#(( she will never outright ask for this though

[helen-with-an-a]

how was amor and alexia’s dynamics post-world cup final? Amor definitely was in starting 11 and would definitely be devastated

Ok so I answer this separately in another post but with the Documentary that came out I wanted to talk about Amor’s part of the La 15 and the Jenni/RFEF/Rubiales stuff

Right off the bat, Amor wasn’t in the documentary - there was a small clip used when the documentary highlighted the support for Jenni across the world but it was max 10 seconds of an interview she did.

But Amor was there for all of it though - she was first told about the abuse from Irene. Alexia was determined to keep Amie away from the RFEF but she would always come back from camp so different and Amor just wanted to know why. After she heard Ale crying in the shower just before the Euro prep camp, she decided she needed to speak to someone and that was Irene.

Amor made sure she stood with Ale and all of her other Barça teammates and friends throughout the La 15 issues and became a frequent visitor for Mapí, Patri, Lelia, Paños, Aitana and Pina (especially Pina) but she never spoke for them. If she was ever asked (or hounded) she would always remember to support them but never speak for them - she never wanted to bring attention onto her or make it seem like she was speaking for them

After the World Cup, Amor went to Ibiza with the girls and she was the one to outright tell Jenni she had experienced sexual assault.

Amor was an absolute rock for all of the girls in the national squad and was definitely someone that would listen without judgement (especially for Laia and some of the other Barça girls that felt conflicted about the squad)

She only cried once when she was away with England

It was after an interview she had with the BBC about the WC and events afterwards and she was trying so hard to keep it together

She got back to her room and just broke down and she was sharing a room with Georgia Stanway and Gee freaked out and ran to get Lucy and Keira and they all just held her and supported her as absolutely sobbed

She swore them to total secrecy but now Lucy, Keira and Georgia keep a closer eye on her than before

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Aha I’m back for the oc ask game! This time around, mayhaps any of these?: Kaleb x Taryne, Sarra x Yorick, Aldreda + Brandon, and Kaleb + Cassana?

Can I hear a round of applause for world class slut & professional other man for Lord Kaleb Dormaire?

We have already established with the Aldreda ship that this man is willing to bottom, but I really think Taryne would push that limit. Does he love a strong woman? Yes. Will he take the strap like a champ? I fully believe in his ability to do so. Can he exclusively be a sub? Honestly, I don't know if he's got it in him & Taryne will not give up control in the thing she's doing Just For Herself. That said, I don't think they wouldn't not work. I feel in my bones that Kaleb & Taryne would be more a "friends with benefits" type thing than whatever exactly she has going on with Gwayne.

It'd probably start out in a similar way of "I have a pre-established relationship with Alicent, & when I came back to King's Landing to see her here is some rando she's made part of her household since Lyonel Strong's promotion/Jasper Wylde got a job. Things have now spiraled a little out of control a little bit." Kaleb would definitely have more tact than Gwayne upon first contact, but he'd wind up in a similar situation of picking up the queues of how awful & traumatizing Taryne's marriage is, & once some level of comfort was there between them he'd offer some form of companionship at the very least just to give her some moments away from her husband, & from there it just kind of builds until they act on whatever attraction is there. They'd both definitely be having a nice time, & letting Taryne be in charge on occasion is probably nice, but bestie I am looking at this man's amount of kids & his pullout game is not good enough for Taryne to have him be her regular Other Man unless he's willing to never put it in. Kaleb, I see your breeding kink. You can't hide it from me. My son, Yorick, is the same fucking way, I perceive you whether you like it or not. Taryne's definitely fond of him though! He's an actual good, genuine man who won't hurt her, & that really goes most of the way for her. Not a long way, like 90% of it. The bar is on the ground.

They've definitely got "judging & side-eyeing people at the function, & maybe they hookup after it" vibes.

Yorick & Sarra sounded familiar, so I did hunt through the tag & I have ruminated on this before actually! So linking

Oh, you mean her step-son by way of fucking both his parents?

Gonna be real, she looks at him & just sees her youngest brothers, because some of them died young enough that temporarily being heir to Lonely Light or the expectations of their dad or Ironborn (specifically at Lonely Light) never had a chance to super get to them. So Brandon is kind of a What If scenario for her. "Would any of my brothers have been like him? Would they have been friends?" That type of thing

I think he'd be interested in Aldreda as a person regardless of what canon we're going with (Alicent alive at Lonely Light with Aldreda or her canon fate) just because she's important to his parents & "she's a cool warrior woman who let me have a knife!" And that would obviously evolve as he gets older to probably seeing her as some sort of extra parent or aunt or something--how that plays out I think would just really depend on what happens with Alicent (& by extension probably where he winds up going)

Honestly though, Aldreda would probably waffle a lot on if she wanted to be around him when he's younger. She'd never be outright cruel to him or send him away, it'd be more a "do I have the mental capacity to be around a child?" Part of it is her having never thought about her own ability to have kids & the subsequent having of them/motherhood & being at least a little confronted with it by now kind of being his step-mom, & part of it is the weird "my younger brothers were all this age once" that turns into "he's older than [brother x] ever got to be." It's, like, "am I mentally okay to be around the happy, optimistic child? If yes go be near the child. If no, decide if you want to do emotional self harm or not & proceed from there." (I never said Aldreda was the healthiest person out there). She'd definitely be encouraging of him & would probably give him pointers for training, but she'd also be rolling her eyes at the knight thing, I cannot lie. But you can't totally blame her, there's no knighthood culture on the islands! She wouldn't discourage him though, she'd just privately think that there's better things to dream of. Also, she's definitely taking him out on her longship at some point because "every boy needs to go out on the ocean. It puts hair on their chest." Did she tell Alicent or Kaleb beforehand? Maybe.

I think they'd be at least casual friends, with varying closeness depending on if it's SOTF or TRP. Because, like, they were both growing up in The Red Keep, but she was also never really a part of Rhaenyra's friend group until they were both a little older.

In SOTF, it'd definitely be a case of "this is my husband's cousin's boy (aside from Laenor, of course) that I also know & have a positive opinion of. Of course I am going to be kind & welcoming to him!" Because Cassana Strong is, first & foremost, a big sweetie pie. She's a little insecure, but she's a sweetie pie & she will never make someone feel unwelcome unless they've given her a reason to. She'd maybe be a little judgey about him having so many bastards (because she's even judgey about her brother in that regard), but she wouldn't say anything to him about it. Because that's rude & also it's kind of just expected in Westeros. Not stopping her from being gossipy as hell though.

In the TRP crossover AU though, they're definitely closer since he's married to Her Girl. Like "that's Daenys's man, your honor. I have to giggle about him with her, that's girl code." Also, like Rhaenyra, she's definitely encouraging them & probably helping to set them up, because she's watching Daenys moon over him too! Her insecurity would make a bigger impact, temporarily at least, on their relationship here though. I'm not going to go into too much detail, because that's spoilers for her arc in that fic, but there would be a rough patch where she kind of ices him out & is kinda harsh towards him for a couple months. Yes, it would be a bitterness thing & she is butting heads with at least Daenys & maybe even him depending on how much he's willing to try to pus that due to her very sudden 180 on how warm & friendly she normally is. It's not beyond repair, & she gets over it, & I also think she'd be willing to tell Kaleb what was going on more than she probably is Tyland in noncrossover TRP since, like, she's known him since he was a kid.

Overall, I think Kaleb & Cass would have a very nice friendship. Maybe not a best friendship, but a comfortable one.

[itsmistyeyedbi]

This might be a silly question but...do anyone of your detective's believe in fate? Why or why not? Did their view of it change after meeting Unit Bravo and experiencing the events of the twc books?

[dutybcrne]

Love the idea of Kae even in the present still having such baby brother energy that he can work favors out of people older/sterner than him SO easily.

[iwoulddieforienzo]

I never play Genshin with audio on bc I hate Paimon’s voice and she never stops TALKING

This is not helped by the fact that Genshin fully thinks you are a helpless idiot

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

.

[royalreef]

(( ........ It would have to be someone Miri trusts, but she LOVES it when people do that thing of holding her head in their hands and just rubbing all over her snoot. It’s silly, it’s cute, it feels nice, it makes Miri make silly chuffing sounds — it’s fun!!! They would have to be careful around her fins (unless they want to turn this into something else entirely), but she DOES like the extra attention and touching.

[flaresanimedump]

I am all for the movement not to hate on female characters as much as we did in the 90s (at least, not to ritually bash them as part of fanfiction), but Micaiah of FE10 fame should be an exception because she sucks.

[tarrynightss]

what happens when sukuna’s precious little jewel actually does get pregnant ???

I’m so glad you asked Anon hehe

Concubine!reader x Sukuna thoughts part 1 here

Tags; Pregnancy, Concubine!fem!Reader, smut below cut, breeding kink, size difference, bit of lactation kink

Sukuna is not surprised when it happens after all the hard work you both put into realizing his dream. He notices a subtle change in your smell, in the energy that pulsates around you when he caresses his hand over your body. A wide grin splits on his face as he lays his hand over your lower stomach, his chest sturdy against your back. He can’t help but nuzzle his face against the side of your head, inhaling more of your intoxicating smell. “It took.”. Those simple words have your eyes widening and your heart pounding in your chest, looking back at him to ensure you understood correctly. “You’re with child.”

He’s overjoyed with the prospect of having a baby, an heir of his own. He’s more affectionate than he ever was, taking time to settle you close against him, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the growing bump on your stomach. He even caresses your hair and kisses you in an attempt to comfort you when you feel pain, all of it shockingly gentle for Sukuna. In his mind there’s a simple explanation. You did as he wanted, and you continue to do your duty well, ensuring his child is safe and growing strong inside you even when it hurts you, so you should be rewarded for it.

Sukuna has always been wary of others, but with the pregnancy he turns outright paranoid. With the amount of enemies he has he worries that one might now lash out and target you and your baby. He focuses more on maintaining barriers around the house, has someone sample your food in front of him before it’s allowed to be served to you, and you never sleep alone anymore, him always curled protectively against your side. He also decides to dismiss a large portion of his harem, not trusting them to have your best interest in mind. He knows how jealous humans can get, had seen women scratch each others eyes out just to get ahead of the other, and so the only other concubines allowed to stay are the ones you claim are your friends. He still keeps a careful eye on them, only truly allowing it because he knows that when the time comes, you will need women to aid you through it, and he doesn’t trust random midwives more than he trusts them.

Sukuna will spoil you more than ever, making sure you are comfortable in whatever way he can offer. The pregnancy is clearly taking a toll on you, your stomach having grown large and heavy, and he almost worries the size difference between you that excited him so might become the death of you. He carries you basically everywhere the last two months, wrapping you up in his strong arms and doing anything you need of him. It’s quite ironic; you used to be the one helping him get dressed, fawning over your master, and now he does the opposite for you. Though you know it’s out of necessity, it still makes your heart flutter.

That Sukuna is stressed out when you finally give birth is putting it lightly. He waits outside as customary, trying to appear stoic but panicking on the inside at your pained screams. As soon as he hears a baby cry, he barges in, watching as another concubine places the child against your bare chest. He quickly finds himself on his knees beside you, brushing one large hand over your sweaty forehead to comfort you as the other joins you in holding your baby. It’s a daughter, but she’s healthy and strong, screaming her lungs out for a minute more before calming down. You laugh, and he breathes in deeply, knowing you both made it. Relieve makes him bend forward and press a kiss to your forehead, leaning back just in time to see the child’s eyes open. Four in total, just like her father, but with the scarlet stare replaced by the lovely color of your eyes.

It surprises everyone, including you, how much of an involved father he is, holding his baby as often as he can, a large finger prodding at her pouty lips till she smiles and coos. When you apologize to him for not giving him a son, he stares at you blankly, gesturing for you to rise from where you kneel before him, putting one hand on your cheek as two others still cradle your baby. “I don’t need your apology. The child is healthy, and you will give me a son next time.” The surprise is evident on your face as your eyes snap to his. Not only is he being benevolent, but he also just said he wants another child with you. You were afraid he would discard you like a broken toy after this, no longer interesting enough to him, but it seems you still manage to hold your position as his favorite, bringing a smile to your face.

It has to be said that Sukuna can’t take his eyes off of you from the moment that tiny bump appears on your stomach. There’s something about it, about you, that makes every fiber of his being crave touching you. Maybe it’s that famous pregnancy glow, or maybe it’s the fact that he knows he’s the one who fucked a baby into you. You’re his, more clearly now than ever, and it excites him beyond his own comprehension.

Luckily for Sukuna, the hormones coursing through your body have you seeking him out desperately throughout most of your pregnancy. The first few months he fucks you like he wants to ruin you, rutting into you like an addict, but as soon as you really start showing he becomes more gentle. He wouldn’t risk seriously hurting you or his child, often seating you in his lap as he thrusts into you, his mouth lapping at your sweet neck. You still mewl so sweetly for him, so eagerly, and he already knows he might want to do this all over again after you’ve given him his first child.

Sukuna takes such good care of his little jewel, even massaging your poor sore breasts, teasing your aching nipples with his tongue. The changes to your body have him drooling all over you, his hands constantly on your growing breasts or belly. It becomes a guilty pleasure of his to touch you there, enjoying just having you on his lap as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, loving the way you squirm against him.

You find some of the changes quite embarrassing, especially when your breasts start leaking milk as you enter your third trimester. He only grins wolfishly when he notices the wet patches on the fabric covering your breasts, tutting as he pulls you to his chambers. “You need to relieve the pressure, little one.” And of course your benevolent master knows just how to do it, massaging your breasts till more drops come out, making sure he’s right there to help you through it all. This definitely gets far worse after you’ve given birth and your milk fully comes in, aching painfully to be released, Sukuna hot on your heels after ensuring your baby is fed to ‘help’ you.

[mashpotatoe]

im a white jew, i was born in israel,

ive lived there all my life and was brought up in an environment that fosters racism driven by nationalism, nationalism driven by racism.

in israel, they teach you jews and muslims (though usually, they just say arabs) have always been enemies, the same way the US deems the entire middle east as a inherent war zone, ridding them of the responsibility for perpetuating war in thst region.

they tell you "were the fair and humane side who strives for peace! its the arabs who never accept the offer!"

i remember the first time i began doubting that sentiment was in fourth grade, when we were having a discussion in class about the character of Saul from the Torah. the teacher was talking about how Saul, the first monarch of the Kingdom of Israel, used to fight the Philistines, and when she added that the Philistines were the natural enemy of the Israelites, she asked the class what group of people is their modern equivalent to which everyone very eagerly replied "Arabs!" and nevermind that there in that same class sat two arab boys, one of whom sat next to me, who i looked at and thought "but he isnt my enemy? hes just a boy in my class."

they teach you to hate arabs. sometimes they say it outright. sometimes they say it more carefully, or make a distinction between good and bad arabs, those who are with us and those who are against us.

in a state based on the idea of (white) jewish supremacy, they teach you jews are naturally superior. they use the conspiratorial narrative of "jews controlling the world" to their favor, giving their own watered down explanation for why antisemitism exists, saying that it must be driven by jealousy.

the zionist movement always used antisemitism to its advantage, either for reinforcing the notion of jewish supremacy or appealing to the real pain and trauma of generations, people who survived the holocaust, connecting them to stolen land where they are "guaranteed" safety ergo granting "justification" for the suffering of others.

its using peoples real pain that makes fear mongering so effective, and when the israeli population grows up being told all of their neighboring countries want to kill them, they quickly get defensive of the "only land where they can feel safe", but the only explanation ever provided for Why these neighboring countries are considered enemies is because theyre arabs.

and when it comes to palestine, it isnt even recognized as a country, nor identity. just a threat. ive talked to many people who are genuinely unaware of the occupation, and they arent willing to believe it either, because the media narrative has successfully shifted the blame on hamas. because "how could it be us? we want peace! its the terrorists who make us look bad! and their children, they grow up to be antisemites*, might as well get rid of them too!" they never stop to think what environment these children must grow up in to develop these "radical" ideas.

* what they mean by antisemite is really just antizionist, but the term anti/zionist isnt practiced in local dialect, being a zionist is treated as a given

any jew who stands against israels oppression is dubbed a self hating jew, but the biggest contributors to antisemitism is the people in charge of an ethnostate, because at any moment they could decide who is not white enough to be jewish, who is too jewish to be white, who stood against the current coalition government and who is an obedient dog.

israelis arent a monolith, but many of them have been won over, convinced its an "us v them" situation, when in reality it could never be the "us" that "loses"

the israeli government was waiting for an event like the massacre on the seventh of october to declare war, to have the so called "right to defend itself", so they could initiate the final steps of an ethnic genocide and displace, if not kill, all remaining palestinians. under the guise of bringing peace.

it isnt too late to call for a permanent ceasefire, to end the occupation.

please contact your representatives, attend protests and rallies if you are able. palestine will be free, and the flowers will rise again.

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Behind Closed Doors

Your admiration of his vest leads you to an empty office with his face buried between your thighs—and an urgent Emily demanding your whereabouts.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) soft!dom spence (are we even surprised), fingering, oral sex (f), semi-public, slight overstimulation, and Emily kind of overhears because she calls Reader in the middle of the deed (oops). 5k words

A/n: I don’t have any excuse for this one, I just wanted to rewrite this scene of him because looking at it is not enough

You heard him before you saw him. It wasn't his voice per se, but the distinct sound of rapid shots cutting through the air. The noise seemed to intensify as you stepped into the control room, almost overbearing, but you'd long since grown used to its piercing sound.

"Is that Reid?" You asked, your polished boots echoing into the confined space. The officer monitoring him through the surveillance camera glanced over at you, and even though her expression didn't betray outright displeasure, you could hear a subtle edge in her voice.

"Agent Y/L/N," she greeted, her eyes darting between the rows of monitors, then to you, and finally settling on the clipboard in her hand. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Actually, I am. It’s Tuesday, my usual training day.”

"Not for another hour."

"I know," you countered, holding up your wrist to check your watch. "But I have some spare time, thought I’d come by early."

“I’m afraid it’s occupied right now. Agent Reid is still in the middle of his test."

This caught your attention. "What test?"

She glanced at you, her expression conflicted. "It's just a routine evaluation."

"He's currently not an active agent," you pointed out. It hadn’t been too long since his release from prison. It didn’t make any sense for him to go through an evaluation, not when he was behind bars for the past few weeks. Then recognition dawned on your face. "He's being evaluated to rejoin the team, isn't he?"

"I... I'm not at liberty to discuss that," she replied. Her gaze faltered momentarily before she nodded slowly, confirming your suspicions. "But yes, it's standard procedure for agents returning from extended leave."

"Oh wow—okay," you responded, absorbing the information. Your eyes flickered towards the monitor. "How's he doing?"

Her lips formed a thoughtful line before she answered, "Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp."

You let out a laugh, finding the comparison amusing. You'd known Spencer for what, three, four years? While he wasn't bad with firearms, comparing him to a historical figure like Wyatt Earp seemed a bit exaggerated. However, as you watched him through the monitors, despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't deny the truth in her words.

You had witnessed him handle a gun countless times, but always in situations where there was a real threat, where you both had to be on high alert. Yet as you observed him now from a different perspective, it was hard to tear your eyes away. It was as if he was in his element, and Spencer Reid in his element never looked so... attractive?

Now that wasn't an exaggeration. Although you had never admitted this to anyone—god forbid what your teammates would say—there was an undeniable charm to the confidence he exuded. While Spencer had always been attractive, there was something different about the way he handled the gun.

You were sure it had something to do with his time in prison. After all, who wouldn't be affected by such a daunting place, especially when you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place? Yet, surprisingly, Spencer seemed to be coping better than you expected. Despite the toll it must have taken on him, it was evident that his experiences had shaped him, perhaps more than he let on.

Although he was still the same sweet, adorable guy you considered one of your closest friends. But you weren't sure your current observation of him fitted the typical definition of friendship… because there was nothing remotely friendly about the thoughts running in your head right now.

Not only was it not friendly, but it wasn't exactly innocent. Because look at him. Look at the way he was gripping the gun, his arms defined beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Look at the way his protective glasses covered his face, the black-rimmed frames accentuating his handsome features. And even though you had seen him wear the uniform vest countless times, somehow it was undeniably distracting the way it hugged his chest. 

Yep—there was nothing remotely friendly about how you wanted to climb up the man.

A sudden buzz echoed in the room, snapping you to reality. You glanced up and noticed the officer you were talking to entering the monitor screen and it dawned on you that you had been so distracted by your thoughts that you hadn't realized she had left the control room.

"I'll send the results to the review board this evening," the officer's voice resonated from the screen.

"Did I do okay?" His voice came through.

"Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp," she replied, echoing her earlier assessment. Her gaze shifted to the printed cardboard image of a man, supposedly representing the Unsub, which was shredded right around the face. "Or... Al Capone, maybe."

You observed Spencer's slight nod as she turned and walked out of the screen. Quickly, you exited the control room and met her in the hallway.

"Agent Y/L/N," she called out as she spotted you. "You can have the room in five minutes—"

"I need to reschedule."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Reschedule?"

"Uh... yes, something urgent came up," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

She regarded you for a moment before nodding. "Alright, just let me know when you want to reschedule."

"I will, thank you," you said quickly. Sensing her lingering gaze, you added, "Oh, I'm just waiting for Reid. I need his help on... something."

A faint smile played on her lips, though she didn't press further. "Of course, I'll leave you to it then." 

With a nod, she turned and walked away just as the door at the end of the hallway opened, revealing Spencer emerging from the room. His eyes met yours in confusion, and you could sense his curiosity as he approached you.

"Hey," he greeted. "What are you doing here?"

You cocked your head to the side.

What were you doing here? 

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before offering a shrug. "Just passing by, I guess."

His brow furrowed slightly as if he sensed there was more to your answer than you were letting on. "Alright," he said, though his curiosity lingered in his gaze.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. "So, how did the evaluation go?"

"So you've heard.”

"Yeah," you confirmed, starting to walk down the hallway as he stepped in pace beside you. "I can't wait for you to be back on the team. Officially, that is."

"If they let me back on the team."

"Of course they will," you reassured him, your hand finding its place on his shoulder, offering support. "You're more than qualified."

He sighed, and you tried not to notice the subtle movement of his vest across his chest, or how it shifted under your touch. "You think so?"

"I know so," you affirmed, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, they'll definitely bring you back."

He stopped his pace, and so did you, before his eyes flickered towards your hand on his shoulder. He must've sensed something different, considering you weren't exactly the type of person who liked physical contact. Neither of you were, actually. While Spencer was known for his aversion to germs, you simply preferred maintaining a certain level of personal space.

"Seriously," he wondered, his tone laced with curiosity. "What are you doing down here?"

You cleared your throat. "I told you, I was just passing by."

"Really? Is that why you're talking to me instead of going through your usual training?" he pressed on. "It's Tuesday. I'm well aware of your schedule."

Damn him and his eidetic memory. You shifted away from his gaze. "Can't a girl just choose to have a chat with a friend?"

"You chose me over your scheduled routine?” his lips curved into a subtle smile. “Am I that much of a distraction?”

Yes, that damn vest is distracting me.

"Distraction might be a bit strong,” you replied, the lie sounding feeble even to your own ears.

"So you’re admitting I’m slightly distracting?"

"I never said that.”

Spencer leaned in and you felt the heat of his proximity radiating from his body. "But you didn't deny it either.”

You felt a faint blush creep onto your cheeks as you realized the shift in his tone. Dare you say he was... flirting with you? Or was it just your imagination running wild? From the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle way he licked his lips, and without meaning to, your own gaze was drawn to the movement.

It was a habit of his, one you'd observed countless times before whether it was out of concentration or a mere reflex. But seeing it up close now, the way his tongue traced the curve of his bottom lip, was driving you insane.

You swallowed hard. This was not friendly behavior. A friend wouldn't be imagining what it would feel like to have his tongue on your lips instead.

"Y/N?"

Your face felt hot as you met his gaze. "I..."

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter and chatter from down the hallway reached your ears. You heard Penelope's unmistakable giggle with JJ's animated voice, and suddenly your instinct took over. Without a second thought, you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him into an empty office nearby. 

The door shut with a soft thud, and you frowned, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You didn't want to be caught in a state of flustered panic like some nervous school girl talking to her crush, but as Spencer stood behind you, you realized you were overreacting. The more you dwelled on it, the more absurd it seemed to hide away when there was no reason to.

With a sigh, you turned to face him. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to..."

But as your gaze met him, your words faltered because he was standing closer than you expected. Close enough that the color of his eyes seemed to intensify under the soft light filtering through the window—a rich brown, like warm chocolate, with specks of gold that danced in the sunlight.

Your eyes involuntarily traced downwards, from the sharp lines of his nose to the curve of his lips, lingering on the stubble lining his jawline. Your mind wandered, and now you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel having it against your skin. Or how it would feel pressed against your thigh.

Your face grew hotter at the thought.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" he asked, taking a step forward. You squeaked in surprise, an actual high-pitched sound leaving your lips, as you felt the hard surface of his vest pressing against your chest.

"It's just..." You hesitated, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. "You're standing really close..."

He glanced down at you, his eyes resting on your lips. "Do you want me to move?"

"I... uh..."

His eyes flickered back up to meet yours. "I'll take that as a no."

Before you could process his words, his hand reached up, fingers gently gripping your waist. You felt a rush of heat spread through you at his touch, the sensation seeping through your shirt and you found yourself leaning into him, your breath catching in your throat as his face hovered closely above yours.

It was happening. Your heart pounded in your chest as his lips drew closer. You couldn’t believe it, he was going to kiss you—Spencer-fucking-Reid was going to kiss you.

But just as his lips hovered dangerously close against yours, he suddenly stopped.

"Just to make this clear," he began, running a thumb along your side. "I respect you, both as a friend and a colleague. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with, so if you think this is pushing any boundaries then—"

"Spencer," you cut in. "Just kiss me already."

With a hint of relief and a small smile playing on his lips, he finally closed the gap between you.

You never imagined his lips could be so soft. He had the softest lips that moved against your own with a hint of coffee and something undeniably sweet. Those soft, soft lips parted away from yours for a moment before he leaned back in, more desperate, more needy. And when he swiped your bottom lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, you couldn't help but welcome him with a soft moan of pleasure.

He devoured you then, his tongue pushing eagerly into your mouth, his lips enveloping you with a hunger that left you breathless as he pressed himself against you. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, you were walking backward until your back collided with the solid surface of the desk. 

With strength you didn’t know he possessed, he effortlessly lifted you and perched you on top of it, prompting a surprised squeal to escape your lips. He laughed in response but you were too caught up in the moment to worry about whether he found you amusing. 

Your hands eagerly roamed over his chest, fingers curling around the strap of his vest as you pulled him closer. He slipped between your parted legs with ease and when he pressed his evident bulge against your core, you both gasped in pleasure.

"We should... we should probably stop, right?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your lips. Despite his words, his actions betrayed his self-control as he began to roll his hips against you.

“We're at work, someone might—” He groaned. “Someone might… hear us..."

He was right, but you found yourself unable to care about anything else but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your heat.

"We could stop, or..." you found yourself saying without thinking. Your hands moved with a mind of their own, finding their way between you as you started to unbutton your shirt, the fabric slipping away to reveal more of your skin. 

"Or..." He prompted, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip yet again, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Or..." you repeated, pushing the front of your shirt open. "We could be quiet."

"We could be quiet," he agreed all too quickly. "We could definitely be quiet."

You let out an amused laugh. "We’re going to get in trouble if anyone finds us."

“Then you shouldn’t make a sound.”

“Me? What about—oh.”

His lips were already trailing down your body, leaving soft kisses as they lingered on your neck, across your collarbone, and then he moved lower, sucking lightly on the swell of your breasts. A whimper of his name escaped your lips, your fingers entwining in his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes drinking at the sight of your breast pushed up against your bra, a glistening sheen of his saliva coating your skin.

“You are stunning,” he murmured, before leaning back in to place a tender kiss on the spot where your collarbone met your shoulder. “How far do you want to take this?”

You blinked, trying to ground yourself into the moment between the lust fogging your brain. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he muttered as he rutted his hips against yours, drawing a needy moan from you. “How far are you willing to go?”

“If you’re asking whether I want to have sex with you, the answer is a hundred percent yes.”

You could practically feel his smile on your skin as he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

“That’s good to know,” he whispered, causing you to arch your back as your chest pressed against the hard material of his vest. “But I don’t think we can do much considering we’re supposed to be working. Well, you at least.”

You grasped his shoulders, pushing him away to meet his gaze. “I thought we agreed to keep quiet.”

“We can keep quiet,” he assured you, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “But I can’t rush my time with you. Besides, you deserve a much better setting than an unoccupied office full of dust.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. “Maybe, but it’s more about time, really. I just want to take—” His lips brushed against your cheek. “My time—” A peck on your lips. “With you.”

You melted right there and then. You could’ve sworn you were nothing but a puddle mess. If he wasn’t holding you for support you were sure you could fall right back to the floor.

“Alright then,” you finally said, reaching for the buttons of your shirt with trembling hands only to be stopped as his fingers curled around your wrist.

“What are you doing?”

You shot him a puzzled look. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex right now.”

“I didn’t say anything about stopping,” he replied, releasing your hand before his palms slid up your thighs. “There are plenty of other things we can do.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks. “Like what?”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to get creative.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers hovered over the button on your pants. You watched with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he started to undo them, your mind turning into a mushy mess. It was as if every neuron in your brain had decided to stop working.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You met his gaze, trying to summon up your composure but you couldn’t help the nervous twitch of your lips. He smiled at you.

“Come on, pretty girl, we don’t have all day.”

Not only were you melting, but you were practically liquid by now. Your body moved on its own accord—your hands gripping his shoulders as you lifted your hips, synchronizing perfectly with his gentle movements to slide the material over your hips and down your legs.

He placed your pants on the empty space beside you while his eyes never left your body. His gaze lingered on the rise and fall of your chest, and he leaned in, his fingers trailing over your skin before settling on the hem of your panties. His thumb slid to the front, brushing along the delicate material. Your hips bucked as he continued to run his thumb up and down as if he were trying to map out your slick folds over the fabric.

“Look at you dripping,” he mused, his eyes fixated on the way his thumb slid over to your clit. “Are you always this wet?”

Your cheeks heated at the question. He wasn’t even trying to make it come off as dirty talk; he asked it like a normal question, as if he were simply wondering about what you ate for breakfast. But the question alone had your face burning because you did not expect it to come from him.

“I… I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he asked, his tone amused. He hooked his fingers into the material of your panties before pushing it to the side.

“I-I don’t know.” You let out a breathless moan when his fingers grazed your slit. “Whenever I’m turned on, I don’t... I don’t exactly touch myself just to check how wet I am.”

Spencer chuckled softly, angling his hand between your thighs before gently pushing his middle finger into your entrance. You gasped at the sudden stretch, brows furrowing as he pressed further, and your hand instinctively gripped onto his arm.

“Do you often touch yourself?”

Your head fell back as he started to move.

“M-Maybe,” you managed to stutter out.

"What do you think of when you do?" he asked slowly, his own breath starting to grow shallow as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He observed the way your mouth fell open, your tongue slightly slipping out in the corner, and the way your eyes shut closed. He was fascinated by the effect he had on you, on how just a simple touch had you squirming.

“A… a lot of things,” you managed to reply.

“Have you ever thought of me?”

Whoa.

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, momentarily stunned.

This was dangerous territory, but then again, nothing seemed quite as risky as being fingered by your coworker on a Tuesday afternoon. So what harm could it be if you admitted that yes, in fact, he had crossed your mind when you touched yourself wishing it was his fingers instead?

A lot of harm, actually. One, it seemed like an inappropriate confession given your friendship. Friends don't usually imagine each other in sexual scenarios. And two, you could die of embarrassment.

"No," you replied, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He hummed skeptically. “I thought we were past the point of lying between profilers.” With a pause, he added another finger inside you, causing you to bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. “Is this how you imagined it in your fantasies?”

What was the point of lying now? You swallowed hard, trying to think of a witty response to distract from the intense pleasure coursing through your body.

“Uh… This is slightly better.”

“Slightly? I’m hurt.” He pressed his thumb onto your clit. “What else did you think of then?”

Your cheeks flushed even more. “You… well, um, you also used your tongue.”

The airy laugh he let out sent a shiver down your spine. “Really? And how did that fantasy play out?"

Your heart raced as you tried to find the right words. "Let's just say it involved a lot more tongue action and a lot less talking."

His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. “Then let’s reenact it.” He gently pulled his fingers out of you. “Lay on your back.”

With a shaky breath, you complied, sprawling out on the desk, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. When he reached for the waistband of your panties, you couldn't help but crack a joke. "If I knew this was the direction this day was heading, I would've worn my fanciest underwear."

Spencer shook his head. “Trust me, you don't need fancy underwear to drive me crazy."

He then deftly removed your panties, his movements confident yet tender, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. When the fabric pooled at your ankle, he got down on his knees and parted your legs wider, positioning himself between them.

You watched, anticipation building, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your inner thigh. Then, with a teasing glance, he pressed his lips to your skin, planting soft kisses along the trail of your inner thigh, inching closer to your core.

You shivered at the sensation and your heart raced with every kiss. His hands roamed over your thighs, tracing delicate patterns while his mouth brushed closer to where you craved him the most. You bit down your bottom lip, unable to contain the moan that escaped as his tongue flicked out, grazing your sensitive flesh.

This was definitely better than your fantasies, the ones you'd harbored in secret, too taboo to admit even to yourself. But here you were, living out those desires in the most deliciously real way possible.

You gasped as his tongue lavished your slit, tasting every inch, mixing your arousal that was beginning to drip from your core with his saliva. Your back arched off the desk, thighs trembling and when they threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag over your clit.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Somehow it felt like a dream, but everything was real. His face was right between your thighs; his mouth pressed against your cunt, his tongue lapping through your wet folds. And it wasn’t as simple as tasting you, he was eating you, devouring you, swallowing every drop of your arousal as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste.

You started to lose control of your mind, your body, your actions. Your hips bucked to meet his tongue, your jaw slackening as stifled moans spilled from your lips. And that was when you felt it—a faint vibration against your thigh. At first, you thought it was just the sensation of his touch, but then the loud, unmistakable loud ringtone of your phone shattered the moment.

"Shit!" You squealed, scrambling to grab your phone from your discarded pants. The last thing you needed was for someone to discover you in this compromising position.

"It's Emily—“ You pushed his head away, trying to hide your flushed face as he looked at you with surprise. His lips were glistened with your arousal and his hair seemed messier. God, he looked so pretty.

"Don't answer it."

"It might be important." With a pointed look, you silently urged him to keep quiet as you brought the phone to your ear with trembling fingers. “H-Hey... what's up?"

Emily's voice came through the line, slightly muffled by the sounds of commotion in the background. “Hey, I need you to review the report you submitted yesterday, you left a few details about the Unsub.”

Spencer's lips brushed against your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine, and you had to bite back a moan. You shot him a warning glare, mouthing ‘stop’ before turning your attention back to the call.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “So… um, which report?”

"The case in Florida," your boss explained. "You mentioned that the Unsub was targeting women between the ages of 25 and 35…”

You were trying to listen, you really were, but it was hard when you felt his fingers ease into your cunt, your juices dripping out, coating his flesh as he curled them inside. You almost let out a whine as his thumb pressed to your clit, caressing in circular motions. 

“…he's also been stalking younger women."

Your eyes screwed shut as he sped up his pace. His touch was driving you crazy, and you could barely register the conversation over the sounds of your own arousal echoing in the room.

“Y/N.”

You snapped your eyes open, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as you tried to concentrate on the call. "Uh, yeah, go on," you managed to stammer, hoping she didn't notice your wavering tone.

“Are you okay? You sound... off," Emily's voice cut through the haze of pleasure. You shot Spencer another pleading look, but he simply smiled at you with a hand still between your thighs and the other slipping underneath your bra.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, fighting against the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. "Uh, yeah, I… I-I’m doing my training.”

You mentally cursed yourself for the terrible excuse. Emily didn't seem entirely convinced. "Training?"

"Yeah, you know, the uh... firearm training? I-It’s Tuesday.”

There was a pause on the other end before she spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound like you're in pain."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan as his fingers curled inside of you. "No, no, I'm fine. Just... a little out of breath from all the… shooting."

Spencer let out an incredulous scoff, and you shot him a pointed glare.

“Are you with someone?”

You hesitated, racking your brain for a believable excuse, but all you could muster was a feeble, "Uh, nope.”

There was a pause on the other end, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken as your body flushed with heat. Meanwhile, Spencer seemed intent on torturing you, never stopping his pace. If anything, it seemed like his movements were increasing. Just when you thought you couldn't feel more exposed, another scoff echoed through your ear, this time from Emily.

“Alright, where are you really?” she pressed, her tone indicating she wasn't buying your flimsy excuse.

“I told you I-I’m doing my training.”

She laughed. “Y/N, we profile people as a job. I can sense your lie even through the phone.”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. What was up with these profilers and their knack for sniffing out lies? You were one yourself, but apparently, you were no match for their scrutiny.

“I’m not—“ your words were cut short when he stood up, hovering above you. You looked up at him, smiling at you innocently as his fingers continued to curl deep inside you. You clutched his forearm with your free hand, attempting to steady yourself.

"I'm not lying," you managed to squeak out.

"Mhm," came Emily's voice from the other end. “Just come by my office and grab the report, okay?”

Your breath hitched as his fingertips delved deeper, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight of his hand moving between your legs, coated in your arousal with each thrust. You could feel your orgasm edging closer. Your hips moved in sync with his motions as the pressure built, the tension coiling tighter in your stomach and—

“Y/N!”

“Y-Yes, I’m… I’m coming.” Spencer's low chuckle filled your ears, and you realized what you'd unintentionally implied. Your eyes widened in embarrassment. “I mean, I-I’ll be there soon, okay, bye!”

You quickly slammed your phone down on the desk, ending the call with a thud. But before you could even take a breath, Spencer's fingers were back to their rapid pace, driving you to the edge of sanity. Your body staggered under his touch, your hips moving in sync with his relentless rhythm, the world outside the room fading away into a blur of pleasure.

"A-Ah—w-wait, fuck—"

You barely managed to utter a protest before his hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. Your back arched, your head thrown back as you tightened your grip on his wrist, your body writhing beneath him as your orgasm consumed you.

It lasted longer than you expected and Spencer seemed determined to push you over the edge as he shifted his attention from your cunt to your sensitive clit. His fingers withdrew momentarily, only to return with a renewed intensity, applying just the right amount of pressure.

Your senses were on overload as you moaned into his hand, the sound muffled but still audible. He worked you, over and over, and you didn't even know your body could take so much. Every stroke, every caress sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, building up to an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as the sensations reached a fever pitch. It was all too much, too intense, and in a moment of desperation, you pushed his hand away. When the last tremors of your orgasm finally faded away, you collapsed back onto the desk, panting heavily, your limbs feeling like jelly. 

Spencer removed his hand from your mouth, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched you catch your breath. “Are you okay?" 

You nodded weakly. “Yeah, just… that was intense.”

“Good intense?”

“Really good intense,” you replied with a sheepish grin, which only made him smile. With shaky hands, you pushed yourself up from the desk, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over you. As you began to dress yourself, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him—or rather, the evident bulge underneath his pants.

“That… that doesn’t look comfortable,” you remarked.

Spencer waved off your worry with a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of it myself.”

“Here? At work?” Your eyes widened at the implication. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

He cocked his head to the side. “That’s not what I meant. It’ll eventually go away if I ignore—stop staring at it,” he added with a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

Your gaze lingered a moment too long on his bulge. "I can think of another way to help.”

Spencer's breath caught in his throat, his imagination running wild with possibilities, but he quickly regained his composure. "Go," he said, gently nudging you towards the door once you were properly dressed. "Emily's waiting for you."

Your eyes swept over him and a wave of awkwardness suddenly washed over you. What was the protocol after experiencing the most intense orgasm of your life? Shake his hand? Give him a high-five? You couldn't help but stifle a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

After a brief moment of contemplation, you decided to trust your instincts. With a hint of hesitation, you stepped closer and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He blinked in surprise, but before he could respond, you were already rushing to the door.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you leave, a tingling sensation lingering on his cheek where your lips had briefly touched. But as he licked his lips absentmindedly, he couldn't shake the taste of your arousal that lingered there.

Groaning softly, he shifted uncomfortably as his mind filled with vivid images of you squirming under him; your mouth agape, eyes half-closed, your pretty legs spread apart. The memory of your moans echoed in his ears and his cock stirred in his pants. 

He sighed, realizing he was in for a long day if he didn't do something about it. With a slight grimace—and the embarrassment gnawing at him for what he was about to do—he let his feet carry him to the nearest bathroom.

[lovphobic]

hope your ex burns tbh not only is it so fucked up but also manipulative as fuck kinda making it seem like you'd be dying to hurt them lol also kids?? with this line of thought your ex shouldn't even be allowed to drink much less be responsible for children

TRULY? HONESTLY? she was like ohh i dont know if i can commit to that and this and that bullshit. like ok so somehow being born like this WAS indeed my fault and i did it specifically to hurt you, who was born 4 years before me, who i wont meet for twenty whole years. yes that makes total sense. i gave myself this disease JUST to hurt you.

[lovelyghst]

ghost has such a vast array of names he calls his sweetheart in bed, but the one that won’t leave my mind is porn star. just listen ok—

he doesn’t even mean it in a degrading way, whatsoever. teasing, maybe, but never outright cruel. he just loves admiring you and your aptitude; your willingness to break a sweat when you’re on top of him, your resilience when he asks you if you need a break and you shake your head fervidly because he hasn’t reached his peak yet.

he absolutely adores all the noises you make. the soft and dulcet hums in your throat when he’s making love to you, to the rapid huffs of air being pushed directly from your lungs when he grabs your hips and uses you like how you begged him to. god, and your expressions? your smile as you unbuckle his belt, and your giggles when he flips it around on you and sneaks a hand beneath your skirt. even when you’ve been fucked utterly dumb, you’re still the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. it’s all so erotic to him, like it belongs on film.

and so he eventually comes through to just that, taking out a camcorder that happened to be lying around; one that he definitely didn’t purchase for the exact purpose of filming a little sex-tape with you, certainly not ordering it online behind your back or anything.

you happily put on a little show for him, with the lively energy in your voice turning sensual and your exaggerated reactions that soon become all too real. the lens staring you down from above as he takes his time with you, cooing at you the tenderest of praises whilst breaking you down to a shuddering mess beneath him before he even gives you his cock. slowly massaging your aching pussy, past your hiked up dress and through your cotton panties, just to drag his hand up your body and have you suck on the very thumb that made the soaked spot on your underwear. he’s such a mean, mean tease.

he’s enamored with the way your cunt stretches to fit his cock, especially how it shows up on the small screen of the camera. each ridge dragging against your soft flesh wrapped so tightly around him, to the point where his breath is hitching in his throat and he’s failing to suppress those faint groans and swears spilling past his lips.

“makin’ all these depraved noises for me, and no shame you’re bein’ recorded? already fucked you that stupid, ‘ave i, sweet girl?”

you moan unabashedly at that, words that should be demeaning only hitting you right in the sweet spot. you can no longer keep your eyes on the lens above you, reaching out to grasp at the wrist connected to the fingers circling your raw pussy as you plead with your brows. you’re so overwhelmed, though enjoying it far too much to quit.

wrapping your legs around his back and pulling him in closer, eyes rolling back. swollen lips falling further agape and making him chuckle lowly. he goes on ramming his cock into the sticky mess of your cunt, thumbing your clit to push you over so that the last thing your fuzzy mind will hear is him calling you his favorite nickname:

“my pretty, little porn star… takin’ everything she’s given, ‘n with no complaint. just like a good actress does, right, baby?”

he spurs you on, grinning huge behind the camcorder he holds when you hum and nod along with whatever he says. you pull his free hand into your own, lacing your fingers with his; he always grounds you so well after he’s spun you higher than a ballerina. dazed and content, and simple happy to give him something to watch while he’s away. you never have to act when you’re with him, but you can’t help the butterflies swarming your tummy whenever he praises you for it.

“there’s my good fuckin’ girl… now smile for the camera, princess.”

[quartings]

The original Gravity Falls pitches and pilot just dropped!!

(Link for those who want it)

For those who don't wanna look through all of it, here are some highlights I found!

Interesting changes from the pitch (What Alex Hirsch showed Disney to make them greenlight the show):

Stan’s secret was that he’s secretly protecting the townsfolk from weirdness, nothing to do with Ford. No mention of Ford in the pitch at all. Stan also wanted Dipper and Mabel to be his successors in this version.

Mabel used to be the unhygienic one instead of Dipper.

Wendy was brunette and didn’t work as the Mystery Shack cashier, instead selling veggie juice out of her van.

As such, Soos (Jesús in this version) worked the register in addition to his handyman job in this version. He was a bit less of a hard worker here, watching telenovelas on the job sometimes, but still loves his job and is extremely loyal to Stan.

Robbie was almost exactly the same, parents’ backstory and all, but there’s an interesting note that he occasionally clashed with Gideon in this version (which we never got in the final show)

Speaking of which, Gideon’s last name in this version was Garrymore instead of Gleeful.

Gideon used to personally harass and prank Stan, going out of his way to vandalize Stan’s stuff himself.

Manly Dan was always planned to be Wendy’s dad. In this version, he hates the idea that his hipster daughter prefers conserving the environment instead of chopping down forests

(For those who wanted more Wendy episodes, I’m surprised Hirsch didn’t use this as a conflict for one of them- it makes her interesting without costing any of her “coolness”)

Sheriff Blubs was originally Sheriff “Blumps”. Durland has the same name likely because Hirsch said he’s named after a real guy.

With no Ford and no Journal mentioned, episodes were originally very different-

“The President’s Cabinet/Irrational Treasure.” Instead of via the journal, Dipper and Mabel find a record of Quentin Trembley in a box buried in the yard. No Pacifica mentioned here.

“Secret Dungeon” Dipper becomes obsessed with a recalled arcade cabinet. Mabel must try and save him by finding the original high scorer.

“Thtupid Thursday” One of the many ‘Shining Twins’ episode concepts Hirsch wanted to do. Dipper and Mabel learn ‘twin telepathy’ from some creepy twins, and soon regret it.

“Periodic Mabel” Mabel invents her own element for the science fair and Dipper is jealous.

“Only the Clonely/Boyz Crazy” The exact same episode just without Candy and Grenda. Sev’ral Timez is called “ReelBoyzzz” in this version.

“Big Dipper” With surprisingly no tie to Little Dipper, Dipper asks a fortune teller to make him older so he can win Wendy over. But she makes him 22, so he and Mabel have to undo the spell.

“Sweater off Dead” Mabel buys an antique sweater and is possessed by the soul of the granny who last wore it. Stan is terrified by the spirit because she reminds him of his ex-wife Marilyn (Deep Edalyn Clawthorne lore???) so Dipper must “Swexorcize” his sister and save her.

“Teed Off/The Golf War” With no Pacifica, this was originally a Dipper vs Gideon episode- No Lilliputtians, either. Instead, the 13th hole is cursed and traps the cast in a time loop.

Now, changes from the Production Pitch (I’m guessing for when the show was already greenlit and this was a way to brief crew members on what the show would 100% be about)

Stan’s secret (likely the portal) and the journal are now set in stone.

Emphasis on continuity and character development. Nothing gets “reset” by next episode. All plot developments are permanent.

All character names and designs are locked in. Pacifica has now been added, as well as Waddles, Gompers, Lazy Susan, Candy and Grenda, and McGucket (No mention or hint at his past here)

Interesting to note is that there is still zero outright mention of Ford and Bill in this version, even though multiple episodes were seemingly in production at this point.

Manly Dan’s conflict with Wendy from the original pitch is still here. Making it even more mindblowing that we never got it in the show

Blubs and Durland are described as a little more playful instead of mean like in the original pitch.

All episode examples made it into the show with no changes this time. They are Tourist Trapped, Legend of the Gobblewonker, Fight Fighters, Boyz Crazy, and The Land Before Swine.

[feirceangel]

How about a feyd x reader where feyd has reader watch him in the arena to gain her favor. She is impressed with him and respects his prowess. Just before a huge match what if she goes to him and leaves a hand print in paint over his heart as her token rather than a sash like the others. This fires him up/ looks super cool on his skin.

Ooh I love this!! I did my own spin on it but I hope you still enjoy! :)

Imagine | Stained (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Word Count: 1,377

Warnings: biting

Cheers rise into the polluted air on Giedi Prime, a torrent of frenzied noise which alerts you to the occurrence of yet another gladiatorial event.

You hadn't realized there would be one today. Normally, you notice the announcements and the crowds gathering to go see the festivities. You don't often join them.

Watching people fight to death. . . it's not a habit of yours.

Lately though, you've noticed how often Feyd has been mentioning his fights, never outright asking you to watch them but leaving plenty of hints.

Being from a wealthy family has its benefits, especially on a harsh place such as this. Ever since you've been here, you've tried to make the best of it and befriend as many native Harkonnens as you can.

This first, and dare you say only, friend-adjacent connection you've made has been with Feyd-Rautha.

His brother is too animalistic and angry for your liking, and the Baron is a ghastly man you do not like to interact with. Servants won't speak to you and the Mentat Piter is sickening in his sadistic tendencies.

So, to your surprise, you got to know Feyd the best out of them all.

He's brutal, yes. Menacing and violent as well.

And so alone.

Sure, he has his concubines: his pets that he plays with but soon grows bored of. And yes, he has his mockery of a family: a predatory uncle and a nasty brother.

Yet you can see past his façade of aloofness, see into his inner self. And what you see is a man forged by others into what he is now.

You see a hurting man who doesn't know anything close to true kindness.

So yes, he is wild and vicious. But there is an intelligence and cunning within those dark eyes that you have seen countless times. 

He's constantly observing, waiting for his moment to strike. He knows how to play his hand to benefit himself.

Despite his more undesirable traits, you'd dare call him a friend.

The cheering dies down as colourless fireworks burst in the air like ink stains. You watch them, casually leaning against the balcony railing.

Feyd finds you immediately, half undressed and still painted for fighting in the triangular colosseum.

"My lady," he rasps, approaching from behind slowly. "You did not watch the fights."

"It slipped my mind," you reply honestly. "Though I have no doubts you remain the champion, my lord."

His lips quirk upwards, "Naturally."

Your eyes roam over his blood splattered body, taking in the well-defined muscles which are decorated with paint. He's shirtless, how could you not stare?

He basks in your attention, cocky smirk never leaving his face. But it strains once you turn your attention away.

Feyd comes to lean against the rail beside you. You feel his eyes on you.

"You're coming to the next fight," he finally says once he realizes you're content to dwell in the silence.

You turn to face him with a smile, "Am I?"

His eyes narrow, voice quick and sharp, "Yes."

"You didn't ask."

Feyd tilts his head, "It's not a request."

"A command, my lord?"

"Yes," he repeats, leaning closer into your space. Your teasing tone is getting under his skin, you can tell. He's almost touching you now but you don't retreat.

This is the game you play.

"I suppose I can attend the next fight," you hum thoughtfully.  "Especially since you've requested it personally."

He backs away slowly and you force yourself into staying still even as you desire to chase after him. His close proximity is intoxicating.

As if he senses your inner battle, he grins and nods to you before sauntering away.

"I will put on a good show for you, my lady."

You find yourself alone, wishing he had stayed longer.

~~~

It was not mentioned again, and now you find yourself in your room preparing for the event. You dress modestly, still unaccustomed to the fashions on Giedi Prime. A black dress does nicely, with your hair loose. 

You still have plenty of time before your attendance is necessary, but you traverse to the arena despite this. The hallways are as colorless as everywhere else, a maze of black and white. 

Feyd is being dressed as you enter the room. His sharp eyes betray a smidge of surprise which he masks underneath an air of haughtiness. 

The servants attending him walk on eggshells, knowing that any wrong move could cause their demise. 

"You may be dismissed," you say, addressing the servants. 

Their eyes flicker to you with uncertainty. The servants do not move until Feyd snarls, "Do as she says!"

Instantly, they are gone. 

And it's just you and the warrior. 

You approach him slowly, picking up the paint pot that the servant abandoned. Circling him, you note how his eyes never leave you, even when he has to twist his head to keep you in his sights. 

"My lord, I hope you can forgive my impertinence, showing up here unannounced."

"Don't be coy," he narrows his eyes, "You're not sorry."

"You're right," you chuckle, swirling the paintbrush through the inky paint. "I'm not sorry to see you, especially like this." 

You rake your eyes over his flesh, barely concealed by a cloth wrapped around his waist. He is truly a fine specimen of a man. 

"May I?" You ask, stopping in front of him. 

He inclines his head. He hadn't been expecting this, since you seemed intent on avoiding the fights entirely. 

You begin by painting the smaller rectangles across his chest and then move to his back. Your brushstrokes are slow, methodic.

He anticipates each cool touch as you meticulously paint his flawless skin. He wishes it was your touch he was feeling, your hands against his skin. He craves it.

Next, you adorn his abdomen, barely concealing the excitement you feel being this close to him. As you finish, he reaches for his clothes but you stop him with a hand on his arm. 

"I'm not finished, my lord."

Intrigued, he returns his arm to his side, staring you down. 

You coat the palm of your right hand with the inky black liquid, never breaking eye contact with Feyd. He doesn't stop you as you press your hand against his warm chest, right where his heart would be. 

You start to pull away, but he is quick to grip your wrist, keeping you in place. For a second, you are concerned that you went too far. Maybe this is the day he kills you for your insolence?

Instead, he lunges forward, catching you in a hungry kiss. He bites and takes, and you surrender with ease. A sense of relief and excitement floods your senses as you kiss back just as passionately.  

"It is fitting," he says once he parts from you. 

He watches as you slowly peel your hand from his skin, leaving a perfect handprint over his heart. 

"What is?"

"That you should mark me like this," he grins to reveal blackened teeth. "You are a stain on my heart."

"How so?" You're still breathless, allured by his gravelly voice. 

"All it longs for is your touch, you vixen."

You caress his cheek, "I'm just marking what I own. And once you're declared the victor, you can come claim what's yours." 

Your words ignite a fire in him and he starts forward but you step back. 

His glare is venomous, as if you just deprived him of oxygen. 

"You have a fight to win, Feyd. Shouldn't you be preparing?"

Turning, you begin to walk away. 

A rough hand snatches your shoulder, and a hot mouth is on your neck before you can blink. He bites down harshly, drawing spots of blood. The pain is expected when dealing with a man like Feyd, but it is still surprising. 

You really have gotten under his skin. 

He releases the pressure of his teeth and drags his tongue over the wound. 

"You needed a mark too, my sweet."

You turn and press a chaste kiss to the top of his head, "Go make me proud, Feyd. I shall see you in your chambers after the fight."

He lets you leave, watching with blood stained lips. 

"As you command, so it shall be."

[please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!]

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 13

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

The morning sunlight was streaming in through the open balcony windows, the scents of roses and honey filling the space. 

It was a lovely day.

And Feyre hated every fucking minute of it.

She couldn’t help herself.

Every since she had found out the full truth…had found out about what happened to Zarah… She couldn’t put it into words.

Devastated wasn’t enough, wasn’t even close to enough…

Her chest ached, her hands clenched at her sides. She was still…reeling.

From the looks of it, she thought bitterly as she caught sight of Elain sitting across her, clenching her hands…she wasn’t the only one. 

Even Nesta… unruffled Nesta, normally always straight backed say there, her shoulders caving in.

The only one who didn’t seem to understand what was going on at all was Nyx, who was happily playing with a couple of wooden blocks and that was it. 

“Why did you never tell me?“ Feyre demanded weakly. “Why did you never tell me about…“

“The affair?“ Elain asked softly.

“It wasn’t an affair!” Feyre snapped. It wasn’t. It had been rape. Plain and simple. Zahra had been raped. For 6 years. Dozens if not hundreds of times.

Elain flinched at her words, her eyes flinching away.

Nesta, meanwhile, just continued to stare off into the distance, her face a mask of cool nonchalance, but Feyre could tell…could see the hurt and pain behind her calm mask. 

Feyre swallowed back the lump in her throat, trying to control her emotions.

“Why?” she repeated, her voice softer this time. Why hadn’t they never told her about what had happened. Why had she been blinded to this all this time? Why had she never noticed anything?

It was just another failure on her part. Another failure to be a good sister, friend…just an all around failure.

Her hands balled themselves into fists, a hot flush of frustration and anger rising up within her. Silence settled over the space, only broken by the sound of birds and the occasional rustle of leaves from the gardens, of Nyx playing happily with his blocks…

But it wasn’t comfortable silence, it was cold and tense.

Feyre didn’t know what to say, what to think.

The realization, the weight of what she had never known, settled around her like a shroud. “Because I didn’t want you to get the idea that sleeping with a married man was something you should do too. Isaac Hale was bad enough,” Nesta said, her voice flat. 

Feyre clenched her jaw, her teeth grinding together. She fought back the urge to retort back with something equally sharp, but she knew it wouldn’t help right now. Instead she took a deep breath, her voice shaking.

“Zahra wasn’t sleeping with a married man, it was rape.” she whispered, her stomach churning with emotion.

Her hands trembled slightly, her palms sweaty. She felt sick. Sick to her stomach at the thought of what her sister had gone through.

She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of what she hadn’t known about…what had happened right before her eyes and she hadn’t…known. 

She had not…

Not one word from Zahra. Not one time where Feyre had thought something was amiss. That something was wrong…

She should have seen it. Should have realised that Zahra wore long sleeves even while cooking, even in the summer. Did she want to know what she had hidden beneath these dresses. Had it been bruises? Had it been something worse? 

Feyre should have realised that sometimes Zahra had slept on the cold wood floor and not shared the bed with her sisters… Not because she hadn’t wanted to, but because she probably hasn’t been able to stand the thought of another person touching her.

All of those tiny things she hadn’t even noticed…all of those signs Feyre had missed.

All of the times that Feyre hadn’t done anything. Hadn’t helped. Hadn’t protected her. She should have been there for Zahra. Should have been there as a friend, as a confidant, as a sister. She should have been the one to notice. To step in. 

Feyre should have…seen it then.

But she hasn’t.

Feyre hasn’t seen it then.

Feyre hasn’t stepped in when she had returned to her family, when they were wealthy again and Zahra was a maid, working for her own family, her own father. Feyre should have…she should have done something against that…but she hadn’t. She hadn’t done anything. 

She should have done something once her sisters had been turned Fae… after the war…and not simply…not simply ignored Zahra because suddenly Elain and Nesta wanted to spend time with her…

She shouldn’t have simply accepted their behaviour towards Zahra either.

Feyre should have made sure everyone was fine. That her entire family was doing okay.Instead she had been so wrapped up in herself and her relationship with Rhys, in new motherhood, in everything but what was right before her nose. .

She had been so goddamn oblivious.

And Zahra…poor Zahra had…had been carrying this horrible secret with her. All alone for so god damned long all the while nobody cared or noticed.

Feyre had been a shitty sister, a shitty friend.

And now her guilt was going to eat her alive.

Feyre swallowed, the bitter taste of guilt and regret filling her mouth.

She had been so selfish. So selfish to not notice…to not see

And Azriel…he had been so furious. 

His voice like cold death. Vicious in his protection of his mate. She couldn’t get over that.

“I just can’t see it,” Elain said suddenly. “Azriel and Zahra.”

Elain’s voice snapped Feyre out of her reverie, and she glanced over. Elain had a look of utter bewilderment on her face, as she spoke softly, as if unable to piece the puzzle together within her head. “I just can’t picture them together,” she repeated, her tone reflecting the disbelief she was feeling. “They…just… don’t seem like they'd be a good fit,'' Elain continued, her brow furrowed.

She was the picture of confusion, unable to wrap her mind around the match. 

The comment made Feyre bristle, a rush of protectiveness surging up inside her.

"They are a great fit," she responded firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. 

They were. Both content to exist in the quiet, both with a sharp bting humour that only came out sometimes…

They were a good fit. If there was any male that Feyre trusted with her sister after that revelation it was Azriel. 

“And I don’t want to hear how he deserves better,” Feyre snapped at Nesta. “Zahra is our sister,” she stressed. Their sister. 

Regardless of the circumstances of her birthday. She was still their sister. 

Nesta seemingly flinched at that. “She is.” Nesta’s voice was flat as she said that and Feyre was so surprised that she could just stare at her eldest sister as Nesta lifted a pair of grey eyes to look at her. “What, do you wish for me to disagree?” Nesta asked her with a sigh. “Gwyn nearly bit off my head, Emerie is so furious that she had a screaming fit and Cassian doesn’t even talk to me anymore.”

“I…I didn't say…that," Feyre sputtered, taken aback by the words from her sister.But seeing the look on her face…she was more than stunned. Seeing her sister like this…it hurt. It made her chest ache with a dull pain.

“He doesnt talk?” Elain asked surprised.

Nesta looked away, her gaze fluttering to somewhere in the distance. "He…hasn't really said anything," she admitted in a voice that was so small and soft, Feyre had to strain to hear it. She was twisting her hands together in her lap, a strange vulnerability to her eyes as she spoke. She looked…wary, as if afraid of what Feyre might say or do in response.

“He’s furious with me. But also doesn’t want me to fix it,” Nesta spat out suddenly.

"What?" Feyre asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes locked onto Nesta’s, watching as a flurry of emotions played across her face. There was anger, yes. But there was also pain. Sorrow. Despair. Remorse. Guilt. All of it swirling together in a confusing storm of emotion. 

Feyre’s heart ached at the sight, her chest tightening in response to the turmoil she was witnessing. She wanted to help, to comfort, to offer some sort of solace in this moment of pain. But she didn’t know what to do. 

“I just want to apologise,“ Elain whispered. Didn’t they all? Elain looked down at her hands as she spoke, her voice soft and filled with regret. "But how can I? I…I don’t even know what to say," she admitted, swallowing hard. Her hands curled into small fists, as if the act of speaking the words aloud was physically painful. 

“And we can’t even get to her, can’t even see her, because Azriel is controlling all access to her!” Nesta snapped.

“Not controlling. Protecting,” Feyre corrected her sister gently, though she shared her frustration.

Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, an underlying sense of understanding.

She knew that Azriel was doing everything in his power to protect Zahra, to keep her safe. She understood that drive, the protective instinct that was driving Azriel now. Feyre herself would move mountains to protect those she loved. She understood Azriel’s need to do the same for his mate. 

But…was this really the best for Zahra? To cut her off from her sisters?

Her chest ached as she considered the question, and she couldn’t help but feel that Azriel was going too far.

He was doing these things out of love and protectiveness, she could see that, but in doing so, he was creating an even bigger divide between Zahra and her sisters.

He was isolating her, and it wasn't right. 

She knew Azriel had a temper, and that he could be fiercely overprotective when it came to those he cared about. But this…this was too much.

It wasn’t good for anyone. 

Feyre looked between Elain and Nesta, her heart twinging in sympathy.

She could see the pain in both of their eyes, the hurt.

And she couldn’t help…she couldn’t help but remember a time where she herself had been locked away. Out of love. Out of protectivness…

And now, Feyre couldn't help but wonder if Azriel was now becoming the "Tamlin" in this scenario. 

She didn't want to think about it, didn't want to believe that Azriel would turn into something like that.But she couldn't deny the signs.

Azriel was acting out of love, certainly, but that didn't mean that what he was doing was right.

It needed to stop. And it needed to stop soon. 

She let out a deep sigh, reaching to grasp for each of her sister’s hands.

"We need to talk to him," she said finally, her voice firm. She glanced between them both, her expression resolute. "We can’t let this continue. It’s not good for anyone involved. Especially not for Zahra."

She squeezed both of their hands, hoping that they would understand.

She wasn’t going to let her sisters and her…her friend, suffer because of Azriel’s overprotective nature. 

“And how do you want to do that?” Elain asked. “Please remember that your own mate wants us to give her time,” Elain said sharply. “Our options are limited. We have no idea where Rosehall even is!” 

True. 

The other option was tryin to talk to Azriel using her daemati powers, but somehow she doubted that that would go over well either…

"Do you think Mor would tell you where Rosehall is?" Nesta asked Feyre.

Feyre paused at that, her brow furrowing slightly. She hadn't even considered asking Mor, but maybe that was a good idea. It was worth a try, at least.

"I don’t know," she muttered. "But it’s worth asking, I suppose?"

But all of that didn’t even…it didn’t really get to the crux of that matter either. 

“Why did she never say?” Feyre asked weakly. “I get that she never told you. You hate her!” she spat out. “But I don’t!” 

“We don’t hate her!” Elain said immediately. “It’s just…”

“Every time I looked at Zahra the only thing I could think about is how utterly useless our father was,” Nesta spat out. “But that’s my problem and not hers and I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have let it out on her…”

"And yet you did!!" Feyre exclaimed, frustration boiling over within her. “You hated her and treated her…" She trailed off, her voice catching on the words. "You treated her worse than dirt, Nesta," she gritted out, her eyes flashing with anger. 

“We all did,” Elain said softly, her voice trembling.

Feyre looked over at her, and her heart ached at the sight of the two of them.

Nesta and Elain were both strong and fierce women, but at this moment, they looked so…broken.

Feyre wanted to say something, to comfort them both, but she couldn’t find the words. Instead, she bit her lip, her heart a mess of conflicting emotions.

Guilt, regret, anger, hurt. It all raged within her. 

She wished she could go back in time, and do something different. But she couldn't. All they could do was…move forward.

And the first step…the first step was to get through to Azriel. Somehow. Some way.She just hoped that she could manage it.  She let out a small breath, looking between her sisters.

"Let's go talk to Mor," she said finally, her voice quiet yet determined.

She knew it was going to be a difficult conversation, but it was necessary. They needed to do this. For themselves, for each other. And for Zahra. 

****

Azalea was curled up against Azriel’s chest, scarred hands carefully holding the sleepy baby. Her eyelids were fluttering, her tiny hands grasping at her Father's shirt while her head lolled on his chest.

Azriel was murmuring softly to her, the words too low for Zahra to understand. But the sound of his voice was enough to keep the girl blissfully asleep, her chest rising and falling peacefully.

Azriel's hand was curled protectively around the tiny form in his arms, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her back in an attempt to soothe the girl.

She had been fighting sleep, refusing to give in to exhaustion despite the long and tiring day. But now...Now she was succumbing to the pull of sleep, her little eyelids drifting closed more and more with every passing second. Azriel's fingers continued their gentle ministrations, his touch careful and loving as he worked to coax the baby into a deep sleep.

His own exhaustion was beginning to show on his face, the lines around his eyes and mouth deeper than usual. But he kept his eyes fixed on the small, vulnerable form he was holding, refusing to look away, as if afraid that she might disappear if he were to blink.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Azalea's eyes fluttered closed completely, her small body relaxing fully in her father's arms.

Azriel let out a soft breath, his fingers stilling in their movements as he watched the tiny girl's breathing even out. She was finally asleep, her tiny face softened in complete peace and contentment. 

Azriel carefully adjusted his grip, making sure to keep the baby tucked snugly against his chest, close to his heart. His hand gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from the girl's face, his touch reverent. 

He tilted his head down slightly, his lips gently kissing the top of the baby's head.

Zahra could see the love in his eyes, the affection practically pouring off of him in waves. “Come to bed,” she whispered softly. Azriel looked up, smiling at her.

Azalea was placed reverently on the bed next to Zahra, where she had carefully rolled up a few blankets to protect the baby from the wall, the bed was pushed against.

Zahra would take the middle, with Azalea to her left and Azriel to her right… 

Azalea stirred as Azriel laid her down carefully,  a small noise of protest escaping her lips. But as soon as she was settled against Zahra, she immediately curled into the touch, her small hands grasping at her nightgown.

It was like the baby was drawn to her, instinctively seeking out the comfort of her presence even in sleep, and Zahra pressed a kiss to the dark curls that covered her head, pulling a small fur trimmed blanket over her, fussing with it.  

“Where can you get these?” She asked Azriel softly as he slipped into bed behind her, schooching closer until he could pull her in his arms. Azriel hummed as he tucked himself against her back, pressing his chest firmly against her. His arms curled around her waist, pulling her in close.

"The blankets?" he mumbled quietly, his breath warm on her neck. “I think my mother made them, with some flannel and furs of some rabbitsI hunted for dinner once.” He took a moment to press a soft kiss to the side of her neck, his lips lingering on her skin. “I’ll go hunt some more rabbits tomorrow,” he told her simply.

“You don’t need to do that,” Zahra protested.

He let out a soft snort, his arms tightening around her just a fraction.

"I know I don't need to," he murmured, his tone soft and amused. "But I want to," he added, his voice becoming more serious. “My girls won’t get cold on my watch.” 

My girls. 

Something in her chest warmed at these words. My girls. 

Azriel pressed another kiss to her neck before burying his face into the crook of her shoulder, his lips brushing against her skin.  “Besides, it’s a point of pride for e very Illyrian male to provide for his wife and children,” Azriel said softly. “Probably the one time I agree with something they do,” he murmured with some sarcasm. 

Wife.

The word landed in her mind like a bell rung.

Wife.

The way he said the word, the quiet possessiveness in his voice, sent a shiver down her spine.

She could feel his chest pressing against her back, the heat of it seeping through her shirt, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

Zahra let out a shaky breath, her heart stuttering inside her chest. "Wife," she repeated quietly, testing the word on her tongue. 

“Or mate,” Azriel said softly. “Either is fine with me. Whatever you prefer.”

She exhaled shakily. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to be a proper mate,” she whispered quietly. She wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to stand the thought of offering him food and triggering the Mating Frenzy. Wasn’t sure if the thought of him, with all his inhibitions bared wasn’t going to terrify her. She never wanted to be terrified of Azriel. She never had been either…but the thought of that it was…she wasn’t sure if she could do that. But she could… “But I could be your wife.”

Azriel's arms tightened around her at her words, his body shifting to press even closer against her. She could feel him nuzzling his face into the crook of her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin.

"No such thing as a 'proper mate'," he murmured quietly, his voice low and reassuring. "You are my mate. Regardless if we ever go through a mating frenzy or not," he added, his lips finding the soft spot behind her ear. She shivered slightly as his lips grazed her skin, his touch setting her nerves on fire.

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, the possessiveness in his tone making her breath hitch. “We should get married. You know…only to make sure that Azalea isn’t a bastard,” she told him, biting her lips. Not a bastard like both of the. 

Azriel let out a low chuckle, his arms tightening around her just a fraction."That's the only reason, huh?" he teased, his voice low and amused.

His lips found her neck again, pressing a trail of kisses against her skin.“I love you,” he whispered into her skin.

The simple words made her shiver, her breath catching in her throat.

His lips continued their path up her neck, warm and soft against her skin. She could feel the heat of his body pressing against her back, the warmth of his chest against her back.  His mouth made it to her jawline, his lips brushing against the skin there affectionately. She could feel his breaths against her neck, every exhale sending a fresh wave of heat over her skin and setting her heart a-flutter.

"I love you," he repeated quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I love you and I want to marry you." 

His lips found hers as he tugged her face around. The kiss was gentle, soft and unhurried.

There was no urgency to it, no desperation or force. Just his lips against hers, tasting her slowly, drinking her in.  This and just this…she could do this.

Nothing in this kiss reminded her off before. Nothing hurt, nothing even threatened to hurt and she let him kiss her lazily a until they both had their fill, before she leaned back into the pillows, one enormous wing coming over to cover her and Azalea as well, still curled against her side.Azriel's arm wrapped around her, his body shifting closer until he was pressed flush against her side.

His wing spread over the three of them, creating a makeshift shelter and a comfortable warmth.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, his breath soft against her skin as he placed a soft kiss behind her ears. The weight of his body was reassuring, a comfort that settled her.

His wing was curled around them both, the shadows dancing like flickering stars across the darkness as his shadows wrapped themselves around them both.

She could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against hers, his body warm and solid, offering comfort and security. His arm was curled around her waist, holding her close, while his other hand began to gently brush her hair.

The motion was soothing, his touch gentle and rhythmic as he combed his fingers through the strands. 

“Is there a priestess around Rosehall?” She asked him softly.

Azriel let out a soft hum, his hand stilling in her hair as he considered the question.

"There is," he answered quietly, his lips brushing against the side of her neck. "Why?" 

“If we do this…” she said softly, “let’s just do it here. Let’s just do it, just for the two of us and nobody else.”

Azriel's lips curled into a soft smile as she spoke, his arm tightening around her waist.

"Just the two of us?" he asked, his voice soft and full of affection."Are you sure?"

His mouth found her neck again, his lips tracing a slow path up. “Maybe your mother and Azalea,” she said softly. “But nobody else.”

He chuckled against her skin, the sound so low and soft she could feel the vibrations of it against her spine.

"You want my mother there?" he asked, his voice still tinged with laughter. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck again, his lips brushing against her pulse point. “And I suppose Azalea can be our flower girl,” he murmured into her skin, amusement in his voice. “But if you want it like that…we’ll do it,” Azriel agreed softly. “I hate big parties, you know that.”

“Just us,” she repeated.

“Just us,” Azriel said softly. “We’ll go see a priestess tomorrow.”

She smiled at him, craning her head to press another kiss against his lips.Azriel hummed against her mouth, returning the kiss with equal affection.

His hand slid back up to sift through her hair again, his fingers carding through the strands in a way that sent pleasurable tingles down her spine.

His wing shifted, curling more closely around them, enveloping them in its darkness. “Sleep now, sunshine” he told her seriously.

And so she did.

With Azriel's body pressed to hers, his arms circled around her waist, his wing draped over her and Azalea and his lips against her neck, she let herself drift into sleep easily.

The sound of Azriel's quiet, steady breaths in her ear was like a lullaby, soothing and familiar. 

“Are you sure you don’t at least want some kind of celebration?!” Esmeray demanded the next morning, while Zarah was wrangling Azalea to eat her porridge and Azriel and asked his mother where to find the Priestess of Rosehall for an impromptu wedding ceremony.

"I don't want any big celebration," Zahra repeated firmly, balancing a wriggling Azalea on her lap as the baby tried to grab at her spoon. She couldn't help but smile as the girl squealed. "We just want a simple ceremony," she insisted, carefully feeding Azalea before the baby could send porridge flying from her mouth.  “Just us, Azalea and you,” she told Esmeray. “I don’t want to deal with planning a big wedding and neither does Azriel. 

Esmeray huffed, a look of mock-annoyance crossing her face. "My little boy, having a small wedding?" she teased, her voice laced with sarcasm. “I did not see that coming at all.  It’s so unlike him.”

Zahra couldn’t help but laugh. "We prefer it that way," she assured Esmeray. "We just want something simple and intimate. No fuss. Something just for us.”

Esmeray sighed. “It sounds lovely,” she assured Zahra. “But don’t even think you are get out of buying the poor girl a ring, Azriel!”

Azriel let out a soft laugh at his mother's comment. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed leisurely across his chest.

"Of course I'm going to get her a ring," he assured his mother with an amused smile. "I wouldn't dream of not getting her something," he added, his voice soft and affectionate.

He pushed off of the doorframe, striding towards them lazily and sitting down beside Zahra. His wing came out to wrap around them, its shadows playing over Azalea's hair. Azalea squealed, her eyes wide as she tried to swat at the shadows moving about. Zahra couldn't help but laugh at her daughter's antics.

She leaned her head back against Azriel's chest, relishing the comfort of his presence. "Besides," Azriel added, his arm coming around Zahra's shoulders and tugging her closer. "I think she deserves a nice, big, shiny diamond for putting up with me. Don’t you?" 

Esmeray chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Of course. Something large and sparkling is definitely what's in order," she agreed, glancing at Zahra with a warm smile. 

“Don’t you dare,” Zahra said drily. “I want a simple gold band.“

"Oh come on, honey," Esmeray coaxed, her voice full of mirth.”How about an emerald at least? It would match your eyes!”

“I don’t even wear any jewellery half the time,” Zahra said with a snort. “Azriel can save his money. A gold band more than suffices for me,” she promised him. As long as he was the one giving it to her…

Azriel's smirk softened at her words, his eyes softening.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

"Alright, a simple gold band it is," he conceded, though there was still a hint of teasing in his voice.  "Your wish is my command," he murmured against her skin.

His hand slid down to grasp her own, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss against the back of her knuckles. 

“Come on Zahra, we’ll figure out a dress, Esmeray said with a smile. “If you would have given me more than a few hours of time, I would have made you one but alas,” Esmeray clucked her tongue….we’ll need to see what I can scrounge up that is fit for a bride.“

Zahra let out a huff of laughter, allowing Esmeray to tug her out of her chair and away from Azriel.  

A heavy woolem cream coloured dress ended up being her choice, something she had worn numerous times before. Azriel came upon them in the bedroom, watching from the doorway as Esmeray fussed over her, and at least insisted of putting a couple of poor long suffering wildflowers in her hair. 

He leant against the frame, arms crossed, wings casually held out behind him, a slight smile on his face. “Ready?“ he asked her.

“Do you have your coat?” Esmeray demanded from her son. “I won’t have you get out of providing a bride gift either!“

A bride gift? 

She had no idea what Esmeray was talking about but Azriel did. 

Azriel's smile widened into a smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I do have my coat, mother," he replied, his voice amused. “And I’ll get Zahra a bride gift, don’t you worry.”

She had no idea what that was about. Azriel's smirk widened further into a grin as he pushed away from the door frame, striding into the room to join them.

He wrapped an arm around Zahra's waist, tugging her gently against his side.

“It’s illyrian tradition that I gift you a coat at the wedding made from furs of an animal I hunted,” he explained softly. Well, that explained that. "You look beautiful," he murmured into her ear.  

“Thank you,” she whispered right back. Azriel's hand held onto her, his presence reassuring as Esmeray finished fussing over the dress.

She finally got to see Rosehall proper. A bustling little hamlet filled with busy work and laughing children…

Azriel led her down the narrow cobblestone streets, his hand still holding hers loosely. The hamlet was indeed bustling, filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation, the chatter of children and the smells of cooking food. As they walked, people glanced up and waved, some giving them curious looks, but mostly smiles. 

Azriel gave nods of greeting in return, while Esmeray greeted them by name.  He kept his wing curled behind her, shadows swirling lazily about them. 

Azalea, perched on her Zahra’s hip, was wide-eyed and curious, taking in the sights and sounds of the hamlet with unabashed fascination. She wriggled in her mother's arms, her tiny hands reaching for everything and everyone within grasp.

Azriel chuckled at the girl's enthusiasm, his hand coming up to ruffle her hair affectionately. "Someone's eager to explore," he commented with a smile, glancing down at her. 

Azalea babbled something incoherent in response, her focus on the surrounding hamlet, her small fingers flexing as if trying to reach out and touch things.

Zahra smiled down at her, her own eyes scanning the surrounding scenery. “Who can blame her?” Zahra answered softly. “She’ll like it at home, I think.”

Azriel's gaze softened as he looked at them both. "Of course she will," he agreed, his voice affectionate.

His hand gave her own another slight squeezed, his wing shifting to wrap a little more firmly around them both as they continued down the street. 

She wasn’t quite sure what to expect of an Illyrian priestess. Was it going to be similar to the blue robes priestesses at the House of Wind?

They arrived at the temple a few minutes later, a simple structure of stone and wood that looked to be well-maintained, despite its rustic nature. There were no blue robes, but instead a young woman speaking in a language Zahra did not understand at all. Illyrian.

“You’ll need to teach me,” she told Azriel quietly as they waited for a moment. “Azalea will need to learn.”

Azriel glanced down at her with a small smile, his eyes soft. “I will,” he promised her, his hand reaching down to squeeze her own.

The young woman turned back to them then, her eyes flickering between the both of them.

“Are you ready?” she asked in a lilting tone.

Azriel gave a nod. He turned to Zahra and Azalea, his gaze meeting her own.

“Are you?” he asked quietly, his hand reaching up to brush back a strand of her hair. Zahra met his gaze, her fingers curling around his own. She swallowed back the flutter in her stomach, glancing back at Azalea, who was still busy looking about the temple with wide eyes.

“Yes.”

That one word was all she could manage in that moment.

Azriel gave a small nod, his smile soft and warm. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, his gaze flickering back to the priestess.

The young woman led them towards the center of the temple, a small but sacred-looking area.The inside was simple, but there was an air of reverence, a feeling of something sacred about the space. 

It wasn’t like a human wedding at all. But then Zahra had never thought that she would get to have this at all either.

And as she looked at Azriel…suddenly it was so easy.

She handed Azalea to Esmeray, while the baby looked on wide eyed and slipped her hands in Azriel‘s scarred once, feeling at home at once.

She didn’t care what blessings the priestess did, didn’t care if they were High Fae or Illyrian, all she cared about was that they bound her to him.

Azriel's hands clasped around her own, his palms warm and calloused against hers.

The sound of the priestess’ voice was a low melody, the words spoken in Illyrian and so foreign to Zahra’s ears. But she didn’t need to understand the words, not with the way Azriel was gazing at her. t was the look in his eyes, the way his hands held her own, like he would never let her go.

His gaze was soft, his eyes filled with an affection that made her feel weak at the knees.

She could lose herself in those eyes. The blessing continued, the priestess’ voice a steady cadence. Azriel’s eyes never left her own, his expression soft as they continued to hold each other's hands, their fingers laced together tightly. 

She did finally figure out for what he needed the coat.

Because when he ceremony neared its end, he pulled it from his own shoulders and clasped it around hers, heavy and warm. As Azriel settled the heavy leather over her shoulders, she immediately felt an added layer of warmth settle over her skin.

The coat was like a solid weight, a reminder and a promise. The scent of cedar and mist immediately teased her senses and she inhaled deeply, the familiar and comforting smell settling over her. His hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment, gently adjusting the garment before coming up to her chin, gently tilting up her face to meet his gaze.

She met his eyes, noting the affection in them, the possessiveness. The look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. She barely heard the final words of the ceremony as she was lost in that intense gaze of his.

The sound of the priestess’ voice seemed far away, her own heartbeat a steady, quick thrum in her ears.

Azriel's hands continued to cup her face, his fingers warm against her skin. The feeling of his hands against her, the way he held her so carefully and gently as though she was something precious and fragile, sent another flutter through her chest.

His gaze roamed over her face, as if drinking in the sight of her, his expression a mixture of awe and affection. And the he kissed her. A soft warm press of his lips a faint hers.

As his lips met hers, the flutter in her chest grew stronger, a warm feeling spreading throughout her body. She could faintly hear the sound of clapping around them, but she was lost in the feel of him.

His mouth pressed against hers, his hands gentle on her face.