are two very different things. He goes to a feast and everyone is dressed like they'll die if they're not wearing four layers of skirts and at least 20 pounds of gems and precious metals. He shows up to Finarfin's court wearing more jewelry than he ever would've worn in Rivendell and people still flash him strange looks and ask him whether he wasn't feeling up to dressing up that night. He'll braid his hair in the half-up half-down style he often wore in Rivendell and it'll cause a scandal because– gasp– Elrond had part of his hair loose. In public. Noldor keep giving him jewelry because they've collectively decided that he's clearly been deprived in Middle Earth. He's confused and a little bit afraid, frankly.

Thankfully, most of the attention is taken off Elrond when Tirion is engulfed in drama the likes of which hasn't been seen for hundreds of years. The cause? Galadriel showing up in Tirion with her hair entirely loose, and no jewelry to speak of. Her robes are entirely plain. Her only adornment is her unbearably smug smirk.

[mcpostinghours]

I'm going to torment y'all with more Obey Me posting, here's what sorts of dresses I think the boys would pick for MC ( regardless of gender)

Lucifer: He can act like he's not as horny as his brothers, but I think he would imagine something super form fitting. Classy, true, but form fitting and probably black or blue or red. Feather details are a bonus.

Mammon: Thinks MC is so, SO hot, so something short and revealing, decorated in glitter and gold. Obviously something in black and gold. That being said he'd also all but faint to see them in something white and shining, loosely hanging over them like some old depictions of the gods.

Leviathan: Also horny, but also a nerd. Something with fantasy elements, and definitely at least one leg slit. He also likes oceanic colors, or orange to match him of course. Tbh his dream dress for MC would make them look like a mermaid.

Asmodeous: He's also horny (noticing a trend) but he ALSO loves fashion. I think his ideal dress would look like really really fancy lingerie. Definitely heavy on the lace, and definitely something in pink or white.

Satan: A hopeless romantic who loves fairytales? He absolutely would choose some kind of princess looking gown, with a structured bodice and fluffy skirt. Naturally he'd like something in green, or maybe purple.

Beelzebub: I feel like he doesn't think about this kind of stuff much, but if pressed he'd probably pick something short and cute. Or something that made MC's butt look good, he's totally an ass man. I feel like he'd like the color red too, or black.

Belphegor: Now he would want something that's soft and nice to touch, so probably something silk. Naturally he'd like something in purple or deep blue, super dreamy nighttime colors. It also doesn't matter how small your boobs are or if you even have them, this guy wants to see and rest his head on your cleavage. (Brat)

Diavolo: Something luxurious and regal, he wants to show MC the extent of what he can offer them. Also something white and gold, it's gonna end up looking like a wedding dress. He does not care, in fact that's a bonus. Something that glitters and makes them look even more divine. (He low-key wants to make them look more gorgeous than the angels as a flex)

Barbatos: Something slinky and formal. Something that matches the turquoise of his tail. Where Mammon would drape MC in gold, Barbatos goes for jewels. On MC's neck, chest, in their hair. He wants to see them glimmer.

Simeon: Something sweet and power blue. He prefers fabrics that drape and flow, loosely hightlighting their form. He'd never admit it but he also has a thing for dresses that are a bit transparent...

Solomon: While this asshole would probably say he'd prefer them nude, there is a legitimate answer. He would like a dress that looks like the night sky, black with glittering silver stones. Something that makes MC look as magical as he thinks they are. That being said he also wants a really REALLY high leg slit with a garter. He'd have a conniption.

Edit: I have now illustrated part of this:

[nerdygirlramblings]

cw: poorly executed accents, technological inaccuracies

previous

Over the week between Laswell requesting you go off your scent blockers and the charity event, the barracks slowly carries lingering traces of sun-ripened berries and arid soil, your natural scent. The team is entranced. It hasn't escaped any of them how well your scent compliments theirs. You and Gaz smell like all the best parts of springtime. Simon's sharp acidic scent is tempered by your sweetness. When you and Soap are together, it's hard not to picture seaside picnics. And when Price is in the room with you, the others are remembering crisp, cozy autumn days.

Your natural scent grows as the blockers work their way out of your system, as does your control over it. "How'd ya learn that, Ren?" Price asks one night, back to you as he stirs his tea. As soon as you picked up on his steps, the strawberry sweetness in the air decreased.

The couch creaks as you shift to face him, turning away from the dossiers on the low table in front of you. "After I presented, Dad used ta pull me inta the kitchen for lessons. He told me ta picture my scent like the dials on an equalizer. Taught me how I could ground myself ta turn the volume down on any particular smell. Especially how I could dampen things like fear. And, of course, how to project certain scents."

Your eyes leave his face, looking at the wall instead. "Being an omega in the service is hard, so I used the blockers because conscious scent manipulation takes a bunch of energy, and I wanted ta focus my energy on the job." You drop your voice and whisper, "And I didn't want ta spend all my energy on something that essentially soothed an alpha's ego."

He comes over and sits with you. "Well, if ya choose, after this op, ya don't need ta go back on 'em. Ya don't gotta protect me and Ghost." He grins and bumps your shoulder, and if he's hoping that you off your blockers means the pack can have a proper scenting, he gives nothing away.

The night of the op finds you in a fancy hotel room somewhere in St. James, several floors above the charity event. You're set up into adjoining rooms: one for you and one for the rest of the team. The other room will serve as the communication hub while you and Gaz - because Price saw how your scent was affecting Soap, the doe eyes he turned on you when you weren't paying attention, and didn't trust him to be able to focus on the op if he were at your side - go to the auction to find Arella.

You'd gone shopping with Adam several days before, under Kate's orders to get appropriate attire. The dress he put you in is more extravagant than anything you would ever have selected, but after a few quick photos to Kate who deemed it perfect, it was off the rack and in your hands. Strapless with a fitted bodice with enough structure to hold you and a skirt that flowed like water, except because it's steel grey, it moves more like liquid metal. There's a sizable slit, up to your thigh but is mostly hidden in the folds of silky fabric, which allows you quick access to the tiny holster you strapped there.

Fashion was never something you were interested in, so Adam took it upon himself to find some simple YouTube makeup tutorials, then made sure you had all the necessary products. You were annoyed about the hassle with the makeup, so Adam made sure the hair tutorial was simple yet elegant and didn't require a mountain of products to pull off.

Though you were going in without scent blockers, Kate didn't plan to risk you, even with the support of a beta, to an alpha's teeth. She had Adam buy the most intricate collar necklace you'd ever seen. Geometrically structured with metal rods, it seemed more like a piece of art than a piece of jewelry. When you draped it across your neck and collarbone, it prevented an alpha from getting his teeth on your scent gland but still allowed you to project your scent unencumbered.

Being undercover didn't allow for the traditional communication hardware, so the boys had come up with an ingenious pair of earrings whose large geometric wrap both matched the necklace and served as an earpiece. They also fitted a mic into the structure of your necklace. The whole task force would be with you all night.

When you finish getting dressed and fixing both hair and makeup to the best of your ability to follow Adam's selected videos, you knock on the door between the room you'd been assigned and where the rest of your pack task force is preparing. You need both your escort and your comms before you head for the lift.

An hour later and you're on your second circuit of the room, Gaz at your elbow, holding your drink. There will be some expectation to drink while you're here, but Price had taught you ways to make it look like you were drinking or as though you did not need a refill during those trainings at the pubs around base. Static crackles in your ear and you hear Price's baritone come through as if he were standing beside you. You've practiced not reacting when the comms go off, but you're still a little startled. "No sign of Arella yet, but Spinner's on the far side a' the room, left a' the bar but looking out on the dance floor."

Neither you nor Gaz is in a position to see him, so Gaz lightly takes your hand and guides you toward the balcony door with a hand low on your back. It allows you both to get quick glimpses of the man, older, polished, and with a petite blonde dressed in ice white standing very close. Though you're too far to see any potential mating mark, she's wearing a collar necklace not dissimilar to yours.

"I think Spinner's got an omega with him," you say. "I might be able ta get information from her if I get her alone. "

"Appreciate the initiative, Ren," price rumbles, "but she's not our priority. Technically, neither's Spinner, but it's good ta keep eyes on 'im just in case." He pauses momentarily before coming over the comms again with, "Not going ta tell ya not to talk ta her if the situation arises, but stay on mission."

"Copy that, Captain," you respond.

Waiting for Arella gets frustrating especially as you watch people continually approach Spinner, who's taken up residence at a high top table on the outskirts of the party. You snatch the champagne flute from Gaz's hand and quickly tip the contents back. Squaring your shoulders, you look at him and say, "Dance wi' me." For a moment all he does is look at you, and you can't read the emotion in his eyes. You power through and tell him, "If we're dancing, we can get closer ta Spinner's table and pick up snatches of conversation. "

Pulling back, you search his face. "I know ya've got the hardware on yer phone ta clone Arella's device with some prolonged exposure, but is it possible fer it ta pick up short bursts a' data off other phones it's near?"

Gaz looks at you in awe. "Ren, that's brilliant! Cap, ya hear that suggestion?"

"Affirmative," Price replies, "but I'll be damned if I understand it."

"Just get the systems on yer end ready fer a massive data dump. It's gunna be fragmentary. Laswell's analysts are gunna have a hell of a time going through it. We may need ta send them some whiskey and good cigars, but honestly, if this pans out even a little bit, we'll be able to get a ton a' information on the kinds of people Spinner's meeting with. Maybe Arella's is not the only one who's dirty."

Once they get to go ahead from Price, Gaz pulls you close and takes to the dance floor. You'd learned how to dance once, long ago, but it's clear this man is trained. He waltzes you through the crowd near to the edge where Spinner's settled, and you hope to hell this idea works.

next

an: this is sort of what I envisioned for Ren's necklace, but more modernist straight lines

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed @honestlymassivetrash @thebumbqueen @maliamaiden @mordacioust @bina-passion-fruit @kittygonap @wanderingoperator @ghost-is-my-bbg @wolfbc97

[yakutarts]

Nightmare and Dream but feral, non-skeletal body!

For the love of god PLEASE click on the image for better quality + close ups and clothed version under the cut!!

Would you kiss them?

Video process:

I made these using a specific context

A while ages ago I drew and posted a drawing of Nightmare and Dream on their light ball form but with some alterations/personal headcanons.

On the post, I expressed my desire to draw the twins in a universe were Nim didn’t need to give them bodies, and just let them grow naturally. And specifically give them an animalistic appearance, instead of a humanoid one like most artist do.

You can see on the process video that it took me 1000 sketches to make something that looked good and I was happy with, the video is obviously sped up, the total time it took me to make this was 28 hours and 15 minutes.

Now explaining some things:

Why are they so big?

I read on a post made by Joku that Nim, before giving them skeleton bodies, tried to make them human ones, but the pure amount of magic and power the twins had made the human bodies explode or some shit. So she picked skeletons since the magic could flow freely through the bones without being confined by muscle and flesh. That made me think if their power had physical forms, it would be gigantic. So I gave them gigantic forms to better represent their status of strength and power, beings made from raw magic to serve as guardians of all emotions throughout the multiverse, of course I needed to make them big and intimidating!

Why the horns?

Artistic design choice, I gave them little horns and a chubby tail in their light ball form to purposefully make them more animalistic, wanted to keep it while making these. Also just giving them a smooth head with nothing much going on looked weird and boring.

Why the draconian look?

Dragons had been created and depicted as symbols of pure power above humanity and worshipped as deities throughout several cultures around the world, different depictions of dragons has been one of the only things present among almost all cultures, like a default folklore creature. While I tried to incorporate other mythical creatures in the design, the draconic body plan felt more right due to the influence of dragons on human beliefs, and their representation as magical and powerful beings beyond human comprehension. Plus I just really love drawing dragons.

Why the clothing choice? Also why is Dream half naked while Nightmare has everything covered?

While designing the clothes for Nightmare, I used as reference clothing that usually royalty would wear, Nightmare has a really big ego and sees himself as a king, so he uses fancy, expensive clothing and jewelry, adapted and designed for his anatomy. Not practical for battle, but his corruption can go through the fabric without damaging it, and most people and monsters just run when they see him, so he doesn’t worry about it getting dirty or tearing, Nightmare just expects every soul to instantly submit when they see him, so he never worries about getting into a battle and getting dirty he has that big of an ego.

Dream is the opposite, his style of clothing much more practical for running, jumping, flying, fighting and general exercise. He has 4 bags in total, 2 on each side, inside them he keeps several items, be it healing food, magical artifacts, first aid kit, gifts he receives, stuff he buys or random things he finds and wants to take home with him. Dream’s crown is now a colar couldn’t figure out how to make it work with the head shape and horns, his cape is from his official design, but changed to white, was planning to make it yellow but when I looked at it my eyes hurt because there was too much yellow everywhere. I made Dream’s clothes with the intent to match his official design, I didn’t to the same for nightmare because a turtle neck with a hoodie on a dragon would make him more huggable than intimidating. Plus I like to think that the leg warmers was a gift from Blue, and the ring on his horn a gift from Ink. Didn’t add more stuff on him because I couldn’t think of something that would look good and match Dream’s vibe, the rest of his clothes on his official design didn’t translate well here. Oh, while I was drawing this, I drew the colar and the leg warmers first, without the cape, Dream looked like a twink with a pet play kink.

Side note; neither Nightmare or Dream see the use of clothes as a necessity or as decency. For them clothes are nothing but pure decoration and to show off status for Nightmare, they can wear full body suits, partial clothing, just jewelry, or nothing at all, which is what they usually go for when at home, wearing or not wearing stuff doesn’t make that much of a difference to them at all.

Do they act as animals or do they have human intelligence?

Despite me using the word “feral” all the time to describe them, they do not actually act as animals. I’m only using “feral” to describe their body/anatomy, Nightmare and Dream are fully sentient and have human level intelligence/awareness. They are capable of speech and have opposable thumbs on their front paws, they can grab, write, hold… do anything a human can do with their hands with dexterity. But they do have to use only hand one at a time, and balance themselves with the other. To use both hands, they have to be sitting, or be supported by something, they can balance themselves on their wings if they have to.

And now contradicting what I just said, they have some animalistic behaviors. The twins can growl, purr and roar. Despite Nightmare being able to use his tentacles and Dream being able to shoot magic arrows out of his wings, they to also scratch and bite while fighting. Since they are big and heavy, they can easily crush bone under their weight and their bite force is strong enough to split someone in half. If you need a reference, just use Smaug from The Hobbit, he has more or less the balance of animal behavior and human intelligence I’m looking for.

Expanding more on this, the twins stretch just like felines, and often sleep in positions usually cats sleep in (they don’t actually need to sleep but do anyway). Dream likes to go fishing, and by fishing I mean jumping in a lake and chasing the fish underwater. He finds it more fun than sitting around and waiting for the fish to come to you instead.

I guess you count their lack of necessity to wear clothes as animal logic too?

_________________

If you have any more questions about them, I will be happy to answer!

And yes, I do plan on making more drawings of Nightmare and Dream on this form!

Dreamtale belongs to @jokublog

Feral concept/design by @yakutarts (me)

[ghstyles]

Balance | His Angel

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

Based on this request

WC: 4K

His Angel Masterlist

Main Masterlist

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

The emergency room at St. Thomas' Hospital buzzes with the controlled chaos typical of a Friday evening due to the influx accidents, illnesses, and the occasional drunk student creating a steady flow of patients. In one of the curtained examination areas, Y/N sits on the edge of a bed, her right ankle elevated on a pillow, already showing signs of swelling despite the ice pack wrapped around it.

She checks her phone for the third time in as many minutes, grimacing at the notifications: three missed calls from Harry and a series of increasingly concerned texts. She should have known better than to think she could visit a hospital without him finding out. The fact that she's managed to avoid his calls for the past forty minutes is already pushing her luck dangerously thin.

"Miss, the doctor will be with you shortly," a nurse informs her, pulling back the curtain briefly before continuing her rounds.

Y/N nods her thanks, then turns her attention back to her phone, typing out what she hopes is a reassuring message:

I'm FINE. Just a sprained ankle from the charity run. No need to worry. Will call you when I'm done here.

She hits send, knowing it won't be enough to pacify him but hoping it might at least prevent him from—

The curtain is suddenly yanked open with enough force that the metal rings screech against the rod. Standing in the opening is Harry, his imposing frame blocking the view of the busy hallway behind him. His expression is thunderous, a barely controlled fury radiating from every line of his body as his eyes lock onto her and then immediately drop to her elevated ankle.

Several nurses glance their way, alarmed by his forceful entrance, but something in his demeanor, the expensive suit, the dangerous energy, the absolute confidence of a man who answers to no one, makes them hesitate to approach.

"Harry," Y/N says, keeping her voice deliberately light despite the flutter of anxiety in her chest. "Fancy seeing you here. I was just about to call you."

The attempt at casual humor falls flat. Harry steps into the small curtained space, letting the fabric fall closed behind him. His jaw is clenched so tightly she can see a muscle jumping in his cheek, his eyes dark with a mixture of rage and concern that makes her instinctively want to reach for him and back away simultaneously.

"Don't," he says, his voice low and controlled in a way that indicates he's anything but. "Don't you fucking dare try to make light of this."

Y/N swallows, her smile faltering under the intensity of his gaze.

"It's really not a big deal," she tries again, gesturing to her ankle. "Just a minor sprain. The doctor hasn't even seen me yet, but the nurse said it's probably just–– "

"A minor sprain," Harry cuts her off, advancing toward the bed. "A minor fucking sprain that put you in the hospital, and you didn't think to call me?"

His voice remains quiet, but there's a dangerous edge to it that makes Y/N's heart race. She's not afraid of him, never that, but she recognizes the signs of Harry teetering on the edge of his control, his protective instincts warring with his fury at being kept in the dark.

"I didn't want to worry you," she explains, watching as he comes to stand beside her bed, his hands flexing at his sides as if he doesn't quite trust himself to touch her yet. "You had that meeting with the Italians today, and I know how important it was. It's just a stupid accident from the charity run. I tripped over someone's shoelace."

Harry's expression doesn't soften at her explanation. If anything, his eyes grow darker.

"You didn't want to worry me," he repeats, the words coming out as if they taste bitter in his mouth. "So instead, I get a call from Davis telling me you're in the fucking emergency room, and he doesn't know what happened because you won't tell him anything."

Davis, one of the men Harry has assigned to watch over her when he can't be with her himself. Of course. Y/N should have expected this, should have known that Harry's protective surveillance would extend to medical emergencies.

"I'm going to kill him," she mutters, genuine irritation flashing across her features. "He said he was just calling a cab for me."

Harry's hand shoots out, gripping her chin firmly but not painfully, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You'll do no such thing," he says, his voice deadly quiet. "Davis did exactly what he's paid to do, protect you and inform me when you're in danger."

"I'm not in danger," Y/N protests, trying to pull away from his grip but finding herself held firmly in place. "It's a sprained ankle, Harry, not a gunshot wound."

The comparison makes his expression darken further, his fingers tightening fractionally on her chin.

"Don't," he warns again. "Don't you fucking joke about that. Not now."

Something in his tone, a rawness beneath the anger, makes Y/N stop struggling against his hold. She sees it then, the fear lurking behind his fury, the genuine panic that must have gripped him at Davis's call.

Her expression softens, her hand coming up to wrap around his wrist, not to pull him away but to maintain the connection between them.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice gentler now. "I should have called you. I just... I didn't want to be a bother over something so minor."

Harry's grip on her chin relaxes slightly, his thumb brushing across her lower lip in a gesture that's half caress, half claiming.

"A bother," he repeats, incredulity coloring his tone. "You think your safety is a bother to me?"

Before Y/N can respond, the curtain is pulled back again, revealing a young doctor with a tablet in hand. He falters momentarily at the sight of Harry, at the tension clearly visible between them, but recovers quickly, professional training taking over.

"Miss Collins?" he confirms, glancing at his tablet. "I'm Dr. Patel. Let's take a look at that ankle, shall we?"

Harry drops his hand from Y/N's face but doesn't step back, remaining so close that his thigh presses against the edge of the bed. His eyes follow every movement as the doctor approaches, his protective stance making it clear that he has no intention of leaving.

Dr. Patel glances between them, clearly assessing the dynamics at play.

"And you are...?" he asks Harry, his tone professionally neutral.

"Her partner," Harry replies before Y/N can speak, the word carrying a weight of possession that goes far beyond its dictionary definition.

The doctor nods, apparently satisfied with this explanation, and turns his attention to Y/N's ankle, carefully removing the ice pack to examine the swelling.

"How did this happen?" he asks, his fingers gently probing the injured area.

"Charity run on campus," Y/N explains, wincing slightly as he touches a particularly tender spot. "I tripped over someone's shoelace during the final stretch."

Dr. Patel nods, continuing his examination.

"Any history of ankle injuries?" he inquires, manipulating her foot slightly to test the range of motion.

"No," Y/N begins, but Harry interrupts.

"Yes," he corrects, his eyes never leaving the doctor's hands on her ankle. "She sprained the same ankle two years ago. Rock climbing."

Y/N looks at him in surprise, she'd almost forgotten about that minor injury, which had healed quickly and completely. The fact that Harry remembers it, that he's tracking her medical history with such precision, shouldn't surprise her by now, but somehow it still does.

Dr. Patel glances between them again, then makes a note on his tablet.

"I'd like to get an X-ray to rule out any fractures," he says, replacing the ice pack carefully. "Given the previous injury and the current swelling, it's better to be thorough. I'll have a nurse come in to take you to radiology."

With that, he exits, leaving Y/N and Harry alone again in the curtained space. The brief interruption seems to have given Harry time to regain some of his composure, though the tension hasn't left his body entirely.

"Rock climbing," he says after a moment, his voice slightly less strained than before. "Another activity you insisted was perfectly safe."

There's a hint of his usual dry humor in the observation, a good sign that the worst of his anger might be subsiding.

"It was safe," Y/N counters, relieved at this slight shift in his mood. "Until I tried to show off and went for a hold that was clearly beyond my skill level."

Harry makes a noncommittal sound, finally moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, careful not to jostle her elevated ankle.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asks after a moment, his voice quieter now, the raw edge of fear more evident without the overlay of anger. "The truth, Y/N."

She meets his gaze, seeing the genuine hurt beneath the question. It's rare for Harry to show vulnerability like this, to admit, even indirectly, that her actions have the power to wound him.

"I didn't want to be a burden," she admits softly. "You had the meeting with the Italians, and I know how much was riding on it. It seemed silly to pull you away for something so minor."

Harry's expression darkens again, though not with the blind fury of before.

"Nothing about you is minor to me," he says, his hand finding hers on the bed, fingers interlacing with a possessive grip. "Nothing. Do you understand that? The Italians, the business, all of it, none of it matters compared to you."

The intensity of his declaration makes Y/N's breath catch. Even after a year together, the depth of Harry's feelings for her sometimes catches her off guard, the absolute, unwavering priority he places on her wellbeing, her happiness, her safety.

"I know," she says softly, squeezing his hand. "I do know that. I just... I'm not used to being someone's priority like that. Sometimes I forget that I don't have to handle everything on my own anymore."

Harry's expression softens fractionally, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face.

"Well, get fucking used to it," he says, the crude language at odds with the gentleness of his touch. "Because that's not changing. Ever."

The possessive declaration should feel suffocating, but instead, it wraps around Y/N like a shield, the certainty of Harry's protection, his care, his absolute devotion a comfort she's come to rely on more than she sometimes wants to admit.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you," she says, leaning into his touch slightly. "I really am."

Harry studies her for a long moment, as if assessing the sincerity of her apology, before giving a short nod of acceptance.

"Don't do it again," he says, his tone making it clear this isn't a request but a command. "Any injury, any illness, anything that puts you in a hospital or a doctor's office, I hear about it immediately. Not from Davis or any of my other men. From you. Understood?"

The directive is delivered with all the authority of a man accustomed to absolute obedience, but Y/N has never been one to simply acquiesce to Harry's demands without question.

"Even if it's just a paper cut?" she asks, a hint of challenge in her voice despite her genuine remorse for worrying him. "Or a routine checkup?"

Harry's eyes narrow slightly at her pushback, but there's a flicker of something like reluctant amusement in their depths.

"Don't test me right now, angel," he warns, though some of the deadly edge has left his voice. "I'm still deciding whether to put you over my knee when we get home."

The threat, half-serious, half-seductive, brings a flush to Y/N's cheeks and a defiant tilt to her chin.

"You wouldn't dare," she challenges, though they both know there have been occasions when Harry has done exactly that, turning punishment into pleasure in ways that still make her blush to remember.

Harry's answering smile is dangerous, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a slow caress that belies the threat in his words.

"Try me," he suggests softly. "Keep pushing, and find out."

The charged moment between them is interrupted by the arrival of a nurse with a wheelchair, ready to take Y/N to radiology. Harry stands immediately, stepping back to allow the nurse access but maintaining his hold on Y/N's hand.

"I'll help her," he says, his tone brooking no argument as he carefully supports Y/N's weight while she maneuvers from the bed to the wheelchair, ensuring her injured ankle doesn't bear any pressure.

The nurse, perhaps sensing the futility of arguing, simply nods and steps back, allowing Harry to take control of the situation.

"I can take it from here," she offers once Y/N is settled in the chair.

Harry's response is a look that makes the nurse take an instinctive step backward, not overtly threatening, but carrying the clear message that he has no intention of leaving Y/N's side.

"I'll be accompanying her," he states, his tone making it clear this isn't open for discussion.

The nurse hesitates only briefly before nodding, apparently deciding this isn't a battle worth fighting.

"Of course," she agrees, gesturing toward the hallway. "This way, please."

As they navigate through the busy emergency department, Y/N looks up at Harry, who walks beside her wheelchair with the focused intensity of a bodyguard on high alert, his eyes scanning their surroundings as if potential threats lurk in every corner.

"You know, most people would just say 'I was worried about you' instead of going full mob boss in the hospital," she comments quietly, trying to lighten the mood.

Harry's gaze drops to her, his expression softening fractionally despite his clear attempt to maintain his stern demeanor.

"I was worried," he admits, his voice pitched low enough that only she can hear. "Fucking terrified, actually. When Davis called..."

He trails off, his jaw clenching again at the memory.

"All he said was that you were in the hospital. Didn't know why or how serious it was. For all I knew, you could have been, "

He cuts himself off, unwilling to give voice to the worst-case scenarios that must have flashed through his mind during those panicked moments.

Y/N's expression sobers, genuine remorse washing over her as she realizes just how frightening those uncertain minutes must have been for him, a man who has lost too much already, who guards what's his with a ferocity born of knowing how easily it can be taken away.

"I really am sorry," she says softly, reaching up to catch his hand as he walks beside her. "I didn't think about how it would sound, getting a call like that with no details. It won't happen again. I promise."

Harry's fingers tighten around hers, his expression still guarded but some of the tension leaving his shoulders at her sincere apology.

"It better not," he warns, though the words lack their earlier bite. "Or next time, I really will put you over my knee."

The nurse pushing the wheelchair clears her throat awkwardly, clearly having overheard this last comment, and Y/N feels her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Harry, predictably, looks entirely unrepentant, a hint of amusement finally breaking through his stern facade at Y/N's discomfort.

They reach radiology, where Harry insists on staying as close as the technicians will allow during the X-ray process. When they return to the emergency department to await the results, he positions himself beside her bed like a sentinel, his phone in hand as he makes arrangements with a terseness that suggests he's still not entirely calm.

"Car's waiting outside," he informs her after ending a call. "Davis has already collected your things from your dorm. You'll be staying at the penthouse until you're fully recovered."

It's not a question or a suggestion, but a statement of fact delivered with the absolute certainty of a man unused to having his decisions questioned.

Y/N opens her mouth to protest, she has classes, assignments, commitments on campus, but something in Harry's expression makes her reconsider. The fear she glimpsed earlier still lingers in his eyes, carefully masked but visible to someone who knows him as well as she does. This isn't just his usual possessiveness or control; this is Harry genuinely shaken, needing the reassurance of having her close, under his protection.

"Okay," she agrees instead, surprising him with her lack of argument. "But I'll need my laptop and books. I have a paper due next week."

Harry's expression relaxes fractionally at her acceptance, relief briefly visible before his usual controlled mask returns.

"Already taken care of," he assures her. "Davis picked up everything on your list. Whatever else you need, we'll have delivered."

Of course he's already thought of everything, already made arrangements to ensure her comfort and convenience while keeping her firmly within his protective reach. It should feel suffocating, this level of control, but today, with the throbbing pain in her ankle and the genuine contrition she feels for frightening him, it feels like caring, like safety, like being valued beyond measure.

When Dr. Patel returns with the X-ray results, confirming a moderate sprain but no fractures, recommending rest, elevation, and a follow-up with a specialist, Harry listens with intense focus, asking pointed questions about recovery time and proper care. He accepts the prescribed pain medication and care instructions with the same serious attention he might give to a business contract, committing every detail to memory.

As they prepare to leave, Harry insists on carrying Y/N rather than letting her use the wheelchair to exit, scooping her up with careful precision that ensures her injured ankle isn't jostled. She starts to protest, aware of the stares they're attracting as he carries her through the emergency department like something out of a romantic film, but the determined set of his jaw tells her this is another battle not worth fighting.

So instead, she loops her arms around his neck and leans into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, a heartbeat that had surely raced with fear when he received that call, a fear she had inadvertently caused with her attempt at independence.

"I really am sorry for scaring you," she murmurs against his shoulder as they exit into the cool evening air, where a sleek black Range Rover waits at the curb, Davis standing attentively beside the open rear door.

Harry's arms tighten around her briefly, his lips brushing against her temple in a rare public display of affection.

"Just don't do it again," he says, his voice gruff but no longer carrying that dangerous edge of barely controlled panic. "I can handle a lot of things, angel, but not that. Not you in danger and me not knowing."

As he carefully places her in the backseat of the car, arranging her injured leg with a gentleness at odds with his dangerous reputation, Y/N is struck again by the contradictions that make up Harry Styles, the ruthless mob boss who carries her from a hospital with the tender care of a man cradling something infinitely precious, the dangerous criminal who memorizes her medical history and asks detailed questions about her recovery, the controlling force of nature who is utterly undone by the thought of her in pain.

It's a power she never asked for and sometimes doesn't know how to wield, this ability to bring a dangerous man to his knees with nothing more than her absence, her pain, her potential loss. A power that comes with its own responsibility, she realizes as Harry slides into the seat beside her, his hand immediately finding hers, fingers interlacing with possessive certainty.

"Home," he instructs Davis, who nods and closes the door behind them.

Home, Harry's penthouse, with its security systems and bullet-proof windows, its luxurious comforts and its isolation from the world. A gilded cage, some might call it, but today it feels like exactly where she wants to be, safe, protected, cared for by a man who would burn the world to ashes if it meant keeping her from harm.

As the car pulls away from the hospital, Y/N leans her head against Harry's shoulder, feeling the tension still present in his body gradually begin to ease at her proximity, at the tangible proof of her safety. Tomorrow, perhaps, she'll push back against his overprotectiveness, negotiate the terms of her recovery and her return to campus life. But for tonight, she'll allow him this, the comfort of having her close, the reassurance of knowing she's safe within his reach.

Because that's the balance they've always maintained, his need to protect warring with her need for independence, his control meeting her defiance, his dangerous world intersecting with her normal one. And somehow, against all odds, finding a middle ground where both can exist without destroying the other.

Harry's arm comes around her shoulders, drawing her closer against his side as the city lights blur past the tinted windows. His lips press against her hair, lingering there as if reassuring himself of her presence, her solidity, her continued existence in his world.

"Next time," he murmurs against her temple, his voice low enough that Davis can't hear from the driver's seat, "you call me. Immediately. Or I swear to God, angel, sprained ankle or not, you won't sit comfortably for a week."

The threat carries an undercurrent of heat that makes Y/N's pulse quicken despite her exhaustion and the dull throb of pain in her ankle. She tilts her head back to meet his gaze, finding his eyes dark with a mixture of lingering concern and something more primal, more possessive.

"Is that supposed to discourage me?" she challenges quietly, a hint of her usual defiance returning now that the worst of his fear has subsided.

Harry's answering smile is slow and dangerous, his hand coming up to cup her cheek with deceptive gentleness.

"No," he admits, his thumb brushing across her lower lip in a gesture that's become familiar but never loses its impact. "It's supposed to remind you that there are consequences to scaring the shit out of me."

The crude honesty of the statement, the admission of fear from a man who admits fear to no one, touches something deep in Y/N's chest, a tenderness welling up that makes her next words softer, free of their usual challenging edge.

"I am sorry," she says again, turning her face to press a kiss against his palm. "And I will call you next time. I promise."

Harry studies her for a long moment, as if gauging the sincerity of her promise, before giving a short nod of acceptance.

"Good," he says simply, his arm tightening around her shoulders as he draws her back against his chest, positioning her carefully to ensure her injured ankle remains elevated on the seat across from them.

As the car continues its journey through London's evening traffic, Y/N allows herself to relax into Harry's protective embrace, the events of the day catching up with her in a wave of exhaustion. The last thing she registers before drifting into a light doze is the steady rhythm of Harry's heartbeat beneath her cheek and the gentle stroke of his fingers through her hair, a dangerous man made gentle, if only for her, if only in these private moments away from the world that knows him only as someone to be feared.

And perhaps that's enough, these moments of tenderness stolen from a life of violence, these glimpses of the man beneath the monster, these reminders that even in the darkest hearts, love can find purchase and grow, twisted and possessive though it may be. Not perfect, not traditional, but theirs, a love forged in the unlikely space between her light and his darkness, her innocence and his sin, her independence and his control.

A balance, precarious but persistent, that somehow works despite all the reasons it shouldn't.`

Taglist:@silastylesswift @babegoals @harryssunflower17 @puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @estaticheart @harrysguccihandbag @mads3502 @harrydeary @valuunit @myfavfanficsever @lunaharrygurl @prettygurl-2009 @triski73 @angeldavis777 @ivegotthecinemaa @bethiegurl19 @mellamolayla @triski73 @sstylezzz

[moon-ttokki-x]

omgomg can you please write a 9th member fic (chan x f!reader) where they attend the milan show together (the one chan is at rn) 🥹🫶

hihi sorry this took a while to answer >< it's here now tho . i liked this idea so much, i haven't written much fashion event stuff ! maybe i added a little surprise near the end, but you'll just have to see hehe . here you gooo~

fendi - bangchan x female!9th member reader

pairing: bangchan x female 9th member reader

summary: chan asks you to accompany him to the fendi event in milan.

genre: idol!au, 9th member!au, super duper fluffy and cute, sleepy channie, mentions of eating and drinking, swarming from fans, lots of mentions of camera flashes, chan almost falling over (yes that is a warning)

a/n: yuhh i'm so back guys ! div by @elleisdesigning

skz masterlist

Chan who surprises you with the biggest bouquet of your favourite flowers as he hands you the invitation to the Fendi show in Milan. Who flushes as you look up in shock and shyly explains that he wants you to be his plus-one to the event. He lets out an 'oof' as you fly into his arms, almost knocking him over and nodding over and over again to accompany him to Milan. He grins again in relief as you explain that you don't have anything half as fancy to wear and pokes your cheek, telling you that your outfit isn't something you should be worried about, and that he would handle all of it. You're unconvinced but decide to trust him anyway, and coincidentally, later in the day, he asks what your favourite colour is.

Chan who holds your hand all the way to the airport and refuses to let go, even when you're all swarmed by the photographers and fans. His leader-mode kicks in and he protects you from the swarms as you navigate through the airport. His grip is strong, warm, and steady, and he leads you skillfully through the throngs of people pressing in on both of you until you reach the terminal gate. Makes you go first and presses a warm hand to your back as he guides you down the ramp. Refuses to sit down until you've found your seat and then offers to swap places with you so you can have the window seat. He spends about half an hour gazing out at the ground falling away beneath you and then immediately falls asleep, his mouth open and hair endearingly ruffled as the plane vibrates all around you, rising higher and higher in the air.

Chan who wakes up sleepily when the plane lands and accidentally stands up too soon, almost ending up sprawled in the aisle as the plane bumps against the tarmac. He guides you through the mess of cameras and flashes and falls asleep again in the car on the way to the hotel you'll both be staying in. You wake him up and watch him drain a bottle of water as you step out of the car, heading into the lift and up to your shared hotel room. You watch him bustle around the room, making phone calls and arranging food to be delivered, and then nuzzle into his shoulder as he sits down on the bed next to you, coiling an arm around your shoulders as you both watch the city bustling with life from outside the window.

Chan who offers you his hand as he steps out of the car, letting you take his arm as you both make your way inside the stylist's room that's been temporarily set up for the event, and fights a grin as you look around in curiosity and ask what you're doing here. He leads you to a curtain and pulls it back, nodding thankfully at the designer, and jumps when he hears you gasp and then squeal in delight. Your hands trace the beautiful, flowing fabric of the gown and you throw your arms around the leader, not caring who sees. His face is tinged pink as you run over to the mannequin once more and fawn over the dress he's had custom-made for you for the event. It's sparkly and subtle and just the right colour, and you hold back another squeal as you realise, this is why Chan asked your favourite colour a few days earlier. Not that he didn't already know what it was...

Chan who presses a hand gently onto your knee as the car pulls up to the carpet leading into the Fendi event. His gaze is reassuring and a little of the subtle sparkle on your cheeks come away on the curve of his fingers as he brushes a strand of hair off your face, promising that you'll do great. Not that the sparkle on his hands makes a difference; he looks stunning as always, and whispers the same thing back to you as he offers you his arm. You close your eyes briefly against the camera flash and step out of the car, letting him lead you inside. He stays with you and gracefully walks you around, greeting people, introducing you, and mingling with the crowd. As expected, he is a hit; unexpectedly, so are you. You're entirely comfortable in just an hour, and you even receive some lovely compliments on your appearance at the event.

Chan who secretly strokes your hand with a gentle thumb as both of you stand and pose for the cameras; he keeps your intertwined fingers behind the both of you, his smile warm and genuine as photos are snapped endlessly. The subtle, secret yet possessive gesture makes your heart flutter and you fight a laugh as he whispers jokes and comments to you in an attempt to make you smile harder than you are. He succeeds, and the result is a beautiful photo of the both of you on the cover of several fashion articles and websites, who all sing your shared praises, gushing over your outfits and potential chemistry (the members, who have been keeping updated on the event, cheekily start planning your eventual wedding).

Chan who's glad he brought you along; he's never seen his ninth member and secret crush looking so stunning and effortless. He thanks his stars for the rest of the night as he remembers the courage it took to ask you to accompany him to the event. He's never been prouder of you, and later, when the event ends, he takes you out on a walk, both of you licking at ice creams in the warmly-lit streets and talking about the day. His heart is fluttering as he wipes a little of ice cream off your lips and presses his mouth to yours, sweet treats forgotten as you melt immediately into his embrace, relishing the warmth and steady comfort he always manages to exude.

He couldn't be happier.

a/n: i'm thinking of starting a fic taglist, the post for it will be up soon ><

[petalbcrnes]

﹅ CRIMSON RINGS◞ j. todd ✗ fem!reader | 3.4k wc.

SYNOPSIS: Your piercing eyes scan the crowd, searching across the mingling elite for a certain someone. Their dim glow reaches Jason even from the distance between you two—it turns luminous when you spot him. He almost chokes on his breath.

Or, you and Jason share a dance at a gala and it takes an intense turn.

A/N: author knows nothing ab galas!! do not judge me </3 this was an old request, my first ever explicit work and i wanted to post it on this new acc. !! reminder, i am a minor writing smut, read at your own discretion!!

TAGS: explicit smut, clothed sex, body worship, praise, p in v, oral sex, cunnilingus, come eating, afab!reader, vaginal fingering, riding, aftercare, established relationship.

MASTERLIST.

THE SILVER BEAMS OF MOONLIGHT POUR THROUGH THE GLASS WALL, COVERING THE ROOM WITH AN OTHERWORLDLY HUE. Cool and polished, the marble wall gleams under the light, its smooth surface marbles with veins of smoky silver and hints of gold. Tonight, Wayne Enterprises is holding its annual charity gala at Gotham Museum of Antiquities—complete with an elegant venue; eye-catching decor and displays; unending speeches and presentations along with slow, dramatic waltz and special VIP rooms.

Tonight, Jason leans on that polished marble wall—with his own polished black-tie suit. The ink-black velvet suit makes him blend in with the rest of the crowd. He’s done well with avoiding the rest of the mingling Gotham elite, choosing to hide away in some dark corner. Jason watches the ivory-colored champagne in his hand as he tilts the glass from one side to another—a game, if you will. A game to pass the time.

He looks down at the opulent watch on his wrist. It was a gift given to him by Dick. No matter how much Jason said no—or complained, by his brother's words—he didn’t want the ridiculously costly accessory. Though, Dick persisted—just as he did with Jason attending this gala.

Jason glared at the numbers on the watch’s dial. The Roman numeral IX stares back at him as if it’s mocking the man. Jason fidgets with the collar of his alabaster button up shirt—too tight around his neck. His foot restlessly taps against the shining surface of the floor beneath. Jason folds his arms across his chest as he retreats deeper into the corner.

Time couldn’t move slower, he thinks.

He hears a singsong voice call out to him as light steps echo closer—

“How long are you going to stand there like a statue?”

The raven hair and ocean-like blue eyes of Dick are unmistakably familiar, even the teasing and lighthearted tone of his voice is engraved in Jason’s mind. Dick takes his place next to his little brother, leaning against the tall marble wall. His smug grin danced across his face. Dick playfully nudges Jason, prompting an answer out of him.

“Until this tedious, faux gala—I mean, important social occasion—ends. I don’t know how you survive here.” Jason groans, head falling back against the cool surface of the wall.

Dick lets a soft chuckle escape, “Well,” he clicks his tongue, “—It helps when you have a pretty thing by your side.”

Jason picks up on the tone of Dick’s voice and the suggestion. He can’t help but roll his eyes at his brother’s oh-so creative idea. The thought lingers in his mind for a minute—you, in some fancy outfit, perfectly suited for you, thin fabric hugging your plush and petal soft skin in all the right places.

His hand tightens around the champagne glass. Dick laughs again, satisfied with Jason’s reaction.

“Just wait until you see it in front of your own eyes.” Dick makes sure to emphasize the final words as he motions Jason to look across the dance floor.

There you stand, on the edge of the dance floor. The golden filigree of the ivory floor glows beneath your feet. The crystal chandelier casts a shimmering light upon your dewy skin. The crimson-colored velvet fabric flows across your frame like waves in a calm sea. Your hair meticulously detailed and styled drifts down from your neck and lightly touches your bare shoulders. A rose-gold pendant rests in the dip of your chest.

Your piercing eyes scan the crowd, searching across the mingling elite for a certain someone. Their dim glow reaches Jason even from the distance between you two—it turns luminous when you spot him.

He almost chokes on his breath.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Dick smirks as he pats Jason on the shoulder. He moves before Jason can give him a nudge of his own and disappears into the crowd.

Your heels clink across the ivory floor as you approach him. Jason can swear he can feel and hear the champagne glass crack under his tightened grip. The drink is left forgotten as he leaves it on a nearby table. Jason meets up with you. Suddenly the suffocating air of the gala dissipates.

“Thought I’d find you moping in some far away corner.” You giggle softly.

“Well,”—Jason takes your hand in his—palm face down as he places a gentle kiss on top of it. His lips linger on you as he holds eye contact, the aqua hue of his eyes are like a siren’s call, beckoning you closer—“everything has changed since you’ve arrived.”

Jason’s warm touch lights a fire on your skin’s surface. You take a second to break out of your sweet reverie. “For the better, I hope?”

“Of course it’s for the better. Without you this entire ordeal would be rather boring.” He muses.

“You think all galas hosted by your father are boring, but with enough persuasion, you always show up.”

“Enough persuasion, huh?”, he laughs, “you think I’m so easily persuaded?”

You gather the courage to step even closer to him. The slight bob of his Adam's apple gives you all the confidence you need.

Your eyes dart across his frame. The ink-black suit sits on his body like it was made for him specifically. The heat spreads throughout, settling deep into the crooks of your body. Does he even know how he looks right now? A sculpted statue of a Greek god, made meticulously by a renowned artist, stands in front of you.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes off him, your mind too busy and occupied with wondering what other details of the statue hide behind the black velvet fabric. Jason notices this too, proved by the flustered cough that leaves him and the slight pink tint on his cheeks.

You gaze into his eyes again, “Aren’t I proof of that? A few sweet words from me and you’re at my beck and call.”

Jason chuckles, “You’re the only one. Count yourself lucky, you minx.”

A sly grin dances across your face, “Oh, I am very fortunate. Though, I’d like to test your weakness for me one more time.”

“What do you have planned?” He lets out a faux groan, eyes following your lips every move.

“Dance with me.”

“What?”

You stammer, the confidence you felt a few moments ago slowly leaving your body, “It’s a gala, right? I’m your partner and I thought we could dance? Only if you’d like of course! It’s not mandatory to dance, I just-”

Jason takes your hands in his own, “—I want to.”

“To dance? With me?”

“Who else?” He laughs, the sound akin to honey. You want to taste his sweet oh-so desperately on your tongue.

“Okay.” You lead him to the dance floor with a smile dancing on your lips.

The ivory floor contrasts with the colors of your clothing. The lights across the room dance on you both, bathing in the warm, golden hue of the glow. Jason’s eyes shine like aquamarine crystals under the sunlight on a coast near the sea, touched gently by the sea foam. The two of you move and sweep through the crowd on the dance floor akin to the soft, rhythmic ebb of a river. It’s not precise, nor perfect. It reminds you of the cracks between broken pieces dipped and stitched back together with gold.

Your hand in Jason’s feels incredibly right, as if it was always meant to rest in the safety of his touch. Your cheeks graze as you attempt to hide yourself in the crook of his neck. A single whisper breaks you out of your trance.

“Don’t hide yourself, please. I want to see you—all of you.”

The words escape from the tip of your tongue, “you can, if you’d have me.”

Your suggestion rings in Jason’s ears. The surprise on his face is proven by the widening of his eyes and the slight part of his lips. His grip on your hands slightly strengthens, careful not to hurt you.

“Fuck.” He groans, the sound going straight to your core. The music slowly ends as he starts leading you towards an empty hallway. “I think they have rooms for the VIP’s here.”

There’s excitement in your every step. The more you walk, the more impatience eats at you.

“Jay-” You whine out, “Please-”

“Shh,” He smiles, “patience, and maybe you’ll be rewarded.”

Jason spots an unoccupied room near the two of you. In a few seconds he has you ushered into the privacy of its walls.

Now it’s just the two of you. The air feels hot and intoxicating. It doesn’t take long for the both of your lips to meet. The feel of his lips against yours is so familiar it strikes an aching feeling deep in your heart. Your cherry lipstick gets smeared more and more with every move of your lips. You finally let go of the strings of worry pulling at you and melt into his hold.

His hands travel from your hips to your waist and lay flat against your spine, bringing you closer as if the two of you will embrace each other as one. Every touch lights a fire on your skin. You suck on his bottom lip as your hands move from his face to the back of his neck, luring him closer as his tongue explores every corner of your mouth.

You whimper against Jason’s mouth. The wet kiss finally breaks. He sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes pierce into your own. The look of them makes you quiver in his hold.

Jason’s fingers graze your swollen lips, parting them. Your tongue reaches out on instinct, searching for his skin—his taste. He chuckles followed by a quiet hiss.

“Needy thing.” He moves closer, making you take a few steps back before reaching the bed. “Did you plan this?” He softly lowers you on the bed, hands trailing down to your hips, teasing the slit slightly in the fabric hugging your plum skin.

You shamelessly drag your hands down his chest, clawing to reach his skin underneath the layers of clothes. “Please, Jay-” Your body aches for him, every part of you calls out to him, yearning for his touch, his kiss, his—

“Did you think about this?” He asks, his voice low as he reaches down to whisper in your ear, his lips teasingly close to you. “I know I did.” You can see his flushed skin and slightly tangled hair. He looks so beautiful, intoxicatingly so.

You let out a whine as he kisses the skin connecting your jaw and neck. He nibbles down on the skin, pleasure and the slight bite of pain mixing into each other oh-so well. It lights embers in your body as in his. He takes in the captivating smell of your lingering perfume, making him wish he could drown in it.

His tongue on your neck trails down to your chest, leaving blossoming marks in its wake. They feel electrifying, sending bolts of lighting down your body, straight into your core. Your thighs press together, searching for friction.

He chuckles, looking up at you, “Shh—” He hikes the fabric above your waist, “—let me take care of you.”

Jason sinks to his knees. His lips dance across your thighs, leaving wet kisses in its wake. Your hips shake, body too sensitive from previous touches. Your hand covers your mouth to muffle the whimpers escaping from it. His hand reaches up to yours, ripping it from your mouth.

“I want to hear you—every sound. Just lose control, love. You look angelic like this—under me, spread and so giving, ruffled hair and needy whines—such a pretty mess.” He purrs.

“Jay—” You shudder when his lips graze across your clothed pussy, “—Oh my god.”

Jason chuckles against you, the sound vibrating from your pussy to the rest of your body. He hooks the fabric of your soaked panties on his finger, moving them aside. You bite back a moan at the cool air touching you. Tears well up in your eyes, ruining your mascara.

“Look at you, dripping from me. Did I make you wait for it, baby? Let me make it up to you, yea?”

“Yes, yes, please, Jay—!” The moan hitches in your throat as Jason's lips kiss your folds, his tongue teasing the entrance. “Feels good, Jay…”

He pushes your thighs above, placing them on his shoulders. His hands grip around your hips, trapping them in place. You arch your back as his tongue delves in your cunt. Your breath quivers as he sucks down on your clit. His tongue flicks along it, sending bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“Fuck, right there— don’t stop!”

Jason’s digits rise and part your folds as he inserts one inside you. The moans bounce across the room as he works you towards your climax, as if you’re an instrument that he knows every string of, which one to pull, graze, shake, and grip.

The pleasure builds up, spreading slowly throughout your body. Your climax hangs as if it’s a thin thread about to snap. You shake and cry out for Jason—the one currently working you up to the oh-so satisfying cut of that string.

Your noises feel him with a confidence he doesn’t feel anywhere else. It’s enthralling—the fact he can make you feel so good. He’ll carry you to your climax because that’s what his darling deserves for giving him such a good present—dressing up for him, being so giving—his sweet darling.

The shaking of your thighs grows more intense, just like the moans escaping your mouth. He adds another digit, curling deep inside your cunt. His touch reaches you just in the right places, making you feel dizzy from it all.

“‘m close, baby,” you whine, “god, yes.”

The thread tithers on the edge. Every curl of his fingers and flick of his tongue pushes you closer to that very edge. Your breath gets caught in your mouth, only a strangled moan leaving when your climax hits. You can feel his satisfied grin on your pussy lips. Your chest rises with every bolt of pleasure. His tongue doesn’t let it go. He laps up your cum leaking from your cunt, savoring the taste.

Jason’s fingers delicately dance across your folds, cum collecting on them. He raises his hand for you to see. The moonlight reflects off of the shiny white liquid on the tips of his fingers. Your walls clench at the sight, eyes widening and head falling back against the bed. He laughs again.

“C’mon, be good—clean them.”

He rises from his position climbing on top of you again. His head tilts as his hand moves closer to you. You shudder as the smell of your own climax reaches you. You open your mouth, tongue searching for a taste. He settles the fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his digits. The striking taste of your slick and cum spreads your mouth. His eyes never break contact with yours, the stare is too intense. You squirm against his body.

Jason’s breath gets caught in his throat. “Fuck—god—pretty girl, good job, just like that.”

His praise makes your hips buck into his own. You want to pleasure him too. The bulge in his pants proves his arousal and need. Your hand slowly trails down his clothed body, searching for any sign of refusal. When he gives you a shaky nod with a crooked smile, you take that as approval.

You take this chance to switch positions. Lowering him down onto the bed you move to straddle his hips. The fabric of his pants grazes your bare pussy, the sensitivity making you shake. Your hands move to his bulge again, palming him over his clothes. He sighs with pleasure, hands clutching the sheets underneath him.

You coo at his reaction, “My pretty boy.”

He whines, the sound coming out as a quiet plea. His hands leave the sheets and grip your hips—surely leaving bruises decorating your flush body. Jason’s hair’s akin to a halo, the moonlight seeping through the window faintly covers him in a faint glow, making him look heavenly. The sight makes you groan.

“Let me take care of you now.”

Your hands move to unzip his pants and free his clothed cock. The flushed red tip leaks of precum.

Jason rasps, “darling, touch me, please.”

“Shh, don’t worry—” You lean down to press a chaste kiss on his forehead, “—I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

You raise your hips as you settle your hands on his chest, hands digging into his disheveled clothes. The tip of his cock kisses your cunt as you align yourself. You sink down onto him, his entire length slowly disappearing into your warmth. Your velvety walls hug his cock.

He shudders with pleasure, “—Fuck, baby- tryna milk me dry.”

You try to settle onto a rhythm. His hands—still on your hips—help you along with the pace, pulling them down onto his cock. The sounds of moans and skin slapping against skin spread throughout the room, bouncing across wall to wall. His hands reach up to your chest, grazing your nipples. Jason chuckles as your eyes widen and thighs shake with every touch.

Both of your moans mix into each other—the sound downright shameless but akin to ambrosia. The similar thread coils for Jason. His breaths become shaky, as your rhythm changes and pace becomes messy. Jason’s hands trail down from your chest to your hips, hanging on.

“Don’t stop, baby- please.”

He bites down onto his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to muffle his sounds. The coil threatens to unfold any second. Jason’s back arches with every desperate thrust, his hips coming to meet you in the middle, chasing that high. His climax reaches closer and closer.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask with a shaky voice.

He barely makes out your words in his hazy mind, “Of course, god-”

Both of your lips crash together as Jason’s climax hits him. He whines into your mouth, hands flying up to grip any piece of you he can—waist, spine, neck—he settles on cradling your face. Breaking from the kiss, his red and flushed lips tremble from ecstasy.

“How are you feeling?” You mumble into the crook of his neck, snuggling closer.

Jason wraps his arms around your frame, hiding his face in your hair, taking in your smell. “I’m feeling amazing- Christ.”

You giggle in response. Moving from his neck you place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I love you—like I’m crazy in love.”

“I love you too, baby.”

You settle against his chest. Your eyes scan the room, taking notice of the messy sheets and the smell of sex spreading throughout the entire place. You suddenly remember the promise you made to his family about making him step out of his shell when it comes to these galas. Plan successfully failed?

The two of you slowly shuffle off the bed. Adjusting your clothing is fairly easy, the hair is more of a problem. Your make-up is a mess, too.

You tut, “Jay…”

“I think you look beautiful.” He moves closer to place a chaste kiss on your lips, his tongue slipping out to taste the smeared cherry lipstick.

“Crap, are we just going to leave the room and return to the gala like this?”

Jason lets out a laugh, seeing him lighthearted and content like this spreads a warmth in your heart.

“Well, I’m sure you’re a sight for the eyes, but I don’t want to share. We’re sneaking out.”

“I miss home. I don’t like these galas.” you whine.

“Me too. But I did like this one.” He smirks as his hands smooth out the back of your dress.

You snort, “Good. Maybe next time you’ll get lucky again.” You button his suit.

“I’ll hold you to that.” His hands try to settle your hair in a more presentable state. “We’ll get there and I’ll set up a warm bath for the two of us. After that we can finally rest.”

“I love you. I wanted to say that again.”

Jason smiles, eyes moving across your face, “—Me too, darling.”

© petalbcrnes | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified.

[kurogxrix]

Fallin’ For Ya

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

IN WHICH Bucky finds himself standing in front of your door with a bouquet of roses, wondering when he’s ever allowed his stone-cold mafia heart to fall in love with you .

WC: 2k

Warnings: FLUFF, suggestive innuendos, mentions of violence, nervous Bucky.

Being part of the mafia had led Bucky to abandon things a younger version of himself had once dreamt of. Nothing was easy about the violence and constant crashing that was now a normal part of his daily routine, which was why now, it had Bucky wondering why and when had he ever allowed things to get this way.

By the time he’d fully emerged himself in this type of lifestyle, he’d sworn that he’d never get affiliated with any women. To keep himself and them safe, he’d said. The only women he’d had during these years had been there solely to satisfy needs, romance never really had a place in his relations. Now, as he stood right in front of your front door, feet tucked neatly in the perimeters of your ‘welcome’ mat, he knew that he was done for. 

He’d met you months ago in some fancy restaurant downtown, somehow hanging in one that wasn’t in his own branch of businesses. You’d been a waitress there, the only one amongst the endless list of waiters. Just to your luck, you’d been assigned the table in the VIP lounge, and to your horror, you were met face-to-face with the city’s renowned mob. You wondered what he’d been doing here when he probably owned half of the business in the city. For all you knew, this restaurant wasn’t one of his branches, but it could as well be if he’d wished for it. 

Trying to pretend like you weren’t about to shit yourself shitless, you’d entered the room with a masked confidence that had Bucky grinning behind his glass of whisky. He’d approached you that night, pretended to be interested in the cocktail you’d been assembling for one of his mates behind the bar, wondering why you were doing all of this when all you were was a simple waitress.

You couldn’t tell what had taken you that night, and why you’d decided to strike a conversation with New York's most dicey mafia boss, but you had nevertheless. You’d told him how they practically had you doing everything here whilst the rest of the crew just lazed around, how your pay was just quite enough to afford some shitty apartment a few blocks from here despite’s the restaurants reputation. 

Conversation flowed easily from there on, and anyone with eyes could see that Bucky had taken a liking to you instantly, even going as far as offering you a spot as a worker of his own. You’d work in one of his bars, or one of his own restaurants and you’d get paid above what he believed was a decent amount. You’d refused at first, afraid of what consequences could evolve from linking yourself with the mafia.

He didn’t let that discourage him, and before you even knew it, the mob boss had become one of your favourite visitors at the restaurant, even when it was just him coming to meet you in the alley beside the establishment after your shift. You’d grown fond of the man, despite his reputation, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t see some romantic undertone to your newfound friendship.

Back at your door, Bucky looked like he did most of the time, clad in his dark suit with his hair neatly slicked back with an unhealthy amount of gel that he somehow always managed to pull off. Minus the few days where he’d be drenched in blood, crimson droplets ruining the crisp white fabric of his shirt just as it tainted his hands. The occasional bruises and black eyes were also kept at bay, much to Bucky’s relief.

He couldn’t quite stand still, unlike the calm and reserved man that’d be present even in the most  disastrous situations. Bucky never had any issues putting a front on before, so why the fuck was it so hard to do so now? 

He had a feeling that it had something to do with the fact that he had rung your doorbell about a minute ago, and the shuffling that he could hear inside was getting louder and louder by the second. Perhaps it was because of that comical large bouquet that he so happened to have laying in his arms. It was so big that he had had a few issues squeezing it past the tight corridors of your apartment complex, but nothing to worry about.

Bucky was suddenly hit with an unexpected

feeling of discomfiture, still unaware of why his palms felt so sweaty. It was nearly 1 in the morning as the dim lights of the corridors attempted to illuminate him pathetically. The mob boss shuffled nervously on his feet, wondering if he should make a run for it while he still had time. 

‘Yes, run like a coward’ a strange voice resounded in the back of his mind, and the thought had him sucking in his breath and planting his feet back firmly on the mat. The door suddenly bustling open left him short of time for anymore unwanted thoughts to resurface, and instead, he snapped his eyes towards the opening of the apartment, where in return he met your own gaze. 

It didn’t take a genius for him to notice that something was different with you, only by looking at your eyes. Your eyelashes were laying lower, lighter and absent of the pigmented paste you’d always have coating them. Then his eyes drifted further down your face, noting the confused look you had plastered on. Your bare face greeted him, free of the makeup he’d always see you in when you were outside of the comfort of your little home. 

Your home, if he could even call it that. It looked like a studio at best, and he’d be damned trying to understand how you were able to live in such a cramped place. The concept of money wasn't necessarily something that boys who grew up rich understood, especially not when he harboured a mansion in a nice neighbourhood with body guards patrolling his house day and night. 

“James? Can I help you?” the sound of your voice, as angelic as he found it, had been drowned somewhere in the back of Bucky’s mind as he took you in fully. The huge assortment of flowers shifted in his arms as he did so on his feet, eyes roaming the way your hair was down and unkept, large and baggy sweatpants adorning the legs he’d usually see solely in short pencil skirts while you worked the day and evening off. 

Your arms were spread out, hands holding each side of the door frame as you leaned your

body weight onto them, waiting for an answer from the seemingly baffled mob boss. Baby blue eyes drifted down to your torso, where your usually blouse-clad chest was now wrapped solely in a thin tank top that served you as a sleep shirt. The straps were tiny, and the sight of your bare shoulders made him feel like a man in the Victorian era catching sight of an ankle for the first time. 

Against his own will, his eyes remained trained on your chest for longer than he’d liked to admit. You’d probably kick him in disgust if you knew of the sinful images that were running wildly through Bucky’s mind at the moment, and all that took was you in an excuse of a top, and a little bit of untamed imagination on his part. It was hard to keep on pretending like he didn’t feel for you in the way he’d been trying to keep at bay, especially now that he was face to face with you, and his mind would not

give him a break. 

Admisdt everything, Bucky had the sudden realisation that seeing you so comfortable and out of your work customary attire raised an unwanted feeling of domesticity inside of him that brewed and threatened to explode. He didn’t mind seeing you bare faced, clad in oversized garments that most likely did little justice to the body you hid beneath. 

In fact he knew he was screwed by the way his heart raced with the need to see you in such a way more often, like something he’d crave for at the end of each gruelling day of work. He knew he couldn’t afford to wish for it, yet his heart ached at the lack.  

“Hey, are you okay?” The concern in your voice had Bucky snapping back to reality, a shudder running down his back at the ungodly thoughts he’d just had of you. Suddenly aware of how idiotic he looked standing there idly with a humorous bouquet in his hands, he knew he had to justify his presence before you freaked out and just closed the door on him. 

“Just passing by, checking how you were.” he shrugged, acting as nonchalant as he could with his heart beating so fast at the simple sight of you. Bucky still felt tense, awkward as he stood in the cramped hallway, wishing he’d thought twice before going to the florist and heading here with no second thought. 

You’d seemed to have noticed his discomfort, stepping away from the door slightly as you nodded softly towards the opening behind you. “Come in, we can talk there.” you offered, ever so the kind being. 

Bucky had noticed the way your eyes had been switching from the array of roses in his hands and back to his gaze as you spoke to him, trying to act like you weren’t dying to know if he’d gotten them for you. 

He gathered the courage that he never guessed he should have to as the man that he was, before extending an arm to you. It took him all but a solid minute to gather up the courage he didn’t know he’d have to gather, before extending an arm to you, the beautiful arrangement of flowers standing now right before your face. 

“I’ve uhm…i’ve brought these for you.” he muttered.

Words couldn’t start to express the way Bucky felt the second he saw that smile raise up on your lips, one that you reserved for shy moments like these. He couldn’t help the way the corner of his own tilted up into a grin, your joy was infectious. He felt the air getting stuck in his airway as you tilted your head slightly to the side, muttering a shy ‘thank you’ before grabbing the bouquet with both hands. 

Bucky rejoiced in the way the bouquet dwarfed you, looking absolutely silly beside the arrangement that most likely measured thrice the size of your head. He’d wondered now that he was standing before your home, of how and where you’d even store the flowers, but that didn’t matter. He’d buy you a whole mansion now if you’d asked him, even if it was just to fit the flowers. 

Bucky watched as you started walking back in, but not without turning your head back and signalling him to enter after you. Then, you’d made your way inside without a second look at the flustered man at your doorstep. 

He wasn’t sure how the night was going to go, if he’d wake up tomorrow to his suit scattered across the wooden flooring of your home, or if the night would end young and he’d see himself driving back home in just a few hours. Either way, the mafia boss just couldn’t quite seem to care, because as long as he’d get to spend the moment with you, he’d be rejoiced.

You, the woman who’d managed to incrust herself in the tiny crevices of his hardened heart without having to do much but be herself. He’d realised then, making his way into your home as he shrugged his suit jacket off of his now relaxed shoulders, that he was truly, falling for you. 

-

short and sweet just like me. lol. Anyways hope y’all liked it😚

[eeboyysworld]

“ Sex in the city- “

—⋆.˚⊹ ࿔⋆.˚

Genre: Smut

Frontman X Ftm!Reader

Cautions/Warnings: Latex sex, vaginal fingering, edging, squirting, use of cunt and pussy , semi-public sex, no plot jumping straight to it.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The sound of desperation danced the walls of a fancy darkened limo, your knees shaking from holding up for so long, nearly giving out.

Jolts of pleasure swept through you, throwing your head back, letting yourself get lost in temporarily bliss.

Teeth scrapped your throat, dragging up and down, red thrash marks adorning the flesh.

You could hear your own wetness, two fingers covered in latex plunging in and out of your cunt, the absurd sound of squelching unmistakable.

The cold sensation hitting your spot every-time, ripping pure sobs outta you. Clenching your thighs around the man’s lap you sat in, locking him in.

“Doing so good for me, aren’t you?” He was dazed by the way your hole kept sucking in his fingers, spreading yourself on the digits, fluids flowing onto the rubber.

Frantically nodding your head , chorus of ‘yes’s fumbling out of your plucked lips. The arousal pooled your stomach, each time flowing closer and closer.

Yelping when a swift thumb circled your clit, the stimulation leaving you a babbling mess, pleading for it. “M-more!”

Adding pressure to the little bundle of nerves, feeling your warm gummy walls clench around him, letting out a groan at the tightness.

The urge to fuck into you raw, spilling his seed in you, was desirable. He couldn’t do that now, not when you were already so undone by his mere finger. It could wait.

He kept driving his middle and ring finger into you, drinking up the way you trembled in his hold. He watched the way your hips rolled, trying to create more friction.

Pulling out before you could release, leaving you to clench around nothing.

Whines escaped you, missing the feeling of him. “Pleasee..” fluttering your lashes, managing the best pity looked face you could bear.

You could feel yourself pulsing, could feel the pad of the glove just an inch away. The other man was quiet, unexpectedly calm, despite his own desire to eat you out right then and there.

Slowly, his finger slide its way back into you. Biting down your lip, agyonizily waiting.

“Go ahead,” Looking downwards , the sight of his fingers nestled in you . “ Fuck yourself with them.”

He spoke like he was ordering coffee for fuck sakes.

Frustrated was evident upon a glance at your flushed face, beads of sweat clinging to the locks of hair.

Hips stuttering as you began to grind, bringing yourself up and down. Movements shy , before the craving for release took on.

Leeching yourself to his neck, settling on nibbling the fabric that covered the flesh. “Fuck—“

Curling his finger inside you, letting you do the work before matching your pace.

The familiar feeling of pressure loosening inside your stomach, told you that you were close. Gripping down onto him, wetness slipping down the glove.

Everything became sloppy, your legs shaking from pleasure, moaning into the air. “Oh— P-please—“ hands gripping the other man’s broad shoulders.

He urged you on, “Come on baby—“ thrusting his fingers in and out ,with such a pace you knew you could see his veins if he wasn’t wearing said gloves.

Warm wetness coated him, liquid dripping down onto the pants he wore, ultimately soaking it with your mess.

He pulled out ,letting the juices flow, slapping your pussy enough to have you shaking as you rode the high.

Becoming limp in his hold, knees digging into leather, hugging him tightly. Muttering a ‘sorry’ about his pants.

His glove was long off, gently patting your head , whispering it’s alright as long as you’re relieved.

Rocking you back and forth subconsciously, the silence lasted a minute before he said a few of your favourite words.

“You hungry?” That made you jump up, throwing your pants back on, ignoring the way you wobbled up.

“—you know me so well.”

———

Frontman needs to be the back man Lowkey

Thanks for all the likes , I rlly appreciate it🙏🩷🩷🩷‼️‼️

[elleaitch22]

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 1: A New Face at St. Paul's

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd is careful. Her life is sorted into a thousand little boxes that no one can get into. She seems perfect – her principal loves her, parents adore her, and her students hang on her every word. No one knew the skeletons in her closet, and she had planned to keep it that way. Her armor is impenetrable, at least until a new student, Soleil Bueckers, enters her life. Soleil is warm like sunshine, but her mother is cold like ice. Paige Bueckers is powerful, intimidating, and cold. Her walls thick, tall, and impervious. But when Azzi helps her daughter, she becomes intrigued. Their connection is forbidden. Their pasts are haunted. An arrangement is struck. Rules are made. But everyone knows – rules are made to be broken.

A/N: This is my first Pazzi fic, please be gentle. If you have tips/suggestions, I would love them!

Warnings: Homophobia (not by anyone of value)

Word Count: 1.5k

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“Good morning, Ms. Fudd!” Mrs. Turner, a first-grade teacher, chirped as they passed in the hallway.

Azzi forced a small smile, sipping her latte. Too strong. Too bitter. Definitely will wake her up for the first day of school. She made the moronic choice to drag herself into a late shift last night, in her defense, teaching didn’t exactly pay the bills. Her budget was already tight after decorating her classroom and stocking up on supplies.

She sent up a quick prayer for the patience, grace, and a smooth school year before pausing by a glass case to check her reflection. A gentle tug smoothed her flowy, rainbow-striped skirt. She checked that her shirt met the school's strict cleavage rule, pulled a few wisps of hair from her bun for softness, and swiped on a bit of lip gloss. She flashed herself a bright smile.

That would do.

Her classroom felt like a flower shop, potted plants, paper blossoms, and soft colors everywhere. Bloom where you are planted. That was the theme she had chosen intentionally. Even if one child left believing they were worthy and loved exactly as they were, it would be worth it. Too many Christian schools left you with the opposite impression. She was just about to fluff the fake daisies by the interactive board when she heard footsteps echoing in the hallway.

Showtime.

The first thirty minutes of the day flowed like clockwork. Azzi soothed crying preschoolers and tearful parents alike with the same gentle confidence. No one wanted to say goodbye for six and a half hours, but Ms. Fudd had a gift — she made parents feel secure, and children feel like they were about to embark on the best adventure ever.

She was just gathering her students for circle time when there was a knock at the door. Another student, late. Azzi plastered on her softest smile.

The door swung open.

And for a moment, just a moment, Azzi’s whole world went silent.

My God, she’s beautiful.

She caught the thought and stopped it short. No. Not today.

She was tall. Taller than Azzi, something uncommon for her. Wide-legged navy pants, a crisp button-down, an oversized blazer. Jawline like a knife. Perfectly piercing blue eyes. The perfect fit of her clothes showed that she has a skilled tailor. She screamed wealth and oozed power.

Azzi swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat.

Focus, Azzi. Jesus.

A small face peeked out from behind one pant leg, clutching the fabric in a death grip.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Azzi said gently, kneeling to the girl’s eye level. “My name is Ms. Fudd. What’s yours?”

The girl had the same striking eyes as her mother, her features a softened version of the woman above her. Thumb in her mouth, she peeked out shyly. “M’name’s Soleil.”

Azzi’s eyes widened, delighted. “Wow! Did you know Soleil means ‘sun’ in French?”

Soleil gasped, whipping her head toward her mother. “Mommy! She knowed my name in the othew speak!” Wide eyes turned back to Azzi. “Do you know the fancy speak?”

Azzi laughed softly. “Oui, Soleil. Je parle français.”

Soleil squealed with joy. “That is weally cool! We can be fwiends now!”

A smooth, low voice cut in. “You’re not gonna tell Mommy bye, Lei?”

Azzi stood, her hand automatically extending. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Azzi Fudd.”

The woman’s handshake was firm, if not half a second longer than necessary.

“Paige Bueckers.”

Paige Bueckers.

Azzi knew that name. Everyone at St. Paul’s knew it. Everyone in Chicago knew it. The woman whose daughter whose admission had been met with waves of backlash. The Pilates moms had already been gossiping about them this morning, shaking their heads and whispering in clipped tones. Ms. Bueckers walked through scandal and rumor with her head held high, looking exactly as untouchable as she was.

Paige Bueckers is here, in Azzi’s classroom.

“I submitted everything already,” Paige said briskly, breaking Azzi’s train of thought. “She’s allergic to gluten. Only Nika Muhl and Kamorea Arnold are authorized for pick up.”

Then Paige knelt – her voice impossibly soft and warm. “Okay, Sunshine. Mommy’s gotta go to work. Be a good student for Ms. Fudd, okay?”

But Azzi was barely listening. Her heart was thudding too loudly in her chest.

Soleil threw her arms around her mother’s shoulders. “I love you, Mommy.” She grabbed her mother’s cheeks, placing a small kiss on her nose. “Can we get ice cweam and watch Moana with Auntie KK and Auntie Ice at home?”

Ms. Bueckers touched her forehead to Soleil’s. “Of course we can, lovebug. But you have to have the best day at school.” She stood back up. “I’ll see you later, Sunshine.”

With that, Soleil turned to Azzi and grabbed her hand. “Have a good one.” Azzi smiled. The expression was not returned, only met with the tiniest nod. The tight blonde bun was the last thing Azzi saw before her door closed.

She led Soleil back to the class gathered on the mat. The blue-eyed girl sat right next to Azzi and popped her thumb into her mouth shyly.

“Okay, boys and girls! Let’s get started!”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The day moved soft and slow. There were thirteen children in Azzi’s class, but none as friendly and kind as Soleil Bueckers. She was warm, bright, and confident. She may have had her mother’s face, but none of her steel. She didn’t mind getting close with the other students, and she made sure no one felt left out.

When Azzi read Same, Same, but Different on the rug, Soleil told her classmates that being different was a good thing and that being like everyone else was “bowing.” The only important thing, Soleil said, was that “we awe all people, so we should tweat evewybody kind and pwetty.”

When three o’clock came, Ms. Bueckers stood out among the cluster of nervous parents. All of the mothers outside of Azzi’s classroom were as far away as permitted.

The whispers started as soon as the Bueckers family was out of earshot.

"That’s her daughter?"

"Are we sure she’s safe having a mother like that?"

"I don’t want Thomas around people like that."

Azzi steeled herself as Mrs. Harrison approached, plastic smile in place.

“Is Jacob in the class with that girl?” The woman asked sweetly.

Azzi tilted her head, returning the sugar with steel. “We have seven girls in our class. Which one are you referring to?”

"You know,” Mrs. Harrison hissed. “That girl with the lesbian mom," she whispered.

Azzi’s smile sharpened. "I don’t discuss the private lives of my students’ families. Especially not in front of small ears. I wouldn’t want to indoctrinate them!”

Mrs. Harrison flushed. Azzi softly shut the door behind her.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“Mommy, you listening to me?” Soleil’s voice was full of sass, her little brows furrowed in the rearview mirror.

Paige chuckled, catching her daughter’s expression in the glass. "Of course I’m listening, baby. That sounds like a really good book. Do you want a copy for home?"

"No thank you! Ms. Fudd put it on the bookshelf. She told us it’s a libwawy, so we can take a book home if we want." She took a big spoonful of cotton candy ice cream. "Is Auntie Nika gonna be home? I wanna watch a movie."

Paige pulled up Nika’s location with one hand and grinned. "She is home! Maybe you guys can have some mac and cheese while you watch."

The rest of the ride was filled with Soleil’s endless chatter, her words tumbling over each other with excitement. Paige listened, smiling softly. She remembered being that carefree once, before everything changed. Before life demanded armor.

She pulled into the private parking deck, an additional level of protection she had paid extra for when she brought Soleil home from the hospital. Within minutes, they were in the elevator, Soleil wrapped in her arms, sleepy but still talking.

Nika was already chilling on the couch when they stepped off the elevator. Paige sent Soleil to her room to change while she did the same. She kept the sweats low on her waist and padded back into the living room.

Soleil was still talking, curled up against Nika. "You look weally pwetty today, Auntie Nika! But Mommy — don’t you think Ms. Fudd is the pwettiest in the world? She’s like a pwincess!"

Paige blinked. "Uh, sure, baby. How about I make the mac and cheese and popcorn, and you two start picking the movie?"

Ms. Fudd. Azzi Fudd. Azzi Jazlyn Fudd.

Paige had already done the research. Background checks on every single employee at St. Paul’s. Education history, prior employment, social media scans. Photos online – candid ones, tagged ones – yes, Azzi Fudd happened to be stunning. Like, stupid beautiful. Big, doe eyes. Rich, honey-brown skin. Lips like they were made to pout. Tall. Confident. Body like a sculpture, if the sculpture had incredible taste in skirts.

So yes, Paige did think Ms. Fudd looked like a princess.

And no, she was absolutely not about to admit that in front of Nika. She’d rather shave her head.

[moodymisty]

Hear me out, jealous Big Blue Berry. Say you were getting a new fitting done and then person doing it is just a bit too touchy? Finding things about your body that only he should know of like how small you are? Or how plump? How your curves are… He isn’t insecure he’s just… brooding. Only he does he want to know your secrets, in and out. :(

Author's note: Big angry blueberry <3 of course its titus lol Relationships: Titus/Fem!Reader Warnings: Jealously, Slightly lewd, Possessive behavior because astartes have an inability to judge normal attachment

"Do you do this often?"

Titus stands no more than ten or so feet away from you, looking down from a stance close to the entryway. His expression is neutral, but latent tiredness gives his eyes a hooded, lazy appearance. You smile at him from your somewhat stiff position.

"No, but a banquet with a primarch is a bit more noteworthy than my usual fare. My usual work doesn't require fancy dresses, so I'm a bit short on them."

Titus watches as one of the workers pulls at your arm, grabbing at you. You don't have your outer wear on, so it's just the flowing fabric of your blouse that covers your arms. His brow furrows when one reaches close to your shoulder, nearly brushing against the side of your chest.

He has held his tongue well this entire time, notably because you seem unbothered by what he would consider far beyond comfortable closeness; Though there is still a portion of his brain screaming for him to reach for his bolter.

You are under his charge at the moment, after all. To allow you to be harmed in any way would be a slack in his duties.

Though there are other reasons, more apparent when he watches one now brush down your clothes to measure your leg, effectively petting your thigh with a tender but firm almost caress.

He doesn't have his helmet on- it's maglocked to his thigh- so he needs to control his facial expression, pulling it inward and instead gritting his teeth. He feels them grind, muscles tensing at the seam of his armouring suit. He can hear the tension in his ears.

Astartes have an odd relationship with touch that Titus isn't entirely cognizant of. When he's being armoured, many people move to grab plates of ceramite to lock him in, but it's very formal. The way these other baselines touch you feels far more intimate, treading into territory he feels belongs to him.

He knows belongs to him.

You don't normally let others touch you this way, if one of the guardsmen or administratum in your stead did this, you would be fuming; You always keep a large breadth between yourself and others. He is aware the circumstances are perhaps different here, but it still enrages him. It isn't hard for his mind to travel from the normal protectiveness expected of his duty, into the obsession and possession of an enraged lover. After all, he has mingled the two together over the time he has known you.

Those hips are his to grab, your arm is his to pull. He is the only one allowed to touch you, to know your every contour. He can feel your body on his palms from memory alone, though the memory is admittedly not old in the slightest.

Titus had known he would be armoured tomorrow to escort you along with a myriad of other duties, and he chose eagerly to take advantage of what time he had left to feel your skin on his before a layer of ceramite was between.

Titus watches them shuffle around you like bugs and breathes harshly through his nose; Their head is far too close to your lower body, hands still firm on your legs as they travel downward. They've touched enough of you that even with clothes still securely on, Titus feels they've mapped out more of you than anyone other than him should ever know. The thought of that sends a rush of something to his brain.

"We're done, ma'am. It should be finished in a few days."

Your smile is gentle and kind when you step away from them, and Titus takes the opportunity to come closer. The heavy steps of his ceramite boots sound like they're going to crack the tile; The offending baseline quickly notices his approach.

He can smell the hesitation on them, as they shirk into their shoulders. Their pupils are like voids watching him, fully dilated. Titus doesn't wish for baselines to fear him, even if it is inevitable, but for a moment, he does relish in it. In the end it accomplishes what he wants; Getting other hands off of you.

"We should return now."

You look up to him, eyes wide before being ushered along.

You're done here. There's no reason to linger around.

His armor acts as a demonstrably large wall that quickly pushes between you and the other baselines, and you quickly move to shuffle out as to avoid getting caught up in his footsteps. Titus has an unstoppable stride, as to many astartes, so it's habitual to simply move out of their way or scurry faster.

You're so much smaller than him, he notices once again.

"I hope that wasn't too boring for your tastes," Your voice is quiet but not sheepish, just talking gently with him. "I imagine you're used to things that are a bit more stimulating."

Titus tenses up a bit upon hearing that word, as his brain misappropriates it for a moment. The idea of you doing anything of that sort with someone else infuriates him, and the idea that gets into his head next of someone else thinking of that makes his blood boil hotter. The idea of one of those baselines thinking about the way their hands groped at you... He consciously controls his tone to stay deadpan.

"I don't dislike the occasional in and out. After a few hundred years of battle, I can appreciate a moment of calm."

You smile at him, and Titus feels himself calm a bit. The muscles in his neck relax. You reach for his gauntlet and grasp it, hand able to wrap around only about two of his fingers. He can feel the ghost of your touch through his armour.

"Good. I imagine I'll need this done again in the future, if our Lord Guilliman continues this streak of politics."

Titus gives you a gentle smile that accents the wrinkles by his eyes, and dreadfully hopes that isn't the case.

[pit-and-the-pen]

Greedy Little Thing

Requested:

Hii just saw your blog for the first time and I'm in love😭😭. Also saw your asks are open and I strongly believe that the needy Az fic deserves a part two with needyyyy reader (begging) please please pleaseeee. We know Az will be brilliant at thissss.

This was so much fun to write. This is really just pure filth.

Technically a part 2 to this request but it’s not required!

Warnings: so much teasing, oral (f receiving), edging/ orgasm denial, some implied cum eating, creampie, p in v sex (18+), dirty talk, praise, Azriel being a little shit.

WC:3.1K

You very rarely got to see your mate dressed up. So used to seeing him in his training leathers that seeing him in anything else had you practically drooling. But seeing him in dress clothes was enough to bring you to your knees, black button down rolled up to his elbows, black dress pants that showed off his glorious thighs and ass. Your mate was hot, more than hot, he was built like a god. 

“Did you need something, doll?” He spoke. You realized you had come into the room for something. You were going to tell him something but all thoughts eddied out of your brain the moment you saw him. 

“You.” The world tumbled out of your mouth without you thinking. He chuckled lightly as he noticed your stare. And just to tease you, he flexed his arms making the veins pop ever so slightly. You imagined running your tongue over them and heat pooled deep in your belly. 

“It seems you’ve forgotten that we have plans tonight.” He was suddenly right in front of you. His finger hooking under your chin to make you look up at him. 

“We do?” Your voice was breathless, needy and whiny as you tried to recall where exactly you had to be that would keep you from climbing Azriel like a tree. 

“Cassian’s birthday party?” He asked more than spoke. Shit. That was what you had come here for. You needed to know where the wrapping paper went. The fancy thick ones that even Cassian had trouble tearing into. 

“What time does it start?” You broke your eyes away from him to peer at the clock on your nightstand. It was just a little past 5.

“Six. And you still need to get dressed.” You felt a pout rise on your face and Azriel’s thumb popped your bottom lip. He leaned down and gave you a chaste kiss. Well it was supposed  to be chaste but you got your arms around his neck before he could pull away. Teeth instantly sink into his bottom lip. He groaned and trailed his hands over your waist. He used his grip to pull you away from him, stepping back until your arms were fully extended around his shoulders. 

“Keep that up, princess, and we won’t go at all.”

‘Is that a bad thing?” 

“Nesta will come get us herself with how much planning she’s done.” You sighed heavily as he stepped out of your hold, your body instantly missing his warmth. 

“Go get ready and I’ll finish wrapping his present. Since that’s what you came in here looking for.” The bastard knew the whole time but had wanted to rile you up. Fine. Two can play that game. You spun on your heel and stomped over to the closet.

The dress you picked was one you had just gotten. Intricately cut patterns of fabric that covered just enough to be decent. It wasn’t your usual color, opting to not get it in your favorite sapphire blue but instead a red so dark it was almost purple. It matched your skin tone so wonderfully and brought out the color of your eyes. You left your hair down, letting it flow naturally over your shoulder, covering the exposed skin the dress left. Grabbing the matching heels, you slipped out of the closet and headed to grab the set of bracelets Azriel had recently gotten you. 

You struggled to clasp them, holding the delicate chain as it continued to slip out of your grasp. You gave a frustrated noise after the third attempt and went to go find your mate to help you. 

“Az.” You called into the house. Not knowing where he was. 

“In here.” He answered from his study. The door was opened so you walked in, still holding the bracelet to your wrist. You held it out for him, not even looking up. 

“I need your help.” You finally looked at him when you didn’t get a response and felt the surge of lust down the bond. His eyes hungirly roved over your figure. The tight dress clinging to the plush of your breast, your stomach and thighs. He licked his lips as he walked over to you. Azriel took your outstretched wrist with a careful hand and managed to clasp the silver bracelet. 

He placed a soft kiss to your pulse point before pulling you against him. A soft grunt leaving you as you crashed against his chest. His free hand rested on the skin of your back, left open with the low cut of the dress. 

“I know what you’re doing, sweetheart.” He said against the shell of your ear. You fought back a shiver as his breath tickled your neck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You asked me to get ready.” Your words would have been convincing if it wasn’t for the smell of your arousal in the air. Azriel peeled his hand away from you to catch a glimpse of the watch on his wrist. 

“Ten minutes.” Was all he said before he knelt down in front of you. Your hands followed him down, clutching onto him and settling on his shoulders. He was quick to sling your leg over his shoulder. Opening you up to him. He ran the tip of his nose along the center of your underwear, drinking in your scent. 

“You’re drenched for me, sweetheart.” 

“Az-” You mewled as he reached up to tug your panties to the side. Your hands slid into his hair as he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit. Teasing the bundle of nerves with feather-light strokes. Your nails dug into his scalp, focusing on the hints of pleasure he was giving you. A breathy “please” leaving your mouth was all it took for him to unleash himself. His pace was merciless, the sounds of his lips on your mingling perfectly with your loud cries. Your legs wobbled slightly and he wrapped an arm around you. Giving you leverage to ride his face, your hips bucking in time with his tongue. 

He had you rapidly approaching your peak. Broken version of his name falling over your lips. 

“Az I’m gonna-” And right as you felt that clench deep in your stomach, he was pulling away. 

A loud cry of outrage left you as you stared down at him. Chest heaving as he placed your foot back down on the ground and stood up to his full height again. He smoothed your dress back into place on your hips, squeezing lightly as he did. 

You felt hot all over, pulse thrumming across your skin. Words failed you as Azriel licked his lips, cleaning your glistening arousal off of his face. 

“I-I was so close.” You whined, closing your eyes as if trying to will the feeling to come back. 

“And maybe now you’ll listen to me when I tell you to wait and not try to tease me like a brat.” He tapped your cheek, a silent request for you to open your eyes. “Now you can be frustrated all night while I decide if I’m going to let you cum.” 

Your eyes widened at his words. “Please. I’ll be good. Please let me cum.” 

He placed a small kiss on your forehead before looking at his watch again. He picked up the present and held an arm out for you. You didn’t hesitate, although a little pouty, to grab it as he winnowed you to the venue Nesta had picked out. 

The girls had spared no expense, and it was obvious as you looked around. Cassian normally wasn’t one for big parties but the century birthdays were always a big deal. Nesta had turned the club into an almost intimate setting but the music thumping through the sound system had your pulse skyrocketing again. You felt it everywhere, still so worked up with not being able to cum. Azriel rubbed small circles into your back, encouraging you to relax. 

“I’ll get us drinks.” He said as he placed another kiss to the top of your head. 

The club was still open to the public tonight, Nesta had just reserved the top floor for Cassian’s party. He would still want to dance with Nesta and she was fully aware of that. You looked around the room for the rest of your friends and quickly spotted them. Cassian's wings sticking out among the crowd. He already had Nesta pulled tight against him. You caught her eye and she pulled away from him with a cat-like smile before she focused on you. You extended the present out to her and she took it to add to the growing pile on one of the tables. 

“You made it.” She gave you a smirk that let you know you must not have been as composed as you thought you were. “I’m surprised with you wearing…that.” She covered her laugh as you rolled your eyes. 

“Azriel was very insistent on being here on time.” As you looked for your other friends you felt your anger rising. No one else had shown up yet, you and Az being the first other couple here. Frustration overrode the lust still buzzing below your skin until you felt Azriel join your side. 

He handed you your drink, suddenly very grateful for the cool glass against your hand. 

“How did you convince them to let you decorate?” Azriel asked Nesta who merely shrugged in response. 

“I’m persuasive.” She responded and you felt the urge to laugh at the image of her storming into the club managers office and demanding them to let her essentially redo half of the club. You took a deep sip of your drink as the rest of your family slowly started to arrive. Feyre and Rhys first, with a small mountain of gifts. Mor, Emerie and Gwen arrive next. Elain and Lucien after, and even Amren. 

Eventually rounds of shots were poured as everyone started to get started for the night. Cassian was glowing with happiness as he danced with Nesta, then Feyre and eventually you. He spun you in a large circle as you tipped your head back laughing. He had gotten better at dancing since being with Nesta, a fact she was very proud of. He had two left feet and no rhythm before he met her. 

The song faded into the next and you excused yourself from the dance floor to get another drink. Azriel was right behind you, hands seeming to gravitate towards your waist and back. He had left teasing touches all over skin the entire night and it was enough to have your thighs clenching together as your mind drifted to the unfinished events in his office. 

“You seem tense, sweetheart.” His hands going to rest on your shoulders, fingers rubbing at the tight muscles around your neck. You leaned into his touch, biting back a moan at the feeling of him touching you so intimately. He chuckled as he pulled away, a deep frown on your face. He was still riling you up, hours after and it was working perfectly. Your thighs were sticking with your arousal. 

“Az, please.” You plead, not entirely sure what you were begging for. For him to stop, for him to pull you into the bathroom of the club and finally finish what he started. 

“Behave.” Was all he said as he pulled you to the center of the dance floor, you drink still waiting on the bar top. 

He pulled you tight against him as the song shifted to something slower, something more sensual. His hips dug into yours perfectly, meeting you beat for beat. Your hands were digging into the front of his shirt, clutching onto the fabric to stop yourself from melting into a pool at his feet. His hands ghosting along your waist, over your sides, brushing every inch of exposed skin had you panting against him. You pulled him down to meet your lips, a sigh escaping both of you as you did. His hands went to rest on the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. His tongue parted your lips and he licked into your mouth. Demanding every bit of your attention. 

You didn’t realize he had backed you into a corner until you felt the wall behind you. It gave you leverage to grind your hips against him. A small part of you was satisfied as you felt his rock hard length through his pants. He pulled away from the kiss, eyes dark and pupils blown. He was matching your breathing, chest rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath. 

You reached your hand down before he caught your wrist and pulled you away from his waistband. 

“I told you to behave.” He growled in your ear. The sound was so perfect it made you want to cry out in frustration. You felt it everywhere. Your toes curl in your heels as you whine. 

“Az. You proved your point. I’ll listen.” Your voice is high pitched. 

“Look at you, so needy for me. I bet you would let me fuck you right here?” Your breath hitched in your throat at the thought. He laughed darkly at your response. “You would, wouldn’t you. My little slut, so needy for my cock she’d let me fuck her in a room full of strangers.” He bit the junction between your neck and shoulders had a loud moan falling from your lips. 

“Az-” He silenced you with a kiss. Hips driving into yours, pinning you against the wall. You wrapped a leg around his waist, exposing your dripping core to him. He growled low in his chest and you felt the world moving around you. 

Next thing you felt was the plush of your large bed underneath you. 

“You want me that badly, princess?” He was already unbuttoning his shirt, his toned chest slowly becoming visible. You nodded, your throat suddenly feeling dry. A small slap to the inside of your thigh had you crying out a yes. 

He leaned over you, arms caging in each side of your head. He eyed you up, a smirk plastered on his face as you panted under him. He reached out and flipped you over so you were in his lap. Straddling his hips, your heels hanging off the edge of the bed. Your hand slipped behind you to take them off but his words stopped you. 

“Keep them on.” Was all he said before he started trailing kisses over your collarbone, down to the space between your breasts. You wanted the dress off, wiggling your hips to tell him as much. Azriel didn’t hesitate. Hands coming up the zipper of the dress and pulling it down excruciatingly slow. He pulled away long enough to slip the scrap of fabric over your head, you arms raising and falling against his chest with a loud smack. He leaned back on his elbows, drinking in your figure. Your skin flushed with need, eyes wide and wild. You leaned down and started placing open mouth kisses on his exposed chest. You went to slide off of his lap before a firm hand stopped you. 

“As much as I would love to see your pretty mouth wrapped around me. I want to be inside of you.” You could have cried with relief at the words. But you should have known there would be a catch. He didn’t waste another second before he was slipping inside of you. Hours worth of teasing making it almost too easy for him to fill you. You sniffled as you sunk down completely. Already drunk off the feeling of him. 

His hands found themselves on either side of your hips, urging you to move at the pace he set. You own arms hooking around his neck as you pull yourself closer to his chest. YOur head rolled back until you were looking at the ceiling, body bouncing with each thrust as you could do nothing but take everything he gave you. 

You felt that coil tightening again in your stomach. Your thighs clenching around his waist, trying to take him deeper. 

“You’re taking my cock so well, sweetheart. Look at how pretty you are.” 

You could do nothing but cling to him tighter, your moans mingling with his own groans. The room was filled with the sounds of your bodies colliding. The bed shook across the floor as he continued to drive his hips against yours, again and again. Your whole body clenched as you were about to tip over the edge and right as you went to cry out for him. He pulled out, flipping you over so you were suddenly under him. You cried out again. 

“Az. Please.” He kissed your cheek, trying to sooth you as you reached out for him. He waited a few heartbeats before he lined himself back up with your entrance and pushed in. 

“Are you gonna be good?” He asked. You would have said yes to whatever he wanted, anything to let you cum for him. You were nodding, voice horse from the pitch of your moans. 

He grabbed your ankles and pushed your thighs up to meet your shoulders, driving his hips with his whole body. You felt every wonderful inch of him this way, could feel how tight your walls were pulling him in. His skin was dewey as a layer of sweat clung to both of you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as your legs started to shake. Your body so exhausted already as you tried to lift your hips up to meet him. 

“Cum for me, my sweet, beautiful, girl.” He pressed his nose into your shoulder, biting down right as you hit your high. You shuddered in his arms, which tightened around you. Letting you ride out your high as his hips slowed down, grinding against you. It was only a few more moments before he was growling into your ear. HIs hips stilling as he pumped you full of his release. You stayed wrapped around him, basking in the afterglow of one of the best orgasms you had ever had. Body finally relaxing against him. He pulled out of you slowly, your releases spilling out and running down your thigh. Azriel’s eyes went right to the mess between your legs and you saw that glint of hunger that told you the night was only beginning. 

He started to trail kisses down your stomach until he laid flat against the bed. 

“I think I owe you more than one, princess.” And brought his lips to your folds for the second time tonight.

[endereies]

ATTRIBUTES AND QUALITIES - MS - BLURB

Pairing: bf!matt x gf!reader

Contains: The details of Matt as your boyfriend, on and off camera

Requested?: yes by @bernardsbendystraws - Request

Author's notes: This shouldn't have taken me so very long to write but neither should almost everything on my platform

Word Count: 1692

╰┈➤ SFW

༊*·˚ You both tended to avoid social situations, this included date nights

You had fixed your dress one too many times for it to slip Matt's conscience. It was adorned with two perfectly symmetrical bows which lined the skin of your shoulders. They barely reached the built in corset line, covered in a soft silk. It was so barely blue to the point where you could only see it in the dim lighting of your room. Pleats curve at your hips and flow to your knees. It was clear how much you were smitten with the fabric. Matt watched you steal glances at the mannequin poised at the front window, hence his insisted purchase.

Delicate touches, traced your hips from behind and as much as you felt unease within the situation, you melted into his touch. "Hi pretty" His voice felt so pure against your neck and you couldn't help but giggle. A few peppered kisses later, he leant back to watch the reflection of you both in the full body mirror. Knitted material covered his arms, covering sections of his darker belt. That was wrapped round his light-wash jeans that became a staple in his wardrobe.

"Hey Matt" It was a timid voice that escaped your mouth, you hadn't meant for it to. It faded into the air but when you finally looked up you were met with Matt's gaze, falling heavily on you. He smiled against your neck, allowing his breath to tickle he skin.

"You don't want to go out tonight do you..?" Guilt filled you almost instantly. You were aware that he had made reservations at this fine dining place he pointed out one late-night drive. It was a high end place but the atmosphere was one to be appreciated. Yet tonight you were dreading it.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I know you booked this fancy place but I-" His fingers quickly silenced you as he pressed them against your lips. He dryly laughed and turned your chin to face him directly. "I was hoping you'd say that..I just want to watch movies alongside you. How'd you feel with that, love?"

You sighed deeply, letting yourself relax onto him. "I'd love nothing more."

༊*·˚ He loved to make you feel safe and loved whenever he could

The last few days had been filled with thunderstorms that stretched into every evening. Tonight was no different. Several hours had gone by and nothing showed signs of the storm easing up. Clouds remained dark and your window was covered in drops of rain that sped down the glass. It wasn't that you hated the way the clouds lit up to reveal the purple hues. It was the way the thunder clapped unexpectedly that made you tense. It was deafening and not even the steady hums of your playlist could block out the sounds.

You had given up the idea of sleep and simply attempted to sleep between the duvet and pillows of your bed. Bunches of fabric were huddled near your chest and practically covered your face.

"Baby? I'm home!" Finally Matt had come home from his filming session that got cut early from the rain. They all agreed it would be better to continue when sounds of water and lightning didn't fill the mic.

He wasn't oblivious to the way thunder made you uneasy, he had seen you more than once feel uncomfortable and refuse to relax. Although never this bad.

Once he was met with silence, you heard him wonder around the house. It wasn't long before he creaked open the bedroom door. You could see the way his expression softened thanks to the bursts of light outside.

"Are you okay..?" The answer was obvious when he saw stray tears lingering on your cheeks. Rustling was quickly caused by the shaking of your head, not trusting your voice to not let you down.

He caught on your feelings instantly and slid under whatever duvet you hadn't bundled at your chest. You felt his body slide next to yours, the warmth welcoming. A sudden crash of thunder echoed through the room. Matt would be lying if he said it didn't feel good when you immediately reached out for him with closed eyes.

"You're okay baby.." Reassuring words slipped past his lips as he caressed your hair gently. "I got you."

༊*·˚ He always managed to slip your name into a conversation

Tara had thrown one of her iconic parties and as per Matt's request, you were by his side. Finally meeting some people you had dreamed of seeing for years, it was safe to say you were happy.

The whole night you were beaming alongside Matt and his friends. Dressed in a light silver dress that has small glitters embedded in the fabric, Matt could watch the way you shined forever.

"Hey baby? I'm gonna go with Nick and see Tara for a moment. I'll be back" It was hard to suppress a chuckle as his brother pretended to gag at the pet name. "Go ahead y/n."

With the lack of vibrant lighting, he easily lost you in the crowd but once he turned around he caught the eye of Jake. "Matt, didn't think you would turn up if imma be honest." His eyes took in his outfit, carefully put together. Laying on his wrist was a bracelet that caught his eye. "Woah, nice bling. How much was that?"

"Oh, I'm not sure, my girl got it for me a few weeks ago. She asked if I could wear it to match her dress tonight." A knowing smile crossed Jakes's face and a slight laughed escaped his lips. "Ahh is that so."

༊*·˚ He hates the way you think so low of yourself and would always defend against any negative thoughts you had

You had been shopping around stores on one of the rare days that Matt had no work on. You had been invited out to an event with your friends so it only seemed fitting to find a specialized outfit.

He was patiently sat outside the fitting rooms with the assortment of bags surrounding his feet. He saw a figure walk out and when he finally lifted his eyes, his jaw dropped. You were wrapped in a gorgeous red fabric that was cinched at the left side of your body. It had laid gently across your mid thigh.

You opened the curtain and revealed your outfit to Matt. "Woah.."

"I know, I'm not really a fan of it, I mean.." Your words trailed off as you looked down towards your stomach and hips.

"What are you on about? I'm obsessed with the way this looks on you, It looks even better when you feel that way too. This dress highlights your best features, baby. All of them."

You placed yourself in front of the mirror and tried to brush down any features you felt mildly uncomfortable with. Matt had come up behind you and placed his hands on your hip while resting his chin on to your bare shoulder.

"My pretty girl." He sighed into your neck and that was enough to pay for the dress with your Matt's card later.

༊*·˚ He would always pamper you whenever you felt unwell / on your period

It had been about an hour since Matt left your apartment. All you asked was that he pick up some chocolate to satiate your cravings, which had been an upset for the past six hours. The sharp pains in your stomach had only gotten worse, even after medication. Every time that Matt crossed your mind it only made you feel so needy, clingy. Like a burden.

Little did you know that Matt was rushing around several stores for more than your sweet treats. Any time you made a comment about something you liked, he made sure that you got it. A bouquet of your favourite flowers had ended in his basket, along with an assortment of treats, a candle with your preferred smells inside, a pink bath bomb and of course, Pads and tampons.

He hadn't meant to take so long but when you finally heard the front door of your apartment click open you were full of relief.

The gentle knocks on your bedroom door spurred you to sit up against the headboard, the hot water bottle across your midriff.

"Hey sweetheart, I'm back" His voice was meek, as if you had barely woken up.

"What took you so long, Matt? Did you get lost" A slight giggle passed your lips, met with a shake of Matt's head.

"No, baby. I just went on a little spree." That's when your jaw dropped. Finally, he pulled the bags from behind the door and placed them heavily at the end of your bed.

"So, at first, I was only going to get you the chocolates, but then I saw these Haribo's I remember you practically stole from me because they were 'too good to resist'." The bags of confectionary rustled on the blankets. "Then I saw this candle and it was blue, which grabbed my attention. Then I saw it was your favourite so of course I grabbed it. I had to get you pads and tampons. I know you alternate so I grabbed both kinds." A small pile began to form at your feet. "Oh! I also saw some fuzzy socks so they went in and i stopped at Lush to get you a bath bomb. They didn't have your normal one so i got a back up one for you!"

His gaze finally met your eyes, staring at the pile with tears forming. It was obvious you weren't blinking so that you didn't cry. You knew if you had tried to speak, your emotions would quickly be revealed. if they weren't already by your expression.

"Y/n..? You okay.. did i do something wrong..?" With an insistent shake of your head, you denied his words.

"You did all this for...me?" You looked up to him in mere disbelief. "Of course I did. I always will. I can tell you needed this."

"Matt...thank you.."

"You can thank me once I've run your bath, okay love?"

© ENDEREIES 2024

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✨️ Day 4 ‒ Mama's boy

Synopsis: Captain Price knows he can count on his team; no matter what and no matter when. He knows it and his soldiers know it, too. 1–4–1. Still, to say you were shocked when he’d asked you to play his darling girlfriend at his annual family Christmas gathering, is an understatement.  

Pairing: John Price x fem!Reader  Warnings/Info: No smut. | military!Reader; humour; fake dating (or is it???); awkward flirting; sexual tension; cussing; fluff; happy ending; teammates to lovers 

Word count: 2.4k 

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This is for the lovely @staytrueblue ! You've become the absolute Captain John Price expert to me. Hope you'll like it! 🩵

You pick at the hem of your dress; deep red velvet with elegant long sleeves, a tight top with a Carmen neckline which allows a peek of the soft curve of your shoulders, and a bottom that flows seamlessly into a skirt that reaches just above your knees.

A white pearl choker adorns your neck, along with the matching earrings. You’ve done your hair and make-up, and added a spritz of your most expensive perfume – and you don’t question yourself why you’re even doing this much, but perhaps it’s simply the all-consuming urge to please and impress your Captain, like an eager pup with its owner.

You’ve cleaned up nicely for tonight and you’d be more focused on that if it wasn’t for that tight ball of anxiety manifesting deep down in your gut since this whole ruse had taken root a few days ago. It didn’t help when Price gave you a genuine compliment after picking you up from your apartment on base, either.

Trying to relax back into the soft leather of the passenger seat, you decide to glance out of the window and distract yourself by watching the steady storm of snowflakes flutter furiously outside, covering the scenery in fresh powdery snow while the engine of the car purrs steadily.

Aston Martin Vantage. V8. British racing green. Jet-black rims. Sleek interior. Holy shit.

You’ve never sat in a car like this before, nor did you expect Price to own something fancy and flashy like this. Then again, you didn’t expect him to ask for this favour, either.

“Would you stop worrying, darling? You’ll be fine.”

Your eyebrow quirks as you glance at Price, giving him a side-eye as you hear how casually he drops that pet name in that gruff voice of his. It shouldn’t feel like this, this right, shouldn’t make the hair at the back of your neck bristle this pleasantly.

Darling.

“Getting into character already, sir?” You can’t help but ask teasingly, unable not to take the piss out of this whole situation you’ve found yourself in.

Your Captain and superior asking you, one of his Sergeants of all people, to accompany him to his annual family Christmas get together, and what a shit show it is going to be. You’re sure of it.

However, Price huffs, brows furrowing as he keeps his sharp eyes focused on the snowy road.

“Might as well,” he counters curtly, “and stop calling me ‘sir’, will ya? We’re not on duty and I need this – us – to be believable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you make a dismissive gesture with your hand, pondering for a moment before turning your head to really take a good look at him this time.

John looks handsome, too handsome and too civilian, wearing a dark grey chequered pair of chino pants that accentuates his firm rear a little too well, with black dress shoes and a simple black turtleneck sweater that stretches over his broad chest, shoulders and bulging biceps.

The cab of his car is cosy warm and filled with the scent of his tangy yet subtle cologne, a smell that makes you want to hook a finger into the hem of his turtleneck sweater, tug the fabric down to expose his neck and then bury your nose in it to take a sniff.

Yes, no, you’re absolutely normal about all of this.

Your eyelashes flutter as you blink those thoughts away at once, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“So, uh... W-What should I call you, then? Honey buns? Babe?” You quip and cringe internally at your own joke, though you’re gauging his reaction as he drives over to his parents' house.

“Baby? ... Good boy?”

His jaw clenches under his beard, you can see it in the way his temple twitches, and the leather of the steering wheel creaks softly as he grips it tighter. Interesting.

“John is fine,” he answers eventually, “Sweetheart or love if you’re feeling bold enough after a glass of wine, ya bloody lightweight.”

“Sweetheart... Love...” You repeat those pet names quietly, testing them out on your tongue regarding him, still your Captain and superior – and the man you’ve been harbouring feelings for, for the past few years, if you’ll finally start to be really honest with your damn self.

“Okay, I can do that.”

He reaches over and pats your knee; the warmth of his rough palm seeping through the thin fabric of your black tights, “I know you can, darling.”

The first few minutes were incredibly awkward, but that’s just you – being incredibly awkward in general.

Put yourself in any gunfight, jumping out of planes, fake dating Gaz or Soap for a mission, or stalking a target for days on end without a break – no problemo, – but social interactions outside of the field? One such as this?

Oh, boy.

However, you stick to the plan, to the detailed briefing John has given you prior to tonight, and it does seem to work.

His father, William, is surprisingly chatty, but you could also already smell the bourbon on his breath when he went in for a brief hug at the front door.

His mother, Margaret, though, she’s not an easy read, and you quickly realize where your Captain got his steadfastness from. A proper lady who’s obviously the head of this household. He’s got her piercing eyes and appraising look, and you know you’re being scrutinized thoroughly, but she’s friendly enough and gives you space, though you’re already anticipating the moment she’s going to herd you away from her son to put you through the wringer like a wet kitchen towel.

His older brother, Robert, wife Deborah, and two kids, Luke and Ben, are easy to fool, though it seems old Bobby gets a kick out of trying to make his younger brother and especially you flustered. It doesn’t work on John, but after a first glass of wine, you have to admit that it does work on you.

Robert is even less funny than John and that’s just because he’s trying too hard; trying too hard to make everyone like him, and you wonder why John lets him get away with it, but then again, Robert’s the firstborn son, so maybe it’s just the respect John is forced to have for his older brother that’s holding him back. Classical sibling and brother hierarchies, and all of that.

“Say, how did Johnny even manage to woe a woman like you? He’s as charming as an ice pick that one.” Robert dares to ask during dinner, and you actually get offended by that.

“Charming enough for me,” you retort, staring daggers at him and wishing you had an ice pick to throw right about now, “I prefer a straightforward man over some bootlicker.”

Deborah laughs while Robert looks bewildered, eyes flickering between you and John, who’s seated next to you. You cringe internally at yet another blunder, but then you see John’s smug smile out of the corner of your eyes, and his hand finds your knee again under the table, lingering there for the remainder of dinner.

His mother keeps watching and observing from her seat across from you at the long table, a small smile tugging at the corner of her red-painted, wrinkly lips.

John’s younger sister, Alice, shows up right after dinner, before everyone is moved back into the spacious living room to exchange presents; with the large, decorated Christmas tree looming in the corner next to the fireplace, where the birch wood is already crackling nicely.

Alice is an artist, a photographer, living in Paris. Her flight got delayed due to the weather, hence why she’s late. It’s clear by the way John pulls her into a tight hug while simultaneously calling her a muppet that he prefers her over Robert.

She’s a cold breeze of fresh air; a whirlwind full of buzzing energy, joy and kindness, and she would almost be too much for you in any other situation, but when she embraces you gleefully and welcomes you into the family, it’s too easy to get lost in that fantasy for a moment.

This whole ruse is starting to turn cruel on you, really.

Especially, when John’s large and warm hand comes to rest on the small of your back, just above the curve of your rear, once Alice demands to take a picture of you two in front of the Christmas tree. You glance up at him as he towers next to you, smiling boyishly at his little sister while he pulls you closer into his side, one arm curling around your waist and making you go somewhat rigid as you practically feel his strength and dominance radiating off his body, and there is a touch of possession in the way he’s holding you, too.

Or perhaps, you’re simply imagining it.

A sudden camera flash goes off, blindsiding you momentarily and you blink away the dots blurring your vision when Alice speaks up again.

“Alright, thanks for the mugshot, cherié,” she quips, snapping her fingers at you as if to wake you up, “Give me a good one now, aye? I need to capture proof that John actually brought a woman home for once. Look at your poor man; bloody sap’s completely infatuated with you.”

Infatuated? You blink dumbly and glance up at him instinctively as if to check for that yourself, acting as if you could tell how said infatuation would even look like.

And then, your stomach drops and the blood in your veins starts simmering, toes curling in your pumps to ground yourself as soon as your eyes lock with his slightly glazed, steel blue eyes, like a steady flow of ice melting in a rivulet.

Sometime, somehow, in this moment, your hand reaches up to rest on his chest, manicured fingers splaying over the fabric of his sweater to feel his strong heartbeat thudding against your palm–

... and then, Alice coos at you two – breaking the spell.

“Yes! That’s more like it, cherié!”

You excuse yourself after Alice gets the perfect picture to her liking, and before John can follow you, his mother urgently calls out to him, asking for his help in the kitchen.

Meanwhile, you almost feel bad that Alice’s family photo album will have a staged picture of a fake relationship in it, one that will taint it with a big, fat lie.

It shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be here tonight and yet, you are, after having agreed way too quickly and eagerly to the Captain’s request to play his girlfriend and help getting his family to back off.

Now, you find yourself wandering the hallways upstairs of his old family home, where he grew up in, you’d learned; sipping your glass of white wine absentmindedly while you study the rows upon rows of pictures littering the walls, like a walkway through time.

It feels like overstepping a boundary, but John should’ve expected you, a trained special forces soldier, to sneak off at some point to snoop around a bit; he never explicitly told you not to, after all.

You get stuck on graduation pictures of all three siblings, though your eyes linger on John, standing at attention in his dress uniform; tall, handsome, very beardless and fifteen years younger, at least, and you catch your smile before it can spread into something too fond.

Taking another slow sip, you feel a familiar presence behind you; still, you wait for him to address you first and maybe chew you out for being nosy.

“Don’t get caught up in the past, darling,” his gruff voice cuts through the peaceful silence, “I’ve long lost that youthful charm and vigour.” He chuckles gruffly.

Darling. There it is again.

“You can drop the act when we’re alone,” you mumble into the glass as you take another sip, trying to get rid of that damn flutter of nerves deep in your stomach, “I’m positive we’ve fooled them well enough tonight, sir.”

His footsteps are dulled by the carpet covering the hardwood floor as he keeps approaching you from behind, and your grip tightens around the wine glass, nearly shattering the delicate glass, when John’s powerful arms come to wrap around your midriff from behind; his buff body moulding against your back like it’s meant to be.

Admittedly, you go rigid again, holding your breath, stiff as a board.

His breath is warm, a hint of smooth bourbon catching in your nostrils as he leans in to murmur against your ear while his arms tighten around your waist, “I told you to stop calling me ‘sir’, haven’t I? Mhm, darling?”

You shudder involuntarily in his sudden embrace, this forbidden intimacy, breath hitching as your brain begins to short-circuit at once.

“Yeah… You did,” you croak out, voice coming out too breathlessly for your own liking, “But there’s no one to fool here right now, John.”

His chest rumbles and reverberates against your back with something like a pleased hum when you use his first name.

“Not trying to fool anyone, love. ’s just you and me now. ‘sides–”

He then nuzzles his nose against the exposed juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, trailing the tip of his nose along the smooth curve while his beard scratches over your skin pleasantly.

“My bloody mother knew the moment we stepped over the threshold of this house. Thought I’d trained ya better than tha’, Sergeant, or were you not faking any of this after all, hm?”

Despite your better judgement, you allow yourself to lean into his embrace, feeling his body heat seeping through the velvety fabric of your dress.

“Were you?” You counter-ask overzealously, tongue loosened by the alcohol you’ve already consumed, before biting down on your bottom lip, though you can’t take your question back to swallow the words like you probably should have.

“Faking it… I mean.” You add, clearing your throat awkwardly as you continue clutching your wine glass.

There is a heavy pause, one that has your pulse thrumming violently in your neck with each passing second of his silence, until John’s low, gravelly voice murmurs, his lips brushing over that sensitive spot right below your ear.

“Thought I was already being terribly obvious, darling.”