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florencemtrash · 1 month

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Seventeen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

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

Warnings: None. Some angst. Some fluff. AHHHHHHHHHH just look at the gif guys

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“I will.”

The wet cloth soothed his burning skin as you carefully cleaned away the smattering of blood dashed over his high, bruised cheekbones like freckles. You were both holding your breaths, only daring to move when your lungs demanded it. Azriel sat on the chair you’d dragged into your bathroom, face level with yours as you leaned down to inspect his face with two fingers tucked beneath his chin.

Azriel’s fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch you somewhere. Anywhere.

“You said you’d tell me if I hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me, Y/n.”

Azriel could have told you that he was well versed with cleaning blood off his body and clothes. He could have reminded you back in the dining room that Feyre and Rhysand stood only ten feet away and could have whisked away his injuries and the bloodstains with a single touch or snap of their fingers. But instead he’d said nothing. He’d let you close your hand around his, fingers dangerously close to his thrumming pulse, and followed you to your bedroom while ignoring the throbbing pain of his cracked ribs.

Feyre called your bedroom The Wisp after having decorated it with all manner of airy, cream-colored furniture accented with soft browns. Your desk was overrun with neat piles of papers, books, and journals. The windowsill by your bed was dedicated to pre-sleep novels and clusters of lavender tied with twine and left to stand upright in vases fashioned from ink bottles. The scent of old books and parchment paper clung to every surface along with something that smelled clean and entirely like you.

Your bathroom was similarly orderly. Bottles of perfumes, lotions, and oils were laid out on the countertop like little soldiers, catching and scattering the moonlight from the window in a rainbow of color.

You brushed the cloth over his lips, eyes lingering on the two splits already scabbing over, then down the curve of his jaw to his chin.

It was reverently quiet here in your bathroom. Nothing but the faint and steady drip from the faucet into the quartz basin and your breathing filling the space.

Color had been spilled over Azriel’s face like a watercolor painting, equal parts painful and beautiful to look at. Because he was still so, so beautiful looking up at you with those whisky eyes that made your head spin. Those dark curls that hung over his forehead like seafoam waves. Your hands fluttered over the bottles on the countertop before settling on a pale green one that smelled strongly of mint. You smoothed the oil over Azriel’s face, leaving a cool, tingling sensation wherever you touched.

“I’m sorry about Lucien,” You whispered. “And Helion. I never wanted you to get hurt like this.”

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled sadly. “Cassian was right when he said I had it coming.”

You winced. “How bad was it when you fought Lucien the last time? When you invoked the Blood Duel?”

Azriel didn’t shy away from the question, and his gaze never left yours as you quietly restoppered the bottle. “I was a second away from stabbing him through the heart when Elain stopped us. There are a fair number of scars we both left that fight with, but we did walk away,” He stiffened at the memory, “Barely.”

“Do you… do you regret it?”

“Yes,” Azriel said quickly. Firmly. “I will regret what I did and what Elain and I did together until the day I die.” His hands flexed by his sides and he dared to lift them up to your hips, anchoring himself with the feeling of you beneath his fingertips. When you didn’t shy away from his touch, he continued on. “I wanted what my brothers had and in my desperation I think Elain and I chose each other because we just wanted to do something. I wanted a mate and proof that I belonged alongside Rhys and Cassian, and Elain wanted to break the rules for the first time in her life. To feel in control. But we never should have done it knowing everyone would get hurt.”

“Sometimes love is like that,” you murmured, “Messy and hurtful… or so I’ve read.”

“I didn’t love Elain. I don’t love Elain. At least not romantically.” Not the way that I love you.

You tried to ignore the flutter of relief in your chest. It didn’t feel like the right time for it. Not with Azriel bruised and hurting before you. You dropped your eyes to the pale green tiles and caught sight of Azriel’s gloved hands.

“You’re wearing them again.”

Wordlessly you picked up one and gently began tugging the leather off his fingers. One by one. The whole time you kept your eyes on him, tracing the tension in his shoulders and between his eyes as his ruined skin was exposed inch by inch. The air felt foreign on the skin of his palms. The feel of your body so close to his felt exhilarating.

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel whispered, “I never meant to hurt you in all the ways that I did. What I did—”

“I know, Azriel.”

His eyes traced every line of your face, hands shaking. “You’re not a fourth choice. You’re not broken... But I think I might be,” he confessed. The words hung in the air between you two. Words you could wrap around his neck and hang him with.

He felt every stroke of your fingers over his knuckles. Every flutter of your eyelashes as you looked at him with the faintest tilt of your head.

“So what?” You breathed out.

Azriel shook. “Y/n?”

“So what if you’re broken? Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t,” You leaned your forehead against his, noses brushing, “But you’re still Azriel.” You smiled gently at him, eyes fluttering closed as you sighed. “And I think that’s a wonderful thing.”

Azriel stopped breathing as you brought his hands up to your lips and brushed them over every scarred knuckle. Every touch of yours was sacred. In their sincerity. In their rarity. In their preciousness to him.

“Do you… do you like me, Azriel?” Your words were nervous and soft. Softer than the finest bed Azriel had ever laid his head down on. Softer than the clouds that turned to rain when he flew through them. Softer than your ink-stained fingertips landing on the sprinting pulse of his neck.

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, “You can’t even begin to know, Y/n.”

And then your softness was all around him. It was your lips against his lips, pillowy and tasting faintly of the sweet wine you’d drank at dinner. It was your hands and arms looping around his neck and keeping his head squarely on his shoulders so he could experience this vibrance. It was the feel of your body as he held onto your hips and then flattened his hands against the small of your back, pressing you as close as he dared. River-soaked robes long since forgotten.

You were like water threatening to slip through his fingertips.

You hoped you were doing this right. Reading about kissing was very different from the actual thing. Your lips felt too stiff or too fervent. You worried your hands were too greedy as you plunged them into his raven-wing hair and tangled silken strands. But while you lacked experience, Azriel surely seemed to be making up the difference. He held you as close as possible, until it felt more like breathing than kissing.

Salty tears landed in between your lips until you could both taste their sharp tang on your tongues.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he kept saying over and over in between shaky gulps of air. “Y/n, please believe me. I—”

You kissed him harder just to make him stop, swallowing his pain as best you could until his breathing evened out.

“I’ve got you, Az.” You brushed his black waves away from his forehead before kissing him there too. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tell her. Tell her. Tell her.

Azriel’s shadows chanted in his ears. But he made them go silent.

Another day.

Let him just hold you like this for now. For as long as you would let him. Here in the stillness with you — the only person who’d ever brought him a real sense of peace and quiet — he felt it was safe to hope again.

The long stream of kisses ended too early for his liking, although he didn’t dislike the sight of your heaving chest and blushing cheeks. He couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, and you seemed to be thinking the same thing as you stood between the walls of his legs, his arms wrapped loosely at your sides and yours dangling off his shoulders.

You’d kissed him. You’d kissed him.

You touched your fingertips to your lips, worry in your eyes. “Was it bad? Did I do a bad job? I’ve never—”

Azriel would have none of that. He tightened his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and kissing you all over again. You relished in his heat and the faint tickles of shadows that encased you both in darkness, like a veil had been thrown over the room leaving everything gauzy and soft.

“You, my Y/n,” his lips brushed over the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your neck when he sighed so, so softly, “Are a marvelous kisser.”

Had you melted into a sack of bones on the floor? It certainly felt like you had. You were blushing uncontrollably, searching for something, anything, to comment on. You thought your heart might just burst out of your chest.

“You have frosting in your hair.” You plucked the white blobs off his head, feeling the sugar grains crumble between your fingers.

“I think that was meant to be dessert.”

“I think you might be right.” You tried controlling your breathing when Azriel leaned forward and kissed the bare skin of your shoulder, and failed miserably. “It’s a real shame,” you stammered, “I was looking forward to cake.”

He kissed the center of your chest next and your heart skipped a beat. “I’ll buy you all the cake in the world to make it up to you.”

“That’s a hefty promise, and a waste of cake.”

“Do you doubt me?” Azriel asked honestly. You could ask him for moonlight in a bottle, or a dress spun from spider silk, or all the stars in the sky and he’d find a way to make it happen. Some way. Somehow. He’d give you everything that was his to give, and then some.

“No. I don’t doubt you.”

“Good.”

He couldn’t help himself. He kissed you again, reveling in the faint sighs that he swallowed up and the few that escaped between your locked lips to sing in his ears. You traded kisses for hours on end, slipping them in between conversations and gentle touches. It was an exploration in intimacy that you worried might sweep you away, but Azriel was as he always was — patient and gentle — from the tips of his black hair to his scarred hands to his leather boots. And you loved every inch of him.

You clung to his shirt, the scent of soap still clinging to his skin after he’d returned from his bath and laid down in bed beside you in cotton instead of leather.

“Azriel,” You said, your voice thin and tired. The candles burned low casting shadows that flickered and twisted on the wall. But you didn’t pay any mind to shadows any longer, not when you knew they belonged to Azriel as surely as you did. “Stay.”

And who was he to deny you? He held you close, your cheek pressed against his chest. You fell asleep to the sound of his heart, and he fell asleep to the rhythm of your breathing.

You woke up to the weight of Azriel draped over your body, face pressed against your breasts, arms wrapped around your waist, and the rest of him nestled in between your legs. He grounded you, wings splayed out and bathing in the sunlight that streamed through the windows.

You were pleasantly surprised that he was still asleep and you took the time to lightly trace his features, weaving your fingers through his hair until he made a sound that had your heart speeding up. Something halfway between a sigh and a groan.

He was slow and sluggish to wake, eyes blinking languidly as he registered the warm, supple body beneath him.

You.

He’d fallen asleep here with you, wrapped up in your scent until the world had faded away into blissful nothingness. He could have been asleep for eight hours or eight years and he would be none the wiser. All he knew is that you were running your fingers through his hair, and he didn’t want you to stop.

“Hey, you,” You murmured when his whisky eyes fluttered open, eyelashes casting spidery darkness over his cheekbones where his own shadows curled as if still asleep.

Azriel hummed, burying his face in your chest and sighing with his whole body. His arms rubbed up and down your sides leaving molten heat in their wake. “Please don’t tell me it's morning.”

“I’m not above lying, Azriel. It’s the middle of the night.”

His wings shook with quiet laughter, the movement of his body tickling your skin until you were grinning unabashedly.

“Then why are you awake?” Again, his words were muffled by your skin.

“Because I’m currently being crushed beneath the weight of an Illyrian warrior.”

His head shot up in alarm. He was no small male and although he’d spent centuries gaining enough strength for his wings to feel weightless on his back, he knew they were anything but. And you’d let him stay like that all night. It was a miracle you hadn’t suffocated.

Stupid. Stupid.

“I’m sorry. Gods, I didn’t mean—” He began to slide off of you. But you were laughing.

“Wait! No! I was joking. I was joking. Come back!” You wrapped your legs around his back, the sudden movement pulling him flush against you in a rush of heat that made him go stone still.

Mother, help me. He thought to himself, feeling blood travel both up and down his body.

You guided his head to your chest by the strands of his hair until he was following the curves of your silhouette once again. “I like it when you hold me like this, Azriel,” you confessed. “I don’t feel like I’m going to float away anymore. Does that make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he whispered. He felt the same way. “You make the world go quiet, Y/n.”

It wasn’t until the clock struck twelve bells and the House’s cooking wafted through the hallways that you and Azriel finally peeled yourselves off one another, shuffling to the bathroom in a cluster of wings and loose night clothes.

Azriel watched you closely, finding new ways to love you even as you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping hips and smiling at one another shyly. He watched as you brushed your hair and washed your face, stealing kisses that left minty cool tingles on his skin.

Lucien was noticeably frowning when you and Azriel walked into the dining room, Azriel’s scent still clinging to your skin and yours to his. You’d done nothing more than sleep in the same bed, everyone was looking at you with shit-eating grins like you’d taken Azriel on the living room couch for the whole House to hear.

“You look well rested, brother,” Cassian noted over the lip of his coffee cup.

It was the best night of sleep Azriel had gotten in centuries, perhaps in his entire life.

You wordlessly traded seats with Elain at the table, leaving you and Azriel on one side and Lucien and Elain directly across. When no one was looking, he reached down and pulled your chair closer, pressing his knee against yours beneath the table. Lucien noticed — of course he did — but the blush on your cheeks was so innocent and the love in your gaze so honest that he couldn’t bring himself to make any comment. Although, he did throw a few dangerous looks Azriel’s way, looks that plainly said, If you hurt her, you’re a dead man.

Azriel only nodded faintly in reply, as if he knew what Lucien had been thinking all along and was in agreement.

But in the following weeks your brother would come to be grateful that your care for one another was not loud. It wasn’t desperate, groping hands in hallways or sultry looks that heated up crowded rooms and made people uncomfortable. It was reserved smiles and knowing glances when you independently formed the same thought at the same time, eyes latching onto one another until one of you inevitable broke away laughing.

For the first time in his life, Azriel had someone who wanted him back just as fervently, even if it was difficult to believe.

Azriel always needed to be touching you, whether it be a hand at the small of your back or the press of your shoulders together as you leaned over one of the desks at Cagniv — now that Azriel was allowed inside — with papers strewn about like dove feathers.

You were no better. You stuck close to his side where shadows lingered and sought him out in every room until you may as well have owned the space within the curve of his wings.

But things were changing. Koschei loomed taller and taller over the House like an avalanche ready to wipe Velaris off the map. Once again, everyone heard Vassa’s cries at daybreak and nightfall, and when Jurian slipped out of the attic for his own rest, he looked a little thinner and paler each time and no amount of medicine or food you and Lucien brought upstairs seemed to be helping.

Azriel tried to steal every extra second with you in the mornings. If he had his way, he’d never leave his bedroom again, content to admire the splash of sunlight over your body and your sleepy sighs. But he was still the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court and you quickly got accustomed to waking up to an empty bed with only a note on the nightstand. On those days you migrated out of whatever room you’d spent the night in — yours or Azriel’s, although the lines were blurred — often trekking to Cagniv to escape a house where strange, new faces were coming and going with more frequency: ash-pale fae from Winter, a white-haired female from Summer with skin so dark it was almost black, and golden males from Dawn with downy hawk wings. They locked themselves in Rhysand and Feyre’s office where bargains and plans were made in blood and salt.

Other days you carted your books to Feyre’s studio with Nesta and Ione in tow, perching on a stool while the High Lady crafted life out of brushstrokes like she was the Mother herself.

Feyre stood at her easel, as she had been every day this last week, with her pencil clenched between her teeth as she ignored the faint aches in her lower back and her wrist. Every line, every detail, was attended to with painstaking precision as she mapped Nesta and the old woman’s faces onto the blank canvas first with graphite, then with a thin wash, then with layers of paint that added dimension and familiarity to the two stoic faces. Feyre didn’t let her passion overtake the more clinical approach she was taking with this piece. This was not the time for free flowing movement and modernism.

This was all about realism.

Exactness.

When the High Lady placed her brush on the muddied water cup beside her, you jumped up. “Is it finished, Feyre?”

“As finished as it will ever be,” Feyre responded gravely as you took in the sight before you. Three women: Nesta, Ione, and some mixture of the two. Feyre had captured their likeness with incredible precision, using the painting to familiarize herself with their faces and the ways they could be warped and molded.

You peered over the corner of the canvas to where the two women were standing side by side. Ione lengthened her spine, cane clasped in her hands that you’d never seen her lean on with her full weight. Time had condensed her bones and stolen some of the height from her frame, but none of her sharpness. It was a trait that granted her a strange degree of likeness to Nesta, as if you’d glanced into a future where she’d never turned fae.

You looked at Feyre, then down to the vials of blood you’d collected from the pair. Already your magic was seeping into the burgundy bottles, testing its boundaries with such an unfamiliar medium as you released any hold you had on it. You looked at the High Lady and nodded.

It just might work.

“My brilliant daughter,” Helion praised, kissing you on the top of your head before disappearing in a flash of light. His empty teacup spun on the saucer.

You felt a familiar flicker of pride grow within you. Helion had spent hours pouring over your notes, your manuscript, and leaning his ear towards your plans. He was in agreement.

It just might work.

Lucien slunk out of his room after Helion’s voice disappeared and sank into the abandoned couch with his whetstone and white-bone blade. The ring of metal echoed through the room, melting into the birdsongs that slipped in through the cracked open window and the clatter of sugar spoons against a porcelain plate.

“You should tell him,” you said again, pushing a teacup over to your brother. It was a common refrain after Helion’s visits.

Lucien stared at the three cups now strewn across the coffee table. Two empty. One full and untouched. Had Helion noticed the extra one?

“I’ve had enough of High Lords for a while,” Lucien said as you poured yourself another strong cup, “When this is over, I’m taking Elain, Jurian, and Vassa back to the Human Lands.” His eyes flickered over to you briefly, “You should come live with us. You’d find it interesting how they conduct themselves. You might even learn something.”

“I’ll visit for a short time, but nothing longer than that.”

“Why not?” You lowered your gaze and blushed, unconsciously tugging your sweater higher up your neck. The sweet marks Azriel’s lips had left on your skin were long gone, but you swore you could still feel them. “You know why.” You murmured softly.

Your swollen eyes spoke of restless nights without the Shadowsinger’s hands to lull you to sleep. Azriel had gotten into the habit of stroking your cheek while you talked in bed, until the steady brush of skin against skin finally had your eyes closing shut. You missed him.

“Lucien, I understand that you want nothing to do with Helion or any other High Lord, but… You could be better. I know you could be. You could be the best High Lord of them all, if you’d only be open to it.”

Because that was Lucien’s worst fear, wasn’t it? That a time would come when Helion would leave this world and any hope for a quiet, peaceful existence with Elain would be gone.

“And what if you’re wrong?”

You touched his wrist and the blade stopped its strange singing. “‘It’s often those who think they deserve it least, that deserve it most.’ Pippin Clodshot from—”

“A Duel of Two Faces by Aechtion.”

You reared back in surprise and Lucien grinned, tapping your nose. “I do read, sister.”

The sarcasm in his voice was laid on so thickly you could only grumble in response. “I wasn’t aware you had two brain cells to rub together, brother.”

Lucien laughed so heartily and for so long that Elain and Ione stuck their heads out from the kitchen in conern.

“I thought someone was dying.” Ione rolled her eyes before her grey head disappeared once again.

You slid further under the covers, burying your face in Azriel’s pillows as the sun finally slipped behind the mountains and shadows raced each other to the Sidra.

Seven days.

Seven days of waking up to empty sheets after Azriel had jerked awake halfway through the night, bloodshot eyes searching for something you couldn’t see and that he didn’t tell you about. He’d only kissed your forehead, smoothing back your hair and murmuring something about a task he needed to take care of before shrugging on his leathers. You’d sat in bed, comforter tucked under your arms and over your chest even though you were fully clothed, and watched Azriel move around the room with a practiced air as weapons flashed in the moonlight and disappeared into his bag.

You knew all the hiding places in his room now — one of the many secrets you’d unearthed — so you didn’t find it at all strange when he captured your lips before dipping his hand beneath the mattress and pulling out a long serrated blade, perfect for sawing rope and wood.

“Where are you off to this time?”

Azriel had gone still, taking his time to shake away his thoughts before sweeping a handful of stoppered vials off his desk — sleep potions, draughts for pain and healing, subtle, painless poisons. You would know because you had helped make them.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/n,” He’d whispered, eyes boring into yours with a haunted look that hadn’t left him since that day in the market square.

Ten days.

Ten days of carrying around a heavy ache that every so often tightened with a feeling you couldn’t name. Almost as if it didn’t belong to you.

You paced back and forth in Azriel’s room, trying to calm a heart that hadn’t stopped racing for the last hour. You’d tried opening, then closing the windows as you curled up beneath the covers of his bed, mountain air blowing the curtains open and chilling your too hot skin. But none of it helped.

Chasing his scent in the sheets wasn’t enough anymore.

You tiptoed out of Azriel’s room, copying his silent steps and sticking to familiar shadows as you slipped through the House. Like Lucien, you tended to stay hidden whenever representatives from other Courts visited the River House. They were people Rhysand and Feyre trusted, but that didn’t mean you could erase centuries of wariness from your bones.

You heard nothing coming from Feyre’s studio, but you knew that if you were to sneak through the layers of air she’d sealed around the space, you’d meet a male carved from molten heat.

You waited in one of the spare studio rooms for the High Lord of Autumn to leave, eyes peering through the slit between the door and its hinges. If you stared for long enough, you swore you could see the air beside the door rippling with Autumn heat.

Finally, Eris Vanserra stepped into the hallway in all his striking glory, followed closely behind by Lucien. Violently red hair hovered over a pale, freckled face composed of angular lines — striking but not unkind. You thought he looked like a lit match with his wiry frame wrapped in resplendent browns, reds, and golds that spoke of forest riches. Or maybe he just looked narrow when standing next to Cassian. That was always a possibility.

“Thank you, Eris.” Feyre squeezed his hand reassuringly. She wore similarly decadent clothes. The moonstone and diamond crown perched atop her light brown hair was a rare sight, but Feyre wore it as naturally as she wore her paint splattered overalls. She was an artist and a High Lady in equal measure, and she sacrificed no part of one in favor of the other.

The newly minted High Lord of Autumn chuckled darkly, eyes flashing like a living flame. You’d heard horrible tales about Beron Vanserra, his cruelty, and his violence. But whatever traits Eris had inherited from his father he’d sloughed off like a second skin. The molting process had been full of its own pains, but as you assessed him now, you saw only the characteristics he shared with Lucien.

“Don’t thank me yet. Not until my feet have touched the Continent.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Eris tipped his head, a smirk on his face, then disappeared in a flush of woodsmoke.

Spring, Winter, Summer, Day, Dawn, and now Autumn. The seven courts had slid into an uneasy alliance once more, weary but willing after decades of war. Feyre wasn’t sure how much more Prythian could take if this transformed into another bloodbath. But if the fledgling plan you’d all helped nurse came to fruition, it wouldn’t come to that… at least that’s what Feyre kept telling herself every night so she could sleep.

The High Lady jolted back when you slipped out from your hiding spot, cast in a halo of cool-toned light from the dying sun. Cassian shared in Feyre’s surprise. They hadn’t heard you come up the stairs or pass by the door. They hadn’t even sensed you until you made your presence known.

Maybe she’s picking it up from Azriel? Feyre said with some amusement.

Gods help us all. There’s two of them.

“Where’s Azriel?” You looked to the High Lady for an answer, hands held stiff at your sides. You felt that strange anxiety clawing at your throat. It had dripped into your feelings slowly since the morning, growing like a weed until you couldn’t stop clenching your fists. “I haven’t heard from him in days.”

Feyre felt a familiar coil of guilt settle in her stomach.

Don’t tell her about this, Fey. Azriel had begged her, his eyes hard and tired before taking off from the back porch towards The Warren.

He’d made all of them promise not to tell you about that place. About what he did. About what he was doing. But you weren’t a fool. You knew of his reputation as a Shadowsinger and a Spymaster and the work that came with it. You’d traced some of the scars on his body, plucking the stories from his skin whenever he let you, and you woke up when he did from his silent nightmares. The slightest change in his breathing pattern, the barest flinch of his arm wrapped around your waist was all it took for you to open your bleary eyes and shake him awake.

But there were some secrets he was still too afraid to reveal, and some secrets he’d buried so deeply he didn’t even know what their monstrous faces looked like anymore.

“Y/n—” Feyre began.

“I want to know.” You reached for Feyre’s wrist, grasping it so tightly your knuckles paled and Cassian stepped forward. It was a silent reminder that you had the power to take that knowledge from her if you wished. You loved Feyre. You considered her a friend. But the panic wasn’t leaving you. You stared at her desperately, pupils blown wide open. “I need to know he’s alright.”

Feyre opened her mouth to speak, then froze as Rhysand’s velvety voice entered her mind, strained to the point of breaking.

Feyre, you need to bring Y/n to The Warren.

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Author's Note:

85K+ WORDS AND FINALLY THEY'VE FUCKING KISSED HOLY SHIT

I really must applaud you all for your patience because hot DAMN I am FLOORED!!! And yes, yes, I know, I know y'all want Y/n to figure out their mates and I will simply be pleading the fifth and hiding in my room and not telling anyone of you when that will actually happen because I simply cannot! ASFDK;JABSLDFIGUH

*takes a deep breath* Thank you all so much for reading and for your engagement whether that be leaving comments or liking or literally anything because it makes my day and I'm just happy that my passion project/hobby is able to bring people some smidgen of joy because the world really sucks but hey at least we have fanfics

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x you #azriel x helion's daughter

622 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 months

Note

yess i’m always up for roan fics!

roan struggling with math homework and eddie trying to help her and after a while he’s like….. 🤔😦 “go ask mom”. idk i think that’s rlly cute lol

“Dad.”

Eddie leans in toward the cutlery he’s washing, nose wrinkled, a look of loving disgust on his face as the music turns to a grizzly guitar and drum mashing that Roan winces at.

“Dad.” She pokes his leg. “Daddy, stop rocking.”

Eddie rinses the cutlery off and shoves it on the drying rack. He turns the faucet off, which helps. Water drips from his hand as he turns down the radio. “Sorry, bub. What’s up?”

“Can you help?”

“I can always help you. With what?”

“Homework.”

He sighs. “I knew this day would come.”

Eddie’s not stupid, he can do the same math a five year old can, but he just doesn’t understand the question. Jessica has apples and Leslie has pears and hiding his frown in Roan’s hair doesn’t work. “I can feel you being grumpy,” she says.

“Not grumpy, babe, just stupid.” He frowns again. “You’re gonna havta go ask mom, I think.” He squints at the question. “What does that even mean?”

Roan sighs and slinks of off the chair. She runs upstairs in a thunder of footsteps. Eddie can hear the door to the bedroom creaking, and Roan’s frustration. “Can you please come help me?”

“With what? I’m doing laundry.”

“I can’t do my math homework. Daddy can’t do it.”

“Oh, okay. Sure, princess, I’ll come and help. Pull me up?”

There’s some grunting and shouting. “I’m too small!” Roan says.

“Oh, fine.”

“Carry me?”

“No! Come on, I hurt my back yesterday, you’ll have to hold my hand.”

You and Roan walk down the stairs together, passing through the kitchen doorway hand in hand. He gives you a sorry smile.

“Couldn’t crack it, Munson?”

He can take all your teasing because it ends up like this, with the radio back on, the three of you huddled around a piece of printer paper with matching grimaces. You rub the skin between your eyes, Eddie laughs, and Roan looks back at you both, her grimace falling away.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Can we give up?” she asks. “I wanna watch a movie.”

“We can do this,” you say. You erase the notes you’d been writing with the pencil topper with your tongue poking out from between your lips as you start again. You write something, scribble it out, write something else, your nose listing forward toward the paper.

“It’s okay, babe, we’ll just write a note for Mrs. Lundy that we didn’t get it,” Eddie says, reaching down to feel the fat and soft of your shoulder in his fingers. He loves that you care so much, but he’s done with apples and pears for the night.

“Maybe it’s a trick question?” Roan suggests.

Your shoulder relaxes in his hand. “You think so?” You can’t sound more in love with her, placing an arm around her tummy to lock her in.

“Yeah, like, there’s no right answer!” Roan says.

You wrap one of her curls around your finger and tug gently. “I think you’re right.”

Eddie knows what you’re thinking. He presses a kiss to the side of your forehead, and, while you and Roan are distracted, he puts his hand on top of the homework sheet and slides it as far away from you all as possible.

“What kind of popcorn do you want for your movie, macaroni?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know,” she whines. “Ask mom.”

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rileyslibrary · 9 months

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Idk if you’re taking commissions rn but if you are.. Can you do one where reader acts as Ghosts weighted blanket after an anxiety attack? I feel like he’d love that xx

I’m glad you asked for the reader to act as Ghost’s weighted blanket instead of the other way around because that would be like being flattened by a road roller. Also, it is good to note that anxiety attacks are not the same as panic attacks. Yes, they do have some similarities, but they differ. This story is about Ghost having an anxiety attack, so bear that in mind.

And let’s be clear here: he would never explicitly ask you to do such a thing.

Never.

In fact, he would never ask you to do anything that would need you to be physically attached to him, neither from the front nor back. And his anxiety, if he ever suffers from it—which I’m sure he does because, come on, who doesn’t in our times, plus it is mentioned in the comics—he can cover it pretty well.

But it takes one to know one, right? You’ve had your fair share of anxiety attacks; you know they are not sudden or obvious. Instead, they develop slowly, gradually. That sense of general unease lingers, haunting him for weeks, even months. He doesn’t start trembling or shaking out of nowhere. This one is subtle but constant, like a leaky faucet that drips every few seconds. He feels restless and triggered by something vague that he can’t understand himself. All. The. Time.

He knows what a panic attack is; he experienced it multiple times before, mainly due to the nature of his work. But an anxiety attack? To a soldier who associated the word “attack” with something swift, sudden and imminent? There’s no such thing as an anxiety attack to him.

No.

He doesn’t comprehend this constant need to stay in control, why he’s always tense, his inability to take a full, deep breath. To him, that’s just how his body functions. Relaxation has been a foreign concept since childhood, so he’s normalised it. And he learned how to bear these symptoms instead of understanding what triggers them and learning how to alleviate them.

You’ve observed the pattern; he tends to become like that a few months before a mission, so you were able to put one and one together.

And one day, you find him lying face-down on the bed. Something prompts you, and you crawl on top of him. He shifts and asks you, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing”. Maybe he even tries to stand up while you are on his back, and you ask him to trust you; he’ll see.

He’s hesitant but obeys, though he’s more alert than ever now. You settle on top of him; he feels like he’s carved from wood, but not because of his physique. He’s tense. Stiff. Rigid. He’s afraid to let go. He holds his breath. His palms are pressed into the mattress beside his chest, ready to spring into a burpee and launch you back to where you came from.

Yet he doesn’t do it. Slowly his muscles relax under your body, and you feel him gradually—though clumsily—release tension in each body part; his legs, back, and then his shoulders. He finally lets go of the breath he’s been holding, replaced by a long exhale, his first in months. He places his hands on the sides of his body and lets out a repressed chuckle.

You ask him why he’s laughing, and he asks you to turn your face away because you are breathing into his ear. You comply.

With you not watching, he can finally close his eyes now. Good.

But even Ghost can take so much weight. Or so much intimacy. After a while, he snaps out of it, and he wriggles out from under you, letting you fall on the mattress, muttering a brief “Enough.” He doesn’t thank you for anything. What did you really do? Yes, he feels a little lighter, and his mind is clearer, but all you did was rest on him. That’s all. No need to thank you for that.

He needs it, though. Again and again. No, he doesn’t need you, of course. No, silly. He craves that sensation again—letting go. So whenever he feels overwhelmed, he awkwardly gestures toward his back and asks you sternly to “do that thing”. And you try to suppress your laughter and obey his command.

And slowly, just like his anxiety attacks come and go, he realises that it’s not just your weight on top of him that soothes him. It’s you, your will to make him feel better, your heart beating against his back, your form attached to him that makes all this chaos in the world feel a little bit more manageable than before.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley #call of duty #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #ghost cod mwii

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sanriothot · 4 months

Text

SHOWER SURPRISE

Dick Grayson x Female! Reader

Summary: You try joining Dick in the shower for some time together and it backfires.

Warning: SMUT! NSFW! 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI OR YOU WILL GET BLOCKED! hickeys, oral (m receiving), pet names (babe + baby), please don’t do sexc time in the shower, you might hurt yourself ☹️ also no beta, we die like robins

Word Count: 1,168

A/N: look at me, two fics a couple days apart! I saw a writing prompt with this plot years ago and i’ve always wanted to write it! I just wanted to let everyone know that requests are open! I’m still working on finishing work from my drafts but I don't mind working on other ideas. just make sure to check faq before requesting. Ofc reblogs and replies are always appreciated 💖

This wasn’t part of your plan. Not part of the plan at all.

You scrambled out of the freezing cold shower and clambered for your bathrobe that hung on the door of your shared bathroom. Water dripped all over the floor but you were more focused on getting warm.

“Baby?!” Dick gasped, it was hard to miss the shock in his voice. His head popped out from behind the sliding shower door, his eyes wide and jaw already on the floor. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes glaze over at his muscular frame, only slightly obscured by the frosted glass of the shower door. it’s not like you haven’t seen him undressed before but you can’t help but to ogle at him with no shame.

You wanted to surprise Dick by joining him for his post-patrol shower. Help him get off the sweat and grime from a long night and maybe get him dirty in a different way. But you forget one key piece of information.

Dick typically takes cold showers after patrols.

“Yes, just-“ Goosebumps sprinkled across your dark skin, most of it still exposed despite how tightly you wrapped yourself up in your bathrobe. You caught yourself almost letting your teeth chatter while continuing to speak to your boyfriend. “Just so cold.”

“Come back in, I’m gonna warm up the shower.” Dick moves towards the faucet of the walk in shower. A squeak rings out as it turns and slowly the bathroom mirror begins to fog up from steam.

“C’mon, Babe,” He stretches his arm out for you.

You strip your robe off slowly. It’s not like Dick is lying about warming up the shower but that small part of your mind still can’t get over the shock of the cold water. You fully expect to get drenched with bone chilling water for the second time tonight.

“I promise, it’s warm, baby.” As if he could read your mind (or just read your body language, being that he was adopted by the world’s greatest detective).

You step in the shower once again now greeted by warm water and the sweet smile of your boyfriend.

“There you are. I really thought you were going to ditch me for a second.”

You took the suds covered loofah from out of his hand and gently ran it across his chest. You giggle to yourself before answering “Almost did.”

You and Dick go through your entire shower routine together, occasionally sprinkling in small talk on how your day went.

Soon, You’re rinsing each other off, the soap swirling down the drain. Dick drags his hands up and down the sides of your body, the water running down the both of you. He’s completely smitten with you after feeling so well taken care after a long night.

He leans in, dusting kisses across your face, making it distracting you from rinsing the soap from his inky black hair. He’s teasing you. Each kiss, you think he’ll finally kiss on your lips but the kiss lands somewhere else instead.

After a while, you had enough of his game. you tangle your fingers into his hair and guide his lips to yours.

Dick let out a whimper, he pressed your body against the shower wall, deeping this kiss. His hands roamed your body, fingers massaging your ass and the other hand squeezing your boob. He kisses the corner of your mouth, to cheek and then your jawline. Finally, he works his way down your neck, kisses getting sloppier as he goes. Your breaths get deeper while he sucks on the crook of your neck, grazing his teeth on it before dragging his tongue. Your neck is covered in hickeys but couldn’t care less, the only thing on your mind is making sure you and Dick have a great time and enjoy the moment.

“I need to know if you want this,” Dick says.

You look into his baby blue eyes with so much excitement. “I want this.”

“On your knees, now.”

You slowly drop to your knees, making sure to steady yourself as not to fall on the tile floor. His dick already hard, your fingers wrap around it, giving him a couple pumps. You let your tongue swirl on the tip, getting a taste of the precum that was already leaking out. Your lips work its way past his tip, taking your sweet time to suck him off.

“I know you can take it or am I too big for you?” You both lock eyes as he smirks, clearly teasing you.

And at the moment, you thought fuck taking your sweet time.

Your hands move to his thighs and squeeze them, letting your nails slightly dig into his skin to ground. You increase your speed, head bobbing with all caution thrown out. Your mind was already made, you were determined to work your way down his shaft. Coaxing more moans and whimpers out of Dick as you continue sucking him off. You can’t help but to moan at the filthy sounds you were making in the process.

You got yourself as close to his hilt as you could, your mouth adjusting to his size before Dick grabs the back of your head and thrusts.

“That’s right. Every inch of me.” He groans out.

You're completely at his mercy, your mind can only focus on how good this feels while you deep throat him. He slowly pulls out before thrusting again and again, working up to steady pace to fuck you to. He was kidding about taking every inch of him because god, you could feel how big he was. Your eyes glassy as a mix of drool and precum drips down your chin, trying your best not to choke.

“Don’t stop, baby. I’m so close-“ He moans, his hips rutting into your mouth, his self control slipping. Each trust was getting sloppier than the last. The water from the shower runs down every crevice of his toned body. He can help but babble about how great you feel and how much he wants you, his mind already blessed out.

And that’s when it happens. One last thrust that kisses the back of your throat. Dick moans and pants, his chest rising and falling as he fills your mouth with his hot sticky cum.

You mew, making sure to suck every last drop before your lips let go with a pop. You’re already aware that you probably look like a hot mess. Saliva and leftover cum that you couldn’t swallow running down your mouth. Your pupils are blown out with stray tears. And if it wasn’t for the shower cap you had on, you know hair would’ve been ruined too.

But you didn’t mind at all, loving making Dick a wreck.

Dick leans over, twists the faucet off.

“C’mere, I’m not done with you.” He pulls you up to feet again, cupping your face before diving in for another kiss. His tongue brushes past your lips to get a taste of you and himself.

#batman imagine #nightwing imagine #dc imagine #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x reader smut #nightwing smut #dick grayson smut

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 2 months

Text

I Hate How Much I Want You | Frankie Morales x Reader | Enemies to Lovers Part 2

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact.

Specific warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Food mention, weed and cigarettes mention/smoking, Frankie grovels, heavy petting, oral (F receiving), unprotected PiV (reader is on BC and trust around STI’s implied), Softdom!Reader, Switch Frankie, Use of “zorra(slut)” and general filthy mouth from Frankie, Florida Humidity.

Let me know if I missed anything!

[AO3 Link]

Thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta-ing this real quick. Thank you for the encouragement from @merz-8 @noxturnalpascal @covetyou @strang3lov3 @beefrobeefcal @medellintangerine and @speckledemerald for all your horny support <;3

Word count: 6k

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

You did it, you texted him back embarrassingly quickly. Slick fingers fumbling with your phone to pause your porn as his message came through. You had been seconds away from coming. You can’t believe he still wants to help after you ejected him so forcefully him from your home. You send him a text, just about managing with one hand as you continue to toy with your clit. Francisco Morales is not about to cock block your hard-earned orgasm.

You: Fine, I’m free all day.

You’re about to swipe back to your porn when you see him starting to type away immediately. You bite your lip, your spine tingles as you slowly build yourself back up to your peak.

Frankie: I’ll pick up the parts and some lunch, see you at 12.

You don’t respond, nor do you resume the video. Instead, you opt to think about Frankie as you increase the pressure on your clit. The way his muscles flexed under the dark tank top he wore, his salt and pepper waves that curl slightly at the ends. You imagine what it’d be like to have him pressed against your back, bending you over the counter as he fucked you from behind. You ache to feel his scruff scrape along your jaw as he whispers filth in your ear.

You’re coming hard in seconds, Frankie’s name on your lips as you feel your slick drip down the curve of your ass. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you tilt your head back, stretching out in post-orgasmic bliss. You eventually get up, making sure to pee and clean up before settling back down under your sheets.

You’ve never been so excited to see Frankie before, in fact, you often dread it.

It seems that there really is a first time for everything.

~*~

Frankie sits in his truck, parked down the street from your house. The clock on his dash reads 11:47.

He’s early.

Just like you, he’s way too excited to be back here. His fingertips itch as he tries to decide if he should just bite the bullet and leave his truck now. It wouldn’t be seen as over-eager, surely? He’s just making good on a promise to a friend.

Except you’re not his friend, he has made that pretty clear over the last few months. Anxiety churns in his stomach as he wishes he’d brought something to smoke with him. Even a cigarette would suffice. Instead, he’s chewing his lip, torn up over you and the way you looked so desperately hurt last night. He removes his ball cap with one hand before running his fingers through his damp waves, the Florida humidity doing a number on his hair.

He looks over to the plastic bag from the DIY store and his spare toolkit. He sighs as he sees not one, not two, but the three different faucets he had picked out for you. He tries to reason it that he’s just giving you options because it’s the nice thing to do. Really, he just wanted to please you, make amends for his shitty behaviour. Then he looks at the takeout bag in his lap and his stomach growls.

“Fuck it.”

He sighs to himself as he replaces his hat before grabbing the bag of faucets and his toolkit as he heads out of the cab.

He ignores the clock on the dash that reminds him it’s only 11:50.

~*~

The knock at your door startles you, before you grumble internally once again over the fact Frankie is spurning your perfectly good doorbell. But your annoyance is quickly muted by the smugness that comes with a sudden realisation.

He’s early.

You almost dance on the spot with morbid amusement at the fact that Frankie is already here. You don’t bother lingering this time, practically sprinting to the door to gloat. You pull the door open in one smooth motion and your witty remark dies on your lips.

It’s unfair how good he looks. There’s you, in your jean shorts and tank top, suffering from the extreme humidity. Your skin is sticky, your brow is beading with sweat, and you shift uncomfortably as you feel the wet heat pool in your core.

Then, there’s Frankie, a light sheen to his skin as his toolkit hangs off his shoulder, his hair sticks to his forehead and neck. His thick thighs fill his cargo shorts as his belly swells a little over his white tank top. No over-shirt today so you have an unhindered, front row seat to the way his tan skin flexes over his strong arms. Not to mention his neck, thick and freckled. Fuck, you need to stop staring.

His face is flushed, cheeks rosy as he looks you over. There’s a darkness to his gaze that makes you shiver. Clearly neither of you are being subtle.

“So, the sink?” You squeak, your voice embarrassingly high-pitched as you turn away, your heart is hammering in your chest as you try and calm down.

“Sure, I got you a few different options to choose from,” Frankie explains as he trails behind you.

You can feel him, the heat rolling off him is palpable as he shadows your every move.

“You could have just gotten me the one, I’m not fussy,” you say without thinking as you lean against the counter next to the sink, you look up to see Frankie looking a little crest-fallen and you course correct, “But thank you, that was kind.”

“My pleasure,” Frankie says as he sets down the various bags on the kitchen table, “Don’t have to stick around, I promise not to fuck it up.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” you say with a shrug as you notice the takeout bag, it’s from your favourite burger place.

He remembered?

Frankie says nothing more as he resumes his place on the floor from last night. He gets to work, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrates. His hat rests next to him on the floor. It’s almost domestic, him fixing your sink as you watch.

You feel a twinge of remorse in your chest as you see the way he can’t keep your gaze. His eyes flit to you every few minutes, as if he can feel you staring. You head to the fridge and grab a pitcher of iced tea, grabbing two glasses from the cabinets. You set down one of the glasses next to Frankie’s cap on the floor.

“I’m real sorry about things went yesterday-,” Frankie starts just as you pipe up.

“About last night-,” you say but you both freeze, eyes locking across the small kitchen, and you can’t help but mirror the smirk that spreads across Frankie’s plush lips.

“Go on, you first,” you insist as you take a deliberate sip of your iced tea.

“I just want you to know I am sorry you heard that shit I said to Will and Alyssa,” Frankie says with a sigh as he rocks up onto his feet, “, I was in a real bad place.”

“That’s not a real apology, Morales,” you say with a smile, appreciating his honesty if nothing else, “Go on.”

“Right,” he nods as he rifles through the plastic bag with the faucets, “First up, which one?”

You cross the short distance and admire the three different options. All options are fairly modern looking, but you linger for a while, selfishly getting closer to Frankie as you pretend to contemplate the options seriously. In reality you don’t care, you just want a working sink. You also just want to be in Frankie’s orbit.

“I like this one,” you say softly, your voice a little husky. You place your hand on the plastic packaging lightly, fingertips lingering as you look up into Frankie’s dark eyes.

“Yeah, that was my first choice too,” he says as he picks up the package, his fingertips brush yours and you don’t pull away, letting the callouses on his hands scrape against the back of your hand. You see the way his neck tenses as you fawn up at him.

“Who knew you had good taste?” You tease as you step away.

“Full of surprises, me,” Frankie says with a low chuckle as he clears his throat.

“On that note,” you say with a coy smile as you lean back against the counter, “You were grovelling?”

There’s a brief flash of emotion on Frankie’s face as he picks up his hat, securing it on his head as he grabs his glass of iced tea. His jaw ticks to the side as he takes a long gulp of the sweet drink.

“Right,” he says as he sets the glass down, turning back to the faucet as he disconnects the old one, “I was an ass,” he says with a sigh as his thick fingers make easy work with the tools and various intricacies of the faucet, “I can’t take it back, but I do want to say I’m sorry, for how I made you feel, and for the things I said.”

“I appreciate that, thank you,” you say with a nod, “I didn’t mean to ambush you like that last night either, I’m sorry too, you were doing me a solid.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says with a huff, “I had it coming.”

“Maybe,” you concede with a smile, “But I don’t think I was completely fair, you’ve had your own share of shit to deal with.”

“My addiction, and my recovery, are my burdens. No-one else’s,” Frankie says with a stern look on his face. You hate how the shift in his tone makes you squirm; you know he’s not telling you off, but it doesn’t feel any less authoritative.

“Understood,” you nod as you gesture vaguely with your hand, urging him to continue.

“But I don’t do well with change,” he says as he continues working, looking away from you, “And Santi brought you into the group without so much as a heads up. I got defensive, I fell into an ugly pattern of behaviours. I’m sorry.”

“That’s very big of you, thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he says with a shrug as he stretches with a groan, “Looks like it’s good to go.”

You hover at his elbow as he tests the tap, the water flows freely and stops abruptly when Frankie flicks it off. The sound of running water halts and you’re left with your hip brushing Frankie’s thigh.

“I really appreciate you doing this, Frankie,” you say, nudging his side with your elbow as you look up to see his eyes already locked on you. He’s leaning his one arm on the counter as he towers over you, and you can’t help but clench your thighs.

“Like I said,” he mumbles as he turns his body towards you. His tongue glides across his lower lip and you can’t ignore the charged energy between you now, “Just helping out a friend.”

“It’s not just about the sink, Frankie,” you say as you tentatively brush your fingertips over his hand.

“Oh? What else is this about?” He asks and there’s a light dancing behind his eyes, a smugness that tells you he already knows but he wants you to say it.

“There’s another reason why I’ve been keeping my distance,” you admit softly as you inch closer to him.

“That right?” Frankie breathes, his voice shaky as he threads his fingers through yours. You can’t believe it, the shift in your dynamic is giving you whiplash.

“Despite everything, Morales,” you say as you bring your other hand up to rest on his sternum. The contact sends heat rippling through your body as Frankie hums deep in his chest, “I think you’re a good guy, and really fucking hot.”

“Yeah?” He rumbles, his free hand coming up to trail up your bicep the contact makes you shiver as you try to stifle a whine, “You think I’m hot?”

“I’m not saying it again,” you say with a little bite to your tone, “But I had to keep my distance, I didn’t want to get hurt.”

“I understand,” Frankie says with a subtle nod, his fingertips skimming your collarbone now, your cunt clenches in anticipation, “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” you say as you slide your hand up to cup his jaw, “But you can make it up to me, if you want?”

“Yeah?” Frankie rasps as he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

“I want you to tell me what you want, Francisco,” you say softly as your fingertips move to the back of his head, threading through the damp hair there as you tug lightly, “If you want me so bad, I want you to beg.”

Frankie’s jaw falls slack as a strangled groan bubbles forth from the back of his throat. His half-hard cock stirs in his shorts as you close the gap between you both, pressing yourself against him. Your nipples harden as you feel the way his body shudders under your touch.

“I want to fuck you,” Frankie’s voice is a hushed rasp as he ghosts his fingertips along the angle of your jaw, “I want to make you scream,” he continues as the calloused pad of his thumb brushes against your lips, “I want to please you, querida.”

“Yeah?” You purse your lips against Frankie’s thumb, your lips tingling at the promise his touch brings, “You think you deserve to have me, Francisco? Do you think you can make good on your promises?”

“I will, or I’ll die trying,” his other hand tugs on your own, pulling you against him as he flattens his palm against the small of your back, “Let me try, please.”

You slowly open your mouth, tongue teasing against his thumb as you wrap your lips around the thick digit. A soft moan escapes you as you suck slowly, purposefully, as you maintain eye contact with Frankie. His eyes are glassy as he whines, brow furrowed as you release his thumb with a lewd pop.

“Bedroom, now.”

You order as you push back from Frankie, the sudden action jarring enough that you slip his grasp. A determined growl rumbles from behind you as you stride towards the stairs. You don’t bother looking back over your shoulder, you can hear his heavy footsteps gaining on you and there’s a primal thrill to it. You pick up the pace, practically jogging to your open bedroom door as adrenaline and arousal scorch through your veins.

You’re almost over the threshold when you feel the press of his palms on your waist as he pulls you back against him. You don’t have time to proffer a witty remark before Frankie’s mouth is on your throat. The rough scratch of his facial hair along the slope of your shoulder has you squirming as he nudges your head to the side with his strong nose.

“Going to make you feel so good,” Frankie says with a growl before sucking gently against the column of your neck. His one hand trails down your front and you gasp as he cups your sex through your shorts. His thick fingers tease at the denim where it covers your aching cunt; fingertips swirling over your clothed core, and you can’t help the desperate little sounds you make as pleasure rocks through you.

“Frankie, please.”

You yelp as his teeth nip at the shell of your ear and your panties cling to your cunt, you’re dripping for him.

“Call me Francisco, please,” he huffs into your ear as he walks you forward, “Sounds so good when you say my name.”

“Yeah? You like it when I beg you to fuck me, Francisco?” You ask as your knees hit the edge of the bed, but you stop yourself from falling forward just yet. You know that’s what Frankie wants, but you’re not about to give over control just yet. You feel him straining against you, not wanting to manhandle you aggressively it seems, but you can feel the need in the way his cock presses against your ass.

“I do,” he whispers in your ear, “Let me show you how sorry I am, querida.”

“Show me, Francisco, let’s see if you can make me scream your name,” you lean back as you speak, pressing your cheek against his.

His lips brush against yours as he angles his head down to you, it’s like being struck by lightning. You gasp as he kisses you, almost tenderly, before you let go completely. You kiss him back, pulling his lower lip between your teeth. You’re rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as his lips part for you. You lick into his mouth teasingly, asking for permission and he slots his mouth over yours in response.

His tongue slides into your mouth, dancing with your own as he tastes you. His groans rumbling through you as he delves deeper past your lips, mapping you out, claiming you. You’re pliable beneath his large hands as you feel him bending you at the hip. The hand cupping your sex increases the pressure. The heel of his palm grinds against your clothed clit as his fingertips knead at where your shorts are beginning to soak through.

“On your front,” Frankie growls as he places a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You do as he says, flopping forward onto the bed as gracefully as you can with his large hand still working at you through your shorts. It’s been a while since you last let someone take relative control in the bedroom. Often, you’re used to dictating the pace, your partners needing gentle encouragement – or sometimes a very firm hand – to ensure you got what you need from sex. But this is different, Frankie is different.

There’s a pause as Frankie removes his hand from your cunt, and you’re about to turn over and ask what the hold up is, when his hot palms spread you out. His fingers digging into the backs of your knees as he opens you up.

“Frankie, what are you-?”

You practically choke on your words as you feel him press his face into the apex of your thighs. He buries himself against the damp crotch of your shorts and inhales as he grinds his nose against your core.

“Fuck,” he hisses as you feel him mouth against your covered cunt, his hands travel up the backs of your thighs as he holds you open for him. You squirm at the depravity of his thick fingers pinning you down, his face pressed hard against such a sensitive spot. Being fully clothed only makes you wetter, like there’s something even more profane about the action while your shorts cling tight to your desperate pussy.

“Frankie please,” you whine, and you can’t stop yourself, you didn’t think you’d be begging so quickly, so easily for someone you were ready to kick to the curb only yesterday.

“What do you want?” Frankie asks as his fingertips slip under the hem of your shorts, trailing over the swell of your ass.

“I want your mouth on my cunt, take my shorts off,” you huff into the sheets as you feel the heat burn over your cheekbones.

“Yes ma’am,” Frankie growls as he places a kiss to your inner thigh before his hands are on your hips, “Turn over for me.”

You carefully rotate your body, mindful not to kick Frankie in the face in your eagerness. You lie back and you clench around nothing at the way Frankie is looking at you. His eyes are glassy and blown out with desire, his face is pink in places where the denim of your shorts has irritated his skin. You lower your gaze to see the painfully obvious bulge in his shorts and you swallow around the lump in your throat.

He’s big.

“So pretty like this,” he says absently as he rakes his eyes over your body. You’re still fully clothed but you’ve never felt so bare in your life.

“Frankie-,” you’re about to beg again when he makes a face at you as he hisses between his teeth.

“Please, call me Francisco, I really like it when you do,” there’s a hint of a challenge in his voice and you nod slowly as you stare him down.

“Please, Francisco,” you say as you bring both hands up to grope your tits over your tank top, “Show me how good you are with that dirty mouth of yours,” you spread your legs wide for him as you speak, and the way Frankie’s nostrils flare makes you squirm.

Frankie settles himself down between your thighs as he throws his cap off to the side. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but you aren’t focusing on the hat anymore. Frankie’s calloused hands trail up from your knees, scraping deliciously against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He dips his fingertips under the denim once more and you feel him shudder as they brush the outline of your lace panties.

“Don’t tell me you wore something nice for me?” He asks as he smirks up at you, his cheek resting on your right thigh as he waits for your response.

“No, Francisco, I wanted to wear lacey panties in the middle of summer in Florida, I like the way wet lace chafes just right.”

You’re taunting him and the way his cheek dimples, you know he’s loving it as much as you are.

“Poor baby,” he hums softly as he brings one hand up to pop the button of your shorts open, “Let me help you out. Let’s get rid of those wet panties, yeah?”

You don’t answer, the condescending tone of his voice makes your head fuzzy. You’re so used to being the one doing all the talking, it’s a blissful role reversal for you. You watch as Frankie slowly pulls on the zipper before you lift your ass for him to tug the oppressively tight fabric down. You keen upwards as you feel the humid air hit your slick panties.

“Fu-uck,” Frankie rasps as he drops your shorts to the side of the bed, his eyes firmly fixed on the slick, glistening lace just inches from his face, “I’d ask if this was all for me,” he says as he lowers his mouth to your lace-covered sex, “But I think we both know it is.”

You don’t have time to make a snide comment, nor do you think you could with how blissed out you are. Frankie’s lips latch onto your clothed clit and you cry out as his hot tongue swirls slow, lazy circles over the already drenched fabric.

“Francisco,” you cry out as he pressures your clit just right, you see stars behind your eyelids. You’re embarrassingly close already.

“So sensitive,” he hums as he teases a finger up and down the thin strip of lace covering your core, “So wet.”

You’re about to beg again when you feel the drag of his rough fingertips slide under the seam of your panties. You arch up, your head falling back against the sheets as you once again feel the warm air hit your slick cunt. You hiss a little as the fabric that clings to you peels away with a sharp pinch.

“S’okay, I got you,” Frankie whispers as he rolls your panties off your feet, you force your eyes open, looking down just as he swipes his tongue through your folds. It’s slow, deliberate, and makes your toes curl as the hot drag culminates with his plush lips kissing your clit. The press of his mouth on your most sensitive spot punches a strangled moan from your chest.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper, “Fuck yes, Francisco.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, instead he teases your clit in soft, barely-there flicks of his tongue as he sucks your sensitive bud into his mouth. The pleasure shoots through you as you writhe under him. He shifts slightly, draping your calves over his broad shoulders as he presses his whole face against your cunt.

“So fucking sweet,” he snarls as you feel him shake his head back and forth, lapping at your clit as he moves.

“Fra-,” you stutter, unable to form his full name, pleasure driving every conscious thought from your mind as you build to your peak.

“Go on, come for me,” he goads you as he holds you down with one of his strong arms. You feel the weight of it pin you down as you try and buck your hips. Your spine tingles with every flick of his tongue, every groan that vibrates through your clit.

“I’m-,” you cry out, loud and throaty as you clench around nothing, your gasping pleas filling the room as you come hard. You whine and scream as Frankie keeps going as your body is rocked with overstimulation.

“So pretty when you come querida,” he says softly as he eases off, peppering your slick folds and clit with gentle, teasing kisses, “Can you give me another?”

“Francisco,” you gasp as you feel two thick fingers tease at your entrance, “Want your dick, please.”

“So eager,” he chuckles softly as he eases the tips of his fingers inside you, teasing little pulses right at your entrance that have you arching your back as you whine in frustrated overstimulation, “Where is the fire from earlier? I thought you were in control querida?”

“Fuck you,” you hiss but there’s no bite in it, you know he’s right. You love that he’s right. It’s the kind of fuck you’ve been wanting for years, the kind where you can just let go, let him take what he needs from you while simultaneously giving you more than you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Like I said,” he smirks up at you as you struggle to keep your eyes open, “Come for me again and I will.”

“Stop teasing me and fuck me with your fingers, Morales,” you snap, wresting for some control of the situation.

“There she is, my little zorra,” Frankie hums in triumph as he eases his thick fingers inside you. You want to ask him what that means but you’re blinded by the way he sinks all the way down to the knuckle in one swift motion.

You moan at the way he doesn’t let you adjust, your slick walls already accommodating them with minimal effort. He curls them up as he drags them slowly in and out of you, pushing and pulling at that sensitive spot that makes your whole body twitch. Every time he hits it, he smirks, gauging your reaction as he works you right back to the blinding peak.

“God! Your pussy feels so good, squeezing my fingers so tight,” Frankie babbles, as if to himself before flicking the blunt tip of his tongue against your clit, “Come for me.”

You clamp down hard on his fingers as his verbal command sends you reeling. Your mouth is dry as you cry out soundlessly. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as he fucks you through your orgasm. The languid pace careful, controlled, as he works you through it.

“There you go,” he says softly, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh as he slowly eases out of you, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

You want to say something, anything, but all you can do is gulp in deep breaths as you try and ground yourself. You stare up at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity before you feel the soothing touch of Frankie’s fingers tracing patterns on your thigh.

“Back in the room?” He asks you with a smirk as he lies there, his cheek pressed against your knee as he simply watches you.

“Yeah,” you nod with earnest, “That was just fucking amazing,” you chuckle, and you’re rewarded with a deep rumble of satisfaction from Frankie’s chest.

“Good,” he says airily as he nuzzles his nose against your sensitive skin, “Want to keep going?”

“Fuck yes,” you huff through your nose as you prop yourself up on your elbows, “Just needed to catch my breath.”

“You got condoms?” Frankie asks and you’re suddenly sobered at the request. You’re so caught up in the moment you didn’t even think about using one.

“I do,” you say but you raise an eyebrow at him, “Do you trust me, Francisco?”

“Yes,” he says with a questioning look on his face as he palms his cock through his shorts, “Why?”

“I’m on the pill,” you say as you retreat backwards up the bed, “C’mere,” you say with a curl of your index finger and Frankie moves without hesitation, still fully clothed as you spread your legs for him.

“You been checked recently, Francisco?” You ask as he kneels between your legs, leaning back on his calves as he looks at you with a wry expression on his lips.

“A few months ago, all clear,” he says cautiously as he runs his one hand through his slick hair, “Why, you want me to take you raw?”

You stifle a groan at the harsh language, you’re regaining control over the dynamic slowly. No way are you breaking stride now.

“No, Francisco,” you purr as you manoeuvre up onto your knees, meeting his gaze as you toy with the hem of his tank top, “I want to ride you raw.”

Frankie’s mouth drops open as you push up the edge of his tank top, forcing it up to his armpits as you lock and suck at the swell of his belly. He pulls it up and over his head as he watches you with wide eyes.

He’s sweaty and musky on your tongue as you follow the light curls of his happy trail. You press your nose against his belly as you unbutton his shorts. You whine at the sight of his grey boxer briefs, and the way the fabric darkens over the head of his cock.

“Look at you,” you coo as you palm his length, “Francisco, you’ve been holding out on me,” you say with a smirk as you look up into his lust-blown eyes. He stammers as you cup his balls through his briefs and press a kiss to the tip of his clothed dick. You know he won’t last long, but you can’t help but tease him a little.

“Strip for me,” you whisper against the side of his shaft as you squeeze his balls gently. He groans softly before you pull away, already stripping your tank top and bra as you watch him do as he’s told. His eyes are glassy, it’s as if a switch has flipped in his brain. The realisation hits you immediately.

Frankie likes this. He likes being told what to do.

He pulls his briefs down in one swift motion, letting his thick cock spring free and slapping wetly against his abdomen as he hurriedly pushes his briefs and shorts past his knees. He resumes his position on the bed, kneeling as he rests on his laurels. You salivate at the sight of him, his foreskin straining against the head of his cock.

“Good boy,” you breathe, stomach churning delightfully as you see the way Frankie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, “Legs out,” you gesture for him to straighten his legs and he obeys almost comically fast.

You crawl forward, hands sliding up over his shoulders. Immediately his hands fall to your hips, steadying you as you hover over his lap. It’s surely far too intimate – fucking like this – especially considering how you were at each other’s throats only yesterday. But there’s something about it all that just feels right. You press your forehead against Frankie’s, closing your eyes as his tip notches at your core.

“Oh fuck,” you hiss as you sink down onto his cock, your slick walls clamp down around the intrusion as you split yourself open with his dick. You whine as you reach the base, you’re so full, so snug around his cock.

“Fu-uck,” Frankie echoes as he curls his arms around you pinning you against him, keeping you so impossibly close. You drop your head to rest in the crook of Frankie’s neck. Your lips latching onto his slick skin as you clench hard around him.

“I’m going to move,” you whisper against Frankie’s neck, “Let me use you, Frankie, want to fuck myself on your cock.”

“Please,” he whispers, as you nip along his jaw, “Use me.”

You whimper as you begin to roll your hips forward, lifting up as you savour every inch of his cock raking through you. You catch yourself just before he slips out of you, lingering for a moment, then pushing yourself back down. You cry out at the abrupt stretch as discomfort cedes to pleasure. Frankie’s grip tightens on your waist as you repeat the action again and again.

Each time more and more pleasure rocks through you as you use Frankie’s cock. You know he’s close, his brow is furrowed, and his breaths come in ragged gasps. You’re griding his cock inside you as you lean down to whisper in his ear.

“Fuck me, Francisco,” you say, “Make me scream.”

He groans at the sudden permission to fuck you, body curling around you as he pitches you backwards. He stays buried deep as you’re pushed down into the pillows, your thighs pressed against your chest as Frankie gets you how he wants you.

“Fuck. I’ve wanted this for so long,” Frankie snarls in your ear as he starts to move, his pace picking up rapidly.

“Me too,” you moan as he nudges your g-spot over and over again. You’re whining at every snap of his hips as pleasure arcs through you. Your fingertips dig into his back muscles as you cling to him. He snaps his hips harder and harder until you can’t hold on any longer.

“Francisco!” you cry out as you come hard around his length, your slick walls clamping down hard as you feel him stutter beneath you. He fucks down into you a few more times before he lets out a tight groan as he empties himself inside you. His hips still, your chests pressed together as you grin at one another.

You lie there for a few moments as you both try and catch your breath. Neither of you can stop smiling as you feel Frankie ease his soft cock out of you.

“We need to clean up and we both need to pee,” you say lazily as you roll onto your side. Frankie flops down next to you, a soft oof escaping his lips as he hits the mattress.

“We do,” he agrees as he brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheekbone, “You, ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good, more than good,” you babble as Frankie smiles at you, cheek dimpling delightfully.

“Good,” he says with a soft nod.

There’s so much hanging in the air between you. More than you can worry about right now.

“Let’s get a shower and replace the burgers you brought,” you say as you force yourself up, heading to the bathroom.

“It’s not my fault they’re inedible now,” Frankie grumbles playfully and you smile at him over your shoulder.

“Whatever,” you stick your tongue out at him as you turn on the shower, “Come on, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Alright, but I’m not the one telling Santi about us,” Frankie growls as he catches up to you, wrapping his arms around you as he nuzzles against the back of your head, “I’ll never live it down.”

“Fine,” you agree with a smirk playing across your lips, “That means you have to tell the Millers.”

The statement hangs heavy in the air before Frankie curses under his breath. He realises too late his mistake and you just smile, leaning back into your former arch-nemesis’ arms, wondering how you got here; and what here even is. But you are sure of one thing.

Now you’ve had a taste of Frankie Morales, you’re never letting him go.

Frankie Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

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himbofan4444 · 5 months

Note

Could you do a story where a genius chemistry major gets caught up in the jocks hazing rituals and they turn him into a jock slowly by melting his brains into cum leading to the finale where he cums his brains out along the quarterbacks ass

I don’t want to sound conceded or like I’m cocky or anything, but I’m technically a genius. Like my IQ is high enough to classify me as a genius. I’ve been called perfect before because I’m really intelligent and rather muscular thanks to my time in the gym and my time playing football. I’m gonna sound like a total pick-me, but I’ve never really fit in. I’m so much more intelligent than every other guy that was on the team. But now that I’m in college, I’m hoping I can find at least one guy I can relate to.

My first day of college wasn’t great… The guys are literally the exact same as the ones from high school in mannerism and mentality. I guess I’ll just be out of place yet again. There’s a “sacred” hazing ritual that all new coming football players must partake in. I haven’t been told much but I know it’s humiliating. I step foot in the locker room, the putrid stench of stale musk and sweat fills my nose. Honestly I don’t mind the smell; I’ve grown used to it after years of exposure to it. There’s a line of freshmen standing shirtless just like me. I enter the end of the line and wait for further instruction.

The quarterback paces in front of the group of us, marching like a general. He stops in front of me and looks me up and down, his eyes resting on my crotch for an uncomfortably long time.

“Last year, one of our linebackers graduated. He was renowned for his massive horse cock. Since he left, we haven’t had someone to replace him and the team fuck stick. I think this man will be a perfect replacement!” the quarterback shouts, leading to a round of applause from the existing members and a weak clap from the upcoming ones. I look around, confused by his questionable proclamation.

The quarterback pulls out a battered football helmet and inserts it on my head. The helmet is tight and squeezes my head. God it kind of hurts. I chuckle, “Oh I uh- Thank you…?”

“Yeah you’ll be thankin’ me real soon, bro,” the quarterback said, a smirk on his face. A flash of calmness washes over me, instantly numbing my anxieties and concerns. My dick jumps to life, sticking straight out in front of me. The other guys laugh at my obvious boner.

My dick isn’t that big, only about 5 inches, but it looks… bigger. The size of my boner continues climbing, soon becoming about 11 inches and thick as a beer can. The amount of blood required to keep me hard seems to be coming straight from my brain, leaving me lightheaded and dizzy. Then my dick starts leaking precum. Buckets of precum. My brain feels weird, almost like it’s a liquid. I can feel it sloshing around in my skull. I feel a weird draining feeling, like my skull is a faucet and it’s pouring down my torso. I feel the dripping stop when the liquid reaches my balls, inflating them in size to better match the girth of my horse cock.

God it’s gettin’ hard tuh think… It’s like my brain just been switched off. “Huhuhu,” I laugh dully, rubbing my massive dick through my pants.

I look down to see the quarterback on his hands and knees with his pants pulled down. He’s presenting his big… fuckable ass… Oh my god he’s so hot. Fuck… It’s getting harder to… Oh fuck! My dick unleashes a cascading shot of thick cum on his ass. I fall to my knees, still dizzy and very disoriented.

The established football players clap and cheer me on, someone taking off my helmet and giving me a noogie. Now I’m one of the star linebackers on the team and more importantly, I’m the brainless fuck stick of the team, willing to shove my huge dick up anyone’s ass without a thought.

#dumber tf #tf #transformation #dumber #gay #gay tf #himbo #himbo tf #dick growth #dick growth tf

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lizbotw · 2 years

Text

do not disturb | wc: 2.7k

Cyno hums in contemplation, the cool water flowing over his fingers. He turns the faucet off just as he hears footsteps on tiles and takes a towel to his hair, counting the four seconds he knows it takes to get to the room.

“Cyno, I really don’t- oh,” you stop in your tracks, right on time. He doesn’t have to turn around to know you’re holding a familiar folder of papers with complaints outlined in red ink. “Sorry. I didn’t…”

“You should really learn to knock first.” He thinks it’s funny because the rooms here don’t actually have doors, just sweeping arches for the great big important spaces, and then tiny arches for less important rooms (like his apparently), and then medium-sized ones for… well other things. Kaveh was the Kshahrewar graduate, not him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. And… and…” He can just hear you bristle. You even straighten up a little judging from the faint shuffling. “And I don’t know, maybe you should put up a sign or something.”

Cyno rubs the white towel over his head slowly, finally standing up from where he’d been kneeling. “Maybe I should.” He’s seriously considering it—you always bring up good points. “Though, I thought everyone knew only my room is in this wing. You’d have to go out of your way to get here.” That and he’s just come back from an expedition. No one bothers him after those.

Thick water droplets and remnants of the desert circle around the drain. You hadn’t walked in on much. He had been rinsing off the sand grains that stuck to his arms and shoulders and were especially annoyingly weaved in his hair, but he’d also removed his armor—he didn’t typically wear much anyway so to see him with even less was probably too cruel, even by your standards.

Cyno turns just enough to watch you under his bangs and nearly bursts out laughing (or, that’s to say, he can’t help but crack a smirk). Even from his peripheral, he can tell his exposed back and arms have caught your attention. If he could get closer, he’s sure your pupils would be blown wide the same way they were when you saw Avidya Forest for the first time. Your eyes dart around—to the walls with sandy desert motifs and his spear propped up in the corner and the window that blows in a warm breeze laced with the smell of dinner preparations, and then always, always they wander back to him.

Are you trying not to stare? He wouldn’t have noticed if you had and yet, it still seems to matter to you. Archons, you were so professional sometimes it made him dizzy.

“You’re the only one who visits anyway,” he adds, line of sight dropping back to the dripping faucet. He rubs harder at his hair.

“That’s beside the point!” You latch on to the distraction. “It’s bad enough I have to walk across the entire palace to get here! Not to mention, what were you thinking with this thing? I’m so sick of reading the same report—”

Right. You would have been in his office today. All alone.

The towel bunches under his grip and he closes his eyes for a brief second. Then, it falls around his shoulders as he turns and walks over to you.

“Is that from last week’s Amurta incident?” Cyno tips the folder towards himself, feeling hot air on his cheek when you huff. His handwriting is smooth on the front. He’s leaning in closer than needed to read it but truthfully the words just swim in his vision. He knows what they say anyway. Typical researcher-thinks-the-desert-is-empty-enough-to-cover-their-totally-fucked-up-experiment situation. (“They thought it was… deserted.” He had paused for a moment to gauge your reaction as soon as he’d gotten back. This masterpiece couldn’t wait any longer to be told and he’d practically run to your room. “But actually I was there. So it wasn’t.” You kicked him out record fast.)

“Yes! This shouldn’t be taking us this long to file.” If he really concentrates, he can feel the vibrations of your words, he thinks. It bristles his skin and he leans back, releasing the document and shrugging. He eyes the wall inlaid with gold circles above your head to calm down.

“So just send it in. Nothing’s stopping you.”

“I can’t! You keep making all these corrections I have to add in.”

The straight line of his mouth wavers. “That was the joke. I’m the one stopping you.”

You deadpan. “You’re horrible.” When he doesn’t say anything back, you smack his chest with the folder, punctuating your words. “You made me write this entire thing and I stayed up all night working on it and you and your stupid, stupid”—two smacks for that one—“brain are just never satisfied”—he blinks at that and mulling it over, he catches the folder (eyes still tracing the intricate spirals and corners of the Scarlet King’s symbol the best of Eremite sculptors had carved out a millennia ago; though, he’s not that impressed by something like that at the moment), and you tug it back right away but stop hitting him.

“And you keep making me rewrite it. Speaking of, why am I even doing this in the first place?! I wasn’t even there! I’m so sick of you. Either let me come with you on missions or keep doing everything yourself like an idiot and file your own stupid paperwork after! It’s not my fault some of the details aren’t accurate. You know, you care too much about doing everything the “just” way. I swear you’re somehow worse than my old Akademiya advisor!” You suck in a breath and Cyno thinks you’re done until your renewed lung capacity proves him wrong. “Well, you know what, I’ve got some corrections to your corrections and—”

He finally lets himself look at you, bored after following the same golden line to its end five times, and immediately hears a rush of blood in his ears. He speaks quickly before he can get tongue-tied. “So, a sign,” he interrupts your tangent. The last word you were saying breaks off unsatisfyingly. You look like you want to murder him and he feels his heart burn from the center out and melt into lava in his chest. Up close, your hair is tousled by the dry heat and your eyes dot orange with the setting sun. “And what should it say? Do not disturb?” Cyno suddenly finds himself missing your fiery gaze when you tear away.

“I mean, yeah.” You’re flipping through the folder now, no doubt trying to find your least favorite part to criticize, this time right to his face. You miss the terrible, terrible trap he sets with his words and proximity. “The hell else would you put on it anyway,” you scoff.

He cuts in before you can get back to business. “You’re right.” Your eyes snap up, eyebrows scrunched in annoyance, to question why this part of the conversation is still going and he catches your wrist to stop your flipping. He can see the exact moment you notice how close he is, how he’s inched in until only the open folder you hold separates you.

Your eyes widen and your lips part just the smallest bit as though there are words on the tip of your tongue and he thinks you look otherworldly. He gives himself a moment to take you in before his voice drops to only between you two. “I think do not disturb would be perfect.” The tip of the report is digging into his chest now. The thought of how painful a papercut that would be in the desert barely crosses his mind.

The gears turn in your head, slowly, as the second meaning sinks in. He watches in rapt interest as your previous inhibitions melt away and your pupils dilate. You’re already looking much more sluggish than before, relaxed enough that he releases your wrist and lets his hand run up your bare arm. “Cyno…,” you sigh—you’re immediately embarrassed and glance away but then at his lips curved in a cruel smile and back to his eyes. Your skin is soft and burning, and he can’t tell if it’s just him imagining it or if it’s really how he makes you feel. He squeezes your bicep lightly, then lets his touch move up over your shoulder and ghost over your neck until you shiver and your gaze turns lidded.

Cyno hums and leans in, not missing the way your eyes fall shut the rest of the way and you tip forward in anticipation. He feels a hand on his chest and fingertips pressing into him, and you’re so soft and warm. He moves to cup your face and your lips bump together, and those careful fingertips against him turn into sharp nails.

He breathes you in and then molds his lips to yours.

The kiss is slow and it feels like you’re taking all of his oxygen, condemning him to the underworld for losing himself to his desires. Even when his grip on your jaw tightens the smallest amount and he presses his tongue into your mouth, Cyno is careful, barely holding onto himself. He doesn’t know if you’re as affected as he is but the tortuous pace is both heaven and hell to him.

It’s you who tips the chaste balance and throws your arms around his neck, never pulling away but always tugging him in. He lets go of your jaw and both of his hands find your waist on instinct, and he wants to be disappointed in himself when he stumbles you back until you’re pressed up against the open doorway but you taste so good there’s no way he stands a chance.

The sensation is overwhelming and his cloudy mind zeros in on the way his bare chest presses to the smooth, silky front of your shirt and how smooth and silky your lips feel and how perfect and soft and warm they are, and how ungodly pretty they always look when he stares. He feels carnal compared to your composure.

So unprofessional we keep doing this, he thinks faintly, buried behind thoughts of worship. Then, he feels a heat burst in his heart and quickly amends it. No. So terrible I keep doing this. So wrong.

And something about pulling you deep into the haze behind his righteous persona is even worse (even better) than anything else he could come up with. The truth has him kissing you harder and you mewl at his hunger—you who’s a way better person than he is, who always sticks to the book, who always gives him what he wants.

Judgment day couldn’t come soon enough.

His hair’s still dripping wet he realizes as the cold drops fizz into nothing between you, swallowed up. Your fingers are digging into the same muscles of his back you’d been staring at earlier and Cyno feels the scrape of the papers that had been pressed between the heat of your bodies before—the whole reason you’d even come.

He bites at your bottom lip, giving you the faintest moment to catch your breath. “Be careful not to drop them,” he mumbles, heated teases brushing against your jaw and just under your ear when he licks a stripe up them. You whine and tug him back up to you, probably so sick and tired of fucking hearing him talk all the time (this is precisely why he does it).

Your hands are in his hair now and he groans as your fingers card through the mess of wet curls and pull them and twist and shove his lips further into yours almost in the hopes you’ll become one.

Cyno has the inkling a sign wouldn’t do much if you’re both going to be so shameless in the open about it.

He’s glad his room is so removed from the rest of the building. It’s still a risk that raises delicious goosebumps on his skin but practically no one would bother coming out here of their own free will or see what was his during a quick walk down a hallway.

Cyno lets himself drown in your lips—you’re more forceful this time, more desperate, and he can see your threads coming unraveled—until you decide you actually need a proper break to breathe and pull back, shoving his face away in amusement when he goes chasing after you.

You’re both panting hard and he finally registers the screaming of his lungs for air. He has no idea how he looks but your image is another hit to his already foggy brain—it’s a sight for the ages, a sage that he sears into his mind and wants to imprint into history books everywhere.

You’re smiling so wide, he can’t look away from the pretty color of your bruised lips if he tried.

A few droplets from him drip down your cheek and he thumbs them away carefully, placing a light peck on the corner of your mouth.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you comment breathlessly, breaking him from his stupor. It’s then that he feels your touch carefully rearranging his bangs. It’s a sharp contrast to your heavy tugs moments ago and makes his heart flip and ache and everything in between in a way that’s both different and the same.

Cyno huffs a laugh. “Let me finish getting ready first next time then.” He goes back in to kiss you but you shake your head, covering your mouth and burying your head in his chest. He hears the giggles that escape between your fingers and feels the faint shake of your body with the weight of them.

“That bad, huh?” He blows a strand out of his face. When it falls back right in front of his eyes, he runs a hand through his hair and shoves it all back, no doubt ruining it further.

You look up when he cages you in, a forearm above your head and the other still wrapped around your waist. You’re beaming when he leans your foreheads together.

“I love you,” you say, lost in his eyes.

Cyno’s fingers squeeze into a fist above your head where you can’t see them. No matter how many times you say it, he’s filled with emotions that have no names every time. “I love you too.” He has to stop himself from saying more.

“But I don’t know if I love you enough to—” He doesn’t let you make the choice because he swallows up your next words. He feels mildly bad that he keeps cutting off your sentences today but when you smile into the kiss he knows you don’t mind—plus, he gets the feeling you planned this one at least. Anyway, his hair can’t bother you if you can’t see it.

You’re the one who pulls back again the next time and the heated air within the confines of Cyno’s arms is palpable. Tipping your head back to the wall, you stare at him with a blissful expression, content, and eyes half-closed. In the silence, only both of your heavy breaths could be heard.

“Mmm,” you sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut as you gather your wits about you, looking so perfect and happy. Cyno’s shameless staring doesn’t stop even when you open them. “I’m still going to need you to look over those reports on your desk.”

He kisses you again, nerves on fire, and when he pulls away you’re both panting again. “I don’t think we need to go to my office to talk about them.” Fuck, he kisses you searingly one last time, unable to control himself, before he untangles from you. You’re slightly dazed and reach out for him again in your confusion, but instead, he lightly intertwines your fingers. “You’re already here. It wouldn’t be right to make you walk back.”

Cyno then pulls you behind him, out of the open archway, and into his darkening bedroom. That sign would probably come in handy right about now.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #cyno x reader #cyno #cyno imagines #cyno genshin impact #hello im back cue the jazz hands #x-posted from ao3 <3 live laugh love i am SO incredibly normal about him #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fanfics #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios

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frxxxncx · 7 months

Text

need to know - k. soonyoung

»boyfriend!¡kwon soonyoung x fem!¡reader.

»Summary: you just wanted to dance all night long, but the night had other plans for you.

»Tags: smut (MDNI), pet names, establish relationship, chocking, exhibitionistm, dirty talk (I suck at this, I’m not joking), degradation…?, sex in public, bulge kink kind of, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, it’s a little nasty at the end ngl, kinda mean dom!soonyoung, sub!reader.

»Words: 1.7k

note: This concept of Kwon Soonyoung makes me scream in my pillow every night. Need to know was my most played song in 2021.

note 2: Any typo or incoherence that you might find was completely intentional, it’s for the sake of learning about my mistakes.

Your pink mini-skirt danced gracefully with you, stroking your plump thighs softly, fabric barely covering your ass, chest moving slowly, contrasting with the voluptuous motions of your hips.

You felt aroused, only looking for your boyfriend's gaze from the bar counter, you were the one who proposed to go out to dance, but Soonyoung, even though he liked to dance was not in the mood to do it that day, but you were willing to make his cock raise proud, as if you had telekinesis.

You felt someone behind you, but you were certain that it wasn’t your boyfriend, you were going to get away from him but an evil thought crossed your filthy mind, you decided to use the disrespectful guy whom was gripping grossly tight your waist with his flagrant sticky and sweaty hands, you wanted to provoke your boyfriend, but his reaction was taking long that you expected and you were starting to get utterly disgusted by the stranger.

Still it was thrilling, you knew what was coming after this stunt you just made. The movements of your hips were exaggerated, while your hands were placed over the other guy. Gross.

It was extremely uncomfortable to feel the unfamiliar hands travel your body with that intimacy, but at the same time you shiver at the feel of Soonyoung's strong gaze over you. So he finally saw you.

The foreign hands disappeared, being replace for your boyfriend’s hot and heavy touch, you could hear clearly how Soonyoung shouted with rage “Fuck off”. A chill ran down your back, you knew perfectly what was coming and you were so fucking prepared for the consequences of your actions.

His hands were squeezing your waist so tightly, and you were sure the silhouette of his fingers was going to be engraved in your skin in a purplish color by tomorrow. His warm breath felt delicious over the back of your neck, body’s so close you could feel all of him pressed against you. Soonyoung tongue caressed your ear feeling the cold metal of your piercings.

“Did you like provoking me while grinding against that bastard like a fucking slut in heat?” He whispered, one of his hands getting to the hem of your pinky skirt, thighs clenching together at the familiar feeling striking your cunt, his digits travelled over your soft skin, and under your skirt, fingers stroking the fabric of your lingerie.

The darkness of the place played in your favour, no one seemed like they were able to see a thing, or maybe they were just enjoying the show, perhaps they were doing the same with their partners.

The rough palms of Soonyoung caressed your cunt over the silky fabric of your underwear, making you stutter in his arms, his left hand rested on your neck choking you slightly, enough to make you moan at the pressure, you could feel your slick starting soak the thin fabric of you lingerie, you were dripping like a faucet and you needed a plumber to help you fix the problem, most definitely.

His cold fingers sneaked inside your underwear, digits now dripping wet in your arousal, you shivered thrilled with his fingers now rubbing circles in your swollen and needy clit, your hips wouldn’t stop moving anxious due to the strokes that started to become faster and faster, putting more pressure in the delicate bud of nerves, his middle fingers travelled to your core, making his ways inside of you, your hands gripped his wrist tightly, retaining a guttural moan that was building up in your throat.

His ring finger joined inside, now both digits were playing in your warm embrace, rubbing into all the good spots inside of you, while his palm was fondling your clit, his fingers scissoring you, stretching your velvety walls. Your moans slipped from your mouth uncontrollably, and you were so glad that the music was so loud, otherwise everyone would notice how your boyfriend was finger fucking the life out of you.

“You pussy so cute and so wet for me, I can feel your cunt so deliciously tight around my fingers” he whispered in your ear, curling his fingers and tightening the grip in your neck “Come on, baby, beg me for it and I will give it to you” the kiss below your ear makes you gasp, breathing was starting to become difficult “Beg for me, just like the cockslut you are” a high pitch moan escape from you when his fingers stretched more inside of you, the burning feeling only making you wish for more.

“Please, please, I need you” you whine desperately, head pressed against his chest, arching your back and moving your hips, feeling the hard on in the base of your back.

“It turns you on, huh?” His hoarse voice behind you contrasted with he sensual music that was playing now, hand that was fingering you, now unzipping his pants hurriedly“I’m going to fuck you infront of all these people and you are soaking wet for it”

He lifted your skirt and moved your underwear to the side, you felt the fabric tear in your skin, and sighed at it, his cock was caressing your sticky folds, spreading all your juices on his shaft, sliding easily on your lips.

“God, you’re so ready for me” he purred, and without thinking twice he thrusted inside of you groaning satisfied after bottoming you out, a loud and guttural moan break from you, due to the force and the toughness of the thrust it kind of burned, but it burned so good that the coil that been building in your belly increased enormously.

“Ooh, baby, you’re so perfect, so good for me” Soonyoung’s dancer hips pistoned with an animalistic pace, biting your lips was starting to become a poor attempt to muffle some of your whimpers, even the wet and lewd sound was beginning to echo over the music in your ears.

Your velvety walls were clenching around Soonyoung’s dick, making him groan satisfied, the sound of his voice caressing your ears like honey, almost triggering your desired orgasm.

The pleasure filled your insides and your clit wouldn’t stop pulsating under Soonyoung insisting rubs, left hand gripping firmly your neck taking your breath away, the coil in you belly was so close to bursting, your hips trembling and colliding with his that wouldn’t stop pistoning into you, every thrust tougher than the other.

At some point, both of his hands rested on your belly, pressing not tight but just enough to make you see stars over your head like a pretty halo, his dick jammed inside of you and the pressure of his hands made you feel like your guts were being rearranged, everything was hot and narrow, your lips were bright red and glossy, you thought that tomorrow they would hurt so bad.

Soonyoung kept hammering into you, one hand pressing your stomach and the other taking your breath away once again, while his hips drilled into you fast and messy, your so desired orgasms stroke through you, body jerking forward as you howled in pleasure, while he kept grunting on the damp skin of your nape, and finally he let go of you neck. He plumped himself dry into you, painting your insides white.

And perhaps it was because you were on a public place or maybe it was the fact that your boyfriend just was exceptionally good at fucking you, but if he wasn’t holding you tight, you would be in the floor due to the overstimulation.

“Fuck, I think we need to go home” he said getting out of you slowly, hearing you whine in the process, now he was fixing his pants and holding tight onto you.

The words could get out of your mouth properly, you only remained clinging onto Soonyoung’s arm while his still warm cum travelled in the soft skin between your thighs, your cunt was sore, even then you could feel his dick inside of you, making you shudder, your legs were all wobbly and the sticky load was peeking from the edge of your skirt. Soonyoung felt bad about it and wiped it as much as he could with his hand, and then he fixed your underwear so his cum wouldn’t go anywhere.

You tried to walk while grabbing your boyfriend’s shirt tightly, but your legs just gave up and a mini scream came out when you felt like falling on your face.

“Sonnie, I can’t, my legs” you said, stuttering looking at your boyfriend with shining eyes because of the tears, still moaning quietly trying to stand still.

He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows and a smirk, satisfied of having fucked you so well you couldn’t even walk, but still he felt a little -just a little- bad for you, maybe he was to rough, you liked it though.

Chuckling Soonyoung gave you one last look full of joy and breathed out surrendering.

“Come on, pretty, I’ll carry you” he said before lifting you into bridal style, making you feel as light as a feather. “When we get home, I’ll make us a warm bath and I’ll clean you up very well, it’s okay, honey?” He asked in a childish tone, making you laugh and nod at the same time.

Once you were outside the club, Soonyoung made sure to put you in the passenger seat carefully but still a gasp came out of you, he zipped your belt and closed your door, and then he went to his seat.

During the drive home, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit tense because of the sticky mess in between your legs, but still the light burn in your core felt quite pleasant making your cunt pulsate.

When you finally where in front of your house, you sighted “Next time instead of fucking in the middle of the dance floor, better drag me to the car and fuck my brains out here” the embarrassment was starting to kick in, the liquid confidence losing its effects.

Soonyoung looked at you with a crooked smile "why next time when I can do it right now?"

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alexwritingspot · 7 months

Note

hii ! i LOVED your percy x reader sm!! and your writing is BEAUTIFUL !

ik you just posted recently but could you do percy x gn!reader with prompt 9? and possibly make it enemies to lovers? <3

Maybe even enemies can love each others…

prompt 9: “are you flirting with me? Took you long enough to understand it”

A shared punishment imposed by Mr. D, by the side of the great Percy Jackson leads you to finally face all the feeling that you had hid for so long…

A/n: Omg! Thank you so much! 😭😭😭 you have no idea how much this comment means to me, you literally made my day 🧡🧡 I’m not an English native speaker, so I’m always doubting about both my writing and my language skills, so having a compliment like this is just very appreciated! As always the prompt list is on my page. words count: 800

warnings: maybe cursing? Other than that none

——————————————————————————————————

It wasn’t like you totally hated Percy Jackson. He saved your life more than once and was after all a nice guy. But he got under your skin, a whole lot. You hated how everyone at camp saw him as the perfect guy, the handsome boy with a golden heart who saved Olympus twice and had chosen to refuse immortality to help the camp, heck, even his fatal flaw was a merit! But you hated it because it wasn’t absolutely like that… ok, maybe it was. But you hated how no one pointed out his flaws.

So here you were, forced to a shared punishment with the son of Poseidon because you two had ‘disturbed’ Mr. D’s breakfast with your bickering. You pulled up your sleeves and put on a pair of gloves waiting for the torture to end. You two had to wash the breakfast dishes in the camp’s kitchen and you both were left alone since Mr. D had left.

You watched the water pour from the sink faucet as you held out an hand and waited for Percy to pass you a plate… except he didn’t. When you turned he was juggling with some apples found around. You let out a tired sigh “have you finished messing around or do I have to clean up all of this by myself?” Annoyance dripping from your voice. With a single move he stopped throwing the apples in the air and put them down on a near wooden table “you should enjoy your life more, you know?” He teased, a smirk was playing on his lips and Oh gods, how much you’d like to smack it out of his sneering face! But you couldn’t, so you simply turned your glare back to the sink and said nothing else, you had to bite your tongue to not retort back.

He then came closer to the counter with a pile of dirty dishes in his hands, a light was entering the window and kissing his face almost poetically, his green eyes shining bright… what were you thinking?! You forced yourself to simply take a plate and you started washing it, well aware of his eyes on you. “You’re just gonna stay there all day staring at me or you’ll actually help?” You asked him in a very serious voice, and he laughed, how dared that- “relax, we have plenty of time and if you didn’t notice I’m helping you” he said, clearly amused, you side glared at him “how, exactly?” He put down the pile of plates and took a step nearer “I carried here the dishes” he pointed out, you rolled your eyes, and turned your head once again to give him a warning glance to not make you anger, but you stopped the moment his face came into your vision. Why did he need to have such a pretty face, you wondered. You ended up doing all the dishes alone as he stood there, until finally he spoke “I like your eyes” he said, you turned, confused, he had that same playful light as always “you what?” You ask, looking at him, your face scrunched up in confusion “You heard me” he said smiling, as he got nearer “do you want to play 5 questions?” He asked, you turned fully, your back resting on the counter as you dried your hands, the dishes could have waited

“Wasn’t the game ‘20 question’?” He shook his head “It’s funnier this way, you have to choose the most important ones” He said, your shoulders were touching and, oh boy, you didn’t mind at all “Who starts?” You asked, he went straight to speaking up “what’s your favourite colour?” You laughed a bit at the irony of the question “what about the talk you made about three seconds ago about the fact that this way we had to do important questions?” You mocked him “you didn’t answer” he answered back, ignoring completely your statement “I like green” you shrugged “like my eyes?” He questioned “like your eyes” you confirmed “my turn… do you like someone?” You asked, sure that the answer would have been a positive one, even if strangely the thought made you jealous. “Yes, a certain child of y/g/p, who has a really smart mouth” he looked you in the eyes and you could swore he was looking into the depth of your soul. You stood there, processing the information with your mouth slightly agape. “Are you flirting with me?” You asked, in total disbelief, he took a step closer, placing his hand on your cheek, even if he was warm it made you shiver “took you long enough to understand it” and then he closed the gap between your lips, with the softest kiss someone has ever gave you…

A/n: Hope it reached your standards! Feel free to request anything else! 🧡🧡🧡

#Pjo #Percy Jackson #Pjo x reader #Percy Jackson x reader #x reader #annabeth chase x reader #leo valdez x reader #Piper McLean x reader #jason grace x reader #prompt list

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thatbloodymuggle · 2 months

Text

READY TO RUN (vii)

SEVEN - STACCATO

SUMMARY: in a world where everyone has a predetermined match, JJ Maybank and Y/N Montgomery want nothing to do with theirs. it has to be a cruel joke; the universe forcing two people to love each other when they don’t know how.

PAIRING: jj maybank x reader / soulmate au

WORD COUNT: 7.8k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: smut, mirror sex, choking, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, choking, slight humiliation kink

✰✰✰

“What a great match, Georgie! That last cross-court shot was just picture perfect,” Clyde Montgomery praised his youngest daughter as he swirled the celery stick around his bloody mary.

You feigned a smile beside your mother, resisting the urge to slump over in your seat and nod off. You hadn’t slept more than 4 hours the previous night, and Georgia’s post-tournament club dinner was the last place you wanted to be on the island. But you knew you had to uphold your end of the deal with your father, and that meant pretending to be invested in the 13-year-old brat’s success. Still, you struggled to keep your eyes open. You hadn’t been able to sleep for the past few nights; ever since JJ’s visit.

Your gut twisted at the thought of that night, and despite the time passed over the past few days, the sensation hadn’t subsided. You had seen a side of JJ you never imagined existed. His vulnerability, and the ease with which you provided him comfort, terrified you. It scared you shitless, and each night since then, you found yourself restless thinking about it. His radio silence certainly contributed to your anxiety, as he had left before you woke up and hadn’t texted you since.

Needless to say, you were not in the mood to hear your family drone on and on about frivolous things. You found yourself subconsciously passing the time by watching the condensation drip down your glass of water and peering around the restaurant, a small part of you hoping to catch sight of his tousled blond hair. You knew he picked up shifts on Saturdays, and you hated that you knew that.

“Y/N,” your father’s stern voice snapped you from your train of thought and you jolted in your seat. His eyebrow was raised expectantly and all eyes were trained on you.

“Yes, sir?," you stumbled.

He sighed, exasperated, and ran a hand down his face, “I asked what you’ll be having. You need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

You flushed and your eyes jumped to the menu which you had yet to look over, “Oh, um, I guess I’ll get a club sandwich.”

“Why don’t you get the fig salad?” Margaret Montgomery’s voice cut through the air like a knife, “The dress you picked out for Midsummers was a tight squeeze when you tried it on, and I’m not getting you another one.”

You flushed as your sisters snickered at your mother’s pointed insult. You pursed your lips and slumped in your seat with a nod, trying your best to swallow down the lump in your throat. It was at that moment that you caught sight of the dirty blond hair you’d been keeping an eye out for all day. His eyes shot to yours and you held his gaze for a fleeting moment before looking back down at the condensation on your water glass.

The sharp stabbing pain of embarrassment from your mother’s comment muddled with the influx of emotions his presence brought was overwhelming. Your hands were clammy, and your leg shook with anxiety. You jumped abruptly from your seat and barely excused yourself before walking as fast as you could to the nearest bathroom. Your heart pounded and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you made it inside the single stall bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

You turned on the faucet and ran your hands underneath the water. Your shoulders relaxed as you drank in the relaxing sensation and focused on the coolness of the water.

You leaned your elbows against the counter and shut off the flow of water after a minute or so. Your dripping hands lay limp over the sink as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You frowned as you studied the bags under your eyes and the pimple erupting on your chin.

A sharp knock sounded on the door.

"Occupied," you called as you continued your self-scrutiny.

The knock sounded again, and your brows furrowed in annoyance, "I said occupied!"

The sharp knock turned into a banging, shaking the door at its hinges. You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists against the counter. With a huff of frustration, you swung the door open, ready to give the nuisance a piece of your mind. Your glaring eyes narrowed as they met a familiar set of devilish blues.

"What the hell are you doing?" you hissed. You stumbled back as you were met with a soft, but forceful shove inside.

JJ swung the door shut behind him and locked it in one swift motion.

"Someone's gonna see you, you can't just--" he cut off your rambling by pulling you flush against him and crashing his lips onto yours.

You tensed in shock at his brazenness. He pushed your back against the wall, and you let your eyes flutter shut, melting into the kiss. His lips were rough against yours, and you found yourself drunk on the feeling as they moved in sync. Your eyes shot open as he abruptly pulled away and began trailing kisses down the side of your neck. You gasped as he pushed the strap of your tank top aside and sucked harshly on the junction of your collarbone.

"We can't do this here," you squeaked.

He ignored you and wrapped his arms around your thighs, roughly picking you up and sitting you on the counter of the sink. He nudged his thigh between your knees, forcing them apart.

"We're gonna get caught," you weakly protested.

JJ let out a groan of irritation against your skin. He dug his blunt nails into the soft skin of your inner thigh, and you jumped.

"Do you ever shut up?" his nose trailed up behind your ear, and the tickle of his voice made you shiver. Your breath hitched as he moved his hand underneath your skirt and toyed with the edge of your panties, "The only way we're getting caught is if you keep running your mouth."

You bristled at his condescending tone, but couldn't stop yourself from lurching forward and closing the gap between them, reconnecting your lips once more. He curled his fingers underneath the band of your panties and pulled it back before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped at the stinging sensation, and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, deepening the kiss.

Desperate to take back control, you shoved at his chest, and JJ stumbled back in surprise. You swiftly flipped him so he was leaning against the counter as you reattached your lips to his. JJ groaned as you reached between down and unbuttoned his khaki shorts. He reached down to release his cock straining against his boxers, but you swatted his hands away.

"You had your fun last time. It's my turn now," you mumbled against him before biting down on his bottom lip, eliciting a hiss from him.

JJ relented and allowed you to take control, at least for the time being.

You shoved his shorts down so they pooled around his ankles. You trailed kisses down his neck as you ran your fingers along the hem of his boxers teasingly. He groaned as you palmed him through the thin material.

"My patience is running thin, sweetheart," he grunted, sliding one hand underneath your skirt and groping the curve of your ass harshly.

Before he had a chance to flip you back around, you sank to your knees in front of him. JJ bit back a moan at the sight of your doe eyes staring up at him through your long lashes. He watched, jaw slack, as you slowly pulled down his boxers, releasing his throbbing length. He sucked in a breath as you dribbled spit on the head. You wrapped your hand around his cock and stroked up and down the shaft, twisting your wrist at the bottom. His eyes rolled back as you licked a slow strip from the base to the head before taking him into your mouth.

"Fuck," JJ moaned as you moved at a steady pace, up and down his cock, using one hand to massage his balls. You rolled your tongue around his length as you moved, paying particular attention to the head of his cock each time you pulled back. He wrapped one hand in your hair, guiding your movements. He couldn't help himself from bucking his hips, groaning as you gagged around his length. Spit dribbled down your chin as he began fucking your mouth. You looked up at him through teary, hooded eyes, and he nearly came at the sight. JJ jerked you off of him in one swift movement, pulling you to your feet.

"You had your fun," he roughly turned your body so you faced the mirror and he stood behind you, "Now it's my turn."

You gasped as he bunched your skirt up around your waist and shoved your panties to the side. He ran a finger through your folds and you flushed as he chuckled into your ear, "You're dripping, princess."

You tried to turn in JJ's hold, but his grip around your waist was firm, forcing you to face the mirror. Your eyes fluttered shut and you lulled your head back onto his shoulder as he sunk one finger into your heat. Your lips parted as he curled it inside you, hitting a spot you didn't even know existed.

Your eyes shot open as JJ wrapped his other hand around your neck and forced your head forward.

"Don't hide, baby. I want you to watch yourself, see how pretty you are," his rasp sent a shiver up your spine. He added another finger and you let out a strangled moan. Your cheeks burned and you tried to turn your head away, but his grip was firm, "You want me to stop?" his movements slowed.

You whined and shook your head, "Uh uh."

"Then be a good girl and watch yourself fall apart on my fingers," he nipped at your skin.

His pace increased as he massaged your walls, curling his fingers in just the right spot. Your eyes watered as you watched yourself in the mirror. You were embarrassed by the vulgarity of the image, but even more so by how aroused it made you. You whimpered as JJ unwrapped his hand from your throat and moved it down to rub your clit. Your knees buckled at the doubled stimulation, and you grasped at JJ's biceps, desperate for something to stabilize yourself. You gnawed on your bottom lip, trying your best to suppress your cries of pleasure.

"JJ, I'm--" you blabbered, unable to think straight.

He curled his fingers even faster, creating an obscene squelching sound. You shuddered and your eyes rolled back as you felt yourself approaching your high. You cried out and nearly crumpled to the ground when he abruptly removed his fingers. Your lips parted in shock and tears pricked at your eyes at the cruel smirk on his face.

"Oh, sorry, princess. Were you close?" his mocking tone made your bottom lip wobble.

"I hate you," your voice trembled.

JJ chuckled at this and flipped you around, lifting you onto the counter. He pressed his lips against yours and you melted into the sloppy kiss. "Well you sure have a funny way of showing it," he mumbled against your mouth.

Before you had a chance to retaliate, JJ yanked your panties down your legs, tossing them aside carelessly. He pulled you forward so you sat on the very edge of the sink. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. You snaked one arm around him and sunk your nails into the soft skin behind his neck, "Shut up and fuck me into tomorrow."

He didn't need to be told twice. JJ hastily lined up against your entrance, and pushed in slowly, his jaw slack as he watched his cock disappear into your body. You stifled a moan as he bottomed out, drunk on the feeling of him buried so deep inside of you. He pulled his hips back slowly until just the tip of him remained inside you. You whined at the loss and clawed at his back. JJ rested his forehead against yours before swiftly crashing his lips against yours and snapping his hips, plunging back inside of you.

You yelped against his mouth as he set a punishing pace pounding into you. You felt stuffed to the brim and held onto him for dear life, sinking your teeth into his collarbone to muffle your cries. The sound of smacking flesh filled the marbled bathroom.

"Touch yourself for me," he grunted against your ear.

You reached a shaky hand in-between your bodies and rubbed your clit as he rutted into you. The added pleasure made your toes curl.

JJ pressed his lips against your neck, "You're taking me so well, baby. Can't get enough of this tight little cunt."

You fluttered against him at his sinful words. His unrelenting tempo made your gut tighten, and you couldn't tell if it was his or your own high rapidly approaching.

"I'm so close, J," you mewled, trying your best to keep quiet.

His hips stuttered at the sound of your desperate plea, "I know, baby. Let go."

Your vision blurred and your jaw dropped as shockwaves gripped your body. JJ released a guttural groan as your climax sent him over the edge. He rolled his hips against yours as he spilled himself inside of you, your fluttering walls milking every last drop of his seed.

Dazed from the euphoria of their climaxes, you slumped against each other trying to catch your breaths. JJ inched out of you slowly, and your breath hitched at the loss. You flushed as you became abruptly aware of the mess between your thighs.

"Can you--" you started but were cut off by JJ handing you a roll of toilet paper, as if he had read your mind.

An awkward silence enveloped the two of you as you cleaned yourselves and tried your best to hide any evidence of the fleeting interaction.

Your eyes widened at the sight of your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess and your mascara had smeared, not to mention the blush which just wouldn't budge from your cheeks. JJ watched you from the corner of his eye as he pulled on his boxers.

"You know," you rasped, breaking the tension-filled air, "I was thinking about your situation."

JJ paused his movements and you noticed his whole body tense, but opted to continue as he hadn't stopped you.

"I could help you with reporting him, getting out of that house. I can only imagine how impossible it must feel without the right resources and support, so if you--"

"And then what?" JJ snapped. His cold tone made the hair on your arms prickle.

"What do you mean?" your brows furrowed.

He scoffed, "What happens when I turn him in? CPS comes in and uproots my life, throws me in the system. Maybe even throws me into a worse situation?"

"That's not necessarily true, they could actually help more than you think--"

JJ whipped around to face you with menacing eyes, "He might be a piece of shit, but that's my dad. He's the only family I've got," you shrunk in on yourself at his tone, "You don't get it, Montgomery, and you never will..”

You frowned. You gently rested a hand on his back while he bucked his belt, “I know it’s not my place," you spoke softly, “But I just can’t stand to see you suffering–”

“You’re right, it’s not your place,” he threw your hand off, “You've got a silver spoon shoved so far down your throat you can’t see straight. You’re so fucking sheltered from hardship. When will you get it through your thick skull that I don’t wanna be part of your perfect little family in your perfect little house?”

JJ’s words cut you deep. Your voice trembled as you spoke, “I know hardship. Maybe not in the way you do, but just because my pain is invisible doesn’t mean it's any less real.”

“Invisible pain,” he scoffed, “What? Like Daddy didn’t buy you the Prada shoes you wanted?”

Tears of frustration welled in your eyes, which only egged him on.

“I don’t want your help, and I sure as hell don’t want your pity. But most of all, I don’t want you, Montgomery. We made an agreement that this,” he gestured between you, “Is purely physical. Don’t delude yourself into thinking it’s anything more.”

Your bottom lip wobbled as a tear trailed down your face. His words were vicious. You sucked in a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You looked into his eyes, the once bright blue now a stormy gray; a deathless shield.

“You’re right," you spoke quietly in an effort to keep your voice even, “It’s nothing more. I should get back to my perfect little family.”

You didn’t spare him a second glance as you turned on your heel and fled the suffocating bathroom. You didn’t care that tears were now rolling freely down your hot cheeks. You didn’t care that he could feel your nails digging into your palms, or that your mascara was probably ruined. You didn’t care, because no one else did; no one cared for you, so why should you?

As you approached the table to rejoin your family, you wiped your eyes and straightened your skirt. You covered the mark on your neck with your hair, and put on your best plastic smile. You sat back down next to your mother, your back straight and your hands resting in your lap, ready to smile politely and say nothing. No one spared you a second glance. But this time, you hadn’t deluded yourself into thinking they would. They hadn’t noticed you'd been missing for the better part of an hour, let alone that your eyes were swollen red. Because they didn’t care.

So, with a heavy heart and a hollowness inside, you stared down at the fig salad, which looked back up at you mockingly. You clenched your fist around your fork and shoved the food fit for a rabbit around the plate. You glared down at the bits of pecan and crumbled goat cheese, which seemed to symbolize every bit of rage you felt towards your mother. Your jaw clenched as you fumed quietly. Why were you so spineless? Why were you so concerned with maintaining your fragile reputation as a perfect little Montgomery child, when your parents cared so little for you? Why couldn't you, just once in your life, stand up for yourself? And why the fuck were you letting JJ Maybank’s words dictate your entire being?

The sight of his ruffled blond hair bussing the table across from your family was the trigger–you had had enough.

“You know, I met my soulmate the other day,” your uncharacteristically cold voice sliced through the air. The whole Montgomery family paused their conversation and stared at you in shock. Margaret dropped her fork, Clyde choked on his drink, and Dixie and Georgia’s jaws fell slack.

You stared at your mother, and at the boy who had sent your life into upheaval behind her. JJ had his back turned away from your table, but you could see he had stopped his movements, frozen in place. Good, you thought to yourself.

“Yeah," you sighed. Your next words were calculated and you spoke in a sickly sweet tone, molasses dripping from your lips, “Your biggest fear came true, Mother: he’s a Pogue. The Montgomery family name has a big, fat stain on it now! Wonder how you’re gonna cover that one up.”

You could hear a pin drop a mile away.

Margaret shook with rage, whereas Clyde’s face had turned the shade of a tomato. You looked just past your mother to see that JJ had turned around, his eyes wide with shock at the scene unfolding before him. A smug grin took over your face at the chaos you had created.

“You..,” your mother seethed, “you ungrateful little brat. You’re a miserable excuse for a daughter, and if you think for one minute that I’m about to let you ruin–”

“Get out,” Clyde’s eerily deep and even tone cut off his wife. His menacing eyes bore into yours. “Get the hell out of here. Now.”

You gulped in fear, but maintained your stone cold mask, determined not to show weakness.

“Gladly," you bit back, throwing your napkin on top of the fig salad before not so quietly storming away, effectively capturing the attention of bystanders.

You could hear your parents bickering behind you as you made your exit, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care less about the impending consequences of your outburst. All you cared about was getting as far away from there as possible.

You trembled with pent up anger as you finally escaped the suffocating air of the country club. Your nails dug into your palms as you stomped down the road, desperately searching for an outlet. You felt like screaming until your throat hurt, or punching something until your knuckles bled.

A shiver crept up your spine at the feeling of a feather-light touch stroking your forearm. Your blood boiled at JJ’s pathetic attempt to comfort you. This was all his fault. If it hadn’t been for him, you wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place.

“Fuck!”

You cried out as you felt the bark of the nearby tree splinter underneath your knuckles. You cradled your fist in your arms and squinted your eyes shut, as if doing so would block out the pain.

At least he got the message, you thought to yourself as the feeling of his touch on your arm abruptly left.

You fumbled through your bag in search of your phone. You blinked back tears as you pulled it out and stared blankly at your home screen. The picture of you grinning alongside Anna only sent you deeper into your hurricane of emotions.

You frantically searched for Topper’s phone number, but paused as a text notification populated your screen.

8:06 PM Sarah: what are u up to tonight? i heard there’s gonna be a kegger on the cut

Your fingers moved to respond before your mind could catch up.

to Sarah:

i’m in delivered 8:07 PM

✰✰✰

The pungent smell of weed and stale beer invaded your senses the second you stepped out of John B’s van.

The nearby beach was flooded with Tourons and Pouges alike, chattering over the blasting bass of some rock song. In the center of it all was a blazing fire pit, complete with beer pong tables and spike ball nets.

“I know it’s not your typical party scene,” John B hopped out of the van, “But I think you’ll find that Pogues do it better.”

You laughed, “This is perfect. Thanks for inviting me guys.”

Kie grinned at you and looped an arm through yours, “Welcome to the dark side. We don’t have any cookies, but we got a lot of beer.”

You giggled as the two of you set off towards the crowded beach, followed closely by John B and Sarah.

While this technically wasn’t the first time you had made an appearance at a kegger, it was certainly the first time you’d shown up with a group of Pogues. A small part of you felt bad for leaving Topper and Kate in the dark, but the thought of entering a mansion, let alone attending a Kook party, made your stomach churn. This was the perfect escape from your suffocating life on the Figure Eight; even if just for a night.

“Soo, I was promised beer," you teased Kie with a nudge as you arrived at the center of the crowd.

“Coming right up, m’lady!” John B grinned as he filled a red solo cup to the brim with alcohol.

You smiled as you took the plastic cup from him with a courtesy, “Thank you, kind sir.”

“Who the fuck invited her?” a familiar voice sent a shiver up your spine.

You whipped around and swallowed down a gasp as you came face to face with the boy who had sent your life into complete upheaval. The sight of him was an acrid reminder of events earlier in the evening. You trembled as you were reminded of the touch of his skin against yours. Your face fell as you remembered the seething look on your father's face after your outburst at the dinner table.

Despite the fiery rage bubbling in the pit of your stomach at the sight of JJ, you couldn't help but swoon at the sight of his windswept hair dusted with sand. You studied the slight downward curve of his lips, and the cinch between his brows. Pope lingered behind him with an awkward grin which looked more like a grimace.

JJ’s jaw ticked with irritation, and you only narrowed your eyes in response. You threw your head back as you chugged the contents of your cup, ignoring the burning sensation of stale beer down your throat.

“Oooh, Kook can drink!” Pope cheered you on.

You resisted the urge to gag as you crumpled up the empty plastic cup in your hand, beer dribbling down your chin. You burped loudly, sending Kie into a fit of giggles.

“Last I checked you don’t own this beach, Pogue," you quipped.

JJ grinded his teeth with a snarl.

“Cool it, JJ. And Y/N, if you’re gonna hang out with us then no derogatory usage of ‘Pogue’,” Kie intervened before a fight could erupt.

“Force of habit. I digress,” you averted your gaze from JJ and turned to the others with a smile, “So am I the only one drinking?”

Pope and Sarah grinned before raising their cups in unison, following your lead and chugging their drinks.

“Refill?” John B nudged you.

“Please," you laughed as he filled another cup to the brim.

You didn’t need to look at JJ to know he was seething; but frankly, you didn’t care.

“Who wants to play pong?” Kie shouted with a grin.

“You’re so on!” you snatched Sarah’s hand and dragged her to the nearby table before the Cameron girl had a chance to respond. Kie and Pope swiftly followed, taking position at the other end of the wooden table.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Kie. I have a long standing winning streak," you teased from across the table as the teenagers arranged plastic cups on either end.

Kie snorted, “Well good luck ‘cause Sarah’s a notoriously awful shot.”

“Hey,” Sarah shouted back with a frown, “Don’t forget I won last time!”

“Only ‘cause I was on your team,” the sound of JJ’s gravelly voice right behind you made you tense. Nevertheless, you ignored him and continued setting up the game, pouring a liberal amount of beer into each cup.

“How about losers have to do a keg stand?” Pope called out as he tossed you a ping pong ball.

A devilish grin crept onto your face, “You’re so on.”

The teenagers set to work playing the game. You could feel JJ’s eyes burning through you, but you avoided his gaze and instead focused on shooting the plastic ball into the beer-filled cups, tipping back drinks all the while.

“Looks like Little Miss Montgomery is about to lose that winning streak,” Pope teased from across the table as they prepared to throw the balls yet again. You frowned at the sight of a single cup on your end of the table in comparison to the three remaining cups on the other end.

“Don’t get cocky now, you still have to make the shot," you slurred, the alcohol catching up to you.

Your words were almost instantly drowned out by Pope and Kie’s cheering as he sank the ping pong ball into their final cup, effectively ending your long-standing winning streak.

You groaned as Sarah pulled the ball out of the cup and chugged the beer inside.

“They were right. You really do suck at pong," you grumbled as Sarah threw down the cup and wiped her mouth.

“Hey!” she pouted, “It’s not all about winning.”

“Uh, yeah it is,” Kie snorted, “And I’m pretty sure there’s a keg stand waiting for you two, if I remember correctly.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. You threw your hands up and relented, “Okay, okay. But Sarah’s going first since I carried that game.”

Sarah huffed but marched towards the keg. John B followed closely behind, and held her legs up as she positioned herself in a handstand on top of the large container of beer. A small crowd gathered, cheering as she took the tap head into her mouth and began chugging. You whooped alongside them as your friend chugged until she couldn’t take anymore. Sarah came down from the keg with a loud belch, sending the group of Pogues into a fit of laughter.

“Alright, Montgomery, your turn!” Pope nudged you towards the keg.

You stumbled towards the silver container, already feeling dazed from the alcohol. Still, you braced your arms on either end of the keg and kicked your legs up. Pope helped stabilize you as you took the tap head and followed Sarah’s lead, letting the bitter taste flood your mouth. Your head pounded from your upside down position and you were vaguely aware of the cheering crowd as you chugged. You continued until you felt your arms begin to wobble and the urge to vomit. Finally, Pope released his hold and you flipped back onto the ground, stumbling as you regained your footing.

You laughed and gave a dramatic bow to the onlooking crowd, ignoring JJ’s hawk eyes on you.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you clumsily dug it out.

11:56 PM Topper: why the fuck is your find my at the Cut?

You squinted through blurred vision as you sloppily typed out a reply.

to Topper:

kgr on th cut!!! come or ur a bitchff delivered 11:58 PM

“Hey Y/N! What are the odds you skinny dip in the ocean right now?” Sarah’s shrill voice pulled you from your phone.

You glanced up at your drunk friend through hooded eyes. Sarah’s infectious smile made your own lips curve upwards.

“1 in 10, but only if you do it with me," you giggled.

Sarah’s eyes widened as she doubled over in laughter, “Okay, who’s counting?”

John B frowned and grabbed Sarah’s hand, but she slipped away and wrapped her arms around you instead.

“I’ll do it,” Pope raised his hand before burping loudly, sending you into another fit of laughter.

“Hold on–” John B tried to interject, but was drowned out by Pope’s dramatic countdown.

“1…2…3!”

“7!”

You and Sarah shrieked as you shouted the same number in unison.

“Look what you’ve done!” you cried and gave Sarah a playful shove.

Tears streamed down Sarah’s face as she doubled over in laughter, “Well rules are rules, come on!”

“Come on, Sarah, don’t be dumb,” John B interjected with a sour face.

Sarah ignored her soulmate’s protests as she grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the ocean. You avoided JJ’s burning gaze and followed your friend.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, John B! I’ll keep mine on,” Sarah shouted over her shoulder as you sprinted together towards the crashing waves.

You and Sarah ignored John B’s protests as you clumsily got rid of your clothes. You giggled as you tripped while stepping out of your jean shorts, nearly falling down onto the sand below. Sarah peeled off her top and yelped at the feeling of the cool breeze, wrapping her arms around her chest. You continued until you left only in your underwear. You ignored the wolf whistles erupting from the crowd of Pogues and Tourons that had gathered around.

You felt a rush of hot anger which wasn’t your own bubbling in the pit of your stomach. You glanced over your shoulder and caught sight of JJ and John B standing side by side, arms crossed and jaws taut with irritation. You were too far away, and frankly too drunk, to decipher the look in his eyes; but his rage coursing through your veins spoke louder than words, and it only egged you on.

A devious smirk crept onto your beer-stained lips. You grabbed Sarah’s hand and set off into a clumsy run towards the water. You shrieked with laughter as you crashed into the waves. Goosebumps erupted along your body, but the numbing effect of alcohol fueled you on.

“Oh my god it’s fucking freezing!” Sarah’s shrill cry brought you back to reality.

“It feels so good," you laughed as a wave came over your shivering friend

You bobbed up and down in the water, reveling in the cheers of the crowd from the beach. You threw your head back into the ocean, letting the eerie sound fill your ears. You fluttered your eyes shut and grinned blindly up at the winking moon. The combination of alcohol and the freezing cold of the ocean flooded your brain, and for once you felt completely and utterly free.

You abruptly pulled your head back with a gasp as a splash of water came over you. You didn’t hesitate to retaliate, splashing Sarah back with all of the strength you could muster. You went back and forth splashing each other for what felt like hours, but was in reality mere minutes.

“Come on, Sarah, that’s enough,” John B’s muffled shout sounded from the beach.

Sarah rolled her eyes but relented, “We better get back before he actually loses his mind.”

“Nah, I’m not done yet. And I don’t answer to men,” you quipped as you spun in the water.

Sarah grabbed your hand, “Come on, Y/N. I’m actually freezing now and I’m not leaving you behind.”

You refused to budge and pulled your arm back with a drunken grin, “You can go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

Sarah frowned and glanced between the intoxicated Montgomery girl and her angry boyfriend in the distance.

“Seriously, Sarah, go ahead. I promise I’m right behind you. Just a few more minutes.”

Sarah sighed, but with alcohol clouding her judgment, she relented, “Okay. But no more than 5 minutes or I’m sending John B to get you.”

You mockingly saluted your fellow Kook, “Yes ma’am!”

You watched as Sarah swam back to shore and hastily ran over to her clothes discarded on the sand. You could see John B approach from the distance, blocking the dissipating crowd’s view of his girlfriend’s nearly naked body. You could see him chewing Sarah out as she got dressed, and you rolled your eyes.

“Come on, Y/N, you’re way too drunk for this,” Kie’s concerned voice shouted from a distance.

“I’m so sober right now," you shouted back, lying through your teeth, “I bet I could hold my breath for a minute!”

“Don’t–”

You didn’t hear the rest of Kie’s protests as you sucked in a deep breath before submerging yourself completely in the cold, dark abyss. Your head spun as the iciness engulfed you. You squinted your eyes shut and embraced the feeling as a welcome escape. As you counted down the seconds, you reveled in the sanctuary of silence. Through the pounding in your head and the burning in your lungs, your mind was completely void; no stuck-up parents, no fake friends, and most importantly, no JJ.

You remained underneath the water until you felt faint and you were forced to resurface, gasping for air. You panted as you wiped your eyes and turned to the group of Pogues on the beach.

“How long was it?” you shouted.

But you only heard a scream before a wave crashed over you.

The brutal force swept your body back under water as a sharp pain erupted on the back of your head. You flailed your arms, desperately trying to make your way back up to the surface, but to no avail. Your chest burned from the lack of oxygen as panic and fatigue simultaneously set in. The once peaceful escape was now a vicious cage, and the adrenaline fueling you slipped away. You let your eyes flutter shut.

Just as your tired limbs started to slow, you felt the electrifying touch of an arm wrap around your waist.

Your eyes shot open as you were pulled back to the surface.

You coughed violently and gasped for air. You subconsciously wrapped your arms around the shoulders of your savior as you fought to catch your breath. The once calming sensation of water against your skin was suddenly scorching, and you wanted nothing more than to escape. Slowly, your blurred vision began to regain focus as you were dragged through the water. As the shore approached, an arm snaked underneath your legs and you were lifted from the water. Finally lucid, you averted your gaze to face your savior.

JJ’s stormy eyes stared down at you as he carried your shivering body to shore.

The look of panic on his face made you abruptly aware of the pain in the back of your head. And just as suddenly, you became aware of your tight grip around his neck, and the unwanted comfort his touch rained down over you.

You fought every instinct to tighten your grip around him, and instead flailed your legs and pushed at his heaving chest.

“Let me go, you fucker!”

You squirmed out of his grip and cried out in pain as your body hit the sand below. JJ scoffed and unceremoniously tossed your discarded clothes from the sand on top of you.

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you okay?” Sarah’s voice was frantic as she kneeled beside you.

“Can you breathe?” Kie followed suit, gripping your shoulders.

You winced and nudged Kie off of you, “I’m fine," you grumbled.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

The pounding in your head amplified at the booming sound of a furious Topper.

“Y/N, what happened?” Kate arrived at the scene, kneeling between Kie and Sarah.

“I don’t–” you tried to respond but were drowned out by the sound of Topper and the Pogues bickering.

You lazily tried to pull on your clothes, but Kate, Kie, and Sarah’s grabbing hands shooed your own away as they helped you get dressed. The touch of the three girls and the bickering of the boys was suffocating, and you felt yourself gasping for breath again as if another wave had crashed over you.

“Would everyone just leave me the fuck alone?” you cried.

You sucked in a breath as the grabbing hands and arguing voices subsided.

You weakly pulled your shirt over your head. You ignored the burning gaze of the Pogues and your friends as you slowly hauled yourself up from the ground, stumbling over your trembling legs. They waited with bated breath as you dusted the sand from your body and turned to face them.

“I’m fine," you rasped, your voice hoarse.

“Y/N, I really think we should take you to an urgent care or something. What if–”

“I said I’m fine, Kate. Would you drop it?” you snapped at your friend.

Kate frowned and glanced towards Topper, urging her boyfriend to step in.

“I’m getting another drink," you grumbled. You ignored the throbbing pain in your head and set off towards the keg, but were stopped in your tracks by Topper’s strong grip around your bicep.

“No the fuck you’re not. You’ve had enough,” he forcefully pulled you back, and you fought against his iron grip.

“Last I checked I have free will," you slurred, finally yanking your arm away, “And I plan on exercising it.”

“Please, Y/N, you’re not thinking straight. At least let us drive you home,” Kate pleaded, her eyes wide with concern.

You scoffed and let out a manic laugh at the suggestion.

“I’d rather end up in a ditch then go back to that hell hole,” your voice cracked as you spoke.

You stomped away before Topper or Kate could stop you. You grabbed a plastic cup and filled it until the cheap beer sloshed over the edges. But just as you raised it to your lips, it was snatched away.

Your jaw fell slack and your body shook with rage as your eyes met JJ’s. The softness of the ocean water dripping from his blond hair was a stark contrast to the sharpness of his clenched jaw. You grabbed at the cup he had stolen, but he threw it aside before you could retrieve your drink. You stomped with frustration as the contents spilled onto the fine sand below.

“You trying to kill yourself or something?” he seethed.

You ignored the Pogue and reached for another cup, but he knocked your arm away. Your anger only intensified at this.

“Would you stop trying to take care of me? I don’t need your help, and I sure as hell don’t need you," you hissed and shoved at his chest with all the strength you could muster.

His dry laugh made your skin crawl, “If I didn’t jump in and save your drunk ass you’d be at the bottom of the ocean right now. Cut the shit, Montgomery.”

“I’d rather be at the bottom of the ocean than anywhere near you," you spit.

You lunged forward towards the keg, but he wrapped his hands around your forearms.

A tear of frustration slipped from the corner of your eye as you screamed profanities at him and fought against his grip, but to no avail.

“You can’t just pick and choose when you give a shit about me, Maybank," you finally twisted out of his hold, “You made your feelings perfectly clear. Stop pretending to care,” your voice cracked as another tear escaped.

You made one last attempt towards the keg, but JJ wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his bare chest.

“I’m not pretending,” he rasped into your ear.

The floodgate broke.

Tears rolled down your face as sobs wracked your body. You weakly flailed your arms but JJ only tightened his grip around you.

“Leave me alone," you sobbed, “just leave me alone.”

“No,” his voice was stern.

You weren't sure how long you struggled in his grip. But the pounding in your head began to take over, and you couldn’t see straight with tears clouding your vision. Finally you relented, crumpling against him. You fell limp as sobs continued to wrack your body. JJ eased you to the ground, all the while holding you flush against him, afraid to let go.

“I’m so tired of all of this," you cried as you wrapped your hands around his arms, finally giving into his hold, “I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of living my life for everyone but me. I’m tired of being perfect. I’m tired of my parents, and I’m tired of you.”

You couldn’t stop the stream of words and tears. You were vaguely aware of the crowd of your friends watching your breakdown, but you couldn’t stop it; no matter how hard you tried. You gasped for breath through your sobs, and JJ buried his face into the crook of your shoulder.

“Can you count to 10 for me?” his mouthed against your skin.

You shook your head violently.

“I’m just so tired,” your voice cracked as you cried.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered, “Can you feel my heartbeat?” he pulled you impossibly closer.

You shut your eyes tight and tried to focus on the pounding of his heart against your back. You nodded weakly.

“Focus on my heartbeat,” he whispered. He tapped his hand in rhythm against your forearm, “Can you tap with me?”

You trembled as you weakly tapped your hand against his. You put all your energy towards focusing on the heavy pounding of his heart. Your sobs slowly subsided.

“Good. Now can you breathe with me?” JJ’s raspy voice soothed you.

You nodded and mimicked his deep breaths, focusing on the feeling of his chest expanding and shrinking in over and over again.

Your chest heaved as the tears finally stopped rushing down your face. Your whole body ached and your head felt like it could explode. But the feeling of JJ’s bated breath against your skin and his arms wrapped around you was a safe haven you had never felt before.

“How’s your head?” he mumbled against you, rocking your body in a soothing manner.

“Hurts," you whispered back.

“I know,” he sighed.

Guilt tugged at your heartstrings. You had momentarily forgotten that JJ could feel every bit of physical and emotional pain you were in.

“Please let me get you out here, Y/N. We can go back to my house,” Kate’s soft tone snapped you back to reality.

Your puffy eyes fluttered open to meet your friend’s concerned gaze. Kate was knelt beside you and JJ on the sand, cautious not to get too close in fear of upsetting you again. Topper stood behind her, his lips pulled taut at the scene before him.

You averted your gaze to the ground and you subconsciously gnawed on your bottom lip. Your predicament with JJ was painfully obvious, and you knew you had a lot of explaining to do. But that would have to wait for another day.

“Y/N?” Kate questioned softly.

You gave your friend a weak nod.

JJ moved to unwrap his arms from you, but you tightened your grip, unwilling to lose his touch just yet. He sighed and looked up at the two Kooks. His gaze hardened at the sight of Topper, but he knew it wasn’t the time or place to pick a fight.

“I’ll carry her to your car,” JJ’s voice was gruff.

Kate and Topper shared a look, but nodded.

You wrapped your arms around JJ’s neck as he released one arm from your tight grip to slide underneath your legs, carefully lifting you from the ground. You closed your tired eyes to avoid the watchful glances of the rest of the Pogues. You rested your head against his chest as he carried you through the sand away from the crowd of the party.

“I’m sorry," you whispered so quietly you were surprised JJ heard you.

His grip tightened slightly, “I’m sorry.”

His shaky voice made you shrink further into his hold.

You reluctantly peeled your eyes open as he approached Topper’s Range Rover. Kate swung the backseat door open and JJ carefully lowered you inside the vehicle. You flinched at the feeling of the cool leather seat against your skin. Your watery eyes met JJ’s, which were swimming with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. He reluctantly unwrapped his arms from around you, and you fought the urge to pull him back.

“Get back safe, okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, and your heart dropped as he moved away. You watched longingly as he averted his gaze to the ground. You sucked in a breath as he shut the door, and your vision was flooded with the darkness of the tinted window. As Topper started the engine and pulled the car out of the parking lot, you could feel the distance between you and JJ grow with each passing second.

The urge to jump out and run after him was strong. But your fatigue was even stronger. You fluttered your eyes shut and relented to your tired body, letting yourself slip from consciousness.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #outer banks #jj maybank imagine #jj x reader #jj maybank fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction

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sanakimohara · 4 months

Text

“Tongue Tied” H.J.

{ MDNI } [ SEMI PROOFREAD ]

++++++

Jisung is so cute when he laughs and you get giddy hearing it but oh does it hurt to know he can’t be yours. You sit alone, mind running rampant with less than pure thoughts you’ve had about him, and not a single person suspects why you’re so quiet.

You’re always silent, everyone knows that, so you sit and imagine scenario after scenario.

You keep from staring at him by occupying yourself with a game on your phone. It works for a while but at some point Jisung sitting near you, talking up a storm as usual, and barely acknowledging your presence.

That is until he accidentally bumps into you. It’s not on purpose. Just a little nudge against the back of your head. You wince, not because he’s hurt you, but because you weren’t expecting to be this close to him all of a sudden.

Jisung smiles at you before apologizing, “My bad. I didn’t see you there. We good?” He holds out his hand, suggesting a fist bump to reconcile his mistake. You don’t say anything, just flash him a small smile before bumping a closed fist against his, and just like that he turns around to resume his conversation. You frown at the loss of attention and decide to leave your spot on the couch and go to the bathroom instead.

You want a minute alone, just to think, and maybe unwind yourself to get through the rest of the night with your sanity still intact.

Jisung is just…he drives you crazy…and you can’t do a thing about it.

You’d risk being hated by everyone, people would question your morality, and he’d definitely reject you. If locking yourself in a bathroom to get off on the thought of him was what you had to do to keep things the way they are now…it wasn’t a problem for you.

So, you stand, slipping past everyone towards the farthest bathroom. It’s upstairs and you doubt anyone will come looking for you up there. No one ever notices your absences in the first place. Jisung did though.

The moment you stood up from the couch he was leaning against his attention shifted from the conversation to your empty seat. He’d ask himself why you would leave, not aloud, but a singular thought he keeps to himself. His focus would be disconnected, trying to come up with reasons you’d disappear, and he comes to the conclusion it’s his fault. Maybe it really bothered you when he accidentally hit you. Maybe you felt even more alone when he continued to speak to someone else after apologizing.

These tiny assumptions about your behavior made him feel guilty and so Jisung excused himself, “I’m gonna go use the restroom. I’ll be right back.” He followed the path he’d seen you take upstairs, jogging up the steps, and heading down the hall to see which room you were in. Not his old one. Nor the master bedroom. You weren’t in the loft either. So that left the bathroom.

He hesitated to check there but eventually decided it wouldn’t hurt to be sure. He was about to knock, but instantly froze when he heard your soft moans and trembling whispers.

You were so quiet, barely mumbling louder than the running faucet you’d turned on to muffle any noise you make that might be heard outside. That little diversion doesn’t work too well since he’s inches away from the door, unable to speak, and even less capable of moving as he eavesdrops on you.

“Jisung…” you moan shakily, face burning up as the sound of his name edges you closer to your high. He bites his lip, having to shut his eyes to keep from reacting impulsively to your delicious little sounds. You, of all people were saying his name, chanting it between breathless sighs and strained whimpers. His cock twitched to life, growing firm in his jeans as he listened more closely.

You slid down to the floor, two fingers deep inside your cunt that was dripping cum at this point. Your clit was slick and ever so sensitive each time your thumb circled it in slow repetition.

You were sure his tongue could do so much better than your small fingers. His hands firmly gripping your inner thighs, pushing your legs apart as far as he needed to have unrestricted access to your count while eating you out.

Fuck, you swore his dark eyes would look so gorgeous staring up at you when your cum flowed onto his tongue. He wouldn’t hesitate to lap up the mess you make, smiling proudly when he spits on your overstimulated cunt.

Jisung is always so chaotic, charming, and easy to get along with. Just the thought of him being shamelessly filthy with you is a sin you indulge in.

He wouldn’t care about the disassociated look in your eyes when he sits up, admiring the sight of your fucked out state before rising to his feet, and fisting your hair into a makeshift ponytail. You whine in pain but he doesn’t care. “You’re okay sweetheart,” he reassured you, taking his belt off and setting it on the counter before unzipping his pants. A deep sigh rumbles in his chest as the confines keeping his erection hidden are loosened. You help him, expertly tugging his cock free from his boxers and pants.

Jisung bites back a groan feeling your bare hands wrap around his shaft. Your touch is soft and your fingers are still damp from touching yourself. A perfect combination. He can’t help the smile on his face as he stares down at you, on your knees, kitten licking his leaking tip with the most lustful look he’s ever seen.

You lick at his cock like candy, savoring how salty his precum is, and pumping his cock for more when it’s gone. Jisung leans back, dragging you with him, and bucking his hips towards your face for more. He’s not ready to force himself into your mouth, no, he wants to see how long you’ll tease him despite dreaming of tasting his cock for god knows how long.

“Come on, pretty girl. Let me fuck your face…” he pressed the tip to your pouty lips, a longing look in his eyes as he waits for you to oblige him. You do without a warning, deep throating him in one go.

He nearly moans too loud, head reeling back as the warmth of your mouth envelops his dick generously. It’s heaven on earth for him. Your delicate tongue swirling up and over his length in intricate patterns and your hands fondle his base gently with every bob of your head.

He’d be lying if he told you he wasn’t jealous of the other men who’ve had the honor of getting head from you.

A strangled chuckle leaves his chest as you deep throat him again, inviting his tip to abuse the back of your throat, and each time you’d moan like it was a personal reward for you.

Jisung looked back down at you, drops of sweat forming on his temple from the unrelenting heat coursing through him, and it was no help to him that you looked perfectly in love with him fucking your face. Drool trickled down your chin, tears glossing your half lidded eyes, and your face a shade of light pink.

He could only admire you for so long before his eyes rolled back slightly in pleasure.

You moaned on his dick, vibrating it with pressure, and then you felt him twitch. He was close and you were eager to feel his release coat your tongue and slide down your throat. “Fuck…fuck you’re so…gooooddd Ahm…” he moaned quietly, whimpering in utter bliss, and struggling to find any other words to praise you.

Your heart swells with pride hearing Jisung’s compliment and you take extra care in sucking him off then. Your tongue circled his tip slower and your hands pump his base faster.

The overstimulation paired with the impending height of his climax has him growling and groaning like a touch starved man .

You think it’s so cute.

“Want you…need you to take it alll…” he stutters, nearly pleading for you to swallow his seed as it pours out into your dainty mouth.

There’s so much of it, warm, salty, and thick. It flows down your chin but you keep milking his tip with your tongue for more as you swallow it down greedily.

You’ve got him shaking at this point, whining in immense pleasure, and it’s so intoxicating. Jisung has no words, only a stunned expression when you finally remove your lips from his cock with a soft ‘pop’ a string of cum and saliva connects you to him and you lick it up with a content smile.

“M’ sorry if I did too much…I’ve just wanted to do that for a while,” you break the silence with a genuine apology and a heartfelt smile.

He regains his composure and starts to fix himself up, shaking his head in disbelief from what just happened.

Jisung doesn’t regret it though and he lets you know that with a pleased smirk on his face. “No need to apologize. I needed it anyway and…” his gaze trailed over your body, dark eyes hazing over with lust again when they met yours, “I have a few things I want to do to you too…”

Your face heats up and you have to look away from him as he leans down to caress your face with one hand. “I want to keep you as my little secret alright? You’d like that too, right sweetheart?” Jisung kisses you, knowing you’ll say yes, knowing you’ll chase his lips for another kiss.

He’ll let you have it, dominating your tongue with his, and only pulling away when you’re panting for air.

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I wrote this for a crush a while back but it fit Jisung so well that I decided to tweak it to feed all the Jisung stans 🖤 hope you enjoy it…

BONUS CONTENT +

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