#Ball Bearing Tenders

[mars-ipan]

some postgame doodles for pride month

[shotmrmiller]

hate sex (is what you call it almost like you're trying to convince yourself) would go crazy with ex bf simon.

when he texts you at work that he's landing in 2 hours, you realize you forgot to block him after the breakup. that'd been almost a year ago. the last message you don't even bother reading. simply delete and block.

i'll see you at home.

when you finally go home after working a grueling corporate job that always leaves you with frayed nerves and your teeth on edge, you stand by the door, instantly realizing something's wrong different.

mud-caked boots sit by the door. the lights inside are on and when you walk in, you find out why.

simon's sprawled on your couch, asleep, his large frame making it seem like a child's bed instead of living room furniture. his snoring scrapes over your already tender nerves, thinning the already wisp-like thread of patience you're barely dangling from.

you grab a cushion and toss it at his head. (you do not miss the way he snores. it's like a hibernating bear in a cave. resounding. grating.)

"get up and get out."

to your astounding surprise, he doesn't. instead, he groggily asks what's for dinner. when you bark out, "nothing. i'm exhausted and going to sleep", he gets up with an agility no man his size should possess and blocks your path.

you've always loved hated the way he makes you feel small.

"either we eat takeout or i eat you out." that solves that. you've got boundaries to keep. maybe he'll eat his fill and piss off.

he doesn't. he eats you out anyway, legs perched on the kitchen counter as he slurps up your slick like a starved man at a bountiful feast. doesn't care that you're pelting his broad back with your small fists, slurring how much you hate him.

"course you do, pet."

he thinks your ire is endearing, like a spirited kitten that needs to expend their energy before settling down for the night. he makes you ride him on the couch, the burn of him stretching you feeling as intense as very first time he took you.

"tight cunt's forgotten me. it's alrigh', i'll carve out a space in 'ere jus' f'me." (again.)

when you sit flush on his thighs, balls pressed against your arse, he bucks up, feeling his cock in your throat, the oxygen stolen from your lungs.

"show me how much ya hate me."

(somewhere down the line, when your hair is damp with sweat and your neck's marked purple, he tells you that even if you don't like him, your cunt loves him. so much so it's gripping him like it never wants him to leave. so he doesn't. stays over for a night. then two. a week. a month. until it's time to go to work again.)

[romanovthinkver]

What about Nat taking you for the first time, being soft and careful but losing control for a bit and filling you up to the brim 🥴

sorry for the wait anon, i needed to get rid of my uni things, but here we go! it came out longer than i imagined, hope you enjoy either way!

warnings: sex scenes, dom/sub dynamic, g!p nat, daddy!nat, p in v, gxg, breeding, blowjob, fingering, orgasm, age gap, dirty talks.

daddy! nat was a completely a soft bear during your first time. you weren’t nothing but an inexperienced little virgin thing and natasha was this older woman who clearly had lots of sex in the past.

she took so much care of everything. the bed had towels for the eventuality of blood loss, bottles of water were lined up on the bedside table, the room was in the right temperature, a hand towel ready to wipe you off and she already set items ready for the aftercare. everything was under her control and ready to assure every of your comfort.

wet, needy and ready you were on her big bed being eaten and stretched out for the first time, at every whimper of discomfort natasha would softly hush you and press a kiss on your thighs. she was slow, lovely, giving you time to process and let her taste you in the most delicate ways.

natasha could’ve swear she would have been happy to die between your milky thighs with her mouth and fingers deep inside you, the sweet taste of your juices tempting and the most sinful sounds rolling off your tongue were driving the older woman drunk and lustful.

she was there with you, living the moment, living the passion, living the love flowing between you. starting to memorise your body that eventually became her favourite place to be, to mark, to own.

her knee sunk into the bed and while you were worshipping her plump breasts, she was jerking herself off with grunts and moans. your pussy was soaked thanks to the two orgasms she already gave you.

she shifted both of you on the bed, her back propped up against a mountain of pillows on the bed. fully naked, skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. her breath came in shallow gasps as natasha watched you, who was positioned between her legs.

natasha’s cock was standing erect and ready as you leaned closer, breath hot against the warm flesh. you kissed the tip hesitating, lips soft and teasing. your daddy eyes fluttered closed momentarily, a low groan escaping her lips.

“oh, bunny,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire.

your tongue darted out, feeling bolder to giving the tip a series of playful kitty licks looking up at the redhead for guidance which was immediately given as big veiny hands found their way into your curls, gently tugging to guiding your movements.

“look at me, baby girl,” natasha commanded, her voice firm yet tender. you obeyed, gaze locking with her and slowly taking the cock in your mouth starting with just the tip, tongue swirling around it before starting to take more, inch by inch like a drug.

the woman’s hips bucked involuntarily, desperate to thrust deeper into your wet and welcoming mouth, hands tightened in your hairs, trying to maintain control. “take it all, bunny. I want you to take every inch.”

your eyes filled eventually with tears as the cock reached the back of the throat, but you didn’t pull away because you wanted to make your daddy proud, so you relished the sensation of pleasing her, the power and submission blending into a heady mix that made your own body tingle with arousal. bobbing head, cheeks hollowing as you sucked, tongue working the length of the massive venous cock.

natasha’s breathing grew ragged, her moans louder and more desperate. “fuck–you’re amazing, baby girl. just like that.” her fingers twisted in your hairs holding you in place firmly.

you could feel the twitching of the prick as the heavy balls of the woman prepared to release its contents, you redoubled efforts, mouth moving faster, eyes never leaving natasha’s. the connection between you was electric, the intensity almost overwhelming.

“daddy needs you to swallow, bunny,” natasha growled, her hips trembling with the effort to stay still, she was so close and only god knows how she wanted to pin you down and fuck your mouth with mercy. “can you do that for me?”

you nodded as best you could, eyes filled with determination and devotion. with one final, deep thrust, natasha released her load, filling your mouth with the warm, sticky cum. you gagged slightly but quickly composed yourself, swallowing every drop as your daddy had commanded.

the redhead whole body shuddered with pleasure as she watched you. “that’s my good girl. you took it so well, baby.” pulling you up for a kiss, your mouths meeting in a passionate, messy collision. the taste of the cum was still on your lips, and natasha licked it off, savoring the flavor.

"you're so beautiful, baby," natasha murmured against your lips. she kissed her way down to your body again and her thumb found your clit, teasing your folds. you moaned softly, body arching towards the woman.

natasha made sure you was wet enough, she was so worried to hurt you like you were made of glass. patting the tip of her cock against her pussy and brushing the tip gently over her entrance, she breathed softly "are you ready, my little one?.”

you nodded with eyes filled with trust and need. "yes, daddy. please."

the redhead positioned herself and slowly pushed the tip inside you, inch by inch, ensuring you didn't feel too much pain, her lips found yours in a slow, sweet kiss, muffling your mutual groans of pleasure and then finally she bottomed fully inside you.

"you're doing so well, princess," she praised, her voice tender and head resting on your neck, you were so warm and tight and natasha was already on the brick of blowing. she kissed you softly while you gripped at her back with nails digging in slightly.

natasha, once sure the pain went away, began to thrust gently, setting a slow and intimate pace. each movement was filled with love and adoration, her hips moving rhythmically against yours. "you feel so good, bunny. so perfect.”

you whimpered, body trembling with pleasure and need for more. "daddy! oh–more, more. please!”

natasha increased her pace gradually, her thrusts becoming more intense. "fuck–baby, i need to cum inside of you. i need to fill you up, sweet girl. daddy needs to claim you." she continued to move, her body pressed intimately against yours until she felt the climax building.

with a final thrust, the redhead released the cum inside your warm pussy, humping softly to ensure it stayed within you. "take it all, princess. you're so good for me," natasha praised, her voice full of pride and affection.

foreheads touching, breath ragged and sweet smiles painted your lips and bodies locked close, natasha caressed your hair, kissed you gently, and whispered sweet nothings. "you're my everything, bunny. you did so well," her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

she kissed you deeply again and again. your connection building stronger than ever, as you held each other close, the world outside fading away in the warmth of your shared love.

[surielstea]

Dancing With Fate

Original request.

Pairing: Nyx Archeron x Tamlin’s Daughter!Reader

Summary: While struggling with her relationship with her father, Reader goes to her first ball and stumbles upon a male she has never met, but feels a distinct connection to.

Warnings: slight angst with a parent, mostly fluff between Reader and Nyx

A.Note: I apologize for how long this took me to get out, I really struggled with how to format her back story but I ended up fairly happy with it, let me know if y’all want more of these two I’d be happy to write a few one shots of their dynamic as well as all the family drama since I’m such a sucker for the forbidden love trope ;)

6.4k word count.

"Can you do that again for me, my sweet?" my mother whispered, her voice trembling as she crouched down to my height. I watched her eyes fill with a glassy shine that I didn't understand. She reached out, her hands shaking as they wrapped around my small wrists. I blinked up at her, wide-eyed and oblivious, only feeling the warmth of her touch and the tremor of her fingers.

I balled my hands into tiny fists, scrunching my face with all the concentration I could muster. I wanted so badly to make her proud, to show her what I could do. I willed the claws beneath my skin to surface, squeezing my fists tighter until, with a soft tearing, they slid out, small and sharp, shining like new silver. Her breath caught, and her eyes went even wider as she stared at the claws that had split through my knuckles. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I tilted my head, wondering why she was sad. I reached out, my claws joining the action as I moved, but she stumbled back, evading the sharp silver, her hand pressed over her mouth.

"What's wrong, Momma?" I asked, my voice tiny. I tried to reach for her cheek, to wipe the tear away like she'd done for me so many times, but she shook her head, forcing a small, shaky smile.

"Nothing, it's alright, my sweet," she whispered, her voice soft and a little broken. "I just... didn't think you'd be able to do this so soon." Her fingers lingered on my cheek, warm and tender. She looked at me like she was memorizing my face, like every part of me mattered.

I gave her a proud smile, lifting my hands. "Isn't it cool?" I grinned widely, my innocence unbroken. I had no idea what my claws really meant, or the sorrow that darkened her gaze as she watched me slash the air with them, filling the quiet night with soft, sharp swishes. She just sat there, quiet and sad, holding her own hands close to her chest as if they couldn't bear to let me go.

It was a late night, much too late for me to be awake. I clung tightly to my mother's hand as she led me through a garden filled with roses that gleamed under the moonlight. The flowers were tall and beautiful, and I wanted to reach out to touch them, but my mother's grip kept me close. She moved so fast, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, like she was hiding from something.

"Where are we going, Mom?" I asked in a small voice, but she didn't answer, her steps quickening as she pulled me along. The roses seemed to shiver in the breeze, their petals brushing against us as we passed, and the moon above us was high and cold, casting everything in a silver glow.

Ahead of us was a huge mansion, bigger than any house I'd ever seen. It loomed in the night, dark and quiet, like it was waiting for us. My mother slowed as we neared the porch, her breathing heavy as she crouched down in front of me, her face serious in a way that made my heart beat faster.

She pressed a folded piece of paper into my hands, her fingers cold and firm around mine. "We're going to play a game, okay?" she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her fingers brushed my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I nodded eagerly, happy that she wanted to play. Games with Momma were always fun. She pointed to the paper, her hand gentle but urgent. "Whoever opens that door," she said, her voice steady but quiet, "you give them this paper, okay?" Her gaze held mine, as if she was trying to pour a message into me with her eyes. "And, my sweet," she paused, swallowing hard, "I'm going to hide now. And no matter what they ask you, you can't tell them I was with you. It's a big secret."

I blinked up at her, not fully understanding, but I nodded anyway, like a good girl. She reached out, her fingers lingering on my cheek again, her eyes shimmering with something I couldn't name. "I'll meet you at the window, okay?" Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "It'll be fun, I promise."

I reached up to brush the tear away, but she was already rising. Before I could say anything else, she knocked on the tall doors, and with a last, lingering look, she turned and melted into the shadows. Just like that, she was gone.

Suddenly, the night felt enormous and empty, the shadows stretching out around me, dark and cold. The noises from the forest grew louder, like the trees and animals and everything hidden within the dark were whispering all around me. My heart pounded, and I almost wanted to cry out, to beg for her to come back and take me home. But before I could make a sound, the massive doors creaked open, casting a sliver of light onto the porch.

A man stood in the doorway, tall and fierce, with wild red hair and eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness. One of his eyes gleamed gold, like a piece of metal, and he looked down at me with a frown, his expression stern and sleepy. "Excuse me, Mister," I squeaked, trying to remember my mother's instructions.

His gaze softened just a bit as he took in my tiny figure. "And who might you be?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.

"I'm supposed to give this to you." I held up the paper, my hands trembling as I waited for him to take it. He knelt down, eyeing me carefully as he unfolded the note, his expression unreadable. I gave him a polite smile, remembering my mother's lessons, but his gaze flicked from the note back to me, his eyes narrowing.

"Where's your mother?" he asked, his voice soft but sharp.

I shrugged, fidgeting under his gaze. "I don't know," I whispered, my heart thudding in my chest.

"But she brought you here, didn't she?" he pressed, his gaze steady. I swallowed, unsure of how my mother would want me to answer. After a long, quiet moment, he sighed, opening the door wider. "Come inside. You shouldn't be out here alone."

I followed him into the mansion, the silence thick and heavy as he led me up a grand staircase. My shoes clicked against the cold, polished floor as we climbed up and up, stopping finally at a pair of wooden doors wrapped in ivy. I was too small to open them, so I just waited, feeling very small in the middle of the enormous hallway.

"Wait here a moment," he said, giving me a nod before stepping through the door. I looked around, mesmerized by the golden chandelier hanging above me, its glow casting strange, twisting shadows that moved as the lights flickered.

"I already told you I'm not in the mood to talk, Lucien." A deep, heavy voice sounded from beyond the door, and I jumped, hugging my cloak tighter around me.

"It's not that," Lucien replied, his tone shifting in a way that sounded unsure, even a little nervous. "You have a visitor."

The other voice was silent for a moment, and my stomach knotted up as I realized they were talking about me. "Tell them to leave," the man said finally, his tone cold and final.

Lucien sighed, and I heard the soft rustling of paper. The silence felt like it stretched forever, but then footsteps approached. The door swung open, and I looked up to see a tall man with golden hair, his eyes dark and sharp as they fell on me. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he wasn't used to children, that maybe he didn't know what to do with me.

But he crouched down slowly, his gaze softening just a bit as he held his hands up, like he wanted me to know he wasn't going to hurt me. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I told him, my voice a quiet whisper, but he nodded as if he'd heard every word. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, tilting his head, and I shook my head, looking down at my hands.

"I'm the High Lord of the Spring Court," he said softly, his tone proud but his eyes sad. My eyes widened, a little smile pulling at my lips. I'd heard of a High Lord in my mother's stories, someone powerful and magical.

"But, more importantly," he continued, his gaze searching my face, "I'm your father."

I blinked up at him, the words hanging in the air like they were something heavy, something I didn't yet understand. I wanted to ask him what it all meant, but all I could do was stare up at him, my fingers curling around the edge of my cloak, wishing I was safe in my mother's arms again.

———

Ever since that night, I've been confined to this estate on every special occasion, under the watchful eyes of my father's maids, lest I sneak away the moment I'm alone. Tonight, like many others, I'm left looking out the window of my bedroom—the same spot where I'd waited endlessly as a child, hoping my mother would come back for me.

But tonight was going to be different. I'd make sure of it.

I storm out of my room, my heels clicking with determined steps as I march down the hall. I swing open the doors to my father's study without knocking. He looks up from his papers, brow creased, clearly taken aback by my abrupt entrance.

"I'm going to the Dawn Court tonight," I say, my tone leaving no room for discussion.

"Absolutely not," he replies, shaking his head and dipping his quill back in the ink, dismissing me with the kind of finality he's used to exerting over me.

"All the courts are invited," I argue, stepping forward. "I'm obligated to go."

"No," he says again, his tone colder. "It's a high-profile ball. You're not ready."

I draw in a sharp breath, struggling to keep my temper in check. "Not ready? Father, I'm nineteen. If not now, then when?" This age had been difficult for him for some reason, I don't know why but ever since my birthday he's been acting strangely, started keeping me shut out and less involved—I may as well have just been imagining it or it was a coincidence it started happening after I turned nineteen, but once I got the thought in my head it was hard to get it out.

His expression hardens, his voice annoyingly calm. "Just, not now."

A chill spreads through my hands, and I have to resist the urge to bear the claws that hide beneath my skin. "I'm so tired of having every decision made for me," I say, pressing my palms to my temples as frustration wells up. "Of being treated like a prisoner in this house."

He stands, his temper fraying. "And I'm sick of you thinking you know best," His voice rises, echoing in the silence of the study. "You don't understand half of what's at stake."

"No, maybe I don't. But neither do you, apparently," I snap back. "Or maybe it's just that you're afraid to lose the only company you have left in this house. Is that it, Father?"

His hands ball into fists, metal-like claws gleaming from his knuckles. Mine slid out as well, a metallic gleam in the dim light.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarls, eyes darkening.

"Maybe I do," I bite back. "I hate this house." It came out as more of a confession than a retort, but his face falters, pain flickering through his eyes before he regains his composure.

"You don't mean that."

"I do," I insist, voice shaking with anger. "I hate this house, and I wish my mother never abandoned me here." The words are barely out of my mouth before I turn on my heel and stride out, slamming the door behind me so hard the walls shudder, my claws snagging on the wood of the door and scraping the paint off, revealing the bare, slightly rotted wood beneath. It felt like a metaphor, in a strange way.

I make my way to the garden, desperate for air. The night breeze is cool as I step out onto the deck, and I close the glass doors behind me a little more gently this time. Taking a few deep breaths, I walk along the garden path, letting the silence and cold soothe my frayed nerves. Winter's grip is finally loosening, and the garden is starting to come alive with buds and leaves. My favorite time of year.

I reach for one of the rosebuds, my claws retracting ever so slowly, my skin morphing over the hideous metal that gleamed in the moonlight. I forget the feeling of the power my father gifted me and remember the feeling and comforting warmth of my mother's power flickering beneath my fingertips. The flower blooms in my palm, reaching out toward me, and I smile faintly as I coax the other buds open along the path. Flower by flower my frustrating emotions ebb, and by the time I've reached the stone bench, my anger has cooled, replaced by something heavier, more complicated.

I sit, feeling the familiar weight of regret settle over me. I don't hate this house, not really. I hate the way I'm trapped in it.

The glass door opens, and I know without looking that it's him. My father takes a seat beside me on the bench, and I shift away, making it clear I'm not ready to forgive him just yet. We sit in silence, watching the newly-bloomed flowers sway in the night breeze. Finally, he sighs.

"You can go to the Dawn Court tonight," he says quietly.

I turn to him, my eyes wide with surprise.

He hesitates, looking down at his hands. "I'm..." He struggles around the word. "Sorry that you feel like you can't make your own choices," he mutters, his voice filled with a vulnerability I haven't heard ever before. "I'm trying to do better. And, you're right. I am afraid."

My heart softens, and the walls I've built up slowly crumble. "Afraid of what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Of losing you, in turn losing everything." He looks up, his eyes—a shade of green I've always found comfort in—filled with an emotion that makes my heart ache.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me close, his hand gently stroking my back. "I'm sorry, too," I murmur into his shoulder.

He shakes his head. "Don't be. You're my daughter. You're allowed to be angry with me." He pulls back to look at me. "Just promise me one thing," he says. "Promise you won't run away tonight."

I give him a small smile, the request so obscene that u couldn't help it. "I'll be perfect. Thank you, Father." I reassure.

He nods, satisfied, and rises from the bench. "We leave in an hour. You'd better start getting ready."

———

My dress is a soft lavender that hugs my waist and fans out into a beautiful, flowing skirt, the slit running up my thigh edged in delicate embroidered flowers. The open back crisscrosses with delicate ties, and the neckline is just low enough to be elegant without being too revealing. One of the maids has styled my hair in a half-up, half-down look, a few braided strands framing my face. For once, I feel exactly how I want to feel—elegant, feminine, and free.

I leave my bedroom and make my way down the hall to the marble staircase, where my father waits at the base. As I descend, his eyes widen, his mouth opening slightly as he takes in my appearance.

"Well?" I do a small spin, laughing at his awestruck expression.

He swallows, a proud smile slowly spreading across his face. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, pulling me into a hug.

I hug him back, letting him hold me close, and in that moment, it feels as if all the tension of our earlier argument melts away. We're just father and daughter again.

———

The Dawn Court ballroom is bathed in golden light, warm and inviting. I've barely stepped inside when a tall, dark-skinned man in white robes approaches, a halo of gold atop his head.

"And who is this lovely lady?" he asks, his voice rich with curiosity.

"My daughter," my father answers gruffly, his protective tone unmistakable.

The man blinks in surprise before offering a sheepish smile. "Ah, well then." He turns and makes a quick exit.

"Who was that?" I ask, amused by his reaction.

"High Lord of Day," my father mutters, a hint of irritation in his voice. "He has a reputation."

I raise an eyebrow, smiling as I unlink my arm from his. "Are all High Lords so... pretty?"

"Careful," he growls in warning.

A cheeky smile appears on my lips as I unhook my arm from his. "Only observations." I shrug. "I'm going to get a drink." I take a step away and he takes it with me. "Father, I'm only going to the refreshments table, not war. I'll be fine." I promise and he solicits a sigh.

"No wine." He demands and I shake my head in disbelief.

"Yes sir." I mock salute before spinning on my heel and walking across the ballroom, I make my way to the refreshment table and pour myself a glass from the fountain of cider, admiring the way the bubbles shimmer in the golden light. My father had said no wine but mentioned nothing about spiked cider. I take a long sip and begin to explore the ballroom, watching dancers swirl in gowns of blue and pink that mirror the sunset outside.

Lost in thought, I wander past an indoor garden filled with gardenias and evergreens. I couldn't help myself but slip inside, a few guests were inside, admiring the flowers just as I wished to do, so I deemed I was allowed to. I approached an arch of budded flowers, standing beneath the green vines that soon would be sprouted in color. I reached out, gently brushing a bud with my fingertips, watching as it blooms in reply.

"Your touch has improved since the last time I saw you," a familiar voice murmurs from behind me.

I turn, eyes lighting up as they land on a tan-skinned male with striking red hair. "Lucien!" I throw my arms around him, grinning.

He chuckles, pulling me into a warm hug. "You look stunning, little Fawn," he says, holding me at arm's length to take in my dress. "How did you manage to get out of the house?"

I smirk with a casual shrug. "Whipped out the claws."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Like father, like daughter." He mused and I chuckled, looking down at the flowers reaching towards me, asking for my attention again.

"You want to dance?" His hand comes to my shoulder and I shake my head.

"You go ahead, I think I'll need a few more glasses before I step foot on the dance floor." I scoff and he shakes his head.

"Nonsense, you're a terrific dancer." He bumps my shoulder.

"I'm okay uncle, really," I reassured and he clamped his lips shut.

"Okay, find me if you need me." He presses a kiss to my temple and I nod.

He saunters away towards a group of friends I didn't recognize and I continue exploring, sipping my champagne as I wander through the crowd.

My gaze is caught by a group of strangers dressed in dark clothing. There's a woman in deep maroon, a honey brunette who smiles at me softly, and beside her, a tall man wearing a black-jeweled crown. I study them curiously, trying to place who they might be.

Distracted, I accidentally walk straight into someone's chest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I stammer, stumbling back. I trip over my heels, but a pair of strong hands catches me, steadying me before I fall.

"You alright?" an unfamiliar voice asks, deep and soothing.

I look up—and up—and up—at a broad-shouldered man with rugged features and half of his shoulder-length hair tied back. He has a friendly, easy-going smile that immediately puts me at ease.

"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, flushing slightly.

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "No need to apologize. I should have been watching where I was going. You'd think five centuries would be enough time to figure that out." He snorts, red siphons gleaming on his chest and hands.

I blink in surprise. "Five centuries?"

He grins, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, no need to make me sound ancient."

I laugh, feeling unexpectedly comfortable around him. "Right. Apologies again." I clamp my lips shut, embarrassed.

"Who's the lucky person that brought you here tonight?" He asks, sensing my embarrassment and switching the topic, shifting to face towards the crowd.

"Couldn't I have come on my own?" I counter, crossing my arms.

He laughs again. "Touché. But I'll bet that doesn't mean you'll be lacking for dance partners." He gestures to the dance floor.

"Maybe," I say with a smile, "but that depends on who asks."

"Well, I would, but my mate would probably have my head if I danced with anyone else," he says, feigning a solemn look.

"Pity," I replied playfully. "But it's alright—you don't seem all that familiar with your feet anyway."

He gasps, feigning insult. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm a world-class dancer!"

"Oh, really?" I raise an eyebrow. "Shame, then. You missed your chance."

He chuckles, backing away. "Well, it was nice talking to you—mystery lady."

"Likewise," I call after him with a smile, watching as he disappears into the crowd.

The music is lively, filling the ballroom with a vibrant energy as dancers swirl and laugh under the golden chandeliers. I sip the last of my cider, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through me. For the first time in ages, I feel, free. Maybe my father had been right to keep me close all these years; maybe I wasn't ready for this world of strangers and their sharp eyes. But as I watch the colors and movement around me, I know I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.

Lost in my thoughts, I wander past the terrace doors and step outside, onto a balcony that overlooks a sprawling garden filled with glistening fountains and delicate white flowers. I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp night air, and let my fingers trace the cool stone railing wrapped in ivy.

Then I hear it—a quiet, amused hum from just behind me. I turn, startled, and my gaze falls on a young man leaning casually against the doorway, watching me with a slight, crooked smile.

He's tall, with jet-black hair that falls in tousled waves, and eyes that are strikingly, disarmingly blue. He wears a dark, impeccably tailored suit, with a midnight-blue shirt beneath, the top buttons undone enough to reveal tan skin beneath. There's an effortless elegance to him, a quiet confidence, like he belongs in every corner of this glittering world.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he says, stepping forward with a charming half-smile. "But I had to wonder what you were doing all by yourself out here. Parties like these are hardly tolerable alone."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling my cheeks warm under his gaze. "And yet here you are, all by yourself."

He chuckles, eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "Fair, though technically, I'm not alone anymore, am I?"

I laugh, feeling my earlier irritation with my father melt away as I look at him. "I suppose not. Though I doubt you're here to keep me company."

He raises a hand in mock innocence. "You wound me. I've been nothing but kind since we met."

"Have we met?" I ask, tilting my head. "I think I would've remembered," I say with an angled head and something flickers in his sapphire gaze that I can't quite place.

He seems to consider this, tilting his head thoughtfully. "No, we haven't officially met," he concedes. "Which feels like a shame, honestly."

The corners of my mouth lift in a smile. "So, are you going to introduce yourself, or are we just going to continue being strangers?"

His eyes sparkle with something like amusement as he extends a hand. "Strangers sounds nice," I say flippantly, looking out at the Dawn Courts skyline, a sliver of the sun barely visible. This party was supposed to last until dawn, until the sun returned and the entire court could watch the outmatched sunrise of this court.

I wasn't ready to commit to making any friends, I had just gained my freedom, I wished to revel in it for a few moments longer, nameless was my way of doing it.

He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that makes my heart skip. "Alright, stranger," he says, leaning casually against the railing beside me. "What brings you out to the edge of the ballroom?"

"Some air," I reply with a shrug, looking out over the garden. "I hadn't expected to feel so claustrophobic."

He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Parties can be exhausting. All the faces, all the names. It's nice to step away."

I glance at him. "You sound like you've been to one too many of these."

"Oh, you have no idea," he says with a grin. "I think I've been to so many I could navigate them in my sleep."

"And here I thought you looked like you were having fun," I tease.

"Maybe I'm a good actor," he says, his tone playful. "Or maybe I just needed a reason to enjoy it."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Does that line actually work for you?"

"More often than you'd think," he says, laughing. "But since you're clearly immune to charm, let me try a different approach." He holds out a hand, bowing slightly. "Would you do me the honor of a dance, stranger?"

I hesitate, glancing back at the ballroom, but something about his easy smile, the spark of humor in his eyes, makes me want to take his hand. I place mine in his, letting him lead me closer.

The music inside changes as his lithe fingers make contact with my waist, shifting to a slower, softer melody. He adjusts my stance, guiding me with a gentleness that surprises me. There's a warmth in his gaze that makes my heart pound just a little faster as I look up at him.

"So, princess," he murmurs as we begin to move, his voice barely audible over the music echoing from inside. "Are you here with family? Or did you sneak away to attend the most boring ball of the season?"

I laugh, looking up at him with feigned offense. "Boring? I'll have you know I'm having a wonderful time."

"Are you?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Maybe a little of both," I admit, a smile tugging at my lips. "And you? Do you always call balls like these boring?"

"Only when my mother's not here to overhear," he replies, grinning. "But tell me, how did you get here?"

I hesitate, wondering how much to tell him, but there's something about his gaze that makes it feel safe, to be honest. "My father brought me," I say, keeping it vague. "He doesn't let me out much."

"Really?" The stranger's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I would've pegged you for someone who went wherever they pleased."

"I'd like to think so," I reply, laughing. "But apparently, my father has other ideas."

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity in his eyes. "What does he think you'll do? Start a rebellion?"

"Maybe," I say with a shrug, a playful glint in my eyes. "He's probably right."

His laughter is warm, and he holds me a little closer as we spin across the marbled balcony floor. "Well, if you ever need a partner in crime, let me know. I'm an excellent accomplice."

I arch an eyebrow, smirking. "How do I know you're any good at sneaking out?"

He grins, leaning down until his voice is a soft murmur in my ear. "Trust me, princess. You don't survive my family without learning how to slip away now and then."

I glance up, meeting his gaze, intrigued by the way his words hold a hidden depth, a story he's not telling. "Your family sounds, interesting."

"That's one way to put it," he says with a chuckle, eyes flickering with a momentary shadow. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his easy charm. "Let's just say they have certain expectations."

"Well, then maybe we have more in common than I thought," I say, softening.

"Seems that way," he murmurs, his voice softening too. There's a gentleness in his gaze now, and I feel his hands hold me just a little more securely as if he's anchoring me.

We dance like this, quietly, for a few moments, simply enjoying the music and each other's company. He spins me once, drawing a soft laugh from me, and when he pulls me back, I'm closer than I realized, his breath warm on my cheek.

"Do you think we'd have met otherwise?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blink, a little caught off guard by the question. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Fate has a funny way of working, doesn't it?" He's still holding me close, his gaze warm and thoughtful, and I feel the world fade away a little as we look at each other.

"It does," I reply, almost breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes glimmering with something I couldn't place. "I hope—I hope fate lets us meet again."

For a moment, I forget about the ballroom, about my father's rules, about everything except him. I don't know who he is, or why he's here, but something about him feels achingly familiar, like we're old friends, like I've known him in some other life.

When the music fades, he slowly lets me go, and I feel the loss of his warmth, his presence. He steps back, bowing with a playful, courtly gesture.

I scoff a laugh and give my best attempt at a curtsy. "You're a natural," He muses as the music dies down and I sidle closer to the balcony, eager to look out at the world beyond that I had never witnessed before.

The balcony feels almost timeless as we stand there, his presence beside me grounding in a way I hadn't expected. We talk as if there are no constraints, just the night around us, a quiet space carved out in the world. His words flow easily, a mix of humor and teasing, sometimes dipping into moments of gentleness that make my chest tighten.

I can't help but keep stealing glances at him, trying to memorize the sharp line of his jaw and the warm, playful gleam in his eyes. And every time I meet that gaze, I feel the strange, unshakable familiarity tugging at me—a whisper in the back of my mind that insists I know him, that maybe I've known him far longer than this one night. But I can't let myself get swept away in that feeling. Not yet.

We talk for hours about anything and everything, I tell him about the flowers below us, and what they symbolize, and in return, he tells me of the stars in the sky, the constellations, and each of their names.

We talked about things that I never voiced before, but there was a steady comfort in his presence that made me feel like I could confess even my deepest mistakes and he'd nod with understanding in his eyes, not a flicker of judgment.

We didn't go into the ballroom the entire night, had taken up the small seating area that curved around the side of the building I hadn't noticed before.

"So, princess," he says, smirking as he leans his back into his chair, arms folded in a lazy, practiced ease, "if you weren't here, what kind of trouble would you be getting yourself into?"

I think for a moment, letting my fingers graze the ivy-covered stone. "Trouble? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I'm sure you don't." He smirks, an amused glint in his eyes. "I pegged you for the rebellious type the moment I set eyes on you." He goes on.

I shrug, glancing out over the shadowed garden below. "Well, clearly you don't know me very well," I reply in a snarky tone, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Perhaps I'm a perfectly obedient daughter who follows all the rules."

His laugh is low and rich, sending a pleasant shiver through me. "Now, I find that hard to believe," he murmurs, tilting his head to meet my gaze. "A wildflower like you, growing in a gilded cage? No, I think you're meant to be out there—" he gestures to the dark mountains beyond the garden, "—living on your own terms."

My cheeks warm under his gaze, but I lift my chin. "And you? What about you, oh wise stranger? Surely you're not the type to follow anyone's rules but your own."

"Oh, I'd follow them," he says, his voice dropping to a playful murmur, "if you were the one making them."

I feel my face flush at his words, but I can't resist matching his grin. "Be careful what you wish for. I'd hate to ruin that roguish charm with a few boundaries."

"Boundaries?" He raises an eyebrow, laughing. "I don't believe you’re the kind of girl to put them in place, life's far more interesting without them, don't you think?" He cocks his head in an all too demeaning fashion, as if he knows me better than to even suggest such a thing. I can’t help but smile at the familiarity, of being truly seen and known, it was foreign, but welcomed. “More than you know,” I reply, a softer atmosphere taking over with the tenderness in my voice.

"So, what does someone like you dream of seeing?"

It's a simple enough question, but I find myself hesitating, surprised by how much I want to answer, how easy it feels to open up to him. "I want to see everything," I admit, my voice almost a whisper. "Every corner of the world. The mountains, the seas. I want to taste the air in different places and feel the ground under my feet where no one else has walked. I want to be free."

It's more than I've ever shared with anyone, especially someone who doesn't even know my name. I swallow, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but when I glance at him, his gaze is warm, and understanding. As if he knows exactly what I mean.

"I think freedom suits you," he says softly like he's revealing a secret. "It's in your eyes—the way they look past this place, like you're already somewhere else entirely."

His words send a shiver through me, and for a moment, I can't find any words at all. So instead, I look away, watching as the sky shifts from deep indigo to a paler shade, hinting at the dawn. "Maybe one day I'll get to see it all," I say, more to myself than to him.

"I have a feeling you will." His voice is quiet, almost wistful, and I glance back to find him watching me with that same, unsettling familiarity, as if he, too, feels this strange pull between us.

We fall into an easy silence after that, leaning against the railing side by side as the stars start to fade. Occasionally, he says something that makes me laugh, and I find myself telling him things I'd never tell anyone else—about the books I love, the dreams I've buried, the way I crave a life that's different from the one set out for me.

He listens, really listens, his attention never wavering. And in return, he shares pieces of himself, though I sense he's careful, holding back just as much as I am. He speaks of a family that has expectations, a life lived beneath a weight that isn't always visible. I don't pry, but I nod, letting him know I understand.

The sky lightens, a faint glow spreading over the horizon, and I can't help but feel a pang of regret as the world around us starts to wake.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice low, "I think this might be one of the best conversations I've ever had."

I laugh softly, though my heart aches a little at the thought of this night ending. "You don't get many opportunities to talk with strangers on balconies?"

"Not like this," he says, glancing down at me, his expression unreadable. "Not with someone like you."

There's something so earnest in his gaze that I feel my resolve waver. I want to tell him who I am, to share every piece of myself, but a part of me resists, clinging to this fleeting anonymity.

"Thank you," I say softly, and I mean it more than he could ever know.

"For what?" he asks, his tone warm.

"For reminding me that people can be kind. That they can listen." I smile up at him, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and hope. "I think I needed that."

The first light of dawn glimmers on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the garden. Slowly, he reaches out, taking my hand in his, his touch warm and steady. I feel his thumb brush gently over my knuckles, and it sends a wave of warmth through me, a silent promise in his touch.

"Maybe one day," he says softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll meet again. Maybe fate will give us that."

I can't bring myself to say anything, so I simply nod, letting myself savor the feel of his hand in mine for just a moment longer.

As the first rays of sunlight touch the garden below, he releases my hand, stepping back with a soft smile. He gives me one last, lingering look before turning, disappearing through the terrace doors and back into the world from which he came.

I stay there, watching as the light fills the sky, feeling like I've lost something precious and found something rare all at once.

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[writtenbymoonflower]

hi you gorgeous gorgeous ray of sunshine i hope your day is majestic and awesome <3

I come bearing a request hehe

So can i please get a poly!marauders x fem reader where she has alot of work or something to get done lately and its just sucking the absolute lights out of her (uni is beating me up help) and she os sort of just dimmed and out of it and one of them asks her if she is okay and she just breaks down and they comfort her like the sweet loving boys they are (just cuddles and fluff to save my day pls) THANK YOUU

sorry this is so late gorgeous! i hope things are better now!

cw: anxiety attack fluff, stress

924 words

Despite your best efforts, you knew that you weren’t any fun right now. It felt like you were a black hole, sucking all of the joy out of the room with no end in sight. It made you feel horrible, especially since you were surrounded with copious amounts of love and affection. Way more than you could ever hope to ask for, and for some reason, you couldn’t allow yourself to fully appreciate it. You were trying your best, but every attempt at levity didn’t feel quite right. You could see it in your boyfriends faces too, and though they were gracious enough not to comment on it, you knew they desperately wanted to. You even noticed James placating Sirius earlier when he recounted a funny story and your laugh came out awkwardly pitched. 

You were now attempting to relax, but your muscles refused to un-tense. You were laid on the couch, curled tightly into a ball with your head on Sirius’ lap and your legs pressed against Remus’ thigh, James’ laughter ringing in your ears. You resisted the urge to shift around in discomfort, hoping that the more content you appeared the less distraught you would feel. It wasn’t working very well, if the burning sensation welling in your eyes was any sign of that. You squeezed them shut in hopes it would help. You flinched as cold fingers brushed over your face unexpectedly. 

“You okay, babydoll?” Sirius’ voice was hushed and terribly gentle in the way it was when he’s feeling particularly tender. You nodded a little too aggressively to be believable. He cupped your cheek with his hand, the cool feeling of his palm over your heated face being a little too comforting. A crease appeared between your eyebrows and he made a worried cooing sound. 

“What’s going on?” James turned the TV down. You were being watched and inspected and you hated it. You covered your face as the first sob escaped before you could repress it. 

“Shit, baby.” Sirius stiffened. Remus’ large hands pulled yours away from your face. You held your breath to refrain from sobbing, your shoulders shaking. 

“What’s wrong, lovie? Are you hurt?” James sounded panicked. You hated that you were doing this to him. You shook your head. “What’s happened?” 

“I- I don’t know.” You hiccupped. Your lungs were expanding and contracting rapidly. 

“It’s okay, lovely. Can you breathe for me?” Remus pulled you off of Sirius and onto himself. Usually you would hear a slew of protests from the raven-haired boy, but he was panicked enough to stay silent. You landed face down in Remus’ lap as he rubbed between your shoulder blades. You tried to breathe deeper but when you did you just cried harder. 

“I’m fine. J- just give me a second.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing yourself or the boys. 

“It's okay, baby dove. Just let it out.” Remus said softly. You felt James rubbing your head. All the tenderness was too much and you cried harder. You knew you were wetting Remus’ pajama bottoms with tears and snot, but you were too distraught to care. Slowly, your sobs slowed into quiet sniffles and hiccups, and you wiped your wet face, much too harshly for James’ preference. 

“How’re we doing, sweet girl?” Sirius rubbed your calf tentatively. 

“Better.” You said, still choked. “Sorry about that. I don’t know why that happened.”

“Don’t apologize, dovey.” Remus helped you to sit up. “Just take a minute.” You nodded, feeling lightheaded. James passed you a glass of water with a kiss on your damp cheek. You drank it fast, handing the empty cup back. 

“Do you need anything else?” Sirius turned your face to wipe your cheeks again. 

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.” You said, feeling awkward. 

“You don’t have to thank us, baby.” James reached over Remus to grab your hand. “We just want to help, if you’ll let us.”

“I don’t know if you can.” You sighed. 

“Try us.” Sirius said, bordering on challenging. Remus reached his long arm along the back of the couch to squeeze his shoulder in a way that said ‘settle down.’

“I think we can find a way." Remus took a more gentle approach. "You can start by telling us what’s going through that head of yours.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“I think that would help.” James said, not giving you time to respond. “We don’t want to force you, but it’s only going to hurt you to keep things inside, lovie.” His eyes were soft and open behind his glasses. It made you feel like you could cry again. 

“There’s nothing huge to talk about, though.” You shrugged. “I think it’s just a bunch of little things, you know?” 

“Well then maybe,” Sirius stage-whispered as if he was spreading classified information. “You can tell us the little things when they come up, before it gets this bad. You couldn’t argue with that. 

“That might help.” You looked down at your hands. “But don’t complain when I start whining over miniscule things.” Remus raised his eyebrows at you. 

“Have you been dating the same Sirius I have?” He grinned and Sirius squawked. You giggled. 

“You’re lucky that I’m more happy about her laughing than I’m mad at that comment.” He crossed his arms and pouted. You laid back down in his lap and smiled up at him. 

“I don’t mind your complaining.” You reached up to touch his face comfortingly. He still scowled.

“At least I’ll have a bitching buddy.” He huffed. 

[httpswritings]

if you were my little girl: the series part 2

alexia putellas x child!reader; this story contains mentions of traumatic experiences as drug addiction, child abuse and similar topics. don't read it if you find those topics triggering.

Silent Guardian

The days blurred into a kaleidoscope of drills, sprints, and the comforting thud of the ball against your foot. But there was a new element to your routine – Alexia. True to her word, she started attending your training sessions, a silent guardian on the sidelines. Your heart would skip a beat every time you saw her, a jolt of encouragement coursing through you with each approving nod.

The facade held. Your parents, wary of an audience, behaved with a semblance of normalcy in public, so Alexia's suspicion of you being in danger faded.

Every goal you scored, every perfectly weighted pass, was a victory not just on the scoreboard, but over the darkness that lurked within your home. Alexia's cheers, a joyful eruption amidst the roar of the crowd, were a balm to your little but damaged self.

Alexia couldn't help but watch you closely. The way you reacted to the world, how certain things seemed to touch you more deeply than others, it tugged at her heart. It wasn't a weakness she saw, but a tenderness that made her want to stand between you and anything that might cause you pain.

Silence Breaks the Bond

The months blurred into a kaleidoscope of drills, sprints, and the comforting thud of the ball against your foot. But on the sidelines of your victories, a different reality waited. Your parents, physically present, were emotionally absent. Empty lunchboxes on the counter remained a daily reminder of their disinterest, a stark contrast to the cheers echoing from the training grounds.

They didn't care about your school life neither did they help you with your homework.

To be fair, they seemed like normal stressed parents worried about work and paying bills.

They were ghosts, navigating their own anxieties, leaving you to navigate yours alone.

You started doing bad at school.

Failed exams, no homework done, complains from teachers, etc.

At the tender age of seven, the world of learning seemed to have lost its allure, replaced by a growing sense of disillusionment.

The once-sparkling curiosity that had defined you was now dimmed, replaced by a veil of melancholy. The vibrant colors of your childhood were fading, replaced by a somber gray that mirrored the turmoil within you, grappling with a burden that seemed too heavy for your young shoulders to bear.

Alexia became a source of unexpected pressure. She'd noticed your withdrawal and failing grades, her playful questions morphing into a worried insistence you tell her what was wrong. You longed to confide in her, but the trauma remained a locked vault within you. Your silence, fueled by fear and confusion, was misinterpreted by Alexia as defiance. The frustration simmered in her eyes, a stark contrast to the warmth you once knew. The unspoken words hung heavy between you, a heartbreaking consequence of your unspoken pain.

Alexia's words hit you harder than any punishment your parents could dish out. Her disappointment, a word laced with hurt, echoed in the empty space where your secret pain resided. The fear you'd been holding back morphed into a suffocating dread. "Letting her down" felt like a betrayal, a confirmation that your silence had pushed away the one person you trusted. The weight of guilt settled on your shoulders. Maybe Alexia was right. Maybe you were just being a brat, making everything worse. But the truth, the darkness you couldn't speak of, felt like an insurmountable wall, isolating you further.

A Sanctuary Built for Two

The midday sun beat down mercilessly on the training field, mirroring the intensity of the practice session. Drills were brutal, pushing you to your physical and mental limits. But amidst the exhaustion, a memory, a dark tendril from the buried trauma, surfaced unexpectedly. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the image of the coach barking orders, his voice a distant echo.

The memory was vivid – your mother's hand, rough and unforgiving, twisting into your hair. You tasted salt, tears mixing with the remnants of uneaten food. Your whimpers, a desperate plea, were lost in the chaos of the moment. It was a recurring scene, one you'd desperately tried to compartmentalize, to bury deep within the recesses of your mind.

You stumbled, legs weak, vision obscured by a veil of tears. A hand, strong and steady, caught you before you could hit the ground. It was Alexia, her concern etched on her face.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with urgency. But you couldn't speak. The words wouldn't come, trapped behind a lump in your throat that constricted your breathing.

Alexia didn't need words to understand. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders, a silent haven in the midst of the chaos. She gently held your body on her arms and took you to the coolness of the locker room, a sanctuary away from the prying eyes on the field.

The locker room was a stark contrast to the sun-drenched field. Here, shadows clung to the corners, and the air hung heavy with the lingering scent of sweat and disinfectant. Alexia ushered you onto a bench, its worn leather cool against your burning skin.

For what felt like an eternity, you were unable to speak. Sobs wracked your small frame, your only sound a desperate struggle for air. But Alexia didn't push, didn't force you to talk. Instead, she sat beside you, a silent anchor in the storm.

"Breathe, little one, breathe," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "I'm here. I'm here." Her words, a gentle mantra, slowly coaxed you back from the precipice. Slowly, your sobs subsided, replaced by ragged gasps for breath.

Tears continued to stream down your face, but they were different now, cleansed of the initial terror.

Alexia didn't insult you for crying. Alexia didn't hit you.

Alexia was different.

Building a Safe Haven

Alexia, staring at your failing grades and withdrawn demeanor, felt a pang of something deeper than disappointment. It was a dawning realization – a fear that maybe everyone, including her, had been failing you. Here you were, at the tender age of seven, already burdened by a weight no child should carry.

The love she held for you, a love stronger than she ever anticipated, twisted with a fierce protectiveness. She saw the spark in your eyes dimming, replaced by a dull ache of something unspoken. Maybe, she thought, the answer wasn't pushing you harder, but stepping back. Allowing you the space to simply be a child, to rediscover the joy of scraped knees and silly jokes, just like she had done when she was younger.

It was a humbling thought, an admission that her initial approach, fueled by worry, had missed the mark entirely. Perhaps, the greatest act of love wouldn't be pushing you towards some perceived potential, but creating a safe haven where you could just be you.

The smell of betrayal

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of another grueling practice. Relief battled with exhaustion as you slumped against the fence. Alexia appeared with her her usual bright smile, joined by Mapi and Ingrid.

She reached out for her almost daily hug, the one you always cherished. But this time, the familiar warmth was tainted by a sickeningly sweet, fermented odor. It hit you like a physical blow. You pulled back abruptly, your nose scrunched in disgust.

"You smell weird," you blurted out, the words laced with a coldness you didn't recognize in yourself.

Alexia faltered, her smile collapsing. "Oh," she chuckled nervously, "it's just... well, the season's over, and I, uh, had a celebratory sip of beer with the team."

Mapi said something to you but you weren't able to hear it.

It wasn't the beer itself. You didn't know the taste, even if you had witnessed countless nights where your parents drowned their sorrows in amber liquid. But the smell – that was the monster. It was the reeking ghost of countless nights spent huddled in fear, the acrid air clinging to furniture and clothes, a constant reminder of a childhood that was being stolen by addiction.

The love you held for Alexia battled with the rising tide of anger and despair. "Well, you can go so you can keep celebrating," you muttered, your voice flat.

"No! But I...I wanted to introduce you to Mapi and Ingrid! They couldn't wait anymore to meet you!" Her voice trailed off, lost in the chasm that had suddenly opened between you.

You stared at her, the playful glint in your eyes replaced by a steely glint of hurt. Your usual tenderness, the very quality that drew you to Alexia, had vanished, replaced by a wall you didn't even know you could build. The damage was done. The smell of beer had become a cruel reminder that you couldn't escape that substance, because you'll find it in every adult.

The silence stretched on, heavy and awkward. You poked a hole in the dirt with your shoe, the playful glint in your eyes replaced by a frown. Alexia's happy face seemed to wilt under your scrutiny. You didn't want to hurt her feelings, but the yucky beer smell clung to her like a bad memory.

"Maybe," you mumbled, kicking another clump of dirt, "grown-ups aren't supposed to smell like yucky beer. Maybe they're supposed to smell like, like..." you scrunched your nose, searching for the right words, "...like cookies!"

Alexia's cheeks flushed red. You weren't sure if it was from the beer or because you'd caught her in something you considered bad. It made you feel even grumpier. Cookies! That's how grown-ups should smell, not like something that makes your tummy feel poorly, thinking how you always witnessed your parents throwing up.

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in your head. You puffed out your chest, trying to look as grown-up as possible. "Maybe," you declared, sticking your chin out, "I don't need hugs anymore. Maybe I don't need anyone who smells like yucky beer!"

A big, fat tear rolled down your cheek. You hated crying, but the words just tumbled out before you could stop them. Alexia knelt down slowly, her eyes filled with a sadness that made you feel a tiny bit bad. Alexia realized something must had to happened to you to be so disgusted by beer.

"Hey," she said softly, wiping away your tear with her thumb. "It's okay to be mad. But remember," she held out a finger with a sparkly ring on it, "I'll always be here for you, even if I mess up. Pinky promise?"

You hesitated, wiping your nose on your sleeve. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all. But all you wanted right now was to go inside, hug your stuffed bear, and pretend the bad smells and confusing grown-up things didn't exist.

Taking a deep breath, you looked up at Alexia. "Maybe," you whispered, barely audible, "maybe you could smell like cookies tomorrow?"

Alexia's smile was small, but it reached her eyes. It wasn't the usual bright smile, but it had a spark of understanding. "Cookies sounds delicious," she said, ruffling your hair gently.

The Most Important Match Of All

The car door slammed shut, the harsh sound echoing in the otherwise quiet street. Alexia watched the taillights of your parents' car disappear around the corner, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. You had left, a small figure dwarfed by the backseat, your face a mask of conflicting emotions.

She turned to Mapi and Ingrid, their faces etched with concern mirroring her own. "I wasn't expecting her to be so upset," Alexia confessed, her voice a low murmur.

Mapi, ever the pragmatist, offered a tentative smile. "Maybe she's just shy, Ale. Kids can be like that sometimes, especially around new people."

But Alexia shook her head, a flicker of doubt clouding Mapi's optimistic facade. “No, this feels different. She was so excited about the idea of meeting you. Then, the second she noticed the smell of alcohol...“ Her voice trailed off, the memory of your sudden withdrawal a fresh wound.

A pang of guilt shot through Alexia. She had been so focused on nurturing your talent on the field, on pushing you towards your potential, on making you her heir to La Reina title, that she might have missed something crucial. Had she been too blindsided by her own ambition, neglecting to see the emotional landscape of your life?

Ingrid, the quiet observer of the group, stepped forward. Her eyes, usually so calm, held a steely glint. "There's something more going on, Alexia. I can feel it in my gut. Her parents seem...well, normal from the outside. Polite, hardworking. But that doesn't mean things are sunshine and rainbows behind closed doors."

Shame washed over her. She had prided herself on being your mentor, your confidante, yet she had failed to see the silent cries for help. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow. Here she was, a celebrated athlete, yet she had fumbled the most important match of all.

"Maybe you're right," Alexia admitted, the words hollow in her mouth. The past few months flickered past her inner eye – your dwindling appetite, the exhaustion clinging to you like a shadow, the plummeting grades that you brushed off as a temporary dip. Signs she had chosen to ignore, attributing them solely to the pressure of training.

Taking a deep breath, Alexia pushed the self-pity aside. You were home with your parents, and that was where you had to be for now. But a fierce determination ignited within her. Things were about to change. She would find a way to bridge the gap, to create a safe space where the mask could finally fall away. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but for the first time, Alexia wasn't just looking at you as a prodigy with boundless potential. She saw you for who you truly were – a vulnerable child in need of support, a child she wouldn't fail again

The price of cookies

The warmth of freshly baked cookies, a pact between Alexia and you, still lingered in the air whenever she was around. Yet, a subtle transformation had taken root. The once jovial mentor had morphed into a vigilant sentinel. Her gaze, once playful, now held an undercurrent of suspicion, scanning your surroundings like a hawk. Every interaction, every word exchanged with someone new, was dissected with a silent intensity.

The incident from the other day had shattered the illusion of a seemingly perfect world. The realization that normalcy, like a facade, could conceal a hidden darkness gnawed at Alexia. It felt like a betrayal, not just of her trust, but of the haven she'd meticulously built for you – a world where football was a source of joy, not a potential escape route. Memories of scraped knees and goofy jokes now felt like faded photographs tucked away in a forgotten album. In their place, Alexia had constructed an invisible shield around you, a desperate attempt to ward off the world's harsh realities.

What words can't describe

Alexia gnawed on her lip, her stomach a tightly wound knot. Building trust with your parents felt like navigating a minefield. It was essential, she knew, but the thought of putting on a facade left a bitter taste in her mouth. Yet, when your parents invited her over for dinner, a forced smile flickered on her lips as she accepted.

Stepping into your apartment, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. It was normal. Two bedrooms, a comfortable living room bathed in warm light, and even a small balcony overlooking a quiet street. Relief battled with the nagging suspicion that had taken root in her mind. Everything was clean and tidy, a picture of domestic normalcy that clashed with the unease she couldn't quite shake.

The sight of you, however, brought a genuine smile to her face. Your eyes held a spark of joy that had been missing for weeks, and a wave of protectiveness washed over her. She followed you to your room, the air thick with the sweet scent of childhood. This was your sanctuary, your safe space. Pink and white walls were adorned with a mishmash of treasures: a menagerie of stuffed animals, a rainbow of storybooks, and a collection of dolls in various states of wear and tear.

One doll, however, stood out. A Nancy doll, the limited edition modeled after the Spanish National Team, held a prominent place on your shelf. Alexia felt a tug at her heartstrings.

"That's you," you said shyly, your cheeks dusted with a rosy blush.

Alexia's heart melted.

She didn't know how she got to the point where she felt an overwhelming love for you.

Glancing at the opposite wall, her gaze softened even more. There, proudly displayed on a corkboard, were your artistic creations. Football pitches in vibrant greens and blues, colorful caricatures of your friends, a self-portrait with a gap-toothed grin, and a collection of drawings that featured a prominent figure – Alexia herself, rendered in all her glory (or at least, your interpretation of it).

"That's also you," you said, pointing at a drawing of her mid-dribble, a determined expression etched on her face.

A warm chuckle escaped Alexia's lips. "I'm starting to feel like a permanent resident here!" she joked, the sweetness of your gesture a balm to her worry.

"I could make you a real one," you offered, tilting your head with a hopeful smile. "A drawing, I mean."

The offer felt like a lifeline tossed in a stormy sea. "I'd love that.”

[musouie]

── .✦ 𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑

précis: suguru, a servant of your household, wrestles with the complex feelings of loving a noblewoman.

contents: pining, suguru!pov, implied classism, internal classism, envy, forbidden longing, resentment vs yearninggggg, historical romance, 1900s au, fem!reader, 1.0k wc

It was easy to despise beautiful things. 

The things that shone, that flowed, that bloomed amongst the bleak — that made artists falter and poets weep — bound the miserable together.

Perhaps, that was why Suguru despised you.

He despised your lips, stained with the blush of cherries, and the sweet, fleeting scent that lingered on your skin.

He despised your hands — slender, warm, and impossibly delicate — hands that seemed to belong to a world gentler than his own.

He despised your voice, lilting like a bird’s song, soft as the breeze that warms the bitter cold.

Most of all, he despised that even if you had nothing, like he, your beauty would still be enough. 

(This was a lie and he knew it. What he despised most of all was that his loathing was built atop a craving — a palpable thing that made his teeth ache and his bones tremble; he could hardly bear it, this furious tenderness.)

He watched you dance, bathed in candlelight, and he wondered what life might have been like with a face and hands like yours (or your face in his hands, or your hands on his face.

To embrace your light, or to shadow it. How could anyone not wish to do one, or both?)

An ugly thing, deep in his soul, festered — feeding off the shame he felt for simply existing in your general direction, for loathing you yet longing for you the way he did.

And like all beautiful things — you felt it. Faltered in step as your eyes flitted to his, wide and probing, searching for a way to right the wrong of someone yearning for you in such a twisted, impure way.

Your twirling slowed — then ceased, and you waltzed over to where he stood, a smile curving your rose-hued lips.

“Enjoying the ball, Suguru?” You reached towards the silver platter that balanced in his hold, retreating with a glass of wine, fingers grazing against his ever so slightly as they slipped around its stem.

He watched you take a sip; daintily, with your head ever-so-slightly craned and throat bared to him. “Please,” he chided, voice a measured strain, “do not address me so casually. Mr. Geto will suffice, Miss.”

“Oh, Suguru, what need have we for such formalities among friends?” you cooed, placing down your now empty wine flute upon the tray. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

(How typical of a spoiled noble to misunderstand their lack of courtesy; how typical of a blazing star to not realise she burned her surroundings.)

He withheld a scowl, replaced it with a tight-lipped smile instead. “Except I, a mere butler, am most certainly not your friend, Miss.”

“Sugur—” His gaze narrowed. “Mr. Geto. Would you not like to be my friend?”

“It would be most improper.”

The orchestra played a new tune — a lively thing, that people joyously gathered and scattered for on the wooden floor. You continued to hold his gaze with your own, brows raised as you murmured:

“That was not my question, Mr. Geto.”

Your tongue glided across your bottom lip, caught a stray drop of wine, and Suguru’s mouth watered. He’d only had a single glass and yet, his head swam. Or perhaps, it was something else that was catching him off-kilter, disorientating him in the way that you did.

(Because it was no accident, he noticed — the way the pads of your fingers slid away from the glass and glided against his; no accident, the subtle curve of your hip that pressed against his waist when you drew near. The way the velvet of your dress trapped his shadow, like a moth grasped between fingers.)

He took a chance to step away — tried not to notice the way the plush curve of your bosom swelled, as if taking a sharp breath, though your face betrayed nothing of the kind.

He allowed his gaze to trail you, like a guilty voyeur, a starved man eyeing a delicacy, a secret he had always wanted but was forbidden to taste. Just like you wanted him to. (Beautiful things survive off attention, after all. Be it perverse or pure, as a rose blooms on a dead man’s tomb.)

“I suggest we not tarry here further, Miss,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “People may speak.”

“Hah. If I was worried about ‘people’, Mr. Geto, I would not have asked.”

(How typical of a spoiled noble to misunderstand their lack of courtesy; how typical of a blazing star to not realise she burned her surroundings.)

A sharp intake of air tore his lips apart, like a sudden storm ripping off the last of an autumn leaf, and a cold rush flooded his nostrils. “I must see to the other guests now, Miss,” he replied tersely. “Please excuse me.”

He bowed, clasping the silver tray to his chest as if clutching for his heart — to staunch the flow, before it could spring forth and ruin him. You followed his form as he stepped back, the fabric of your dress dipping at the apex of your thighs with the movement; a brief promise of the hidden warmth below, a glimpse of bare skin just within the threshold of shameful.

“A pity, Mr. Geto. It appears there is not a glass empty enough for our conversation to come to its end,” you murmured, as people spilled around you, flitting back and forth across the ballroom in a breathless flurry.

“Unfortunate,” he agreed.

Your lips thinned. He watched them purse. Saw the slight rounding of your eyes that usually preceded a flash of mischief, a flame that threatened the darkness, that sought to pry it open and swallow.

“The wind, Mr. Geto. You are as elusive as the wind.”

And even the words that spewed from your lips were beautiful. His legs nearly bucked.

To despise a beautiful thing would be his tragedy.

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐞 © 2024 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. it is prohibited to reproduce, distribute, or transmit my works in any form or by any means! ﾉ masterlist

[konigsblog]

Kruger and König who threaten to k!ll you during rlly rlly hard nd rough sex ;((

cw: dub-con/non-con, rough & degrading sex, kidnapping, intoxication & alcohol consumption / DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT – MDNI.

kidnappers krueger and könig, my favourite pairing. ;(

usually, i'd believe that könig would be tender with you in the presence of krueger, knowing how hard and aggressive krueger can get during sex, especially when he's nearing his release. könig likes to roughen you up on his own; having full control and independence over you, owning you as if you're his mutt.

although, it doesn't take a lot for krueger to convince könig, especially having known each other for decades. getting drunk together, watching things escalate quickly as könig begins to get touchy, demanding you sit on his lap and palm his meaty cock through his boxers. he'll grin up at you, an eerily smile that forces you to be obedient our of pure fear for the two.

krueger will use your throat, while you bounce on könig's hard dick. riding his large, lengthy size and crying pathetically as his thick tip nuzzles against your cervix – sore and bruised, your lips forced open and wrapped around krueger's dick, guiding your head to his musky base. you're crying, mascara and drool all over your cheeks, slobbering like a messy slut. :(

könig finds himself feeling guilty at the sounds of your crying, gurgling and gagging; but, how can he focus on anything other than the tightness of your slick pussy around his stiffened dick? he'll hold you by your waist, fingers leaving indents as he holds you firmly, bouncing you up and down while slapping your tits ‘til they're sore, your nipples stinging and aching. könig will latch his teeth onto your nipples, pulling at them while you're forced to deep throat krueger, wet balls pressed against your chin, making you weep out and look up into krueger's eyes.

fuck, the sound of your crying is too much for könig to bear – be quiet, fucking shut up!! ...why are you so surprised, little lamb? you didn't think könig would yell at you like this in his drunken state? after krueger finally released his hot load onto your tongue, he felt more controlling, now being able to use you on his own, just like he enjoys.

slapping your face while you plead for him to stop, to be gentle. your eyes are wet, glistening as he pushes your back down against the leather couch, your sweaty skin sticking to the leather as he spreads your legs, spitting onto your wet pussy and sinking his large, hung cock back inside.

his thrusts are painful, and the firm grip on your jaw doesn't make you feel any better.

“quiet, or i’ll fuckin’ kill you...” he huffs out through strained and guttural growls, eyes wide with shock at his words, feeling as he hits even deeper, his large and scarred hand covering your mouth to reduce your screams, to muffle your pained cries for sympathy. you're such an attention seeking whore, mouse... has anyone ever told you how pathetic you look with tears rolling down your raw cheeks? babbling and sputtering nonsense as you begin to feel yourself tighten and throb, your orgasm washing over you, causing your back to arch and for könig to push deep into you, spitting in your face for being so naughty.

[targaryen-dynasty]

COMFORT.

Daemon Targaryen x valyrian!Reader

You understand the Rogue Prince like no other, and so it's your task to put his mind at ease again when he stumbles into the brothel.

WORDS: 1.5 K

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; DUB-CON, ass eating, handjob, balls worship, size kink, squint and you'll miss the breeding kink, valyrian!Reader (has pale skin, silver hair), bastard Valyrian/High Valyrian

NOTES: I KNOW I said I’d leave for some while, and I’m not really active on here besides setting up a queue but I just couldn‘t let go of the thoughts of some good ol‘ ass eating with our uncle-daddy. This work is not meant for educational purposes, but please wash yourself before doing sth like this.

It was a lacklustre affair.

Daemon had been thrusting and thrusting for quite some time with little effort or enthusiasm, arousing nothing but awkwardness and deep desire for it to be over. 

Perhaps it was your faked moans of pleasure or perhaps the disheveled state he was in when he stormed into Chataya’s, nevertheless, he was disgruntled as he pulled out of you, clearly frustrated by his poor performance. 

As he sat down on the sill, quilt wrapped around his hanging shoulders, you were quickly reminded that the usually confident, self-assured and strong Rogue Prince that didn’t much care what anybody thought of him actually very much cared, and was nothing more than a tender man who was wracked with doubt. 

Getting on your feet, you prowled toward him, standing between his parted legs. You cupped his face with one hand, forcing him to look up at you. 

“It is possible the Queen will give birth to yet another girl,” you tried to cheer him up, grabbing both his large hands and caressing them with your thumbs. Alas, the attempt did not bear fruit, the dragon in front of you merely scoffing. It seemed there were a few more layers you had to peel off tonight to figure out what truly plagued him, though you suspected something–or someone–particularly to bother his mind. 

You squeezed his hands before pulling him onto his feet, despite him seeming rather reluctant. “Allow me to put your mind at ease, my Prince,” you hummed, and guided him back toward the bed. 

When he lay down on his back, you tsked, “va ao iemny.” On your stomach. It was your Lysene origin that granted you the ability to speak a version of bastard Valyrian, and was one of the main reasons the Prince had chosen you a few moons ago. That, and your pale skin and silver hair. 

His lilac eyes widened ever so slightly at your bold command, but he complied. The bed barely dipped beneath your knees as crawled between his parted legs. You sat back on your haunches and trailed your ring clad fingers over his sides, starting at the top. A few of the scars were traced by your fingertips, and you relished in the way he shivered under the gentle and teasing touch. 

Keeping a close eye on him allowed you to spot the way his upper body moved in sync with his heavy breathing. What surprised you the most was that he held his eyes closed, visibly enjoying your ministrations despite them being barely there. 

“Bisa iksis daor mirre,” you said, the smirk on your lips reflecting in your tone, “iksan daor gaomagon.” This isn’t all. I am not done. 

Reaching for one of the more firmer pillows, you grabbed his hip to raise it a bit before shoving it underneath his lower stomach, angling his hips and giving you the best possible access to his rear and cock. Daemon was open-minded and had ample experience up his sleeve, and it wasn't the first time you paid attention to anything other than his cock. 

You bowed forward, your lips finding the sensitive spot in the nape of his neck that always had him purring like a cat and bending to your every wish. Lingering there for a few moments with your teeth nibbling on his skin, you eventually licked over the faint mark that followed in your teeth’s wake, before departing down. 

While open-mouthed kisses were pressed to his spine, both of your hands began to tease his buttocks. At first, it was only gentle caressing, but as your mouth traveled lower, the bolder your hands got. You squeezed his flesh, and gently parted his buttocks to expose his arsehole to the warm breath you exhaled. 

Your eyes flickered up to gauge Daemon’s reaction for a split second before you gathered some saliva and spat it onto his unprepared hole. His muscles tensed slightly with the sudden wetness, but when your index finger circled around the rim, he relaxed just as quick. 

A faint hum was audible, coming from the Prince in front of you, and when you pushed the first digit in, it was replaced by a groan. 

“Fuck–” 

“How does that feel, my Prince?” you purred.

“Good,” he rasped. 

That was encouragement enough for you to spit into your other hand, coating his cock in it and using the slickness to tug on it with ease. Being penetrated on both ends had him releasing wanton moans in no time, only increasing in volume as you bowed forward and replaced your finger at his arsehole by your lips and tongue. 

If it wasn’t for your mouth and tongue being occupied by sucking and lapping at his hole, you would’ve chuckled as he desperately pushed his hips back against your face. You dragged your tongue over the rim, and kept your blue-lilacish eyes on the Prince beneath, watching carefully what worked best and what not. 

One of your hands spread his buttocks, allowing you to keep your lips against his ass as your tongue pushed in. You stilled briefly, but were spurred on when you heared the strained groan he released. 

“Sīr sȳz, gaomagon jāre,” he panted, “... kostilus.” Hearing him beg was new, but you couldn’t deny that you found a certain liking in it. So good, keep going. Please. 

As you felt his cock twitch in your hand, indicating that he was on the verge of peaking, you released it and instead processed to fondle the sac of his stones, squeezing it. 

The whine that escaped his throat as you pulled back to spit into your hand was the epitome of pathetic, and he obviously had your teasing coming. “Skoros massitas naejot se nēdenka dārilaros, mh?” What happened to the fierce Prince, mh?

“Jorrāelagon nyke naejot–” The threat died on his tongue as yours dove back into his arsehole, returning to its task with vigor. Need me to–

Just like his cock, his stones were coated in your saliva, making it easier to fondle and squeeze them. Daemon started to rut his hips, and it was clear what he was doing or rather chasing. With his hard cock rutting against the pillow, your hand fondling his stones and your tongue fucking in and out of his hole, he felt his peak slowly building at the base of his shaft. 

If it would’ve been any other patron, you would’ve stopped your ministrations and thought about a punishment to put him back in his place, but it was no normal patron lying in front of you. It was a Prince, and a dragon in flesh at that. 

Your tongue and hand were tireless in their motions, determined to push the rogue over the edge, and judging by the way he was writhing and rutting as if his life depended on it, he was close to toppling over.

The strained groan he wanted to release, the one that always came whenever he spent himself, was replaced by a gasp, caught off guard by the way your tongue curled up on its way out, tugging at the rim in a way that drove him insane. 

“Seven hells,” he grunted, and was quick to wrap one hand around his twitching member, tugging on it to embrace the approaching release that threatened to undo him. 

“I–I’m–” the words cut off as his peak crashed over him. His other hand fisted the covers tight enough for his knuckles to blanch, while his hips and hand worked in tandem with your own and your tongue to coax him through the pleasure.

His orgasm tingled at the spot where his sac met his cock, and it was almost ridiculous how much of his spent squirted out and coated the sheets and the pillow below. It was such a shame it went to waste, because you knew at least one spot of your body where you would’ve preferred it. 

You had withdrawn your mouth from his hole not long after the peak subsided, and crawled up and hovered over his tall frame. Collapsing on top of him, he merely scoffed at the added weight, but was quick to hum as your lips pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. A tired smile was adorning his features, and his lilac eyes were closed again, relishing in the bliss he felt. 

“How do you feel?” you asked, and though your blueish eyes twinkled with mischief, the genuine concern seeped through your words regardless. Daemon kept on smiling, reaching up to gently cradle your face before he grabbed your body, keeping you steady on top as he turned to lie on his back. His head was propped up on a pillow and yours was resting on his chest, his heartbeat lulling you into calmness. 

“Iksi henujagon syt Zaldrīzesdōron isse se ñāqatubis,” he mused. We are leaving for Dragonstone in the morning. 

And when you looked at him with utter confusion written all over your face, he elaborated further. “You are foolish if you think I would go into exile without you.”

[hiitsm]

In Safe Arms

When your body goes back to survival mode, Alexia is there to help you get through it.

A Little Bit of Angst, Small Mentions of Undetailed Childhood Trauma, Fluff, Comfort.

-

The soft light of early morning filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Alexia, already awake, watched you sleep beside her, noticing the tension in your body that seemed unusual compared to your usual peaceful slumber. Your jaw was clenched, your fists balled up in the bedsheets, clinging tightly as if you were desperately trying to anchor yourself from falling off a cliff.

Concerned, Alexia shifted closer, her fingers reaching out to trace soothing patterns through your hair. The gentle touch seemed to work its magic almost immediately; your brow unfurrowed slightly, and a deep, relieved sigh escaped your lips as you gradually stirred from the troubled depths of your dream.

As your eyes fluttered open, meeting Alexia's soft, caring gaze, the remnants of whatever dream had gripped you seemed to melt away under her comforting presence. Her fingers continued their gentle journey through your hair, coaxing you back to a calmer reality.

Alexia's soft voice broke the early morning silence, her breath warm against the reader's temple as she whispered, "Buenos días, amor." Her lips pressed a gentle kiss there, the tenderness of the gesture pulling a contented sigh from you.

"Only on my temple?" you teased, turning to face Alexia with a playful pout. I think I deserve one on the lips too."

Chuckling, Alexia obliged, leaning in to kiss you softly, a spark of joy lighting up her eyes. "How could I ever deny you?" she murmured, her voice laced with laughter.

Nuzzling closer to Alexia, you shifted your weight, carefully maneuvering until you were lying on top of her, enveloped by her presence. Her eyes, filled with a mixture of surprise and affection, met yours as you settled comfortably against her.

"Can you hold me tightly?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability behind your request was masked by a small smile, but Alexia could sense the underlying tension in your posture.

"Of course,'' Alexia replied, her arms encircling you with an immediate and protective strength. She pulled you closer, her embrace a fortress against the world. Within the circle of her arms, you felt a momentary peace as the anxiety that often gnawed at your edges began to ebb.

Sometimes the remnants of your childhood crept up like this, unannounced but overwhelmingly present. Growing up in an environment where anxiety and fear were constant companions left deep imprints that occasionally surfaced, demanding attention. The fear of unpredictable punishment, the tension of walking on eggshells inside your home-it had been years, yet at moments like this, those memories pulsed through you, visceral and alive.

As you nestled closer into Alexia's embrace, her arms wrapped around you securely, she sensed the subtle shift in your demeanor. With a gentle touch, she traced circles on your back, her voice soft and soothing. "Is that feeling back, amor?" she asked, her concern palpable.

With a small nod, you buried your face deeper into the crook of her neck, seeking solace in her warmth. The admission was difficult, the weight of the past pressing down on you, but Alexia's unwavering presence made it easier to bear.

Alexia felt the slight tremor in your breath as you clung to her, her heart aching with empathy. She brushed a gentle hand through your hair, soothingly. "Do you want to talk about it?" she whispered, giving you the space to open up if you needed to.

You shook your head, your voice muffled against her skin, "No, Io siento."

Instantly, Alexia tightened her embrace, a reassuring fortress around you. "Hey, there's nothing to be sorry about, not ever" she said firmly, her tone imbued with warmth and conviction. "You don't ever have to apologize for how you feel, okay?"

Your heart swelled with gratitude, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the sheer relief of unconditional support. "l just want to be close to you,'' you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. "Can we just stay here a little longer?"

"Of course, we can," Alexia responded without hesitation, her voice a soft caress against the top of your head. "We can stay here as long as you need,"

You shifted slightly within the circle of Alexia's arms, turning to face her again. As you looked up into her eyes, there was a softness there, a depth of emotion that only made the bond between you feel more poignant. Your hand gently caressed her cheek, appreciating the way her skin felt under your fingertips.

Feeling the weight of your emotions, Alexia gently pulled back, her eyes searching yours with tender concern. "Do you need me to lay on you?" she asked softly, her voice filled with compassion. "Sometimes it helps, right?"

You nodded, grateful for her understanding and the familiarity of her comforting presence. "Yeah, that would be nice," you replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the heaviness in your heart.

With a gentle nod, Alexia shifted, settling herself comfortably against you, her head resting on your chest as she draped an arm across your waist. The weight of her body against yours was grounding, a soothing balm to the turmoil within. Closing your eyes, you let out a deep breath, allowing yourself to be enveloped in the warmth of her love and the safety of her embrace.

As Alexia's weight settled against you, the floodgates of emotion threatened to burst open, a torrent of pent-up feelings clamoring for release. With a shaky breath, you felt the telltale sting of tears welling in your eyes, your chest tightening with the weight of unspoken burdens. Sensing your struggle, Alexia squeezed your hand gently, her touch a silent reassurance.

"It's okay, amor," she whispered, her voice a soft murmur against your ear. "Let it out. Crying helps, remember? I'm here for you, always."

Through your tears, you whispered, the reality of her impending training session breaking through the serene bubble that had enveloped you both. "You have training soon," you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion. "You'll need to get out of bed eventually."

As your words hung in the air, Alexia's expression softened with understanding. "I'm not going anywhere," she said gently, her voice a soothing balm to your troubled heart. "Right now, all that matters is helping you feel better again."

With a tender smile, she brushed a tear from your cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "How about we start with making your favorite pancakes?" she suggested, a playful glint in her eyes. "I heard they have magical healing powers."

Despite the weight of your emotions, a small laugh escaped your lips at her lighthearted remark. The idea of pancakes, a simple comfort from happier times, offered a ray of hope amidst the darkness of your despair. With a nod, you squeezed her hand in gratitude, allowing yourself to lean into the warmth of her love and the promise of brighter days ahead.

"And" she continued, a playful twinkle lighting up her eyes, "you could come with me to training. A bit of fresh air, the buzz of the training ground-it might do you good. And l'd feel better having you close, knowing you're okay." Her offer was tempting, a perfect blend of her professional commitment and her personal care for you.

"You really mean that?" you asked, touched by her willingness to adapt her important routines for you.

"Every word," Alexia assured, squeezing you slightly.

"So, what do you say? Training with a bit of extra cheer from my favorite person, or a quiet morning here where I make sure you're truly alright before we go anywhere?" The choices warmed you, reminding you again of why you loved her so much-not just for her talent on the field, but for her deep, unwavering affection and understanding.

"Let's go watch you train," you decided, the idea sparking a little excitement within you, a small flicker of normalcy. "But first, the pancakes!''

Alexia let out a laugh, her enthusiasm for even the simplest plans with you evident in her bright smile. "Pancakes it is," she agreed, the warmth in her voice matching the softness in her eyes. "I'll make you the best pancakes you've ever had. Deal?"

"Deal," you replied, your heart lightening. The Alexia who could make any day better, who could turn even a moment of worry into an opportunity for joy.

She slipped out of bed, her movements quick and fluid, ready to tackle the task at hand. You followed more slowly, wrapping a cozy robe around yourself, feeling the remnants of tension easing from your shoulders. The aroma of coffee soon filled the air, blending with the sweet scent of batter as Alexia hummed a tune while whisking vigorously. Watching her in such domestic bliss, her focus momentarily shifted from football to taking care of you, was deeply comforting.

As you settled at the kitchen counter, Alexia flipped pancakes with practiced ease, her back to you. Every so often, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes seeking yours, ensuring you were truly alright. It was in these quiet, unspoken exchanges that love often spoke the loudest, and sitting there in the soft morning light, watching her cook, you felt enveloped in a profound sense of security and belonging.

As the last pancake sizzled on the griddle, Alexia turned off the stove and turned to face you, a thoughtful expression on her face. "So, my mother and sister want to have dinner tonight," she began, her voice gentle as she broached the topic. "If you want to go, we can go together. But if you'd rather stay here, I can stay too. Your well-being comes first."

You met her gaze with a smile, touched by her consideration. "I would love to go," you replied without hesitation. "I enjoy spending time with you and your family. They're wonderful, just like you."

Alexia's face lit up with a smile, her eyes softening with affection. "Thank you," she murmured, stepping closer to wrap her arms around you in a warm embrace. "I'm glad you feel that way. It means a lot to me."

-

My thoughts during and after writing this piece:

Every trauma, whether rooted in childhood or not, deserves acknowledgment and healing. With the right person by your side, navigating the healing journey becomes not just possible, but also deeply enriching. It's okay to heal at your own pace, to embrace the process as a perpetual journey rather than a destination, knowing that each step forward is a triumph in itself.

[romanarose]

First and Last

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader x Wade Wilson

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Summery: You are inexperienced outside of Logan, so he lets you get fucked by his fwend!!!

Warnings: Threesome, mfm threesome, m/m dynamics here and there, Wade is menace. PIV sex, sharing reader, blowjob, balls <3, protective Logan, lots of explicit consent, oral f and m, cumming in pants too soon. Bisexuality <3 Similar themes as Awakening with Triple Frontier <3

Immersivity: Reader is fem, afab, dresses in dresses, has hair.

A/N: I'm so excited for this!!!! First Wade Wilson fic? So excited!!! I've been writing some logan mostly at my dark account @romana-after-dark. I hope I did okay!!!

Sorry for the repost, this wasn't showing up in the tags at all??? So I'll retag those who rebloged my first one that i remember. Im so sorry to those I didn't remember!!!

You were a virgin when you met Logan.

That didn’t last long.

Sure, Logan took his time, not taking your first kiss and virginity at the same time, but you were as desperate for him as he was for you. You loved your Wolverine. Your sweet, cuddly bear of a man who protected you with a ferocity you’d never seen before and loved you with a tenderness you’ve never felt. 

Still, some days you wondered…

Logan brought it up first. You certainly weren’t going to suggest sleeping with someone else, absolutely not. You loved, loved, loved your boyfriend and he never once left you sexually lacking. Logan learned everything your body liked, everything it didn’t, and brought you pleasure and comfort in one go. It was just that natural bit of curiosity in you that occasionally it flittered across you mind. Not that you thought anyone could be better than Logan; no one could. Even with a bigger cock or someone more eager tongue, the love you shared would always elevate sex. Still, it was more what other people felt like.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like, having sex with other people?” Logan waited until after sex, when the room was filled with emotional intimacy, but after he cleaned you up. He ever put you in his green flannel. He always put clothes on you before talking about anything serious, and one day you asked him why. He said he wants an even playing field, and at first you think your tits are distracting, but then he continues. He doesn’t want you to feel vulnerable or emotionally naked when you talk.

Heat creeps up your neck. You don’t want to hurt his feelings, but you remain honest. “Sometimes it crosses my mind I guess… But really, not something I like, sit and ponder about. I promise.”

“Hm.” He grunts, playing with your hair and looking at your lips, and for a moment you think he didn’t like that answer. Then he adds. “Have you ever thought about Wade?”

That’s how you got here. After some gentle coaxing, you say no, you never thought about Logan’s friend sexually. You asked if he ever thought about Wade sexually, and he just smirked. ‘Thought about him with you.’

Now you were sat on Logan’s lap on the bed, Wade standing against the wall just watching as Logan explores your body.

“Prettiest fuck’n tits you ever seen…”

Wade has a big grin plastered across his face. ”So you keep saying.” He says with a little laughter, hand fidgeting near his crotch but not touching yet. Not until Logan gives him permission. “And yet, they are like Hugh Jackman in my first two movies.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about half the time.

Logan gives a tit a squeeze, and you stifle a whimper. “Need her to get comfortable, first.” Logan turns into your neck, and you can feel his facial hair tickling your skin. A warm reminder that you are safe, loved and protected. “You nervous, pumpkin?” He coos into the crop of your neck, and you nod shyly. “Do you wanna stop?” You quickly shake your head.

Wade speaks now, more sincere than you are used to from him but still that playful tone. “You sure about that?” He holds up his hand, palm out, and wiggles his fingers. “Nothing tighter than my right hand.”

This made you smile, and Logan continued to touch you. He hooks your legs over his knees, spreading his own legs wide and letting Wade get a good look up your skirt at the cute panties you picked out just for him.

Wade whistles, his cock clearly tenting in his sweats. “C’mon Logan, you’re fucking with me here. I did not consent to edging, we’d have to negotiate that contract.”

A low rumble against your back and Logan chuckles. “Go ahead and touch yourself, dumbass.” As Wade quickly goes to palm at himself, groaning obscenely loud, and Logan responds by dragging his fingers over your clothes clit and tickles the soaked material. 

“Mmmmm” You sign happily at the contact, but stifled from the noises Logan has pulled out of you again and again and again. “Still feeling shy?” He murmurs against your skin, even as he delivers a small slap to your pussy.

You jolt. “M’ sorry”

“Don’t be sorry, just tell me what you want to do. Cards are in your hands.”

And they were. You look at Wade touching himself, heat growing in your stomach at the idea of him between your legs. Nothing in you says stop, no alarm bells to ignore… Wade could be balls deep inside your pussy and if you said stop, he’d stop. You knew Wade enough for that, but you also knew Logan was going to protect you. You doubted you could get to that point without Logan reading your body. No, you trusted them. “Just nerves.” You tell him finally, locking eyes with Wade for a moment before turning away. The heat was too intense, too much sexual tension in the room, the three of you’s desire for each other. You just needed to cool off. “Don’t wanna stop just… I need to relax.” You tell Logan.

Ever attentive, his hands leave your dripping core and go to your shoulders, rubbing them. In a half-whisper, he says, “Would it help if I told you his middle name was Winston?”

A beat of silence.

Then, you giggle. The air is lighter in the room, but no less attraction. You felt better.

Two large hands slide up your middle to cup your breasts. “Are you ready, sweet girl?” 

You look at Wade grinning ear to ear. You can feel Logan’s comforting presence all around you.

��Yeah, I’m ready.” 

*

Logan had taken care of the communication, and everyone was clear on rules and boundaries between the three of you. Well, yours and Logans anyway. Wade was absulty down for anything, stating “Any appendage, any hole.” He said something about toes and urethas, but Logan said something along the lines of , “shut the fuck up, she hasn’t even done anal yet, don’t scare the poor girl.”

Anal play was a no. Logan and you had definitely messed around with some finger and tongue action, but his cock hadn’t gone in yet, and you certainly weren’t letting Wade get in on that action before your loving boyfriend. As for other anal play, you just didn’t feel comfortable with a man you weren’t dating up in that. What if you farted? Well, Wade might be into that actually. Second rule was you stayed in your dress. Maybe it’s silly considering he’ll be up inside your guts, but you weren’t totally confident enough to undress in front of another man. 

Logan’s rules were very clear and simple. Firstly, your comfort comes before everything. Wade can’t lose himself. That was his rule for Wade, but he had a request for you too. 

“First and last,” He asked of you. “Your first and last orgasms belong to me, because no matter what happens here, you’re still mine. His cum might be leaking out of you, but it’s mine that’s gonna get you pregnant one day, do you understand?” 

That idea alone made your stomach do flips… but for the time being, you were on birth control.

Once you told Logan you were ready, Logan stood with you in his arms like you were weightless, turning around to gently lay you down on the bed. He ate you out slower than usual, insisting he wanted to take him time, get you to relax. Wade was suddenly leaning over where Logan knelt on the floor, hands on his shoulders and humps his still-clothed erection onto Logan’s back.

“No fingers yet? Wolvie, baby, you know better than anyone you gotta open her up or this is gonna hurt.”

“Shut the hell up.” Logan growled, then kissed your inner thigh. “She can take it, can’t you baby?”

You scrambled to get a grip on his gentle waves, trying to pull him back into your cunt. “Yes, but Lo, please don’t stop!”

“Ohhhh poor baby…” Logan teases you with a striped licked up your soaked folds. “You need me? Does my girl need me?”

Wade gives a long, slow grind against Logan’s back. “Better give her your fingers soon or I’m gonna go klablewy in my pants.”

Only half listening, Logan looks up at you through his dark lashes, Logan asks you. “That what you need? Need me to open you up, bub?”

You nod furiously, pulling him into you. Not making any effort to tell Wade to fuck off, Logan slides two thick fingers into your dripping channel, causeing you to sigh in relief and Wade to whimper, rutting against Logan like a dog. Instead of pushing him off, Logan reached behind himself and grabbed Wade’s leg, gluing them together and encouraging him on. The sight causes you to chase your high against his face and fingers.

“That’s right, take what you need, go ahead and use me… there we go, feels good doesn’t it?” You didn’t know if he was talking to you or to Wade.

When Wade begins moaning, face twisting in pleasure, Logan picks up his pace. He could feel Wade cumming against him, and seconds later you were gushing out onto his mouth. Getting two people off at once was not something he’d ever thought about, but as he felt it happening Logan couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest.

Your body goes limp under him, sighing contently the way he loves so much, and he feels Wade braced against him still.

“You gonna be ready to go again, or is your dick as fucked as the rest of you?” Logan teases, starting to stand and only just now shoving the other man back a little.

“Ooh hoo hoo, just give me a minute, Logey boo. There are 206 bones in the human body, 207 if I’m watching you touch this sweet little thing.”

You smile up at him, happy to see him happy, happy he’s here. “Would touching me speed up the process?”

Wade practically jumps on the bed.

*

Once Wade was hard again, you were put into position, handmaid's tale style. Logan sat against the padded bedpost, legs spread, with you in between them. You rest your head on his jeans covered cock as Wade lines himself up at your entrance. He’s longer than Logan but not as thick, cut while Logan isn’t.

He was perfect, just not as perfect as your loving boyfriend. Wade pushes into you quickly, forcing a sharp breath to exhale out of you, nails digging into Logan’s hands where he holds you.

“Wade! For fucks sake, go easy on the girl!”

But you surprise Logan by begging Wade for more. “Please, please, please, give it to me, give it to me Wade.” You look up at your lover. “Logan, please tell him, tell him to fuck me?” Your hips buck, begging for friction.

Logan chuckles. “You heard my girl, Wade-o, give it to her.”

Wade fucking woops, fucking your pussy with an energy you weren’t used to. Logan was an incredible lover, stamina and tenderness, he was not lacking in energy and passion during sex, but Wade? Whole other story. Wade fucked hard and fast, hands wandering all over every inch of your body, whether exposes skin or your pretty dress. Never once did he try to push aside any clothing or show him more than comfortable, simply told you how pretty you looked in this dress. 

“Jesus, how did you find a cute little doll like this?” Wade practically giggles with glee. “This is gonna be in my wet dreams for as long as I live, which, as it happens, is a long fucking time. God, I could just live in this sweet little pussy forever. If you were mine, you’d never be able to walk straight.”

Logan, never one to be shown up by Wad’s mouth, talks right back, fingertips trailing down your front. “Why do you think we canceled on drinks last week? Had to carry her to the bath she was fucked so raw.”

“You kept it up that long, old man?” 

“‘Till she was cry’n”

 “Looks like she’s about ready to start that again.”

Tears were blurring in your eyes, the heat inside you festering into your lower stomach as Wade ravaged your core. You could feel him inside you, your body shifting and making room for him to reach deep inside you than anyone or anything had before. The way he touched your body made you feel wonderfully desired, Wade’s ADHD mind jumping from part to part, giving attention to bits of you that could never have found sex, while Logan’s careful and precise minstrations massaged those erogenous zones. There were even a few sounds Wade pulled from you touching new places that Logan took note of, making sure to know exactly what makes his girl whimper and whine. 

He’s not above learning a thing or two, even if he could make your cum untouched with just his voice. Logan knew how to make you feel adored and sexy and cum over and over again on his cock, but if there was a way to make it even better for you, he was gonna learn.

“It’s okay bub, let it out, we got you. Ooooohhh there we go, that’s my girl, crying on Wades cock like a good girl, my pretty wife letting my friend use her cute body to get his rocks off because he can’t find anyone to get his rocks off with”

“Hey now!”

Logan calling you his wife, hinting at what he had always promised you, a future together for the rest of your life.

“Logan!” You reach your hand back, and Logan takes it quickly, anchoring you. “Wade!” You pull Wade close to you, his body slimmer than Logan but covering you in comfort nonetheless. You feel his skin, mangled and beautiful and so uniquely him sliding against your sweat-slick skin, lips coming to kiss as the force of his thrusts rub your head against Logan's hard cock.

“You gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum on my dick while Logan watches? You know, generally I like to keep my cucks in a chair, but I’ll make an exception for my little peanut.” Wade boops Logan’s nose.

“Ignore him, pumpk’n” but you didn’t want to ignore Wade, not when he was making your legs shake, your climax crestinc as you whine. The hand that isn’t holding yours cradles your neck on his lap, grounding you into this bed where he’d shown you his love time and time again as you cum on his friend's cock. “That’s it, cum for me, sweet girl. Squeezing your cock so good isn’t she?”

“Like FUCKING HEAVEN!” Wade hollers in your ear, pumping his cum into your cunt against and again while you writhe in their arms, a full body orgasm having blossomed from your stomach and tingling down your toes and fingers. You’d never felt so desired, so sexy, so beautiful. 

Wade collapses on your body and you instinctively wrap your arms around him, whispering a thank you in his ear.

“Anything… for… my OTP!” Wade tries to quip between breathless wheezes, but he’s so tired he remains on your chest, eyes drooping.

Logan plays with your hair, tender touches on your face and down your neck where he caressed Wade’s head as well. You loved this, you loved them, and you especially loved your sweet Logan, the fearsome Wolverine only soft for you… and Wade Wilson, it seems. He start to get up after several minutes, still fully clothed and fully hard. Your head slides off his lap, and his hand guides in gentle down to the bed.

“I’m gonna get you guys cleaned up.”

You catch his hand, gazing up at him questioningly. “First and last, remember?” He wanted to give yoru first and last orgasm, but Logan just smiles down softly at you.

“You’re tired, bub. Let me take care of your guys.”

“I can do another!” You try to assert. This was Logan’s condition, and it’s not like you were in pain or pure exhausted. There was no reason you couldn’t do this for him.

From his place resting on your chest, Wade pipes up. “I see you’re still rocking a stiffy, gramps. I bet we could heat things up in here to the 60’s” He turns to a wall and winks. “The highest 60’s”

Logan shook his head. “Today wasn’t about me.”

But you don’t let go. “First and last. You are my first, and my last, okay?”

His soft smile grows into something more wicked.

*

You are placed on top of him, your sweet pussy dripping down onto his tongue, his thumb fucking your ass, and cock making your mouth gag. Wade, a tired wittle guy, laid down between Logan’s legs and under mouth, slobbering with Logan’s balls in his mouth. Gagging on your lover’s shaft, Wade is not put off by your saliva and Logan’s precum dripping down on him. Likewise, Logan was not bothered by swallowing down Wade’s cum. In fact, he ate you out with more vigor than he had earlier, humming contently at the taste of his friend.

Wade guided you, using your mouth like a toy to pleasure his friend. With fingers entangled in your locks he pulls your head off and pushes it back down, forcing your throat to take whatever it’s given. Still, somehow he listens to those little cues of yours and never pushes it too far. You gag and moan in delight as Logan devours your puffy pussy, your tight little ring of muscle squeezing down on his thumb. Finger nails dig into Logan’s thick thighs and he’s not sure who they belong to, you or Wade, and before he can draw it out any longer Logan is flooding your mouth with rope after rope of hot cum.

“Yeah, fuck, don’t fucking stop baby, keep gagging, want my cum spilling on Wade’s face.”

“FUCK YEAH!” Wade shouts, albeit muffled with Logans tightening balls still in his mouth. When Logan finishes pumping your mouth full, you pull off his dick and lean over Wade, mouth full. He leaves Logan and smiles, giving you permission for what you were both thinking. He opens his mouth and spit a blog of saliva and cum into his mouth, slowly letting it drip down before you encased his mouth in your, letting him lick the rest of Logan’s cum out as he watched.

*

Logan did as he promised and took care of you and Wade. The two of you were entangled yourself with each other, arms in arms, legs wrapped around waists as Logan got a warm wash of clothes and cleaned both of you up with a gentle touch you ’d never seen him give Wade, but you liked seeing it. Wade and you provided each other with that skin to skin as Logan handled the technical, praising you both.

While Logan made you and Wade drink water, he rummaged through his clothes, tossing Wade some sweats and looking at you as he pulled on boxers. “Can I take you to the bathroom so I can get you into something more comfortable?”

You consider his words for a minute. He was offering you privacy, not requiring you to undress in front of Wade nor stay in the dress. Wade mumbles something about leaving the room, but he was clearly half asleep. Thing was, you didn't feel embarrassed with Wade anymore.

“You can change me here.”

Logan smiles down at you, leaning over to press a sweet kiss to your dick-sucking-swollen lips, and grabs at the hem of your dress. Even though he’s tired, Wade helps lift up your hips, then torso, then neck with his strength and is nice and carefully laying you down again on your nice soft bed. When Logan finally joins you two, you’re surprised to find that inside of going to curl his arms around you at your side, he crawls up between you and Wade. For a second you think there’s jealousy, that he wants distance between you two and you fear he’s about to send Wade out. Spending the night was not in the plan, but neither was that intense sexual chemistry between all three of you. You didn’t love Wade, but you felt close to him. You wanted him to stay.

Instead of kicking Wade wraps his arms around both of you, pulling you close to him. He was warm, safe, strong as you laid your body down on top of his chest, Wade opting to curl in more and rest on Logan’s abs, muttering “Mmmmm my peanut” and for once Logan didn’t tell him to shut up. When Wade starts snoring, Logan continues to play with your hair as he speaks.

“Was everything okay, pumpkin? You feel good?”

“Yeah,” You confirm, nodding off to sleep in content happiness. “Are you okay that I kissed Wade? We didn’t really talk about that.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little mind, beautiful girl. I know who you belong to.”

You kiss his left peck. “My first and last.”

I HOPE I DID OKAY!!!!!!

I love them you're honor ;-; WADE IS CANONICALLY QUEER SO DONT ERASE THATW HEN YOU WRITE HIM!!!

I love wolverine/ deadpool <3

I love my queer men

Thank you for reading! I have a/b/o Logan series coming after I finish up some Pedro Pascal fics!!!

@clawsandbullets @sunnyfranc @silversprings-mp3 @apizzacalledmel @marshmallow--3 @titanwind @sheepdogtrick3 @zooty-and-fruity @drunk-and-capable @xdaddysprincessxx

and thought @tightjeansjavi @multiversed-daydreamer and @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction may enjoy but no presure!!!!

[shaisuki]

📌 day twelve: breeding kink + benimaru shinmon

being married young, benimaru now the captain of the seventh wasn't really keen on procreating only the process he finds it fine. pleasurable even cause it was his wife, the one he loves and he understand where his adoptive father is coming from since the old man had only loved his wife and he's on the same line minus the want for you to bear a child. you and him were still young.

but sometimes when you're both intimate he finds himself wanting of it. of impregnating you with his child that even without s drop of sake in his tongue, he's beyond insatiable from how he takes you and staying longer after copulating and then he's back to being your husband and captain of the people in the seventh.

“something in your mind?” your thumb gliding over the planes of his face. despite the tenderness in your touch, benimaru retains his usual unabashed look in his face. his gaze intense looking at his wife. “it's nothing.” he muttered and you nod. deciding not to press the matter to him, cause your husband will come to tell you about it.

for the meantime he still kept his hold on you. his hand resting on the small of your back. keeping you close while he made you sit on his lap. slowly, his skilled fingers slowly and skillfully unties the obi of your kimono and then followed by the sleeves falling on to your soft, rounded shoulders.

his breath is hot against your skin. benimaru looks at you, his gaze unchanging while he kiss the skin of your shoulder. muttering something incoherent like he didn't know. “i want to do all the things with you.” he murmurs, a slight edge to his voice and then his lips are sucking the supple skin, acting like suction and then leaving a mark on it.

“then show me, beni. show me.” cradling his face with your hands and then a lazy grin surfaces in his lips.

one of your chunky leg is pressed against your chest while he's inside you. his cock, thick, warm and heavy resting inside your heat. he didn't move upon the initial contact. savoring the snugness of your hole wrapped against his cock and then, beni smiles. a feat that can only be achieved when he's intoxicated and your pussy is as good as the sake he consumes.

there's a glint in his eyes. the x and o's were like neon lights from the way he stares at you. the initial movement of his thick member made you gasp and the second leaves you calling his name and then his pace was relentless.

every bit of his self-restraint slowly dissipates the more he's inside you. with every moan and gasp and the way you call his name like a siren song, hypnotizes him. lulling him with the intent of his desire of breeding you.

benimaru sees all of you. bare since the day you were born and you two were one. his sight lowers at your round belly, he wants it rounder and swollen with his child. the thought of him filling you up with his seed, encourages him to move in his most brutish way that his cock is already nudging at your cervix making you whimper and beads of tears are from falling from your eyes since he can't control himself and he expected you to call him out for his behavior but instead he was encouraged to do it more.

“more, beni!” you cried out and that spurs him more to thrust his hips fast. slapping his skin to your skin. his cock throb at the sound of your voice begging him to go faster. he might not say it but benimaru's action told you what he really wants and he's been at it for days. you lost count or how many times he filled your womb with his thick cum.

a low growl sound comes from him when he's nearing over the edge. his balls are tight and his cock is throbbing inside you and then a few more and the a harsh thrust he spilled inside of you. buried to the hilt to make sure you're filled to the brim with his cum. the texture smooth and sticky, clinging to the walls of your womb to ensure fertility, he hopes so.

groaning, spurts after spurts of his semen is being deposited inside you but even the amount he was releasing it still made his cock twitch.

the night is still young and he can still go with the intent of knocking you up and looking at you, he knows you feel the same, your legs are still locked around his waist.

[ken-dom]

I’ll Do Anything You Say If You Say It With Your Hands

Colt Seavers x gn!reader

2k words

∘₊✧ Summary: You comb your fingertips through the wavy lengths of his soft hair, pausing when you find the perfect spot to wind a handful of strands tight around your fingers...

∘₊✧ Author’s notes: Thank you my wonderful K (@heresthestorymorningglory) for beta reading, finding me a Swift song for Colt, and allowing long hair Colt into the Geese Who Consume Us Club. This is my first time writing him and I know it won’t be my last! Title from Trecherous by Taylor Swift

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: NSFW, long hair Colt, crying (both to Taylor Swift and from overstimulation), praise, hair pulling kink, a lot of cum, hand job, overstimulation, orgasm as pain relief, aftercare

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

With lips hot and wet at his neck, your nails scrape over Colt’s scalp, threading through his thick locks.

His head drops back into the feeling; it’s sensual and soothing in equal measure, every nerve tingling like a spread of lightning through his body and heat pooling like lava at his aching core.

You've been touching him like this, tender but teasing, for what feels to him like hours since finding him curled into a ball on his sofa with Taylor Swift playing from the kitchen, eyes and cheeks wet, back aching and head pounding. You offered to help him relax, slowly opening him up to you, and, although you didn’t tell him this, your plan was also designed to make him feel good about himself. He fell apart in your hands the moment you began to touch him and as ever, he’s content to let you put him back together however you see fit.

You comb your fingertips through the wavy lengths of his soft hair, pausing when you find the perfect spot to wind a handful of strands tight around your fingers until you’re holding his head still with a firm fistful of thick, luscious blonde.

There’s still one loose strand framing his face, but he looks so gorgeous, you leave it there.

He whimpers as you tug your fist lightly, his wet eyes glimmering before they slip closed.

He feels your free hand glide down the smooth expanse of his chest. You’re raking your nails over his soft flesh too, feeling him shiver under the warmth of your palm until you graze a nail directly over a nipple and he jolts at the sudden spark of pleasure. You continue there, pinching and rolling the soft nub lightly between your fingers, watching his face contort in pleasure that isn’t quite enough but is almost too much to bear.

Watching him unravel.

He's been hard for too long and the front of his loose fitting sweatpants are soaked through. Colt is strong and he has stamina for days, but he really can’t keep this up for much longer, not with the way you’re teasing and coaxing, being so soft and caring with him.

Your hip presses briefly against his cock the hen you reach up to stroke that loose strand of hair, and Colt writhes, biting his bottom lip to keep from letting out the hungry groan that’s been nagging to tear from his chest.

You brush against him deliberately now and again, watching his chest muscles tense while his cock throbs at the hint of contact, and this time he does let out a groan. It’s guttural and almost relieved, and the wet patch grows a little darker.

He’s delicious like this, you think, simmering on the edge of bliss, needy but not daring to ask for anything more than you’re giving him. He completely relinquishes control to you, giving you both his body, and the power to oversee his pleasure however you see fit.

He trusts you, and you take good care of him. It works.

‘Colt?’ you whisper, still massaging that perky, sensitive nipple, and he whines in response. He can’t formulate so much as a thought of anything worth saying, let alone turn the sound into a word. So he gives up and simply nods instead, face scrunching up in pain when the roots of his hair snag against your tight grip.

It’s not just pain, though; it’s pleasure too, and he shudders at the sensation it sends running down his spine. 

It’s almost too much. Every touch is bringing him dangerously close to the edge, and having his hair tugged was a factor he never expected would contribute.

Lips pulling into a smirk at his reaction, you whisper, ‘Do you need to cum?’

‘P-pl-’ he tries, resorting back to a nod, slower this time, gentle against your fist, trying not to let this new thrill he’s discovered overwhelm him too soon.

‘Then tell me you’re handsome.’

‘Wha-’

‘Tell me you’re handsome,’ you repeat, a clear and simple request, fingers finding the tip of his cock with your and tracing a featherlight touch over the pulsing bulge in his damp sweatpants.

Heat radiates through the fabric as you trace the outline of a vein running down the underside of his length, and he twitches against your finger, cock begging for more — or less, if you want this to continue for much longer.

‘I- I’m- handsome,’ he chokes out, hips stuttering as you circle his sensitive tip again.

‘Tell me you’re smart, too.’

He shakes his head. It’s too vigorous and it hurts, but a spark of bliss shoots down to his core and he grunts as he feels himself leak out another thick drop of precum. His head drops back against the wall, your fist there to cushion the blow.

‘Come on, Colt, you can do it. Tell me.’

Your finger slows to a stop and his breathing turns uneven and ragged.

‘No- no, please- I… I can’t- I’m not!’

‘Oh but you are, and I need you to believe it. I need to hear you say it.’

He dares to open his scrunched up eyes just enough to glance at you.

You mean it. He knows you mean it. And he will never not give you what you ask for, so he manages, somehow.

‘I’m… I’m smart,’ he mutters, embarrassment pricking at his cheeks.

‘Good boy,’ you coo, massaging his tip again, gentle and slow.

Oh, Colt thinks, lost in the sensation, absentmindedly rolling his hips in time with your fingers, worth it.

Because he likes praise. He likes doing right by you, even if he doesn’t always agree with what you want him to say about himself. If you believe it, that’s enough for him.

‘I think you really deserve to cum now.’

‘Oh- yeah, ok-’ he breathes, still trying to please you, to sound agreeable, but it comes out desperate and you smirk as you lean up to press your lips to his for a moment, his cock once again left to throb aimlessly inside his sweatpants in the empty space between you, untouched and leaking steadily.

He feels a sinking disappointment when you loosen your grip on his long hair, but then you dip your head and your lips wrap around the plump nipple you’d been teasing moments earlier, and he moans, loud and unrestrained, bucking his hips and grabbing your shoulders to seek something- anything you might be good enough to give him.

With one hand still loose in his hair, the other drags painfully slowly over his stomach, fingers grazing his happy trail, to hook under the waistband of his sweatpants, open a space big enough to slide your hand inside the fabric and press your palm flat against the underside of his cock.

It’s sticky with precum and he blushes again at how wet he feels.

His cock is thick and heavy, noticeable even just from resting against your palm, and you can feel every little throb of need it gives. Your eyes drag over his burly form, and absentmindedly, you lick your lips.

His jaw clenches at that. He’s trying so hard not to spill yet, forcing his hips still and concentrating on breathing. He needs you to tell him when, but it’s growing more difficult by the minute to wait for that command, even while there’s no friction, no movement.

‘Tell me one more thing?’

‘Anything!’ Colt cries out, voice weak, strangled and cracking, the vein in his cock throbbing against your palm.

‘Tell me what you need?’

‘I need- oh-’

You finally stroke his cock. A soft, gentle massage that, to him, feels like far too much at this point. He can’t hold off, his release is approaching rapidly and-

‘Oh, fuck- I can’t-’

‘That’s it baby, you can, I promise,’ you coo, and your fingers wrap around his length while your tongue resumes its work on his sensitive nipple.

‘I- I need to-’ he rasps, on the verge of more tears. But these are needy tears, not self pitying ones, and you both know that you’ll give him what he needs, eventually.

The tears pour, steaming down his cheeks, and as a reward for trying so hard, you begin to move your fist, pumping faster the more he attempts to spit the words out, and tightening the grip of your other hand to yank his hair, hard.

Colt growls at the combined sensations and your teeth catch on his nipple as he jerks forward. It’s so good, so overwhelming, he knows he’s done for, and every ounce of strength in him diminishes until there’s just your hand, your mouth, your warmth. He’s safe like this with you. Safe and handsome and smart. Fuck.

His vision blurs as the words continue to fall from his trembling lips; ‘I need to- cu-ohhh-oh!-ughhh-mmmnnn-gg-’ and he spills uncontrollably, hips snapping forward into your furiously pumping fist while his cock darkens the front of those sweatpants with a fresh layer of thick, hot seed, dripping down satisfyingly over your hand, too while his whole body turns limp.

You continue working his softening length with slower, softer strokes until he’s got nothing left to give and he’s softening inside your loose fist.

He’s a heap on the floor by now and you’re positioned over him, pushing your fingers through his hair and softly brushing it away from his face instead of pulling at it. The contrast soothes him and he whimpers, nuzzling his face into your shoulder as you settle beside him.

You wipe his release from your hand onto a dry patch of his pants — they’re going to need a thorough wash anyway, and Colt doesn’t even notice.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his over-sensitive cock relieved and soft and coated in his own cum, twitching with aftershocks.

Slowly, he begins to feel like he’s made of jelly, the feeling spreading from his core out to his limbs, and he can barely keep his eyes open.

He floats away on the haze of bliss while you play with his hair and press soft kisses to his cheek, whispering how good he was for you into his ear, the praise dripping like warm honey.

When he comes to, he first notices that your comforting weight is no longer pressed against his side, and then he recognises the calming trickle of the tap filling his bathtub and the scent of lavender floating through from the steamy room. 

Whatever you did to him has relieved his back pain, however temporary, and he shifts on the floor, seeing how it feels to have more ease in his movements.

There’s a cushion under his head and you’ve stripped him of his cum stained sweatpants, replacing them with a blanket for now.

It feels like you’ve brushed his hair.

He smiles to himself. A big, dumb grin that would make you want to kiss him (and pounce on him) if you were still beside him.

He looks over to where you were laid before he drifted off and sees that you’ve left him a glass of water.

His heart skips.

He’s not sure he can drag himself to the bathtub right now, weak from too much pleasure and somewhat overwhelmed at it, but he knows you’ll help him. And that it’s what he needs.

He knows you’ll massage his shoulders, and that you’ll wash his hair with tender, loving fingers, and gush about how pretty it is all the while. 

About how pretty he is. 

You’ll do it until he sees his worth, and as difficult as it may be to learn and accept that he’s as desirable as you seem to think he is, he’s not exactly complaining about hearing it from you. Especially when you choose this method — the one where he gets to cum.

He knows he’ll be hard again by the time you’re done washing and massaging him, too, but you’ll take mercy on him since he’s so overstimulated. Won’t you?

[bearwithegg]

Fight Like a Girl || B.Blackwood || Part 2 ||

My thoughts have just been plagued with scenes I can write for this, i honestly intended this to be 2 parts but I ALREADY HAVE IDEAS FOR PART 3 SO FUCK IT WE BALL???

PART 1 HERE

PART 3 HERE

Kieran!Benjicot Blackwood (fancast) x f!Reader

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Swearing??? Idiots in love but they dont know what that means

Tags <3: @spider-stark

***

War, for all that it brings with it, destruction, pain, suffering on a scale hitherto unknown remained a constant and unchanging conundrum. Were the gods so cruel as to let brother kill brother over trivial squabbles? It was a fascinating thing, to understand, to learn. You, however, decided in this current juncture it felt like a personal punishment aimed to torment and break you down. Realistically, the suffering it caused on a wider scale was insurmountable and that was something you could acknowledge. But in this instance, the way your body aches and screams from constant use makes it feel like a personal sleight.

“Your grip is weak.”

A soft groan of frustration exhales when you sigh, “I cannot hold the sword otherwise.” Dropping the sword by your side, it had been hours without respite and weeks of training for what? You still couldn’t even hold a sword properly and that frustrated you only more.

Benji laughs, softly, circling you with his head tilted to the side. You want to hit him but decide against it. After all, he didn’t need to visit your tent and assist in getting you battle ready — yet he did it either out of some sense of male honour or he secretly enjoyed overseeing your own personal agony.

“Does my ineptitude amuse you, my Lord?” You throw the sword on the ground, it landing with a thud on the canvas flooring. In the throes of frustration, you wipe the sweat from your brow and run a hand through unevenly chopped locks of hair.

“Your petulance, perhaps.” The boyish smile breaking through his hardened demeanor always caught you off guard. A gentle reminder that he was not some battle beaten man, he was young and had his innocence ripped from him; more or less like you. “You may not see it but there is improvement,” he dips down to pick the sword up, holding it out for you to take it again.

Right or not, it didn’t matter in the present. The improvement may have been so miniscule it might as well not have counted, though it was always difficult to see one's progress without the lense of the past. And with a sigh of concession, you snatch the sword from his hand and give him a goading look, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Again,” he instructs firmly, tongue protruding slightly out from between his lips — he was too good at that, switching from his natural charming disposition to a commanding authority in an instance. As if two halves of him were at odds with each other, another part of him lay dormant but the crazed look in his eyes often betrayed his steadfast composure. You weren’t sure if you liked it or feared it.

With a roll of your wrist and standing with a sturdy bearing, you take an offensive stance. His eyes wander all over you, in a completely different scenario it may have been flattering or intrusive, but there is no desire hidden away in the deep brine pools of his eyes. Under his scrutinous gaze you hold firm; at least my wrist doesn’t feel like falling off.

Improvement.

He steps to your side flank, head tilted in thought. The low hum accompanying the loud thoughts you wished he’d say out loud.

When did he get so close? You swallow nervously — he was a practical man, but often opted to show you how to do something by watching him first. Surprisingly gentle to the touch he brings a hand over yours, the one that grips the sword and adjusts your grip. Tilting your wrist slightly and nudging your thumb to a different position.

“Can you feel the difference?” He murmurs, an unexpectedly tender moment that would have floored you entirely had you not spent weeks training at his command. Even now though, you feel composure waning, creaking away like a tree that has had its trunk chopped halfway.

“Feels like… I have more control,” You utter, looking slightly over your shoulder. Oh. He was much closer than you thought.

He nods, softly adjusting your grip to keep the blade upright, though he doesn’t move his hand this time. “Your stance is good and solid. But means little if you have no strength to fortify it…” His other hand is held up so that you can see it and slowly brings it down to your hip. Not once during this small interaction does he break eye contact, it was as though he was giving you the chance to stop him if you wanted to.

You don’t, of course.

A moment of hesitation as he tentatively touches your hip before holding it and rotating you ever so slightly, “what you lack in strength, you have in speed… This stance is better for your momentum.”

“Right,” you whisper, blinking out of the daze you felt yourself fall into by the pull of his gaze. His eyes were so lovely. In moments like this they were bright with a golden hue, as if marked by the Gods. Other times they were dark, dangerous abyssal pits that you could equally get lost in. But not now.

“Good,” he smiles, the same boyish smile that makes you a little nervous and nauseous concurrently. Which was a strange feeling because you weren’t repulsed by him and yet your body reacted all the same. No one had ever elicited such strange reactions within you like he did.

“Try and disarm me.”

“What?” You feel your arm immediately drop as he steps away and unsheathes his own sword. No longer honey touched eyes boring into yours, they were void and wild. He doesn’t give you a chance to process anything before swinging his sword, you have no choice but to stumble back, practically flailing your own sword to stop from getting hurt.

Clang!

The metal blades ricochet off one another and you take the chance to scurry across the bed swiftly before he can attempt another blow, “fuck, fuck — fuck!” You hiss, standing on the other side of the tent, barely a chance to think properly before he’s back onto you like a grounded tempestuous storm.

With wide eyes you jump out of the way, his sword connects with the side table and wood splinters off into pieces. The first casualty — you’d have laughed or joked if you weren’t absolutely fearing for your life in a way. Heart pounding hard as you take a chance to counter, using a leg to disable him by going for his knees but he sees it and contorts his body just in time.

“C’mon!” He shouts, eyes wild and borderline murderous.

Unsure what possibly possessed you other than it felt right. Call it a childish rebuke or not, you instantly straighten your stance and yell back at him, a deep and guttural yell, like one would trying to fend a bear off an attack.

He licks his lips, the grin of a mad man apparent, “there she is.”

This time you swing first, kicking off the back leg gives you a good enough propulsion and wind up with the sword. Cling! He cross blocks, letting your blade slide down his own and the two of you are practically face to face, the slightest smirk pulls at his lips and you match it with a barely audible snarl.

Using your full body weight, you push into him to get distance which only just works.

Another swing from him, narrowly missing your shoulder as you jump aside, his sword clashing with one of the bed posts, it snaps under the force and limply hangs onto the unmarked wood. You take advantage of his over extension, ducking beneath his arms and opting for the best option, shouldering him in the waist and bringing him down to the ground.

Not your finest work, but he tumbles - and you with him - onto the canvas flooring, but at least you had the upper hand and though strength was not in your arsenal just yet, speed was. Pinning him to the ground, you straddle higher than the waist to keep him from bucking you off or swinging his legs around.

Both of you held your blades to each other's throat in a stalemate, chests heaving with heavy breaths.

“A fair play, my lady,” he pants quietly, though the impish grin on his face suggested otherwise. Your eyes travel down to his other hand where he had his dagger pressed softly against the leathers of your tunic, no doubt a lethal puncture in the abdomen if you were in a real fight. He lowers his blades, “you are improving — getting better at trusting your instincts.”

“You went easy on me,” you whine, tossing your blade indignantly. The semi victory loses its glory almost instantly, souring in your mouth. Standing back up seemed to be more effort today than usual, muscles shaking, screaming for a modicum of respite. But war does not rest so neither shall your body.

“If you wish for me to kill you, then you need only ask,” he jests, you knew this — he was holding out for a reason. You hadn’t seen him in battle but can very well imagine without much stretch of the imagination how he has coined the notorious namesake of ‘Bloody Ben Blackwood’. Even more it seemed, he was often harsher, stricter and more brutal when he would lead training with the younger boys.

“Don’t offer such a tempting proposal,” you laugh, tired, exhausted.

He looks at you, seriously for but a moment, “if you desire rest, it is okay to take it.” And the sweet, caring and kind Benji fronted, flecks of gold honey in his eyes as he steps forward and grabs your hand with a touch so kindly it seemed foreign. He need not force you, tugging you to the bedside and sitting you down, “you are not weak for needing rest.”

You chuckle softly, “there is no rest for someone like me, I need to be ready for when we march forward within the tenday.”

“You won’t be much use to us if your legs cannot even carry you. Rest.” He says firmly, pushing gently on your shoulder which didn’t need much for you to collapse onto the bed. “We can resume overmorrow.” He’s seated on the side of your bed now, you open your mouth to contest but he glowers immediately, tilting his head forward and setting his jaw as if to silently say ‘don’t you dare’.

So you don’t dare.

“If I was less encumbered by my exhaustion I’d have hit you for looking at me like that,” you bite, rolling onto your side and instinctively curling in on yourself.

“You certainly would have tried.” He laughs.

“And succeeded, I pinned you already today — I could do it again if I willed myself.”

“Is that so? Perhaps we should get a maester to check those ears of yours, did I not request you disarm me? I don’t recall asking you to pin me.”

“Hmmm,” you hum, narrowing your eyes at him though the barely suppressed smile betrayed your poor attempt to keep a straight face. “I stopped thinking the moment you attacked me like a brute.”

He nods along with your words and though his words are vaguely threatening, his smile indicates a hint of mischievousness, “a Brute am I? You have a crass tongue, My Lady, you’d better keep it in check.”

“Clover.”

“Hm?” His head tilts to the side, like a dog hearing a command.

“Call me Clover… Garrus finds it easier… Less likely to accidentally call attention to my identity.” You run your fingers over the furs of your bed, naturally you omit the little part of the nickname because that seemed sacred to Garrus. Only he can call you that. But Benji had your trust, and you had his, even if it be an unspoken bond that grew stronger the more time elapsed within one anothers company. He at least deserved a little part of you.

There is silence, as he sits on your words, a faint smile ghosting his lips and he nods singularly, “As you wish, Clover.” And the strangest feeling encompasses the tent, it was thick but not suffocating, warm but not a hellfire. His hand moves so deftly, you hadn’t seen it until his fingers barely grazed your temple, pushing back a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He holds it, a moment, two moments, before his eyes blink rapidly, something reminding him of his place and he flushes red, retracting his hand quickly as though he had touched hot coals. “A-Apologies… forgive me — that was wholly inappropriate. Please do rest, I will see you overmorrow.”

It happened rather quickly, he stands and you sit up as swiftly, “Benji.” You call but he was out quicker than bat out of the hells. Your shoulders slump, a faint pout on your lips as you try to decipher what that could’ve been about. Whatever it had been, you liked it, you liked him but that could mean a plethora of things.

You sigh, falling back into the bed and staring at not particularly anything. Perhaps it would be prudent to speak on the matter with Garrus when he returned.

[peachdues]

THE SWEET FAR THING — SNIPPET

Knight!Kyojuro x Princess!Reader • Royal AU

A/N: yes, there’s going to be smut, but there’s also going to be angst (because who am I if not the connoisseur of angsty romance?)

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Rengoku exploded, whipping around to face you. The fire in his eyes could have burned you alive, could have reduced the magnificent castle around you to ash. “Do you think it does not tear me apart to know that you are meant for another?”

Rengoku swore violently, his outburst making you flinch.

“That I cannot have you the way I desire — and I do not mean merely taking you to bed,” the knight’s anguish was palpable as he gripped at fistfuls of his hair. “I mean that I cannot claim you as mine for the world to see; I cannot kiss you. I cannot marry you. I cannot love you.”

Once, his admission — his confession — of his true feelings for you would have made your heart soar. That he would’ve wanted you as ardently as you’d longed for him would have soothed the inferno raging with your heart; tamed it to a steady, tender flame that burned for him and him alone.

Now, you only felt cold.

“And yet you’ve still taken liberties with me,” you fixed your gaze upon the stone behind his head, unable to bear witness to the way he visibly deflated. “You have touched me and tasted me with abandon.”

Even the cadence of your voice felt foreign. “Some would even argue you’ve compromised my virtue.”

It did not matter if he’d revealed the depth of his feelings for you; the earnestness of his confession was poisoned by his own actions — by his disregard for you in favor of his own selfish wants.

Rengoku dropped his head in shame. “I know.”

Your accusation had been made in earnest, and yet you recoiled all the same from the ugly stab of his words.

It would’ve hurt less if he’d hit you.

An uncomfortable silence hung heavy in the air until the knight roughly cleared his throat.

“And that is why I am to join the Hashira — why I am to leave the castle by the next full moon.”

Your lungs constricted harshly, your breath eking out of you in a pitiful, strangled wheeze. “Y-you’re —?”

His pained expression was a sure mirror of your own. “I cannot do it, Y/N,” he said roughly, not bothering with the formality of your title. “I cannot sit back and watch as you’re married off to another.”

The skin of his knuckles turned white as the knight balled his fists. “It is tradition that the Guards of both parties attend the consummation — to confirm the marriage is valid.”

Rengoku’s eyes screwed tightly shut, and his head turned stiffly to the side, as though he could avoid facing the ugly truth of it all. He exhaled harshly, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he worked to open his eyes once more.

“You cannot ask me to bear witness to that.”

And yet, he was asking you to endure life as a caged bird without even the hope to dream of flight; of him.

“If you leave, I will have nothing left,” you whispered, eyes wide and unblinking. “I will have no reason to continue on; nothing worth living for.”

Rengoku’s attention snapped to you in alarm. In a flash, he’d closed the distance between you, his hands locking around your shoulders, fingers digging uncomfortably — urgently — into your skin.

“Don’t,” he warned, voice low and full of anger. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t you dare even think it, not even for a moment.”

[hotchfiles]

Lari I got the cutest idea for a Hotch fic and wanted to share, you don't have to make this a thing you're just the first person I think of when it comes to anything Hotch related!! <3

So what if Hotch had a daughter and she's applying for colleges and she doesn't tell her dad that she applied for the college he went to and then she gets accepted and surprises him by getting a hoodie w the schools name on it, goes up to him and is all "surprise!" and then Hotch is the proudest and smiliest dad ever, the end x

love, family & law

You don't enjoy hiding things from Aaron, and he is annoyingly good at figuring you out, you also don't like supporting Abbey lying to her father, but she has been excited to surprise him with her pre-law George Washington acceptance since before she had actually been accepted and the tenderness of it pulled you by your heart strings.

Jack had recently finished his EMT- Intermediate training and chosen your alma mater Virginia Commonwealth University for his Bachelor's in Emergency Medical Science, a proud to be paramedic. You were excited to see Aaron as happy as you are about sharing schools.

He was starting to get worried too, the family's youngest going radio silent about acceptances from colleges, to him, was beginning to seem like Abbey hadn't got any.

That possibility doesn't bother him, really, he just doesn't want his baby girl suffering alone.

He gets home late and tired, as usual. The two cats he was coerced into adopting years ago are the only ones to welcome him in, two balls of black and orange fur rubbing against his legs lightly and purring as he put his keys, phone and wallet on the table by the door.

"Honey? Abbey?" He scrunches down for a minute, giving Monday and Friday his full attention, and back rubs, "Do you know where mom and your sister are, huh, sneaky babies?" They meow in response. "Gonna need a translator for this interrogation." Aaron smiles to himself and stands up, his knees embarrassingly cracking at the action.

"We're cleaning your office!" His brows rose immediately in suspicion, your voice didn't sound like it was coming from the office, and cleaning it was definitely not your responsibility on the chores chart you both built over the years.

Still, he follows the direction, balls of fur by his side, and is met with the room empty, his old almost falling apart too big GW Law sweater that you usually wore to sleep neatly unfolded over his desk. "Whatー"

"SURPRISE!" He doesn't flinch, turning around in a second, a happy smile, showing a bit of teeth even, graces his face when he notices Abbey wearing a GWU sweater. "Pre-law, officially."

Aaron doesn't say anything, walking over to her and engulfing her in a bear-like hug. You watch from the sidelines, seeing tears watering his eyes lightly as you try to hold back your own.

"Baby, please, don't turn into a defense lawyer." He says half-jokingly after letting go of the hug, pride and joy written all over his face.

"Aaron!"

"What? I'm proud but we gotta be careful, don't want her taking people I put in jail out of there."

Abbey rolls her eyes (yours, completely) at him. "I will if they're innocent. Old people make mistakes." The tone and bite to her tongue are completely his. Strong, matter-of-factly, confident.

Smiling at you is his only reaction, love for what you two created together is clear in his eyes.

Love for the family you helped him build, for the fact you raised Jack and Abbey with values that made both want to help people.

Love for you, always love for you.