Now I'm not saying I'm thinking of writing a Steddie Midnight Mass AU
But
Imagine Hawkins, a little idyllic town in the middle of nowhere, so out of ways from any other community for miles, only surrounded by trees. It's small and cozy and it brims with simplicity.
It's been years since Steve came home. He was never supposed to come back.
His family obviously did not greet him; instead they go to the church more often than not, just to avoid him. He saw the kids, happy and healthy and definitely older, the weight of life starting to bear down on them. And then to his own surprise, he saw Eddie. He wasn't supposed to come back either.
Eddie claimed it was because of Uncle Wayne, but even Wayne was confused. Soon enough, Steve became suspicious. Because Eddie was spending a lot of time at church, with his parents - always away at night.
That's the thing, too. Night time was different. Everything was so still and it sent shivers down Steve's back because he could feel something watching him.
He started reconnecting with Eddie, trying to figure out what's going on - why he's back when they promised each other that this town was far from anything they ever needed. But maybe it was the thing they needed to come back to each other.
Meanwhile, Hopper found dead animals around the perimeter of the town, El's been acting weirder than usual, Will felt the shift in the air, and maybe Nancy could figure it all out like she usually does - before it was too late.
Is there a second chance amidst all the darkness surrounding this town of Hawkins? Or will it be consumed by its demons, preying at night?
WORD COUNT. 5.7k total (i got carried away, please stick around)
NOTES. Just fluff through and through. I wanted to write for so many more characters!! Do let me know who else you would like to see :))
Fem!reader !! she/her pronouns are used.
Part 1 (you're here!), Part 2
ALBEDO
You spend a lot of time in Albedo's lab. You're not entirely sure when it started becoming routine, but somewhere between him seeking your presence and you deciding to stay longer than necessary, it just... happened. You'd sit in the corner with a book or just watch him work, the way he moves through his experiments with methodical precision.
Today, though, you're in the Favonius library instead. Albedo needed to research something specific, and you went along with him without question. You're sitting at one of the tables while he browses the shelves, pulling down various tomes with focused precision.
Lisa is at the front desk when Albedo brings his stack of books to check them out. You're waiting nearby, and she glances between the two of you with that knowing smile of hers.
"My, my, someone's been spending a lot of time with our dear Chief Alchemist," she says to you, her voice sweet as honey. She's already flipping through the first book. "Taking quite the interest in his work, are we?"
"Just curious," you say, suddenly very aware of how close Albedo is standing.
"Mm, how thoughtful of you." She continues scanning, her eyes flickering up to Albedo for just a moment. "Your lover must appreciate having someone so interested in what he does."
She says it so casually, so mixed in with the mundane task of checking out books, that it takes a moment for the words to actually register. By the time they do, she's already moving on to the next book, completely unbothered.
Albedo pauses. You notice it immediately—his hand stills on the counter, and there's a moment where he seems to be processing something. His gaze drifts to the side, not quite looking at Lisa, not quite looking at you. He's just... considering. Turning the words over in his mind the way he does with everything else.
Then, just as quietly as the pause came, he seems to release it. He doesn't correct her. Doesn't say anything at all. Just sets down the remaining books on the counter in that careful way of his.
“Oh, uhm,” You begin, looking over at Albedo. “We, uh, aren’t together.”
Lisa glances up, catches something in his expression, and her smile widens slightly. But she says nothing more.
Later, when you're back at the library and Albedo is focused on his research, you find yourself thinking about what Lisa said.
"Do you think I'm a distraction?" you ask casually, not looking up from your book.
Albedo doesn't pause in his work. "No." The answer is immediate. Certain. You turn a page.
"Lisa thinks we're together," you say.
He sets down the vial he held with careful precision. Turns to look at you fully, and for a long moment, he doesn't say anything. His soft, analytical gaze is fixed on you, and the silence stretches out—long enough that you start to feel uncomfortable, long enough that you begin to wonder if you've said something wrong.
And then, as though he had reached a conclusion so simple and obvious, "Would that be so strange?"
You realise you don't have an answer for that. And more importantly, that perhaps, no, it would not be so strange after all.
AYATO
The Kamisato clan commissioner rarely ventured into the markets. Usually, he would have sent either Thoma or one of his other myriad helpers to fetch whatever it was he or Ayaka needed. But, today, perhaps as a change of environment—away from the towering paperwork he had to fill—Ayato decided to accompany you in your shopping. He always had a peculiar habit of trailing behind you, even when it was unnecessary. You had gotten used to his presence in your life. A shadow. An extremely coy and teasing shadow, that is.
Besides, perhaps the presence of the commissioner would snag you a couple of good deals while out and about.
You curled a bolt of silk green fabric around your wrist. Pretty, smooth. Ayato peeked over your shoulder, scrutinising the item in so much more detail than you were at all.
You turned back to look at him and huffed, a sound of amusement, “What, is it not to your liking, Ayato?”
“Well,” he seemed to draw out, catching your eyes. “I hardly think it’s your shade.”
Not your shade? Just as a retort bubbled up in your throat, you were interrupted by the sound of the vendor. “Ah, commissioner!” He said. “Interested in imported silks, are you?”
The man seemed to be pulling out more cloth, shades of different colours—silver, lavender, pink, blue. His hands moved with practiced efficiency as he laid out the fabrics over the counter. He seemed to be going on and on about where each piece was imported from—this one from Liyue, the other a local craftsman from Inazuma, the other cultivated in the meadows of Mondstadt.
But then he picked out a specific piece and looked over to Ayato. “I’m sure your lover would look stunning in the deeper blues,” he said. “Does the lady have a preference, or should we let the commissioner decide?”
You tensed.
Lover? And the man had said it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You felt your cheeks warm and suddenly you seemed to become all too aware of the little distance between you and Ayato. As though hypersensory, you could feel the way Ayato’s hands stilled, resting for a moment at your hip. You looked over at him.
And yet, there was no change in his expression. If anything, the small smile he had on his face had stretched a fractional amount. His head tilted to the side.
“I think she would look rather beautiful,” Ayato said. Simple and casual, his eyes snagging on you for half a second. It was like he hadn’t even heard the former part of the sentence. Or, scratch that, like he hadn’t heard anything the vendor had just said.
The vendor was simply ecstatic to have sold something to the commissioner, and—apparently—his “lover,” and had left to wrap the item.
You paused for a second, before turning to the man next to you. “What was that?”
Ayato hummed non-commitally as he looked at you. “What was what?” He feigned ignorance, that smug idiot. He never missed a single thing. Once you had changed the scent of your perfume from Sakura Bloom to Naku Weed, and he had caught it the moment you stepped into his office; there was no way he hadn’t heard that.
“He just called me your lover!” You pressed.
Ayato just tilted his head, his fingers tapping against the wooden counter. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t correct him.”
“No.”
The heat in your face seemed to rise in temperature. Just what exactly was he playing at? Why was he staring at you like this was the most normal thing ever? Was he not bothered? And the way the merchant had said it, too, it was like everyone in the entirety of Inazuma knew about this except for you!
“Why not?” You asked, growing more shifty by the second.
Ayato let out a laugh, a sweet, melodic little sound, “You didn't seem eager to correct him yourself.”
You opened your mouth to argue, and then closed it again. “W-Well, I was just about—but then, I…” Any and all justification that rose in your throat withered away. Especially when Ayato was staring at you like that. Like he was challenging you to question that assumption, daring you to change it.
That day, the two of you walked away having bought an expensive indigo fabric. Matching the Kamisato insignia.
CHILDE
The training grounds were empty except for the two of you. You'd been sparring with Childe for the better part of an hour, and he was still grinning like he was having the time of his life—which, knowing him, he probably was.
"Your footwork's off," he called out, circling you with that predatory grace he had when he was actually engaged. "You're telegraphing your next move."
"Maybe I want you to know what I'm doing," you shot back, lunging. He sidestepped easily, but you'd anticipated that, spinning to catch him off-guard with a follow-up strike. He blocked it, and the impact sent a jolt up your arm. "Or maybe you're just slow today."
"Slow?" He laughed, and there was an edge to it now—the kind that meant he'd stopped holding back. He came at you with a series of quick strikes, testing your reflexes, and you matched him, parry for parry.
Your muscles were already burning from the previous rounds, but you pushed anyway because he'd give you that look of approval when you did, that slight nod like you'd passed some invisible test. "You're the one who's slowing down. Your last five moves have been predictable."
"Only because you're boring me," you said, breathing harder now. You twisted away from his next strike, used his momentum against him, and nearly got him off-balance. Nearly. He recovered with infuriating ease, but you caught the flash of something in his expression—genuine interest now, not just amusement.
The sparring continued, and at one point, you overextended on a strike. His hand came out to steady you, gripping your arm just above the elbow. It was meant to be instructional—a correction of your form—but he held it for a moment, his thumb brushing against your skin before he released you. Neither of you acknowledged it. He just stepped back and said, "Again. Better this time."
You came at him again, and somewhere in the middle of it, there was a moment where he caught your wrist mid-strike. His hand was warm, his grip firm but not painful. He could have thrown you. Instead, he held it for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and you were close enough to see the slight raise in his eyebrow—a challenge. You twisted your arm, trying to break free, and he let you go with a grin.
"Getting better," he said.
"I've always been good. You're just finally noticing," you replied, and charged at him again.
By the time you both called it, you were both breathing hard. Sweat dripped down your temple, and your arms felt like lead. Childe was still smiling though, that infuriating, easy smile of his that suggested he could do this all day. He grabbed his water bottle, tossed you one, and you caught it easily. The cold water was a relief as you drank, trying to catch your breath.
You were leaning against the nearby pillar, still catching your breath, when you heard voices approaching. Not close yet, but getting closer. You recognized one of them immediately—Paimon's high-pitched chatter, and underneath it, Lumine's quieter responses. You didn't think much of it. They were probably just passing through the training grounds on their way somewhere else.
Childe was standing a few feet away from you, already looking refreshed despite the exertion. He had that energy about him, the kind that didn't seem to deplete no matter how hard he pushed himself. He caught you looking at him and raised an eyebrow.
"What? Do I have something on my face?" he asked, already moving toward you.
"Just wondering how you're not completely dead," you said. "Normal people need recovery time."
"I'm not normal people." He stopped beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. Without any real thought to it, he reached over and fixed a strand of your hair that had come loose during the sparring, tucking it back behind your ear. It was such a casual gesture, the kind of thing he did without thinking. Your breath caught slightly, but he was already pulling his hand back, already grinning at you like he hadn't just done something that made your heart rate pick up for reasons that had nothing to do with the exercise.
"Definitely not normal," you muttered, looking away.
"Hey, Childe! Lumine and I were just—oh!"
You looked up to see Paimon floating toward you both, her expression shifting to something almost knowing as she took in the sight of you two standing close together, both flushed and breathing hard. Lumine followed behind her, her eyes flickering between you and Childe with that quiet observation of hers.
"We were just heading to the Adventurers' Guild," Paimon continued, but there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "But wow, looks like you two have been going at it pretty hard. I'm just glad Childe's finally found his special someone! But sheesh, do you have to go that hard on her?"
There was a beat. You opened your mouth to correct her, to clarify whatever assumption she'd just made, but Childe moved first. His arm came around you without hesitation, pulling you against his side in one smooth motion. It was the kind of casual contact you two shared all the time, except it wasn't casual now. Not the way he was looking at Paimon, not the way his hand rested at your hip like it belonged there.
"Yeah, well," he said, his voice easy and warm, "took me long enough to find someone worth the effort."
Lumine's lips curved into the faintest smile. "That's one way to put it," she said, and there was definitely something knowing in her tone.
You felt your face flush. You pushed against his chest, your hand flat against the fabric of his shirt.
"You're insane," you said, but you were already laughing despite yourself, despite the way your heart was doing backflips.
Paimon giggled, seeming satisfied with whatever she thought she'd figured out, and Lumine gave you both a small wave before they continued on their way. You watched them go, still half-pressed against Childe's side, and the moment they were out of earshot, you pushed away from him properly.
"You want to enlighten me on what you were implying there?" you asked, turning to face him.
Childe's grin was still there, but something underneath it had shifted. He wasn't quite looking at you directly, was instead focused on something past your shoulder, his expression caught between amusement and something you couldn't quite read.
"Was I implying something?" he said, but there was no real teasing in it now.
"You just told them we're together."
He finally looked at you then, and his expression was softer than you'd expected. Still smiling, but there was something real behind it—something that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the sparring.
"And?" he said softly. "I wasn't lying though, was I?"
KAEYA
You'd been coming to the tavern with Kaeya for weeks now. It started innocuously enough—he'd asked if you wanted a drink after a particularly grueling shift, and you'd said yes mostly because you were too tired to say no. Somewhere along the way, it became routine. Every few nights you'd find yourself at the counter with him, and he'd order for you without asking. He always got it right, which was irritating in its own way.
Tonight was like any other night. You were sitting at your usual spot, the one that had somehow become your spot, when someone approached. One of the regulars—a member of the Adventurer’s Guild—someone you'd seen around enough times to recognize but not enough to know by name.
"Kaeya," the man slurred, leaning against the bar. "Your girlfriend's looking particularly radiant tonight."
You felt your spine stiffen slightly. Girlfriend. The word hung there for a moment, waiting to be corrected.
You looked over at Kaeya, waiting for him to say something, to clarify, to do whatever it was he normally did when people made assumptions. But he just smiled. That easy, lazy smile of his.
"Isn't she always?" he said, and the man laughed like it was the most charming thing he'd ever heard, and walked away.
You stared at your drink. The ice was melting slowly, diluting the amber liquid into something weaker.
"You could've corrected him," you said, looking over at him with barely concealed flustered confusion.
"Could have," Kaeya agreed. He wasn't looking at you, was instead focused on something across the bar with that detached amusement he wore like a second skin. "Didn't seem worth the effort."
You let it go. It was small enough, harmless enough. Kaeya was always like this—playing into characters, scenarios, whatever amused him in the moment. And besides, this was the tavern. People were drunk, made assumptions, barely thought twice about anything. Everything Kaeya said carried that thin veneer of humor, that deliberate lightness that suggested nothing he did was ever meant to be taken seriously. This must have been yet another attempt at his particular brand of entertainment, or maybe an effort to fluster you. Which you weren't falling for. Obviously.
But a few days later, he suggested dinner at Good Hunter's. You'd gone, mostly because you were hungry and he was there. Sara smiled when she saw you two sit down underneath the parasol.
“Maybe the both of you would like a seat that’s more private instead?” She had suggested. Your face erupted into flames when she suggested that. And although you tried to correct it, Kaeya had already confirmed, and you found yourself in a shaded area to the side. The kind of area that everyone implicitly agreed was for honeymooning couples.
You sat across from him, irritated, and tried to focus on your food. Kaeya, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered. He ate with deliberate slowness, and at one point he leaned across the table, his eye catching yours with a particular brand of teasing softness.
"You're scowling," he said, like it was an observation about the weather.
"I'm not scowling."
"You are." He reached over and tapped your forehead with one finger. "Right here."
You pulled back, but he'd already retreated, that infuriating smile still in place.
By the time you were walking back through the city, your irritation had crystallized into something sharper. Something that demanded to be addressed.
"What are you doing?" you asked, stopping abruptly in the middle of the street.
"Walking," Kaeya said simply. "Same as you."
"Don't be difficult. Everyone keeps thinking we're together and you're not correcting them. You're actually—" you gestured vaguely at the space between you, "—playing into it."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed, that low, warm sound that always seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his chest. When he looked at you, there was something in his expression you couldn't quite place. Something that felt almost like he'd been waiting for you to notice.
"I think you like it more than you're willing to admit," he said softly. His eye was half-lidded, that familiar amusement still there, but underneath it was something else. Something that made your chest feel tight. "The question is whether I should keep pretending not to notice."
He was already walking ahead, already moving past you with that lazy stride of his, and you were left standing there, flushed and furious and unable to quite articulate why his assumption felt less like teasing and more like he'd read something in you that you weren't ready to show him.
Damn Kaeya.
LOHEN
The training grounds were filled with apprentice knights, all watching intently as you explained the formation they'd be running through. Lohen stood beside you, arms crossed, and you could already feel the restlessness radiating off him like heat.
"This is boring," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Just let them fight something real."
"They need to understand positioning first," you replied firmly, not even looking at him. "We're not sending them into the field unprepared."
"Unprepared is half the fun," he said, and you heard the grin in his voice.
You turned to face him. "You know what? Not everyone gets a thrill from almost dying."
"Their loss," he said, and there was something playful in his eyes, something that suggested he enjoyed getting a rise out of you. One of the younger apprentices nudged their friend, both of them watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement.
"This is why we have strategy," you continued, turning back to the group. "Lohen charges in and—"
"And it works," he interjected.
"And you get lucky," you corrected.
He laughed, "Lucky. Right. That's what we're calling it."
The training started smoothly enough. The apprentices moved through the formations you'd drilled into them, and you were positioned to observe and correct. Lohen was supposed to be doing the same, but his attention kept drifting, his foot tapping with barely contained energy. You could see him watching the apprentices with the kind of hunger that meant he was already bored. At one point, you caught him staring at you instead of the recruits, and when you raised an eyebrow in question, he just grinned wider.
After about an hour, one of the younger recruits approached as you and Lohen were standing together reviewing the performance. The recruit was still catching their breath, clearly impressed by how well the formation had held.
"It's lucky that the two of you are paired together," they said, glancing between you both. There was genuine respect in their voice. "Aren't the two of you together?"
The moment those words left the apprentice’s mouth, you could see something wicked shine in Lohen’s eyes. You opened your mouth to clarify, but Lohen moved before you could. He crossed the distance between you in a few strides and pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around your waist like it had always belonged there. Your face went hot immediately, but he was looking at you with that chaotic grin of his, like he'd just been handed the best entertainment of his day.
"And she's the only person who could ever keep up with me," he said, loud and theatrical, and you could tell he was leaning into it now, performing for the apprentices. You felt your cheeks burn as you realized what he was doing, deliberately making a show of it, spinning this into something bigger just to see you get flustered. The manic energy was at full throttle, and he was clearly enjoying every second of your embarrassment.
Your face went hotter. One of the apprentices bit their lip to keep from smiling, while another looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the display. But most of them were watching with interest, waiting to see what would happen next.
"Lohen—" you started, trying to extract yourself, but he didn't let go. His grip on your waist was firm, not painful, just insistent.
"And she's brilliant," he continued, spinning you slightly so he could look at you properly. His hand was still on your back, and he was looking at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Everything I'm not. Everything that keeps me from getting killed in a ditch somewhere." There was something underneath the chaos when he said it, something that suggested he meant it more than he was letting on. A few of the recruits exchanged glances, and one of them smiled knowingly.
"You'd be lost without her," one of the bolder apprentices called out, earning a few quiet laughs from the others.
"Completely lost," Lohen agreed, but there was something in the way he said it that wasn't entirely joking. For just a moment, the manic energy seemed to settle, and he looked at you like you were the only thing in the training grounds that mattered. "Actually, yeah. I would be."
Then he released you, and the chaos returned. He was already moving away, already tossing some comments to the apprentices about formation angles, leaving you standing there flustered and hyperaware of every eye on you.
The rest of the training passed in a blur of corrections and positioning. By the time you finally dismissed the apprentices, your face had only just stopped burning. Lohen was already collecting his things, and you found yourself watching him move with that restless energy of his, wondering what he'd actually meant in that moment when everything had seemed to pause.
THOMA
You were sitting in one of the Kamisato estate's quieter rooms, mending a tear in one of the ceremonial clothes when Thoma appeared with tea. He set it down beside you without asking and settled into the seat across from you.
"That's going to take forever," he said, watching you work the needle through the delicate fabric.
"Only if I rush," you replied, concentrating on your stitching. "You taught me that."
He smiled at that, leaning back and watching you work. It was comfortable, the kind of silence that didn't need filling. You'd been coming to this room more often lately, always finding some reason to be here. Mending. Reading. Just sitting. And somehow Thoma always seemed to find his way in.
After a while, he got up and moved to sit beside you instead. He didn't ask permission. He just shifted closer until his shoulder nearly touched yours. He picked up a different piece that needed mending and started working on it without preamble.
"You're still doing that stitch wrong," he said after a while, no judgment in his voice.
"I know," you said, not bothering to correct yourself. "But you always fix it for me anyway."
He smiled, and you swore you could see the pupils of his green eyes dilate a fractional amount. His hand came over yours, guiding the needle through the proper motion. His fingers were warm, and he moved slowly, making sure you understood. When he pulled back, you found yourself missing the contact.
You worked like that for a long time. Sometimes he'd hum something soft under his breath. Sometimes you'd ask him about his day, and he'd answer while still focused on the mending. At one point, you reached for more thread at the same moment he did, and your hands brushed. Neither of you moved away. You both just continued working, shoulders close, existing together in the quiet of the afternoon.
"You're thinking too hard," he said once, glancing at your face.
"How can you tell?"
"You get this little crease," he said, reaching over and smoothing it away with his thumb. It was such a gentle gesture that you forgot to breathe for a moment.
You were so focused on the mending that you didn't notice when Ayaka appeared in the doorway. She had a few attendants with her, but she stopped when she saw the two of you sitting close together, heads bent over the work, your shoulders nearly touching.
"Oh, there you two are," she said warmly. "I've been meaning to mention something." Thoma looked up, and you followed his gaze.
"There's a couples' festival coming up at the end of the month," Ayaka continued, her tone genuinely kind.
"I thought perhaps you two might enjoy attending together. It would be nice for you to have some time away from the estate."
You felt your face warm. Thoma's reaction was immediate. His entire face flushed a deep red, from his neck all the way to his ears. He set down the cloth quickly, maybe too quickly, like he needed something to do with his hands.
"Oh, we're—" he started, his voice slightly strained. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, he was trying for his usual politeness, but the fluster was unmistakable. "We're not actually together, Lady Ayaka. We just spend a lot of time together because of work, that's all."
The correction was gentle, the way everything Thoma did was gentle. But there was something in the way his hands gripped the cloth a little too tightly, the way he wouldn't quite meet Ayaka's eyes, that made your chest tighten. One of the attendants looked faintly disappointed.
Ayaka's expression softened with understanding, and she nodded. "I see. My apologies for the misunderstanding." She excused herself politely, and the moment she left, the room felt smaller somehow.
You picked up your mending again, but your hands felt clumsy. Thoma did the same, but neither of you were really focused on the work anymore. The ease you'd had before was gone, replaced by something tense and uncertain. The afternoon light filtered through the screens, and the silence stretched between you, heavy with things unsaid.
When the sun started to set and you finally set down your work, Thoma was already moving. You said something soft to break the tension, just to ease it.
"That was kind of awkward," you said quietly, not quite looking at him.
He paused, his hand lingering on the cloth. You could see him turn it over in his mind, searching for something.
"I didn't mean to be rude," he said, finally meeting your eyes. "She was just... it caught me off guard."
"I know," you said, offering him a small smile. "It's fine. These things happen."
He looked at you for a long moment, and there was something in his expression that made your breath catch. Something that looked like regret, like he was reconsidering something he'd just said.
"Actually," he said, and his voice was steadier now, "about that festival."
You looked at him, waiting.
"It might not be a bad idea," he continued, and there was a careful consideration to his words, like he was choosing each one deliberately. "For us to attend together, I mean. Not because anyone thinks we should. But because..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Because I'd like to spend that evening with you. If you'd want to."
Your breath caught slightly. There was nothing casual about the way he said it, despite how carefully he was choosing his words. There was intention there, and something that looked a lot like hope.
"Yeah," you said softly. "I'd like that."
VENTI
Venti had dragged you out to yet another performance. You weren't sure why he felt the need to do this—invite you specifically, stand you in a particular spot in the crowd where he could see you, like your presence mattered to the mechanics of him playing. But he'd shown up at your door this morning with his elfish smile and asked if you were busy. A pointless question, really. He would have begged and whined until you relented had you said no.
On the way to the fountain, he'd been insufferable. He kept humming fragments of melodies, stopping abruptly to ask your opinion on them, then laughing at your answers like you'd said something hilarious when you were just trying to be helpful. At one point he'd grabbed your wrist and spun you around on the street for no reason, just to see your expression, probably.
"You're going to make me dizzy," you laugh, pulling your hand back.
"Is that a complaint, windblume?" he asked, and there was something in his tone that suggested he already knew the answer.
"Yes," you lied.
He had just smiled like he could see right through you.
Now, standing near the fountain while he set up, you watched him adjust his lyre with great care; the kind of care reserved for especially special things in one’s life. Which, for Venti, was music and—you were noticing more and more—you.
He kept glancing over at you, making sure you were in the right spot, making sure you could see him properly. You found it funny, it was almost like a nervous tick. A flick of his gaze to you every few seconds to make especially sure that you had your eyes on him. It was unnecessary. Of course you could see him. You were always looking at him anyway.
Another bard approached as Venti was finishing his setup—someone you recognized vaguely from around the city. They exchanged greetings, the kind of easy familiarity that suggested they knew each other from the musician's circles. You turned your attention back to the fountain, not really listening until the other bard said something that made you tune back in.
"Your recent stuff has been different," he was saying to Venti. "All of it sounds like it's about the same person."
You felt something shift in your chest. His recent stuff? You hadn't really paid that much attention, if you were being honest. But now that it was being pointed out, you found yourself wondering if that was true.
You'd been hearing him play new things lately, pieces you hadn't heard before, and now you were suddenly wondering who they were about.
The bard glanced over at you, then back at Venti, and you watched something click into place behind his expression.
"That your muse?" he asked, gesturing vaguely in your direction.
Venti laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made people turn their heads, that seemed to move through the air like something physical. He spun—actually spun, his coat catching the light—and when he looked at you, there was something deliberate in the movement.
"The best one I've ever had," he said, and he was looking directly at you when he said it.
Your face went hot. The other bard laughed too, charmed, and the conversation continued between them, but you weren't really listening anymore. You were stuck on that phrase, on the way Venti had said it, on the realization that apparently his recent compositions had been about you and you'd been too oblivious to notice.
An hour later, after the performance was over and you'd managed to slip away, you found yourself at the tavern. You were nursing a drink when Venti sat down beside you. He waved a hand to the bartender, and Charles just sighed—a routine. And then Venti’s gaze was fixed on you.
"You've been thinking about what I said," he observes.
"I haven't," you say, which is a lie and you both know it.
"Mm." He's amused. You can hear it in his voice. "That's exactly why you’ve been zoning out since my performance?” He had that teasing lilt in his voice. You wanted to puncture his voice box.
"You can't just say something like that and expect me not to—" you start, then stop because you're not actually sure what you're going to say. Expect you not to what? Wonder if he meant it? Wonder what it means? Wonder if you're reading too much into it?
"Not to what?" Venti prompts, and there's that tilt of his head again, that soft amusement in his expression.
"You know what," you snap, trying not to sound flustered.
Venti, all he does is laugh. You really want to puncture his voice box.
The safehouse is quiet in that rare way it only gets after a night off. Most of the team turned in hours ago, but you and Simon Riley ended up lingering in the kitchen with a half-finished bottle of cheap whisky someone smuggled back from deployment.
Simon doesn’t drink much. Everyone knows that.
Which is exactly why it’s a bit surreal seeing him like this.
He’s slouched back in the chair across from you, mask pushed up just enough to drink earlier and now sitting crooked on his face. His hair’s a mess, the short blond strands sticking up like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times.
You swirl what’s left in your glass, watching him.
Simon’s staring at you.
Not in the usual guarded way, either. No tension in his shoulders, no scanning the room like he’s expecting someone to kick the door in. Just… looking.
“You alright there, L.T.?” you ask.
He hums.
Not a word. Just a low little sound in the back of his throat as he keeps staring.
“Simon.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re staring.”
“Am not.”
“You are.”
He tilts his head slightly, considering that like it’s a complicated tactical question.
“Maybe a bit,” he admits, voice rougher than usual.
The alcohol’s gotten to him just enough to loosen his tongue. His accent’s thicker now too—northern vowels heavier, consonants a bit lazy.
You lean your elbow on the table.
“What’s so interesting then?”
Simon shrugs slowly, gaze dropping for a moment before lifting again.
“You,” he says simply.
You snort.
“Right. Sure.”
“Serious.”
The way he says it makes you pause.
There’s no teasing in his tone. No usual sarcasm. Just blunt honesty.
He drags a hand down his face, fingers catching on the edge of his mask before letting it fall back against his chin.
“You ever think,” he starts, voice slow, “about how you’ve got everyone wrapped round your little finger?”
“That’s definitely not true.”
“Is.”
He gestures vaguely at you with his glass.
“Price listens to you. Soap does whatever you ask. Gaz too.”
“That’s called teamwork, Simon.”
“Mm.”
He doesn’t sound convinced.
A quiet beat passes.
Then he leans forward a little, elbows on the table.
“Reckon you’d be good at bossin’ people around,” he says.
You blink.
“I already do.”
“Nah,” he mutters. “Different kind.”
Your eyes narrow.
“What kind?”
Simon squints like he’s trying to decide if he should say something.
The whisky clearly makes that decision for him.
“The kind where you tell someone to stay put,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “Or get on their knees.”
You nearly choke on your drink.
“Simon.”
“What?”
“You’re drunk.”
“Little bit.”
He doesn’t look embarrassed in the slightest.
If anything, he seems thoughtful.
“Think I’d like it,” he adds.
“Like what?”
“Being told what to do.”
You stare at him.
He’s completely serious.
Simon Riley—six-foot-something, terrifying in the field, the man half the task force is scared of—is sitting at the kitchen table casually confessing he’d enjoy being bossed around.
“Right,” you say slowly. “We’re definitely blaming the alcohol for this conversation.”
Simon chuckles under his breath.
Low. Warm.
“Probably.”
But he doesn’t take it back.
Instead he leans back in his chair again, tipping his head toward the ceiling like he’s thinking hard about something.
“You’d be good at it though,” he continues after a moment.
“I’m not entertaining this.”
“Just sayin’.”
He looks back at you, eyes half-lidded but focused.
“Got that voice, y’know.”
“What voice?”
“The one you use when you’re givin’ orders.”
Your face feels warmer now.
“That’s my normal voice.”
“Mm,” Simon says, unconvinced.
Another quiet moment passes.
Then he mutters, almost to himself—
“Wouldn’t mind you tellin’ me to stay still.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
“You’re literally my superior officer.”
“Technically.”
“Simon.”
He tilts his head again, studying your reaction like this is fascinating.
“Just talkin’.”
“You’re talking about being dominated.”
“By you.”
“Simon.”
“What?”
He doesn’t even look apologetic.
Instead he grins faintly, the expression small but genuine.
“You’re actin’ like I said something weird.”
“You did.”
He hums again.
“Alright then.”
He rests his cheek in his hand.
“Hypothetically.”
“No.”
“Hypothetically,” he continues anyway, ignoring you completely, “if someone—say you—told me to lie back and behave…”
You push your chair back slightly.
“Simon Riley.”
He keeps going.
“…maybe sit on my face a bit—”
“SIMON.”
He blinks at you.
“What?”
“You cannot just say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we work together!”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re drunk!”
“Also yeah.”
He considers you for a second longer before adding casually—
“Still mean it though.”
You stare at him in disbelief.
“Please go to bed.”
Simon lets out a quiet laugh.
“Bossy.”
“That wasn’t an invitation.”
“Shame.”
He pushes himself up from the table, swaying just slightly before steadying.
As he walks past you toward the hallway, he pauses.
Then he leans down just a bit closer, voice dropping into a conspiratorial murmur.
“Y’know,” he says softly, “if you ever did want to boss me around…”
You groan.
“Simon.”
He grins again, eyes bright despite the alcohol.
“…reckon I’d behave real nice for you.”
Then he strolls off toward the bedrooms like he didn’t just detonate the most unhinged conversation of your life.
And judging by the smug little glance he throws over his shoulder—
the days where caleb had you all to himself would always be his favorite, but the ones that consisted of the two of you doing absolutely nothing would forever be undefeated.
no fleet obligations, disruptive phone calls, or miscellaneous errands—he had a deep appreciation for moments like these where he could lay up under you on the couch for hours uninterrupted as the second movie of the afternoon kept you entertained.
now don’t get him wrong, he was interested in the movie too. at least he had been. all of his focus was soon stolen and became trained on something far more engaging once your boyfriend mindlessly snaked a hand underneath your oversized shirt.
gently fondling with the supple mounds of your breasts was like muscle memory, and how he loved you for letting him, not batting an eye or slapping away his usual handsy portrayal of affection.
with his leg hooked over yours and his head on your chest, caleb was exactly where he needed to be—close. one would even consider him to be attached to your hip. but in his true addictive and greedy nature, he knew he could always be closer.
testing the waters little by little, he kept his eyes on the motion picture streaming from the wide flatscreen while reaching for the hem of your top and raising it to expose more of the skin of your plush thighs.
god, you smelled so good. your soft exhales were like music to his ears and the way you felt against him was so—
“caleb.” immediately he froze.
thankfully your tone wasn’t sharp nor dismissive, but instead filled with a playful curiosity that he could always identify without fault. that let him breathe easy.
“what’re you doing?” you inquire, the corner of your lips tipping up at the way he seems to try and buy himself some time after being caught dead with his hand in the cookie jar.
“nothin’. yet,” he mumbles. “buuut… can i? just to see? no biggie, right?”
he chuckled at the vibration radiating through your chest as you pretended that you needed a moment to consider his vague request.
“mm, i guess i can allow it.” oh, you knew he wanted you bad. your teasing inflection did absolutely nothing to hide it.
“the most gracious pipsqueak of them all.” he was far too excited after permission was granted, bunching your shirt up until he could use the side of his head to keep it in place above your tits. “i’m so lucky, aren’t i?”
you shakily exhale, gasping when he lightly pinches your hardened nipple between his fingertips. caleb turns and cranes his head to get even closer to your heaving chest, his worshiping gaze switching between your parted lips and raised peaks.
“don’t mind me.” the tip of his tongue flicks one abruptly. “keep watchin’ the movie for us, pips. want you to tell me all about the climax when’m done.”
his mouth latches onto your breast instantly after his breathy command before you can even try to respond, and your fingers slides into the softness of his hair to keep him rooted there. he groans into your flesh like this is the prime moment he’s been waiting for. his cock thickening with desire against the outside of your thigh through his sweats proves just how much.
“c-can’t ever… just watch—fuck, just watch a movie, can you?”
“mm-mm,” he hums in agreement as he rigidly shakes his head, suckling on your skin with pure indulgence. between his hot mouth and the muscle tasting you, it’s clear that caleb has zero plans to let up anytime soon.
your back slightly arches off the linen cushions, body aching for more of his attention in other places that haven’t received it just yet. the way you cry for him, mewl and sensually babble for him to touch you… you were never getting of this damn couch.
while his tongue licks and devours on one of your sensitive nipples, the other is given its own kind of devotion beneath his palm. he massages and gropes you thoroughly, moaning each time your grip in his scalp gets tighter.
“‘s my favorite,” he mutters, saliva spilling carelessly down the side as he grows sloppier. he rolls the nub and sucks on it harder, unable to stop himself from trying to alleviate the pressure building in between his legs.
“you k-know you want to,” you rouse, head lolling when he releases your tit and slides down your stomach to reach in between your legs, rubbing you through your dampened panties.
of course he wants to. it’s why he selfishly does.
his cock throbs and precum leaks to stain the gray material when he starts pathetically humping your leg. caleb’s mouth never separates from you all the while, using your body in every way possible to abate that ceaseless throbbing.
when he looked up into your eyes with his dazed ones, you knew for certain that this is what a drunken man sounded and looked like. he couldn’t form any kind of words with you in his mouth, lazily circling your clit and pressing into you deeper the closer his orgasm got. completely lost in you, caleb wasn’t ashamed to claim such an addiction.
all you knew was that your pussy needed more from him. the sheer idea of pulling down his pants to reveal his cock already wet and ready for you was enough to let him take everything he craved.
he cupped your cunt and continued to rut against you eagerly. so close, he was so so close.
“i love you ‘leb. you’re so g-good to me… y’make me feel so pretty…”
he was done for. your praise and that final nudge of his dick against you with the rough material giving him that stimulating friction was exceeding intense.
reluctantly releasing you with a wet pop, at the same time that he felt the mess of his cum spurting from his tip and sticking to him, he grabbed you by the back of your neck to bring your lips to his. you rubbing him through his pleasure nearly made the man completely buckle.
“better?” you coo once he seems to have fallen back down to earth. “can i get what i want now?” caleb kisses your pouty lips twice as he continues to savor you.
“anything,” he promises breathlessly. he knew you didn’t finish and was already prepared to fix that before you even asked.
“let me sit on it?”
his eyes flutter and he gives you that boyish smile that makes both your heart beats thump. “don’t even have t’ask. just let me uh… clean up some and—”
you stop him with a finger over his lips and a mischievous grin on yours. “nah. i like messy.”
what a coincidence. so did he.
a/n: ivy bae… thank you for sparking this. I LUV YOU SO BAD!!!
summary: you invite your girls over to the hockey house, since you agreed to move in with your boyfriend Dean. but an uninvited guest shows up to your not so anymore “girls night”.
warnings: none
Dean masterlist
we all sat in the living room “and I tried to tell her that her literal boyfriend was with Ari at the party. and she went on saying I was a jealous lying homewrecking whore.” I explained, my friends jaws dropped. “she said that?” Hannah asked, surprised by the bullshit that came out of my mouth, except it was true. “yes!” I almost yelled. “I mean, y/n, why would you be jealous? Dean takes such good care of you it makes me wanna cave my face in.” Allie added. I just smiled and nodded, raising my eyebrows while I took a sip of my wine.
“and I get why she’d think that, but if u were her, I’d ask or confront Tyler first. like why get mad at me if you have no proof im lying?” I continued. they all nodded and agreed. we kept gossiping and laughing until I heard the stairs creek. “y/n, I think I hear your stage 5 clinger who’s about to reach stage 6.” Grace said, smirking.
“oh no.”
there Dean stood. looking neglected by the stairs. he tried to avoid us and ruining our night, but he looked so sad. I looked at the girls. signaling if i should let him join. It was only Allie, Hannah, Grace, Sabrina, and I, so we all got along and they liked Dean. “just let him. you’ll feel guilty as fuck if you don’t.” Sabrina shook her head meaning yes. I turned back around.
“come here, baby.” I called. he immediately looked back at me and smiled. he didn’t pass up the opportunity to check if I was sure, he just hopped over the couch on my lap.
“I missed you.” he said, cuddling into my stomach. “it was 2 hours.” I replied, running my fingers through his hair. “2 hours my ass. felt like 3 days.” he added. I shook my head.
we kept taking, knowing Dean who runs his mouth didn’t give a fuck about telling whatever we were talking about. he was interested, just not his stuff to tell considering it was all girly shit.
“okay well, I thought Ari was gonna come. but I brought an extra face mask.” Allie said while looking down at her drink and taking breaks to smirk at me. “wait i thought we didn’t like her.” Dean blurted. we laughed. “damn you were paying attention? well we were cool, not anymore.” Hannah added.
“well i hate to see allies super great face mask go to waste…” I sighed. Dean looked up at me.
“no.”
“yes.”
“not happening.”
“Dean.”
“y/n.”
“please.”
he thought for a few good seconds.
“baby.” I pouted with puppy eyes. the girls watched, more than entertained. “fine.” he gave in. we cheered. “I love you.” I kissed his lips and sat him up.
we put the masks on and Dean was clearly struggling with his. “you good, baby?” I asked, smiling at him. “it’s so fucking sticky and my fingers don’t fit.” he complained with a confused and annoyed look on his face. “that’s what she said.” he added.
“Dean shut up. give me it.” he handed it to me laughing while i shook my head at his immaturity. I used my finger to spread it on his face. I booped his nose obviously a few times. “stop,” he said in his smiling voice. the way he does when he does really want me to stop but he liked it. “okay you’re done. wasn’t so hard, huh?” I asked. throwing the package out. “easy for you to say.” he whined. “mm, come on big baby.”
we went back to the living room, where the girls had a mix of hyping him up and giggles. he laid his head back on my lap while I scratched his head. we gossiped more, talked about how much we love Hailey Bieber, Sephora’s new sales and products, and complained about Love Island.
Dean kept stretching his face. “you okay?” I asked, looking down at him. “my nose tickles.” he responded with a frustrated expression. I smiled softly and used my nail to scratch his nose.
“good?”
“yes.”
once the masks came off, we kept talking and Dean was out on my lap from the constant back and head scratches. his arms wrapped tightly around my waist and his head was covered in my stomach. we all eventually went to sleep in the living room. and the next morning? the guys were obviously calling Dean clingy and gay. which made no sense whatsoever, since I lived there because he was dating me. he was definitely a fun little add to our “girls night”.
summary: it’s pretty fucking hard to not stare at your best friends dad. especially when you’re fucking behind her back.
warnings: age gap muahaha, sex, dirty nicknames, staring, finger sucking, i’m sorry, touches, groping, p in v and anal, oral (m and f receiving), cum, fluff, insecurity (jack), unnamed daughter of jack, physical descriptions of facial features, dual pov, not proof read cause i’m lazy
a/n: i haven’t written smut in so long i’m sorry if it’s bad, short drabble!! enjoyyy, divider by uzmacchiato
dear best friend, i didn’t mean to fuck with your dad.
you wondered if she ever suspected anything between you two. little abbot was a smart girl, you would never doubt that. in class she was a quick learner and never failed to raise her hand to answer whatever questions the professor was throwing around.
all things considered, you thought you were pretty smart too. despite the fact that you fucked her dad whenever she wasn’t around.
having her schedule on your phone so the two of you knew when the house would be free for the pair of you. it was literally in your google calendar. because you were a good friend and wanted to keep up to date with her comings and goings of course!
not so you could ride her dad on the couch when the movie you were pretending to be interested in finally waned in intrigue to you. the fullness of jack abbot was unmatched in your eyes.
“nothing like the college boys baby?” he grunted into your ear as his large hand squeezed the hot flesh of you ass after his spanking session earlier. your head shook side to side, “s’ good, thank you daddy,” jack’s other large, calloused hand squished your face to form a pout.
“there you go, let go for daddy.” which you did, everytime, multiple times. the white liquid dropped down from your pussy onto the leather couch as jack nuzzled his nose into your neck. “good baby.”
“mm i love,” the rest of your words were muffled against his chest, jack stroked your ass with the returning usual sweetness he had for you. “say it again baby, daddy didn’t hear you.”
“mm i love you,” his heart swelled at the timid expression on your face at the admission. “baby what do you love?” jack found it hard to believe, a deep rooted issue of his. how could such a sweet girl like you want anything else besides sex from and old man?
“your big hands, the way your eyes crinkle in the corner, how low you whisper in my ear, you always compliment me, help me. you’re always a good guy. makes me happy i get to have you.”
and that earned you two more climaxes within ten minutes.
the awakening of your phones home screen drew a frown from you, little abbot class ten minutes.
before jack, you’d had a normal amount of sexual encounters in your eyes. the first time had consisted of meeting up with a guy you’d approached in a club, and watching a movie with him as his hands trailed. did you go down? yes! did you enjoy it even if he didn’t go down on you? again, yes.
the second time was when you actually fucked a guy, he was swift and eager which wasn’t the most pleasant experience since the pain lingered for days after.
the third was a sloppy make out in the corner of a club.
so were you entirely blind when you first met your new university best friend’s dad? no. did he please you better than all three guys combined? 1000 percent.
the first time with jack had been when you were baking together. his daughter had fallen ill, and jack had quarantined her to the confines of her bedroom. she had to call her dads phone to warn him she was coming downstairs since jack was currently hosting you as well. he didn’t want to risk getting someone else’s kid risk even if the kid was 20.
the dreamy cream cheese frosting flicked out of the glass bowl as you accidentally upped the speed of the electric mixer, “fuck!” jack immediately stood straight from checking on the red velvet cupcakes. “sweetheart what did i say?” his voice was stern as his sure hands moved swiftly to turn the mixer off and flick the electric switch off.
shaking off your hands in the sink, you licked your lips before replying, “i know! don’t up the speed. i’m sorry i didn’t mean to mr abbot.” wiping your hands off on your apron, jack tsked in disappointment. “it’s alright, the frosting can be salvaged. want a taste?”
his pointer finger was held out casually. it meant nothing. nothing. you repeated the phrase multiple times within your mind.
“yes please.”
a slight bite of your lips drew jacks attention to your soft lips. he imagined them to be pillowy against his thinner two. the older man felt his dick twitch when you actually brought his finger into your little mouth.
the involuntary grunt left his mouth as you withdrew with a slight giggle, “everything okay mr abbot?” your eyelashes fluttered as he noticed you peering up at him. shaking his head, he realised there was no going back after this. when his daughter had first brought back a new friend, he was happy for her.
good, my angel is making friends.
and then he saw the fucking photos.
out on the town with her girls, yet one in particular stood clear apart to him. the girl had a sweet smile, the type to elicit one from others as well, whether you wanted to smile or not. her lowcut top showed off the side of her breasts, a tease. a preview.
and now you were here for the first time. jack had imagined you to be a sweet and quiet girl like his own daughter. yet you brought out the absolute best in her. made her involved, loud, confident.
now as he stared down at the grinning girl he’d fisted his cock to in the shower with guilt weighing on his chest, abbot decided to indulge.
since then he hadn’t been able to help himself.
coming back home from work to find you on the couch with his daughter already in bed. you spent a lot of time at their place. not that he minded. a simple conversation of how his day and work was would lead to a few touches as you two navigate the kitchen together to make yourself a late dinner.
then the food would be forgotten and he’d have his hand covering your mouth and pinching your nose, cutting off the possibility of any sounds waking his daughter up. his scrubs would sit around his knees as your own pants were bunched at your ankles, his cock teasing your ass for the first time.
as you mewled against the cold marble of the kitchen island jack simply cooed, “think i like you better when you’re listening,” using his free hand, he tapped the inside of your plush thighs. with no words or instructions, you spread out a bit more to accommodate for the delicious stretch of his tip.
watching your tight ass swallow him up felt like a blessing for all the work he did that day.
OKAY SO...slut series is absolutely a thing now. I’m so serious she has a place on the masterlist, LMAO. I answered that ask (LOVE YOU ANON) with some unhinged ass bs but wHEN I STARTED WRITING, that was not the case. NO SLAPPING (maybe another time teehee). But oh, he calls you a slut alright, but he’s POOKIE ABT IT YOU’LL SEE. Valko’s was unhinged lowkey this is giving sweetie pie still idk. Enjoy, MWAH!
- Blueberry જ⁀➴ ৻ꪆ (Masterlist)
You wiggle and squirm behind Sylus in the kitchen, occasionally pressing your face into his back, “…Yes, kitten?”
“Mm— I— Hmm…” As you stammer, he slowly turns around to face you.
He smirks, “Princess, just tell me.” He lifts his hand to rub his thumb over your chin, “You’ve been antsy all night.”
“Mmm—would you…”
Using his free hand, he pulls you in by your waist, raising a subtle brow at you, “Would I…what, hm?” He was always one to wait for you to express your desires yourself—even if he could see them burning your skin from the inside out.
You settle into the feeling of his hand on your lower back, pressing both of your hands against his chest, “Ever…”
He lets out a small huffed laugh, repeating your words, “Would I ever…?”
“…Call me a slut?”
His brows raise, but his held mirthful expression stays the same. Letting go of your chin, he pulls you completely against his torso using both of his hands, “A slut, hm? Is that right?” The way he says the word already makes your cunt throb.
You snake your arms over his shoulders, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, “Mmhm…”
The corner of his lips curl into a small smile, “And why, kitten, do you want me to call you that?” His wide palms flatten against your back, slowly running down until he’s gripping your hips, his small grin growing into another smirk. Interesting, he thought.
A blush rises on your cheeks, “I— Mmm— ...I thought it might be…fun.”
He squeezes your hips, tight. “Fun?” He questions, cocking a brow at you.
“Mhm—” just from staring up into his piercing eyes, carrying a visibly amused sense of intrigue, you let a little moan slip, “ngh—y-yeah, fun.”
He leans down and in while holding your eye contact, his lips getting closer to yours, “Why don’t you…tell me a little more about this fun before we indulge, hm?”
***
“You’ll be a good slut for me, won’t you, kitten?” You whine—trapped. “Let me tease you with my cock, hm?”
Using his Evol, your wrists are affixed to his headboard, your arms up yet slumped with your elbows bent. Both completely bare, Sylus sits with his legs folded at his knees, your ass practically in his lap toward the lower end of his thighs, your legs stretched out and past his hips.
“Y-yes—I will—nngh—” You tremble with anticipation and squirm, stuck in place and completely exposed to him, an arch in your back that continually struggles and relaxes repeatedly as a result of having your arms above your head and your lower half elevated in his lap.
He releases a throaty hum, letting his hard cock press against your slit, slowly lifting with the power of his quads until his cock can rest from the top of your pubic bone and reach your belly, “Good girl. So pretty for me...”
You glance down at the sight of him against your body, whining and wiggling your hips, “Mmhm—Sy—p-please—I w-want it.”
“Oh, I know you do, princess. Begging me to call you a slut and fill you up with my cock…”
You nod weakly within the limit you’re able considering the position you’re in, the feeling of your mouth watering making you pant and stammer, “Uh-h-huh—p-please—”
He lets his legs and hips relax again, pulling further back and away from you, “Shh—quiet.” Pressing his right hand down against your thigh, he uses his left to drag the head of his cock between your slick slit.
“Mmm—oh m-my—”
“Such a naughty slut, huh, kitten?” Intentionally, he slowly rubs his tip against your clit, eliciting a whiny moan from you. “Just a word has you nice and soaked for me, hm?”
“Ngh! Sy—p-please—put i-it in—”
He shakes his head, “Mm-mm, I don’t think so, kitten.” He lets the head of his cock gently press into your entrance before pulling back and running himself back up to your clit, “Too pretty, I don’t want to ruin you just yet...”
When your hips try and snap in his lap, his hand presses down harder against your thigh, using his other to continue torturing you with his cock. “Mmm—m-mean—ngh—y-you’re s’mean.”
He tsks, a smirk on his lips, “I’m mean, kitten? I’m just doing what you asked.” You moan to the feeling of him applying more pressure, his tip gliding further upward until the underside of his length can run between your slit, the sight of your skin spreading for him making him groan.
Eventually, only after continued and incessant begging from you, he’s pushing the head of his cock into your soaked cunt, groaning and watching the slow stretch of your skin around him. However, he stops halfway, not giving you all of what you want. “Mmm—ngh—so gorgeous. Taking me so well...” He looks back to you, admiring your needy expression, “So cute, I can feel you twitching, kitten.”
Your hips shake but it makes no difference, both of his hands now gripping them firmly, holding you in place with nowhere to go, “O-oh my god—Sy, p-please fuck m-me—ngh!”
“Mmm, but you feel so good like this, warming my cock for me like a good little slut.” He squeezes your hips tighter, drawing you further toward him while pushing just a bit more of his cock into your dripping cunt, “It’s what you’re made for, isn’t that right, kitten?”
You whimper, “Y-yes—mmhm—s’big, y-you’re—mm!”
His voice becomes a warm coo, “Awh, is it too big, kitten? Hm, look at that.” His right hand leaves your hip, running his palm over your stomach and down to just above your pubic bone where there’s a small bulge raising your skin.
When he presses down on the space lightly, you moan loudly, feeling an intense pressure against your G-spot. “I thought sluts liked cock that’s too big for them, no?”
You gasp, your eyes locked on his hand pressing into you, “M-mmhm—ngh—h-holy fuck—”
His left hand then also leaves your other hip, both of his hands sliding up your stomach and over your ribs until he’s squeezing your breasts. In doing so, he leans forward, his hips tilting and pushing until his cock is full up inside you. “Mmm—nngh!”
Groping you, still sat up mostly but bent forward with a necessary tilt in his hips as to not hurt either of you, “See, kitten? Perfect fit.”
“S-Sylus—ngh!” His index fingers and thumbs gently pinch your nipples, “S’deep—t-this angle, it’s—”
He interrupts you with a chuckle, “Oh, but it feels good, doesn’t it? Your slutty little pussy is soaked, gripping me nice and tight—pulling me in.”
You nod pathetically, “Ngh! Mmhm—”
“That’s what I thought. Mmph...” he gropes at your breasts again, squeezing hard, “You take me so well, kitten. Stretched around my cock…your cute little whining face—mmm...”
You gasp at the pressure from both his hands and his cock, “P-please—d-don’t you w-wanna cum inside m-me?”
He squeezes your breasts once more before sliding his hands back down to your hips, “You would try and goad me to fill you with my cum. You’re too easy to tease, kitten.” He tsks, “Be a good slut for me, yeah? I’ll give you what you want when I’m ready.”
Any buck of your hips is now stopped by his hands, “Mmhm—nngh—s-shit— I-I—”
He interrupts again, thoroughly amused, “You asked for this. To be treated like a little slut. Did you not expect that I’d have my fun, hm?” He sits back up completely, his cock retracting partially out from you and the bulge from the head of his cock becoming visible once more against your low stomach.
“P-please—please, I-I’ll be good—I swear—” his hips tilt suddenly, his cock pressing against the inner surface of your walls even more, “nngh!”
“You already are, kitten. You take my cock like such a pretty girl, I’m proud of you. Come on, you can handle a little more, can’t you?”
A broken gasp mixed with a moan escapes from your lips, “Oh—m-my—fuck—ngh!”
His left thumb comes up to caress your clit and you instantly let out a sharp whine, “Ngh—that’s it, kitten. Keep squeezing me like a needy little slut, yeah?” When your arms struggle as you continue to whine, he grins, “Stuck on my cock, what else do you have to do anyway, hm?”
“N-nothing—nngh!”
His right hand massages your hip, his fingers sinking into your skin, “That’s right. Now, be a good slut for me and cum on my cock why don’t you?”
As he continues to massage your clit with his thumb, you’re left with nothing but breathy, whiny moans, your walls repeatedly clenching around his thick cock, “Mmhm…ngh—you feel so good, kitten.” Inhaling deeply as to temper himself and the feeling you provide, he still continues, slowing the circular drag of his thumb, “Good girl, almost there, I can feel it—feels s’good, hm?”
“Y-yes—yes! Oh m-my god—S-Sy!”
He watches your body struggle, failing to contain his enjoyment, “Yes, princess?”
“Please, p-please, I n-need you to f-fuck me—p-please—ngh!”
He tsks, biting back a groan, “Almost, kitten. You’re almost there. You’re being so good for me.”
When your cunt unmistakably pulses against his cock as you let moan after moan rip from your throat while you cum, he groans deeply, reaching up again to grope your breasts and push more of his length into you. “That’s it, good girl. You squeeze me so good, princess.”
Releasing your breasts from his hands, he lets his arms come down beside you while he fully presses up with his quads, leaning his weight into you as your thighs press back against your body. Feeling him twitch inside you, “Are you gonna take my cum like a good slut, kitten?”
“Yes—y-yes! Fuck—mmm, m-my god!”
Your eyes snap shut and you nearly shriek when he starts to properly thrust into you. His voice is hoarse from having waited long enough, “Look at me.” With endless moans rattling out from your chest, your eyes flutter back open, “Good girl…nice and drunk on my cock, hm? Such a slut for it, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes, nngh! P-please, fill m-me—I need i-it—mmm!”
“I know you do, kitten. Ngh—one more time, be a good little slut and beg me for it, hm?” Finally, he releases your arms from the power of his Evol so that you can properly cling to him, beg, and wait for him to give you all of his cum.
