#I wish I could post his voice as well for it completes the effect

[batri-jopa]

Gustaw Holoubek (1923-2008)

photo sources: [x], [x], [x], [x], [x], [x], [x], [x]

[bg-brainrot]

Second winter fluff prompt for the BG3 Holiday Challenge!

Prompt: Ice and Snow

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Love at First Knife, on AO3 here

Premise: Astarion is always cold, used to a nocturnal lifestyle and a distinct lack of blood in his veins. However you, the sad little mortal, are not prepared for the winter’s chill. When you experience your first snowfall together, Astarion makes it his personal mission to ensure that you’re bundled up.

Tags: Fluff, POV Second person, Gender-neutral pronouns, Post-Canon

Word count: ~1.1k

“Astarion, please,” you say, voice muffled behind a thick, knitted scarf. “You’re completely overreacting.”

The vampire tuts at you, as he deposits a fur-lined hat upon your head, and a few dangling tassels tickle your ears. “Now darling, what did I tell you about fighting me on this?”

“That you would tie me up and–”

“No, the other thing,” he interrupts, though a salacious smile comes over him at the thought.

“Oh. That you wouldn’t let me make a snow celestial…” you sound dejected, and you downcast your eyes to appear pitiable.

Astarion, for his part, only finds joy in your reaction, a delighted giggle being his only response.

“What about you?” you challenge, as he tries to shimmy another coat onto your already quite padded frame. "You were just complaining about the cold the other day!"

“I’m coldblooded, my dear. And you know I only complain for the attention,” he says, kneeling down to lace your boots for you. If you tried to bend down right now, you’re certain you’ll fall over in a pile of furs and fluff. “I shall be just fine with my current coat.” He’s currently wearing a fitted red winter coat, an embroidered pattern of roses in gold along its sleeves and collar– the epitome of a dashing man, next to your shambling mound.

“Stupid, sexy vampire,” you mutter under your breath. He only laughs and places yet another scarf around your neck.

Satisfied with his work, he takes a step back. “Would you look at that, my scary assassin is all ready to go outside,” he says, a bright smile on his face.

You level him with a murderous look, which loses some of its effect considering the scarves currently blocking your mouth. “I’ll show you scary,” you mumble, ready to attack your lover. You find that difficult now though, considering a slow shuffle is all that you can maintain.

He pays your death glares no mind, as he tucks one delicate little scarf around his own neck and declares that he’s ready to go outside as well.

You wobble after him, feeling nothing like the intimidating rogue you’re supposed to be. But you suppose if it means he won’t stop your snow celestials, some sacrifices, like your pride, must be made.

The first snowfall along the Sword Coast is always among the most beautiful and this year is no exception. Once you’ve made your way outside, you find yourself surrounded by a winter wonderland.

Pockets of snow line your roof, several inches of snow surround your house in every direction, and a light smattering of snow falls upon you now. You wish you could feel it, but between all of the layers, you only guess that it’s light and powdery– perfect for snow celestials.

Astarion peers around at the world, seeming rather unimpressed. “Well, isn’t that lovely. The ground is white.”

You ignore his lackluster response to the bounty of snow before you and make your way past him to the yard. With more of a stumble than a step, you fall into a particularly open patch of snow in front of your house. A puff of white snow explodes around you as you land, and you breathe out a single, “Oof.”

“Love, was that… on purpose?” Astarion asks, not far behind you.

“Mmhm,” you mumble into the snow. A backwards snow celestial it is. With all of the effort you can muster, you wave your arms and legs into the shape of wings and, well, whatever celestials had in place of legs. You can feel yourself overheating from the bundle of clothes surrounding you, but you’re determined to make this look good and ensure that Astarion understands that this is lovely.

After your exertions, you stop moving for a bit, just laying there in the impression of your snow celestial. Astarion, who’s likely been watching you this entire time, calls out, “Are you alright, dear?”

You raise your hand into a gloved thumbs up.

“Do you need help getting up?”

“Mhhhmmmm,” you groan into the snow. Your nose is starting to get cold and your sweat is chilling over.

“Alright then,” he responds, and you feel his legs carefully step around you, his arms tugging you onto your back and hoisting you up. Once you’re on your feet, your lover frowns at you and begins dusting you off with determination. “Darling, look at you. You’re going to get soaked to the bone with how much snow you’re covered in.”

“And whose fault is that?” you grumble at him.

“Yours, for insisting on the snow celestial,” he retorts, flicking your nose with his index finger.

That reminds you– You look down at your imprint in the snow, see what all of this unpleasant combination of cold and sweat got you. It’s a little lopsided, and both your and Astarion’s boots have left several footprints in the center, but it’s a solid attempt.

Brimming with pride at your work, you look to Astarion. “See? Look at how radiant my celestial looks.”

Astarion takes a look as well, and you can see the stifled laughter begging to come out.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” you say, pointing a stern finger at him.

He promptly defies you, as a hearty chuckle escapes him. “Sorry, dearest, but the hat you’re wearing makes it look like some kind of beholder.”

You look down to see that the tassels to your hat must have flung around as you moved, creating a crown of what could really only be described as eyestalks. “Well then. A snow aberration. I’m not picky,” you respond with a shrug.

Astarion smiles at you, open affection coloring his gaze, before he pulls you into a wide hug. “Fantastic work, love. Your talent is unmatched. And maybe– just maybe– it was worth all of the effort.”

You lean into him and his praise and say, “I suppose I should thank you for making sure I stayed warm.”

“Oh no need,” he says, squeezing you tightly. “Seeing you look like a large marshmallow is truly its own reward.” He drops his voice an octave and adds, “And somehow you still manage to look utterly enticing.”

You can barely feel his movements through the layers between you, so when he abruptly begins dragging you back to the house you give a surprised yelp. “What are you doing?”

“Your snow creature is done, now comes my favorite part– taking all of these layers off,” you catch Astarion’s quick wink before you’re ungracefully pulled after him.

There’s snow between your scarves, your toes have begun to chill, and fresh new snow is falling on your face, but somehow his words still warm you. “Was this your plan all along?”

“Naturally, my love. You know I would do anything to keep you warm,” his tone is innocent, the lidded eyes he gives you anything but. He must catch the flush covering your face because he laughs a melodic trill. “I’m starting to think I quite like wintertime.”

[katblu42]

Hand Warmers

For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #279 Warm Hands.

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go Characters: Gordon and Virgil Word Count: approx 953 Domestic fluff (no warnings apply as far as I can tell).

Gordon was well known within his family for suffering from the affliction of cold hands.  Virgil in particular had fallen victim to icy fingers placed against warm skin on numerous occasions.  But, in his defence, Gordon found this particular big brother was the most effective heat source for warming frosty digits. 

Of course, it also helped that Virgil was often the only brother in range when this was needed, and despite the initial grumbling, he was also usually quite amenable to lending body heat to a little brother in need.

Virgil himself seemed to always have warm hands – at least in Gordon’s experience.  It didn’t seem to matter where he was, or what he was doing, if Gordon placed a distractingly cold hand anywhere on Virgil’s exposed skin there was glorious warmth to be shared. Then those familiar, big, warm hands would soon be deployed to enfold his own and work some much needed heat into them.

It kind of made sense.  Virgil’s hands always seemed to be moving – dancing across the piano keys, applying brushstrokes to canvas, or sketching on almost any surface, artfully deploying exactly the right tool for anything that needed fixing, or gently but deftly applying first aid. 

But for Gordon the most memorable thing those well-muscled and well-used hands could do was to give expert massages to sooth overworked swimmer’s muscles, or gently relax a cramp.  He couldn’t remember how or when it started, but it had been quite a regular thing between them.  Somehow Virgil always seemed to know exactly when he needed the sweet relief of warmth and pressure working all the tension out of his back, shoulders and neck, and would be there to provide it in exactly the right measure.

He'd often wished he could return the favour, and with today’s rescue being as rough as it was, Gordon could see that now was the perfect time to do so.  But he couldn’t even approach those heavy-lifting muscles without doing some important preparation first.

Luckily, preparation was something Gordon was very good at.  He usually employed this talent when planning pranks, but the surprise he was planning this time should produce a much more favourable response.  And preparation for this one had begun during post-flight checks when Thunderbird Two had returned to her hangar.

Under the guise of restocking the medical supplies Gordon had grabbed a couple of the tiny packets containing air-activated heat packs.  Later, once checks were completed, uniforms shed and he’d showered and changed into his regular attire, the packets were opened and shaken and then clutched in each hand.

After half an hour with the little heat packets kept within reach – in his pockets when not in direct contact with his hands – he deemed himself ready to put the next phase of the plan into action.

Virgil was sitting at their dad’s desk, most likely making a start on post-rescue paperwork when Gordon decided to make his move.  Making his stealthy approach from behind, avoiding the squeaky floorboard, he gave the little heat packs in each pocket one last firm squeeze each.

When he placed his warm hands on his big brother’s shoulders he felt the muscles tense at the unexpected contact.

“Gor- . . . Gordon?” Virgil’s voice started with the low warning tone that usually accompanied an unapproved activity, but quickly rose in pitch and inflection.

“The one and only!”

As Virgil tried to turn his head to face him, Gordon gently redirected the movement with one hand and started kneading tense muscles with the other.

“What are you doing?” Virgil directed his gaze forward again, allowing Gordon to knead with both hands.  “And how are your hands so warm?  They’re never this warm!  What did you do?”

Gordon chuckled.  “Don’t you worry about that.  Just relax and let me do this for you.”

Right on cue he found and pressed against a particularly tough little knot that had Virgil groaning and relaxing into the massage as the knot released.  There was an easy silence between them for a while, broken only by the soft grunts that let Gordon know he was finding all the right spots.

“Where’d you learn to do this?”  Virgil asked somewhat sleepily.

“Kind of from you.  I’ve been on the receiving end enough times.”  He paused a moment, concentrating his attention on another nasty knot.  “But I’ve always kind of wondered how you learned to be so good at giving massages.”

“I guess it started when you decided to get serious about swimming competitively.  I wanted to be able to support you, and I had an interest in medical treatments, so I looked into the kinds of medical complaints swimmers often experienced and how to treat them.  I mostly learned from video tutorials and trial and error on unsuspecting family members.”

Gordon laughed again.  “Well, I’m very glad you did.  Of all the massages I’ve had, yours are always the best.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gordon.  There’s no way my efforts can compare with a professional.”

Gordon paused his thumb circles long enough to offer a playful tap to the side of Virgil’s head.

“I’m not kidding, Virge.  You’re massage skills are awesome, and I need you to know I appreciate every single one you’ve given me over the years.  And if the tension that was in these heavy lifting muscles is anything to go by, I think I need more chances to pay you back.”

It was Virgil’s turn to give a chuckle.

“If you think I’m bad you should try it on Scott.  When he’s tense his neck and shoulder muscles feel like steel girders.”

They were both laughing now. “No, I think I’ll leave Scott’s tense muscles to your magic fingers!”

[cheeeeseburger]

Dream girl Part 4

Next part

Sidney Crosby x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: I had something else completely written for this part but somehow I lost it so anyway here's part 4! English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes, enjoy!

“Yeah dude, some fucking pipe broke and now there’s water all over our goddamn new condo.” Like usual, Sid was busy listening to your boyfriend’s convo, trying to gather some info on you. Apparently, something broke in the brand-new condo that you and your boyfriend just bought together. Sidney knew all about it. After your almost-kiss, he though his heart had suffered enough for the week until he saw that fucking post on your Instagram. You were holding the key, and he was holding you, and Sidney just wanted to disappear forever.

Anyway. That must be why you didn’t attend a single game this week. Must have been too busy. Sidney was relieved. So you weren’t avoiding him. You still hadn’t replied to his texts saying he was sorry for almost kissing you, but at least you were not actively trying to escape him. His heart warmed a little in his chest.

“Oh man, that sucks. You haven’t even lived a month in it!” Another young defenseman chimed in. The story was getting real interesting now.

“Yet they still expect a payment every week. What a bunch of assholes. And they won’t fix it until another month! I mean, do they expect me and my girlfriend to live in a hotel for another fucking month?” For once, he could sympathize with the rookie. Yeah, it must suck to live in a hotel. He especially thought about you. You had to hate it. He had to do something about it.e H

Sometimes, love makes you stupid. It was one of these occasions. Sidney would ask you to move in with him. Temporarily, of course. With the boyfriend included.

It had got to be his worst idea yet. But it seemed he couldn’t keep the words from spilling out: “I have a basement you guys could use.”

So nice. So helpful. So generous. Yet so selfish. Sidney Crosby, what a nice guy, eh?

Of course, your boyfriend agreed on the spot, not bothering to check beforehand with you. He didn’t understand why you were freaking out, and it had to stay that way.

Two days later, you were knocking on the captain’s door, suitcase in hand. How could this go wrong?

At first, Sidney thought he could manage. It wasn’t like you were always there. Most of the time, you were hiding from him anyway. He wanted to talk to you about the moment you almost had right there in his kitchen, but it was hard with the rookie always being there.

Honestly, the first week went well. Sure, he found a thong in his batch of laundry and the image of you wearing it drove him mad, but everything was going well.

Until he heard it. That first moan, the first clue that you were arching your back for someone that wasn’t him. Sidney felt his heart sink in his stomach. He wanted to turn on the TV to forget the angelic noise, but he heard it again. This time, it was louder, needier. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t move.

Against his will, Sidney’s hand made its way underneath his pants. The effect you had on him was crazy. Your voice only got louder, echoing through the walls of his home. He began to stroke himself.

Faintly, he could hear the noises your boyfriend made, but he decided to ignore them. Pretending to be the one making you moan was simply too good. It sounded like you were matching Sid’s tempo better than his anyway. When your screams began to be louder and more frequent, he picked up the pace. He just knew that you were getting close, and so was he, but he wanted his girl to finish first.

His girl. That lie almost made him come on the spot. He threw his head back and imagined you were doing the same. He wished you were riding his thigh.

Suddenly, the bed in his basement stopped creaking. Your boyfriend thanked everyone but you for existing as he finished. He was done and apparently, for him, it meant that you were done too. Sidney called bullshit on that immediately.

There was no way you were feeling satisfied after that. You and Sidney were on the same pace, and he was nowhere near finished. Sure, a few minutes ago you seemed closed, but the fucking rookie was selfish. So selfish that he had to ruin the pleasure of two people that night.

Sid was so pissed for you. You deserved that orgasm. If you were his girl, he would’ve made you come twice already, with a third time coming soon. He would let you rest awhile only to rock your world harder a few moments later. Every single night.

Of course, Sidney was frustrated for himself too. He had no choice but to take a shower, because there was no way he would be able to sleep without getting some kind of satisfaction. The warmth of your mouth would be better, but the palm of his hand and the hot water would have to do for the night.

It didn’t take long for him to get right back on track. Now that he didn’t have your moans as background music, he thought of all the way he would make you come.

For the first time, of course, it would have to be sweet. After all, he was gentleman. He would worship you and tell you the million reasons why you were his dream girl. Only when you would be convinced that you’re an angel would he let himself think about finishing.

 He would have to eat you out next. His age was his biggest asset in that department. Guys his age knew how to take care of their girls. No way the rookie had ever used his tongue on you. Fucking idiot.

If he felt especially riled up one night, he would have to have you against a wall. He wanted to see the pictures trembling and the frames falling on the floor.

His next thought had him steadying himself on the wall. He wanted to have you somewhere he was sure your boyfriend would hear. Sidney had to let him know that only him could make you satisfied. After all, you were his dream girl.

That was all it took. He hoped the sound of the water would hide his grunts as he released all that frustration inside of him.

Yeah, he did feel guilty as he stepped out of the shower. I mean, he had just jacked off to the thought of you. But it wasn’t like it was the first time, nor would it be the last. Actually, he only felt guilty because he knew you weren’t feeling satisfied like he was right now. Sidney would have to change that soon.

[thewriterthatghostedyou]

Chapter Two

Hey guys, I meant to post this yesterday but completely forgot after all of my classes and Halloween activities. Lol. Either way I hope you enjoy! The next chapters for this will be released weekly on Fridays.

Word count: 3173

Warnings: slight language

Divider by @zaldritzosrose

You scoffed slightly as you watched a flock of ladies run ahead of you to the great hall giggling and gossiping as they went. Their frivolous desires that you once shared, seemed to pale in comparison to the duties you had to attend to. You sigh wistfully, wishing that you still enjoyed things as trivial as dresses and gossip.

“I heard the King isn’t going to remarry!” A lady with dark brown hair spoke, fanning herself slightly.

“Truly?” Another lady asked, eyes wide.

“That means Aemond will be king one day.” The first girl snapped her hand held fan in her hands open before fanning towards her overexposed bosoms. “And I plan on being Queen.”

“But doesn’t it bother you that he brought his bastard and mistress to the keep?” A brunette chimed in nervously twisting her skirts in her hands. “I mean the shame of it alone makes me lean more towards Prince Daeron.”

The first lady scoffed loudly and placed her delicate hands on her hips. “I couldn’t give a damn how many mistresses he has now. When I’m Queen they’ll be sent away within a fortnight. He’ll only need me anyway.”

You shook your head ever so slightly, but froze as the proud lady shot you an unexpected smile. “Your dress looks lovely, was it made in the capital?”

You stammered, caught off guard by the unexpected question and ran your fingers through the silky folds in the gown and felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Uh- yes I had it hand tailored by a woman named Myranda.”

“Well you simply must tell me more after the feast tonight, I must confess I’m a bit behind on the capital’s fashions. A sad side effect of being holed up in Rain House for the past few years that I plan on fixing.” The other ladies seemed to flock around her magnetic personality, and you found yourself giving her a genuine smile as she looped her arm in yours.

“I would be delighted to.” You replied politely, as the proud woman led you deeper into the main throne room, leaving behind the ladies that had fawned over her before.

The imposing room had been reconfigured to allow for four long tables the length of the room to be placed and all four tables were filled with food that made your mouth water. There were roasted ducks, platters full of quail, and even a large slab of venison on each of the tables all surrounded by leafy green vegetables and broths that had steam rise from them. You particularly were looking forward to the spiced mutton that had a lovely splash of cinnamon and nutmeg. Although you did notice that there was a notable absence of suckling pigs that had you curious.

There was also a large band of musicians that were crooning songs about brave knights that wore the color green. You tried not to grimace as you and the other lady passed them, but felt your legs turn stiff as you realized that she was leading you towards the Master of Laws and Prince Aemond. Although you had never seen the man before his unmistakable eye patch was enough of a clue to his identity.

“Father!” The dark haired woman said cheerfully as she inserted you and her into the conversion that Lord Wylde was having with Prince Aemond and a few other lords that you didn’t recognize.

“And here is my daughter, Lady Carina Wylde, as I was telling you, your grace. Although I must confess that her companion's name escapes me.”

“Lady Y/n Caswell, I believe.” A strained voice answered before you had the chance to, and you felt the blood rush from your face as you were face to face with Daeron. Your heart was beating so loudly that you thought that the group could hear it, or perhaps just you as it muffled your hearing.

You could barely make out a fat lord laughing loudly due to the ringing in your ears as the conversation quickly flowed away from you for the moment.

The lady beside you, Carina, was looking at you sadly, her perfect eyebrows arched in a way that seemed wrong on her porcelain face. You felt multiple eyes on you as your mouth became sandy at the sight of the man who murdered your family.

You jolted back into consciousness as Carina’s arm lightly tapped your side, and you shot her a small, grateful look, the nearby sounds of the feast returning to their normal pitch. “Yes, my prince. I am she.”

The youngest of the Targaryen siblings swallowed slightly as he looked at you. His own pale face seemingly paler if possible. While his older brother gave you an appraising look. “Ah yes, the traitor’s daughter.” He gave a cruel smirk as both you and Daeron looked anywhere but at the other. “It’s a wonder you were included in my mother’s little ‘wife hunt.’”

“An interesting perspective on the festivities my prince. If not a tad pessimistic.” You looked over to the hooded figure besides Daeron, his face completely covered by the silk cloth.

Aemond hummed slightly, taking a long sip of his wine and eyeing Carina with interest, his gaze on you forgotten. “Well I suppose you’d feel as such, Tyland, after all you are in search of your own wife are you not?”

The name he spoke connected the pieces you could not place as you realized that this was the Master of Coin. The same man the Queen had tortured near endlessly in pursuit of the Crown’s gold.

Although the Lannister line was already secured with Lord Jason’s son as the new lord, you didn’t consider Tyland as a suitable husband. He may be a second son, but as the Master of Coin his position would keep you in the capital. A place that had too many memories of that you would rather forget.

“Perhaps I may have to take advantage of all of the eligible young ladies in attendance.” Another lord cut in and you fought the urge to cringe. He seemed to be as old as the Iron Throne itself and far too old for anyone in attendance.

To your disgust, this remark earned a laugh from all the men present except for Daeron who seemed sullen and quiet, his eyes occasionally flicking towards you.

A younger man with an easy smile, closer to your age waved over a servant carrying a tray of goblets. “Well regardless of the circumstances you must try the arbor red, my ladies!” He handed both you and Carina a glass with a smile. “After all, the crown is paying for it tonight. Aren’t they, cousin?” He nudged Daeron softly with his elbow, and the younger man shook himself out of whatever stupor he was in.

“Ah, yes indeed! My brother must have bought out all the wine in the city for the festivities.” He scoffed with a laugh. “We might as well enjoy it!”

Aemond rolled his eye at the remark, but said nothing as a few of the other lords began to converse. You shifted uncomfortably from side to side as the group split into smaller groups, seemingly already acquainted with each other. You squeezed your cup tightly, your knuckles turning white at the gesture as you looked around for Carina, only to find her and her father talking with Aemond and Daeron.

Although disappointed at the sudden departure of the kind woman, it was the perfect opportunity for you to mingle with the surrounding lords and ladies. And more importantly to escape the somber gaze that the younger prince kept shooting you. A task easier said than done as you scanned the room for any that may be open to a stranger butting into their conversation.

“At least I am not the only one who does not seem to know anyone else.” A smooth voice came from behind you, causing you to jump slightly at the sound, your wine sloshing slightly out of your glass. Although you miraculously seemed to not spill any despite the sudden jolt.

“Oh! My apologies, my lady, I did not mean to startle you.” You released a small laugh at your jumpiness before answering the young men in front of you. His young face had a slight blush dusting his cheeks as he reached out to steady you. Your own face felt as if it were on fire as you took in his handsome features and light blonde curls that crowned his head.

“No, it’s my fault, my lord, I must have been too preoccupied in my own thoughts.” You apologized profusely. “Although I do have to agree with your earlier statement.”

The young man smiled kindly at you before leaning in closely. “I suppose that is due to where our houses were aligned in the war.” He whispered softly, seemingly choosing his next words carefully but you understood the message. Whoever he was, his house, and most likely himself, supported Rhaenyra’s claim.

“Oh gods, am I that obvious to everyone?” You joked quietly, taking a small sip of the sweetened wine.

The man shrugged. “I don’t believe so, but to be fair I think I’m the only one truly sober enough to notice.”

You giggled slightly before returning your cup to a nearby servant. “Well as another mostly sober guest I would like to introduce myself. My name is Y/n Caswell.”

The young man’s dark purple eyes lightened up at your last name as took your hand and gently laid a kiss to it. “Well met, my lady. I am Alton Celtigar.”

That explained the purple eyes. Most likely a remnant of his own Valryian ancestry. You certainly seemed to find yourself gravitating towards Valryians. “You are Lord Clement’s brother.” Your mind conjured an image of a tall imposing man, with similar purple eyes who had been in the capital the same time you were.

“I am indeed.” Alton spun a golden ring around his finger as he spoke. “He spoke highly of your composure at court, although he seemed to leave out tales of your beauty as well.”

You snorted softly before stopping yourself. You could almost feel your septa’s switch slapping your knuckles at such an unladylike action. “My apologies, I just- That was a bit-” You carefully thought on how to word yourself while laughing slightly.

“Too much?” Alton finished for you with a rich laugh of his own. “You must forgive me, I do not have the privilege of speaking to many women while at Claw Isle, I tend to avoid these things in all honesty.” He gestured around at the feast and dancing that was occurring. “My brother; however, insisted that I join him.”

“Well, overdramatic flattery aside, I am glad you came.” You found yourself being honest as you realized that you had been smiling long enough to make your cheeks hurt. Something that you had not done in a long time. “If feasts are not your interest then I must ask: what is?” You suddenly heard the chattering of several women and turned your head slightly to see what the commotion was about, only to look back at the man in front of you when you realized that the One-Eyed Prince and his younger brother were positively swarmed with young women trying to make an impression.

“I enjoy sailing. Although I am partial to hunting as well.” Alton replied, scoffing at the sight of the two Princes surrounded. “It appears that our hosts spent more time training with a sword rather than how to dodge power hungry ladies.”

You giggled again at that before joining in. “I fear blood may be drawn before they take one of them to the dance floor.” At the sound of your laughter, Aemond looked over at you and seemed interested in your proximity with the young Celtigar before returning to gaze at the throng of women around him.

“Speaking of, would you do me the honor of taking to the floor?” Alton offered his hand to you with a shy smile and you took it gladly. “Although I must warn you I am not the most proficient in dancing, you may want to guard your toes.”

You blushed as you felt his warm hand hold yours and followed him closely to the open floor in front of the throne. There were only married couples dancing as the eligible women were surrounding the princes and the single men were drinking themselves towards an early grave. And you and Alton lined up next to them as a cheery jig started to play.

Allowing memory to take over you, you hopped in tune with all of the steps, twirling quickly around your partner you managed to follow the male part’s lead well. Although his steps were clumsy compared to your fluid ones, made second nature by years of practice, the two of you were smiling and laughing happily, enjoying the moment.

“You must tell me more about the Claw Isle!” You huffed out of breath, holding his arm gently as you swayed to the slower tune that had replaced the faster dance.

“I’m afraid that there is not much to tell.” Alton said, breathing as heavily as you, but still in high spirits as he twirled you around. “The Isle itself is small, but I suppose the water is what makes it so special.” The two of you chatted softly as Prince Aemond took Carina to the floor and Daeron followed shortly after with a Peake girl.

You found yourself relaxing in Alton’s presence, and conversation flowed easily between you both. Perhaps the gods had decided to show you their favor for once. Alton was a second son from a good family and logistically would make a good husband for you. But there were also the butterflies that brushed against your stomach as he looked at you that had you considering him as much as you were. You did not think that you would feel it again after Jace, but instead of feeling guilty you knew he was proud of you for pursuing happiness. You were about to begin your third dance in a row with him when a low voice cleared itself from behind you.

“My prince.” Alton said respectfully, bowing slightly and you followed curtsying as well as Aemond made himself known.

“Lord Celtigar.” He said with a forced smile that made your skin crawl. “You seem to be quite taken with Lady Caswell.” He noted and you noticed Carina looking at the three of you from a distance with her father.

“Well, she is a wonderful young lady and-” Alton was interrupted as the prince huffed out a humorless laugh.

“Although I do suppose that makes sense, what with you both being…” He paused slightly. “‘Reformed’ traitors to the crown I’m sure you have much in common.”

You felt your heart race as Aemond stepped closer. “I do hope you think about how that may look to my brother. Lady Caswell,” He turned to you and grabbed your hand firmly, “You must do me the honor of a dance. I do not wish to miss out on what has captivated Lord Celtigar and my bastard nephew so much.” You flinched slightly at the mention of Jace but followed Aemond reluctantly as he dragged you away from Alton who shot you a somber glance before retreating into the crowds.

As the next song began, a slower ballad, Aemond placed his hands on your hips, much lower than Alton had and led you through the steps. You felt your face set on fire again, but for the wrong reason as he leaned in closer.

While your dance with Altan had been full of hushed conversation and comfortable glances, your dance with Aemond was cold and polite and the two of you were silent until he spoke. “I must confess I’m disappointed.” He said finally, sliding his hand up your back in a way that felt too intimate for an unmarried couple. “I expected more from you.”

“I do not know what you mean, my prince.” You said politely, looking at the surrounding festivities instead of him.

“Well you were all too willing to whore yourself out to my nephew for a crown. I assumed you would try the same again with me.”

You slipped out a derisive laugh at that, unable to stop yourself and earning a glare from the prince. “I didn’t agree to marry Jace for a crown, I did it because I loved him.”

Aemond’s face curved into a cruel smile as he looked down at you. “How sweet. And look what that love got him. Floating dead in the bottom of the gullet.”

Your chest rose quickly as you stared at Aemond, barely containing your anger at his mock sympathetic words. Your fear being the only thing stopping you from yelling at the man.

“And you, still unmarried. How sad.” His eyes glinted in sick enjoyment as you focused on calming your breathing.

“A matter I plan to fix soon.” You declared, once again looking to the side instead of at Aemond. ‘Gods how long was this fucking song?’ You wondered in your head as the bard droned on longer and longer.

“As flattering as your affections are, I'm only indulging you for appearance’s sake.” Aemond sneered, gripping your wrist tightly as he leaned closer to your ear. “And I have no interest in my bastard nephew’s spoils.”

You let out another laugh at that and stepped back from his hold, giving yourself space. “I’m heartbroken, my prince, truly.” You replied sarcastically. “Although I had no such interest in your hand, but I am sure that the other ladies at court will be all too happy to have you to themselves.”

Aemond’s jaw ticked slightly at that as the song finally came to a close and you sighed in relief. “Well if it is such an inconvenience to accompany me on the floor you will simply hate joining me tomorrow in the family box.” You gave him a confused scowl as he spoke about tomorrow’s joust as if you were to join him. “Daeron and I are allowed a guest each and I think you have some unresolved issues to fix with my brother.”

You felt your hands grow damp and shake in rage as he continued. “That is a wonderful honor, Prince Aemond; however, I am not worthy of such a gesture. There are-”

“You will join me tomorrow to watch the joust, Lady Caswell.” Aemond shot you a smirk as he regained control of the situation again. “I will see you on the morrow.” He said decidedly before placing a slow kiss to the top of your hand before departing as quickly as he had appeared.

Feeling a familiar wave of powerlessness wash over you, you turned away and took to your seat at the long tables, hoping to avoid any further conversation for the night. Perhaps the gods did not favor you after all.

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[legilimens-library]

Headcanons: Severus taking care of you when you’re sick

Severus Snape x Reader

A/N: I’m currently getting over a cold and I feel like death, so while I’m lying in bed in complete darkness I thought I would try something different. I just need soft and comfy thoughts about Severus tending to me with love and care while I begrudgingly recover from this damn sickness. And please let me know if any of you are interested in seeing more headcanons and little blurbs like this other than what I usually post, I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing on here. Sorry if I got a little carried away with this, my brain doesn’t like to shut up.

It wasn’t often that you fell ill during the school year as a fellow professor at Hogwarts, but no matter when it would occur, Severus was always quick to pick up on it and would take off the entire day if he needed to so he could ensure that you were comfortable and relaxed as he helps you recover. No matter what happened, he would make sure that everything was taken care of so you wouldn’t be stressed about taking a sick day.

“Y/N, darling, are you alright? You’re burning up.” His hand feels cold to the touch when he wraps his fingers over your forehead to check your temperature and you saw his expression turn somber at the whimper that crawled up your throat.

He would be ever so gentle with you as he took in your appearance and asked you how you were feeling so he knew what medicines you needed, being quick to his feet to grab the multiple vials and bottles back to the bed so you wouldn’t have to get up just yet. After he helped you sit up, he tilted your head back with a finger under your chin as he fed you the calming draught and healing tinctures, praising you after drinking every last drop.

“That’s it, you did so well for me. Now lie down, my frail little love, I don’t need you passing out on me.” His hushed words would make you blush and squirm, but now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. You do obey his request though and Severus can be seen with a hint of a smile upon his face as you begin to get comfortable under the blankets.

Taking you in his arms to cuddle with you in bed so you could wait for the potions’ effects to start kicking in and his voice softly guiding you through a breathing exercise was a definite pro when it came to being sick. Severus has always been known to be affectionate with you, but it warmed your heart that he cared so much about you to the point where it got a little annoying. But you couldn’t resist how loved he made you feel by the way he was kissing the top of your head and his fingers gingerly stroking your back while the two of you were tangled within the bedsheets.

One of the best things however was when Severus offered to read to you, knowing that you found his voice soothing and he always enjoyed sharing his favorite stories with you.

If you were to ever complain about being cold or just feeling gross and uncomfortable with the sweat that your body accumulated over time, Severus would be more than happy to draw you a bath, making sure to add eucalyptus and lavender bath oils to help with any sort of congestion and if you so desired, he would wash your hair and give you a scalp massage to help relieve some of the tension from your headache.

While you are soaking in the bath, Severus goes to change the bedsheets out for a fresh set and picks out a pair of new pajamas for you, making sure to draw all the curtains closed to block out the daylight. But if you didn’t want to wear any pajamas, he would hesitantly comply with your wishes and honestly didn’t mind being in bed with you and having no barriers, sharing an intimate moment even given the circumstances.

If Severus is already gifted at brewing potions, then it would be no surprise that he would be more than adequate in the kitchen. He loves cooking meals for you and his chicken noodle soup always hits the spot when you’re feeling under the weather. But if you’re not able to eat very much, he at least intends to keep you hydrated.

He was always diligent on serving you a cup of tea any time you got sick; some herbal concoction of licorice, peppermint, and who knows what else. It tasted something awful even with a spoonful of honey added, but Severus insisted that you drink the entire thing, otherwise you would be whining about your sore throat later on and you despised the look of ‘I told you so’ that he would make.

Although he can be stern when you don’t cooperate with him, you know he is only doing it out of love. It breaks his heart to see you in pain and he only wants what’s best for you and your health. After all, isn’t that what you agreed on when you two were married? Severus vowed to be there for you through sickness and health and he will never break that promise. After everything that has happened in his life, he never thought he would find a light in the darkness, but when you met each other he knew that he deserved something better in this world and he would do everything to cherish and protect you.

“Do you need anything else, my love?”

“No, just you.” Severus chuckles quietly at your reply as he wraps his arms around your frame once more, with your head resting on his chest as he watches you doze off to the sound of his beating heart.

[goddess-in-heaven-and-hell]

Reginald who? (ER) - A Gwynriel One-Shot for Gwynrielweeks2024

thread: Gwyn finds a way for Azriel to let go of his gentle bedside manner by comparing him to her favorite male book character – slightly drunk Azriel cannot let that slide and a challenge ensures.

Post for the NSFW day ;) @gwynrielweeksofficial

word count: 5.1k

warnings: swearing, crude language, oral (f receiving), cum play, anal play, p in v sex

Reginald growled with pleasure as he beheld the stunning beauty that was Jasmine. He itched to explore every inch of her, his hands already reaching out to skim over her abdomen and her breasts.

After what felt like three hundred years, the book finally got to the good part. Gwyn giggled to herself, sinking deeper into the cushions and preparing for what was about to come. Or rather, who was about to come.

He laid her down with reverence, observing how her chest heaved with excitement. There was only one place he wanted to be right now, and that was between her supple thighs.

Gwyn read on with wide eyes, wishing for Azriel to be near with each line passing. The male main character was so smooth, so absolutely devoted to his Jasmine it was swoon worthy. And the priestess would lie if she said his words and actions didn’t have another effect on her. She shifted in her seat, trying to get some of the pressure off as she continued devouring page after page. If this author did one thing right, it was her attention to detail.

Reginald wasn’t done with her just yet, bending his head another time to gently lap at her, cleaning her arousal with his tongue and moaning like he tasted liquid ambrosia.

Her daydream was rudely and suddenly interrupted by a loud bang, and Gwyn’s well-deserved one-on-one time with Reginald came to a stuttering end.

She jumped out of bed, more than ready to fight or run, whatever seemed like the smartest thing to do, but as she was halfway across the room, the banging was accompanied by shouting – and with a breathy laugh, Gwyn relaxed.

“Ehhhhh”, that seemed to be Cassian’s rough voice echoing off the hall, “Ladies, we’re hoooooome!”

Another bang sounded suspiciously like the vase next to the staircase shattered into a million pieces, followed by colorful swearing. This time from another voice. Were they drunk?

“Really subtle, Cass. I think they heard us anyways.”, Azriel deadpanned. He sounded pretty normal, enunciating his words carefully. Maybe a bit too carefully.

Cassian laughed, a booming sound that might have woken up the priestesses in the library too. “True. And if they went to Rita’s with US, like we ASKED them to, they could be in on the FUN now.”

He then began singing.

Yes, definitely drunk.

Honestly, it wasn’t completely off tune and had a kind of charm to it. Azriel’s laughter told another story though, and Gwyn could only guess Cassian’s performance got enhanced through some dance moves.

“Boys!”

And that would be Nesta. Gwyn snickered to herself, letting her book come to rest on the bed again before finding the bathroom. Let Nesta deal with them. When the boys did something stupid, Gwyn would usually cave as soon as they gave her the puppy eyes. That strategy was lost with her best friend, though, and as Gwyn closed the bathroom door, she could already make out Nesta ripping into them.

The priestess the proceeded to complete her evening routine, using the toilet, washing her face, teeth and applying a generous amount of moisturizer. Training every morning in the crisp, cold autumn air left her skin dry as a desert, so she took extra care of it at night. Her river nymph heritage didn’t help the situation either as it demanded constant maintenance.

Once she was all done, skin gleaming with product, she returned to the bedroom.

“So that’s what you get up to when I’m not at home to supervise.”

Sprawled on her bed, with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face, was her beloved. Only that he was not so beloved anymore as he skimmed through her book and snickered to himself.

“Azriel!”, she gasped, lunging forward in order to snatch the book away from him. But the bastard was quicker, sitting up and putting the bed between them. His eyes never strayed from the lines as he read and read.

“What kind of name is Reginald? And how many pages can this person fill with just giving head?”, he murmured, even his shadows peeking over his shoulder to get a good look.

Gwyn’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment at his crass words. Why were romance novels completely acceptable when you read them alone, yet as soon as another person asked you about it they became a criminal offence?

She rounded the bed, trying again to grab the book, but he simply lifted it over his head. The priestess was seething.

“Azriel Shadowsinger, you give me back my book this instant!”, with her hands put on her hips, she craned her neck to look up at him, trying her best to be intimidating. ‘Looking down her nose at someone’ just like the main character of the last book she read, however that was possible. But she gave it her best shot nonetheless.

Azriel cupped her cheek with his unoccupied hand, his face now relaxed. “Gwyneth, stop it. You are too cute.”

She wanted to wipe that indulgent smile off his face desperately.

So, with her best acting, she made her eyes focus on the candle behind Az, gasping in horror and pointing. It might not have worked on him most days but his slightly delayed reaction spoke volumes about how much he really had to drink. He whipped around to the invisible threat, and as soon as his hand was within reach, Gwyn snagged the book with a triumphant laugh.

She quickly leaped away from him, pressing the book against her chest protectively.

Azriel just chuckled to himself. “Please don’t tell Cassian about that. Or anyone, really.” His eyes found hers through the dim light, slowly trailing over her face, hair and exposed legs. “You got me, Berdara.”

With only a few measured steps, he stood before her. Gwyn tightened her grip on the book just in case, but Azriel seemed to have lost interest in that. Instead, his fingers gently traced her jawline and lips.

“I’ve missed you.”, he murmured, his other hand coming to squeeze her waist. Gwyn’s breath hitched as she beheld the hunger in his gaze, the slow smile he showed her. He looked so handsome tonight with his midnight black tunic that he rolled up at the sleeves, putting his tattoos on show.

Gwyn should have been jealous that the whole of Velaris got to see him like this tonight. That he likely had to turn down a lot of invitations to peoples’ beds. But the way he looked at her made her think he didn’t care about that at all. Like he only really needed on female by his side.

“I’m sorry I didn’t go out with you.”, she said softly, swallowing down the guilt at not yet being able to cope with the masses of people a night club usually held, “But I take it you had a good time nonetheless?”

Azriel snorted, his hand now slowly exploring her neck and collarbones. “It was good, yes. You’d have enjoyed the music, I think. But it got quite crammed towards the end.”

He placed a soft kiss to her neck, pulling her even closer so she had to let go of the book and throw it on the armchair. Azriel didn’t really seem to care for their conversation right now, his lips not deviating from their mission to make Gwyn squirm.

She was already so riled up from that damned book, it didn’t take long for Azriel’s ministrations to elicit a soft moan. The Shadowsinger soaked up the noise, letting his lips finally find hers. The kiss was gentle, yet it promised something more. Gwyn could taste the bourbon on his tongue as it caressed hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

Azriel’s muscular frame began to crowd her, forcing her to walk back a few steps, until her back met the wall. His kiss changed as soon as he had her caged in, completely at his mercy. It got more demanding, deeper, his hands now both running up and down her sides and disheveling her pajamas until he found a piece of bare skin he could claim for himself.

This was different than before. Usually Azriel was slower, more gentle as they made love, and Gwyn had argued with herself for some time now how to best ask him to… well, just fuck her. Because Cauldron boil her, that’s what she wanted.

And apparently, that’s what she was getting tonight. She could feel herself getting wet for him as he pressed his own arousal to her hip, showing her exactly what this situation did to him too.

“Az”, she whispered in a plea as he let go of her mouth, instead pushing up her top and bending down to welcome every inch of skin revealed with open-mouthed kisses. She’d never get used to it, being naked in front of him and feeling his lips on usually hidden areas. It made her spine tingle with excitement.

“Mh?”, he looked up for a second, his eyes wild with barely reigned-in arousal. “Sorry, should I slow down?”

Gwyn let out a stuttering breath, her hands finding his inky black hair to run through. “No, this is perfect. This is what I want.” A little pull on his roots drove the point home, hopefully.

The Shadowsinger growled – actually growled – and continued his assault on her stomach and waist, squeezing her tighter. She’d never seen him so lost in the moment, not constantly fighting for control over himself. And it made her own heart beat faster in her chest at the thrill of experiencing this side of him tonight.

Azriel huffed out a frustrated breath though at his awkward position. “Change of scenery.”

He grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up the armory instead in one quick movement, his face now level with her neck. “Better.”

Was it normal to be excited about how easily he did that, how simple it must be for him to bend her to his will?

It didn’t take long for her top to be discarded on the floor after that, her own hands helping just as much as his shadows, allowing Azriel’s hands and mouth to hone in all their attention on her breasts. He kissed, suckled and licked every bit of her, paying special tribute to her nipples and the underside of her chest. Gwyn was reduced to a moaning mess, withering beneath the heat of his mouth and trying to press her center against his stomach.

“Don’t be so fucking impatient.”, he chuckled, pinning her hips to a frustrating stop, “Jasmine took everything in stride. Not once did I read about her trying to take control.”

Gwyn glowered at him. “That’s because Reginald actually saw to her needs the minute they arose.”

The Shadowsinger stilled at her words, slowly looking up at her. “Are you saying I don’t see to your needs, priestess?”

“I’m saying that you shouldn’t assume you know everything about me and my body and what I need.” The moment the words left her, she found herself regretting them. Because really, it was unfair. Azriel did know her body like his own, and did bring her the most mind-shattering orgasms. But a little voice inside her urged her on, hoping to rile him enough to completely relinquish his gentle manners. Plus, it was fun. “Because you clearly don’t.”

Azriel smiled at her accusation in a way that did absolutely nothing to calm her down. In fact, it promised retribution.

“I don’t?”

Gwyn tried to summon some bravado. “You don’t. You’re okay, you know the basics, sure. One would hope you do after 500 years of living.”

Azriel’s eyebrows rose with every lie uttered, a manic gleam in his eyes. Oh, she was going to be in so much trouble. Her center throbbed with the certainty of that. Mother, she wanted him so badly.

But her Shadowsinger stepped back and made to grab her discarded book, leaving Gwyn shivering on the armory and covering her breasts with her arms. “How about a challenge, then?”

Gwyn stared at him with doe eyes, unsure where he’d take this.

“Looks like dear Reginald managed to make her cum”, he paused, skimming the pages again, “twice with his mouth, and once more on his cock. I’d say he knows how to please her, wouldn’t you?”

Gwyn nodded, taking in the force of nature that was Azriel. He exuded confidence as he stood there in the center of the room, his eyes drilling into hers like he might die if he can’t look at her.

“So all I need to do for you to take your uncalled for and plainly false words back is”, he stepped towards her again, his mouth whispering the challenge – the promise it held – into her ear, “prove I’m better.”

Gwyn was unwell. And it clearly showed, because Azriel already held himself like he’d won. Like he’d made her cum with just his words alone. But she also knew on thing: it wasn’t easy for her to finish. Especially not with just penetration.

“I accept the challenge. And I look forward to proving you wrong.”, she whispered back.

Azriel’s hands rose to grab hers, gently pulling them away from her chest and making them meet at the small of her back where he held them hostage. “I want to add two conditions to this. First, you can’t hold yourself back. When you feel like you need to cum, you will cum. If my shadows detect you didn’t adhere to this rule, I’ll make you pay.”

Gwyn swallowed, her mouth dry with need. She’d never heard him talk like this. But she nodded to accept his first condition. Never would she deprive herself of an orgasm just to spite him. Especially right now.

“Secondly, you will not touch me unless I explicitly allow it. I’ll need to concentrate, and I can’t very well do that with your little hand wrapped around my cock.”, Azriel gave her a stern look that had her melting and nodding her head in acceptance again.

“You can’t use your Shadows either.”, the priestess was proud she found the clarity of mind to demand this little ad-on, “Reginald didn’t have them. Only his very own skill.”

Azriel puffed out his chest. “Of course not. I’ll win this fair and square.”

Silence expanded between them and the dark room as their stared at each other in defiance. And a whole lot of infatuation. Because there was never a moment Gwyn felt more desire towards this male.

“It’s on?”, Azriel asked, looking ready to pounce.

“It’s on.”, she replied.

The word barely left her mouth before his own claimed it with a roughness that took Gwyn’s breath away. He pressed her back to the wall, spreading her legs even further to accommodate his hips and wings.  

Something told her she was about to experience what it was like to be at the mercy of an unleashed Shadowsinger. And that something was his hand, finding her throat in a grip firm enough for her to moan out her approval.

“Still”, he ground out. The space between them widened again as he stepped back to pull her shorts off her body.

When they were discarded, he took his sweet-ass time to run his eyes over her nude form. Gwyn tired her best to adhere to his command of staying put, but having the undivided attention of Azriel on her made that quite hard. Especially when his gaze snagged on her exposed center and lingered. Like he planned all the things he was about to do to her to the smallest detail.

His own hands travelled up his body and began unbuttoning his tunic, revealing inch after inch of first tattooed, then bronze skin. Gwyn strained, her whole body on overdrive. She wanted nothing more than to lunge forward, feel all of him pressed against her. But she also wanted to win.

Azriel carelessly discarded his tunic, his mirthful eyes telling her he knew exactly what his little strip show did to her. “Are you wet for me already, love?”

Hearing the low timbre of his voice felt like almost like touch in itself. Gwyn arched her back slightly. “Yes.”

“Good.”, he sank to his knees before her, his head now perfectly in line with her throbbing center, “because I’m fucking starving for you.”

Gwyn gasped as she felt the first lick of his tongue against her. Her eyes closed against her will in nothing but self-preservation. Seeing him lick her would be the death of her, she knew. And she was about to relish in his attention for as long as possible.

Azriel knew he was good with his tongue and it showed. It danced along her slit with perfect pressure, honing in on her clit and circling the tiny bud of nerves in a maddening rhythm.

“Fuck”, he growled out, pressing a harsh kiss to her opening, “I’m addicted to this. I thought about it the whole night, about you underneath me.” 

The priestess gasped and moaned as his tongue once again thought of better things to do than drive her crazy with his words. She liked the idea of Azriel pining for her, his thoughts thoroughly occupied so none other could take them up. Feelings of power and love flooded her veins and joined the pleasure he was already giving her.

Gwyn was wet beyond measure now, her juices coating her inner thighs and running down on the armory. She was certainly losing the challenge abysmally if he continued like that, but was it really losing if it made her feel like this?

Azriel’s fingers moved to join his tongue, rubbing up and down her wetness to then plunge into her. Gwyn moaned at the feel of them, the roughness of his scars providing ample friction as he pumped them in and out of her while his tongue remained firmly on her clit.

Despite her best efforts to draw this out, she felt her orgasm build ferociously.

“Watch.”, Azriel ground out so close against her still that she felt the warmth of his breath, “watch yourself cum on my tongue.”

And Gwyn did. With her eyes trained on his face, she watched as he doubled his efforts. And the sight of this powerful, gorgeous male before her, that was so thoroughly hers he was engrained into her very heart, made her shatter.

The priestess came with a shout and a plethora of flexed muscles. Azriel did his best to draw it out, continuing his fingering and licking at a more relaxed pace until Gwyn collapsed in on herself.

When she regained her senses, her eyes fell on the Shadowsinger now standing at full height again. He leaned forward, his arms propped up on either side of her thighs, a smug smile on his wet face. “Why don’t you count for us, sweetness? We can’t lose sight of the challenge now, can we?”

Gwyn nodded, her lust dampened to a manageable level again. She conceded this point way too quickly, even though it was worth it. “One.”

She silently made a pact with herself. The male needed to work for it, otherwise his ego might expand to the heavens. In fact, Azriel already looked about ready to burst with arrogance.

He stepped forward to give her a lingering kiss, his tongue caressing hers and sharing her essence with her. Gwyn itched to touch him, if only his shoulders or chest or hair or anything. But he didn’t allow it yet, and begging was so beneath her.

Azriel scooped her up carefully, walking towards the bed and laying her down on the covers. But instead of widening her thighs, her grabbed hold of her ankles and lifted them in the air, leaving her center and ass in full view again.

“Hold that for me, love.”, he said as he knelt on the bed as well. Gwyn grabbed the inside of her knees and pulled them towards her chest, mentally preparing to not come within five minutes.

“Like that. Good girl.”, he murmured almost absentmindedly, focusing on her center yet again while Gwyn’s resolve took it’s first hit. Why was he so talkative all of a sudden and why did she want to cum just to hear him call her ‘good’ again?

A kiss to her thigh quickly shut down her inner monologue. By the third kiss, her mind was putty again. The fifth landed just an inch short of where she wanted it. Then, the bastard repeated the teasing process on the other side once more. Her breathing quickened again.

“Do you know what tastes even better than your arousal?”, he asked, suspended right above her clit. His lips grazed it with every word, and Gwyn jumped in anticipation. She didn’t even register him asking a question until he pinched her butt impatiently.

“No, I don’t.”, she breathed out. She couldn’t think even if she wanted to.

“Guess.”

That bloody bastard.

“Cupcakes?”, she tried weakly. It was simply the only thing she could come up with.

Gwyn felt his laugh hit her center, but nothing else followed. “No, that’s not it. In fact, cupcakes are further down the list. Guess again.”

“Azriel, please.”

Apparently, she was not above begging. And it paid off. His finger began circling her clit tightly, hitting it with just the lowest of pressures but almost continually. A slow kind of torture as he still waited for her to take another guess.

“I don’t know. Ice cream.”, the priestess panted, absolutely over this game.

“Wrong again.”, Azriel said in a conversational tone, almost like he wasn’t face to face with her dripping pussy and keeping her clit hostage underneath his finger. “But I realize now you’re at a disadvantage. I don’t think you’ve ever tasted it before.”

And with that, two of his fingers sank deeply into her with the most delicious friction and a borderline embarrassing squelch of wetness. He crawled up her body then and held out his fingers to her lips.

Gwyn stared at him wide-eyed, very much unsure of what to do. She read about this once, and honestly thought it too kinky to be real. But as she took in her Shadowsinger who watched her with the expression of a man possessed, she realized it wasn’t weird at all. At least not if it pleased him.

Tentatively, still waiting for him to stop her if that wasn’t what he meant, she raised her head and took his fingers in-between her lips. He didn’t stop her. If it was possible, his eyes turned even more mad as they darted between her eyes and mouth. “That’s it, love.”

Gwyn closed her lips around his fingers and began to suck lightly while drawing back. A tangy-sweet taste filled her mouth and she didn’t know who released a more strained moan between them. Her tongue darted out to tease the slit his fingers formed, lapping up even more of herself and Azriel ground his erection against her in a movement that seemed almost involuntary.

She honestly didn’t care for the taste, but it was better than she anticipated and seemed to drive him out of his mind. So, she took the opportunity. A distracted Azriel was a sloppy Azriel.

The priestess barely contained her smirk as she went to town on his fingers, moving up and down like she would on his cock and using her tongue to gently caress the ridges of his skin. Azriel didn’t stop her. In fact, he looked like he was put under a spell, only his hips moving against her center and finally giving her a bit more friction.

Suddenly, Az yanked his fingers back, narrowing his eyes at her. She could feel his reprimand coming, but beat him to it. “Don’t you dare. You allowed it. If not to say ‘demanded’.”

He stared at her a while longer, before conceding the point. “Fine. But then I’m not to blame for this.”

Gwyn was about to ask what ‘this’ meant, but Azriel slid down her body again, disappearing from view behind her legs. Her lower lips were spread, her overstimulated and puffy center back in view, and Azriel dove right in.

This time, nothing about his movements felt calculated. He simply lapped up every ounce of liquid that dripped out of her, wanting to be in multiple spots at once. Azriel moaned in abandon, almost as wildly as Gwyn herself, plunging his tongue into her and drinking directly from the source. His nose and stubble grazed her simultaneously as he licked her walls like he owned them.

“Azriel”, the priestess moaned out his name, fighting hard to not move her hips in time with his licks. She felt like she was floating on pleasure.

The Shadowsinger let up from her entrance, his fingers taking up a slow and torturous caress up and down her slit. Gwyn was about to wonder why he didn’t use his tongue anymore when she felt it again – lower.

Every thought of shame or panic left her though, as his tongue circled her puckered hole tentatively first, then with more rigor when she didn’t object.

They had talked about this before at some point as the topic came up in one of her novels as well. And she expressed her general interest in it, not really sure how it would feel. She’d have asked him to do this earlier if she’d known.

Her muscles twitched with all their might. The pleasure he wrung from her clit was somehow amplified by the delicate skin around her bottom and Azriel’s mouth licking and kissing around it, focusing on the thin piece of skin that separated her pussy from it once in a while.

If the feeling of it didn’t drive her insane enough, the fact that Azriel seemed to take so much pleasure in it too took her over the edge. He never even raised his head for air, never stilled his fingers and reacted to every twitch of her, adjusting his ministrations accordingly.

He played her like his favorite instrument, and she ate her previous words with each slide of his fingers and tongue. The male knew what he was doing, and she was so fucking lucky.

After a few minutes of this blissful torture, she couldn’t hold back anymore and came again with an intense wave of release. Goosebumps littered her skin and she shouted Azriel’s name into the abyss in testament of his devotion.

She let her legs fall open to each side, not caring for her compromising position as she tried to catch her breath. And her sanity.

Azriel perched between her legs, gently caressing her calves as he grinned at her.

“Well done, love. How many?”

Gwyn released a shaky breath. “Two and a half.”

His grin widened ever more. “And a half, huh?”

The priestess nodded. Usually, they called it a day after one or both of them came twice. She didn’t even know if it was possible for him to drag another orgasm out of her. But as Gwyn looked at Azriel again, at how he made to unlace his trousers and setting himself free, she had the feeling she’d give him another half a point for simply seeing him in all his naked glory. Or maybe a thousand.

She scootched higher up the bed, boldly watching him strip completely. The Shadowsinger finally discarded his trousers, shoes and underwear, and Gwyn had to fight to not let her own hand slip between her legs at the sight. How was it possible she was already aroused again?

“Since you were so good this whole time, I’ll let you decide how I take you.”, Azriel said in a low voice, his hand coming up to his cock and pumping languidly. She itched to crawl forward and lick off the beads of precum that glistened on the tip.

“Can I ride you?”, she breathed, already sitting up without waiting for an answer.

The Shadowsinger chuckled at her eagerness, but his eyes betrayed his nonchalant façade. He was quick to take up her previous place on the bed, dragging her on top of him instantly and with so much force she nearly fell on his face.  

Gwyn wasted absolutely no time. She slid onto him like he was molded just for her, engulfing him in her wetness until he was sheathed completely. Both moaned at the feeling of finally being united like this, and the priestess rocked back and forth just slightly to get used to him again.

Azriel watched her from below, his hands resting on her hips. His own breathing sounded a bit labored too, Gwyn thought with satisfaction, and he held her still with straining muscles.

“Cauldron, Gwyn.”, he ground out, his head falling back against the pillow in surrender. Or what Gwyn interpreted as such. Because just a few seconds after-

“Oh, Gods!”, Gwyn gasped as he drove himself up and into her, leveraging himself against the bed and taking control from her entirely. He set a punishing pace, thrusting into her again and again with no resistance. The priestess fell onto his chest from the force of him, moaning with abandon.

He felt so good inside of her, so perfect, hitting all the right spots.

Azriel gazed up at her, his features set in barely restrained ferocity. He looked so beautiful, sweating and panting, his ruffled hair sticking to his forehead, neck and chest flexed.

Gwyn relished in the feel of him, moving in tandem with his thrusts to force him even deeper.

“Fuck, I’m close.”, the Shadowsinger growled.

But Gwyn wasn’t quite there yet. “I need more.”

Azriel’s sharp gaze focused on her, and he immediately relinquished his thrusting to let her take over again. Which was just what she needed. With a heavy, unrestrained moan, Gwyn began to ride him at a slower pace, angling her hips so that her clit brushed against his pelvis every time.

And gods, did that feel good.

Her orgasm built again, different this time with the additional weight of his length inside of her. And judging by Azriel’s face, he was with her.

With a shout that surely informed the rest of the house what they were up to, Azriel raised himself up, flinging his arms around Gwyn and came hard. The priestess was quick to follow, pressing him closer against her. Her walls fluttered around him, making sure he spilled every drop of himself.

Both panted, still cradled in each other’s arms until their breathing returned to normal.

Azriel pulled back first, finding her eyes as usual. “All good?”

“Perfect.”, she sighed, pressing an innocent kiss to his lips.

“What’s the score, Berdara?”, he asked, trying to summon some bravado as he prepared to receive a stellar review.

Gwyn released a laugh. “I’ve lost count.”

“So, am I officially a better lover than Reginald?”, Azriel brushed his nose against her cheek before nuzzling into her neck in a playful manner.

Gwyn smiled to herself, finally free in caressing his neck and shoulders to her heart’s content. Which, she decided, she was going to do for the foreseeable future.

“Reginald who?”

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 17/34 - wires and tubes

[read on AO3]

Oops. Do you know how many times I've almost accidentally posted a chapter? It finally happened. Well, here you go 😂

The call comes in the midst of a case that already has Mulder torn up and wild with determination. He never did do well with missing persons cases, especially where little girls were involved. It's even worse now that they actually kind of, sort of, might have a baby on the way, and she worries he won't be able to handle it.

She doesn't want him to lose himself in this. She needs him now more than ever, and it scares her when he gets this way. She only hopes Skinner can talk some sense into him.

But she's the one to answer the phone. She's the one who has to tell him the news. She's the one who has to break his heart in its already fragile state, praying he'll come out on the other side of it okay.

So she opens the door to Skinner's office, and meets her partner's eyes from across the room.

“What?” he asks, frustration simmering below the surface. Evidently his talk with the Assistant Director isn't going well, but that hardly matters now.

She shakes her head, wishing he would just come with her so they could talk in private. But he and Skinner are adamant that they need to finish this discussion, completely unaware of the tragic event that has occurred. 

“Mulder…” she says, sorrow dripping from her voice. “It's your mother.”

-.-.-

He's out of the office in a flash before she can even explain what happened. It’s all she can do to keep up with him as he rushes toward the garage, his fear and anger wafting off him in waves.

“Where are you going?” she calls after him.

“My mother's house,” he answers.

She chokes back a sob, willing herself to hold things together for the both of them. To keep a level head. “She's not there, Mulder,” she speaks, her words halting him in his tracks. 

He whirls on her, crossing the distance and stopping a foot in front of her, seething silently with a wild, frantic look in his eye that she never likes seeing.

“Where is she?” he grits out, his voice low.

She tries to grab for one of his hands, but he pulls back, rejecting the proffered comfort.

“The hospital,” she answers, her brows slanted in silent apology. “A neighbor called, concerned about the smell of gas. The paramedics found her. Mulder, your mother overdosed on sleeping pills. She tried to suffocate herself.” His face falls, but he quickly recovers, replacing the dejected expression with one of adamant denial. 

That's another look Scully doesn't like to see. 

“She's alive, but in a coma,” she explains, hoping to put a stop to Mulder’s spiraling before it starts, but it's too late.

“She tried to call me,” he says, starting to pace. “She left a message wanting to talk, but I didn't– I didn’t call her—”

He stops, crouching low to the ground and practically pulling his hair out of his head, fighting back red hot tears in his eyes.

“She wouldn't do this,” he says angrily, shaking his head, and if being loud meant being confident, then she might be convinced. “Th– they got to her! They tried to kill her!”

“No, Mulder.”

“Yes!” he yells, drawing suspicious glances from other agents in the hallway. “She must have had information about the case,” he continues, standing back to his full height and resuming his pacing. “It's all connected, just like I thought. Samantha—”

“Mulder, STOP!” Scully yells, gripping his bicep with her hand and holding him in place by sheer force of will. She slows her breathing, lowering her voice. “She may not ever wake up, but right now your mother is alive and in the hospital,” she says, appealing to his rational mind. “Before you go chasing after shadows, at least go see her.”

She lets her plea hang in the silence of the hallway. It seems their display has effectively scared off everyone within hearing distance, and she counts herself lucky that security hasn't come to escort them out of the building.

She can see him fighting back against his own reason, determinedly keeping his face screwed up in anger so as not to lose hold of the fury that fuels him. But her prolonged stare causes it to melt away, and his face crumples in defeat just before he collapses in her arms.

Sobs shake him, and it takes all her strength to keep him standing. His face buries into the crook of her shoulder, and she wraps her arms around his back, rubbing soft circles between his shoulder blades.

She hears Skinner pop his head out of his doorway, and she meets his eyes, beyond caring about the physical display in their place of work. The man merely nods in understanding, giving his stamp of approval for whatever needs to be done.

-.-.-

The hospital is eerily quiet, the sterile white walls echoing with every minute sound.

“Teena Mulder, please,” Scully says to the woman at the desk.

Mulder follows behind her looking lost.

They're shown to a hospital room where his mother lies surrounded by wires and tubes, her heartbeat beeping out slowly but steadily over the monitor.

Mulder goes to her side, grabbing her hand in his.

She hates to see him in agony like this. He falls to his knees beside her bed, murmuring incomprehensible apologies and pleadings between bouts of tears. He clings to her cold, frail hand like a lifeline, and though most times his relationship with his mother seems fraught, it's times like this—she knows—when he's at risk of losing what little he has, that she remembers that he loves his mother, just as any little boy might.

A doctor comes by and tells them what happened. The implications are clear, to someone with a medical background. Today was almost the day Mulder became an orphan. Today he almost became the last Mulder standing.

Eventually he's able to calm down a little, allowing himself to be pushed into a chair by her bedside.

“She might never know, Scully,” he says dejectedly. “She has no idea that she might be a grandmother soon. That she has a daughter-in-law.”

A daughter, for a woman who lost hers so long ago.

The fact that their marriage isn't real doesn't even cross their minds. In this moment, they are husband and wife, and right now this is one of those “for worse” moments they mentioned in their vows. She’s going to uphold that promise come hell or high water.

“You can tell her now,” Scully says, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She might not hear you, but it's still good to talk to her.”

“She always wanted me to get married,” he says. “She said I needed to move on, to have my own family. Stop thinking about the one I lost. I hated her for that. I couldn't understand how she could give up on our family. How she’d think I could replace it, like a worn out pair of sneakers.”

“Mulder…”

“I understand now, Scully. That was never what she was telling me to do. I think– I think she just wanted me to be happy.”

She wipes the wetness from his cheek with her thumb, holding her hand there and cupping his jaw. He looks up at her, eyes gleaming in adoration. Then he stands, leaning over his mother and holding her hand in his. 

“Mom, I am happy,” he says. “I'm so happy. I just want you to be here to see it. To meet Scully again and our child, someday when we have one. Please…”

He bows his head, another wave of fresh tears filling his eyes.

“I still don't understand,” he says. “why she would do this…”

“I looked at her chart earlier,” Scully says. “Your mother is suffering from a disease known as Paget's Carcinoma. It's a horribly painful and disfiguring disease, Mulder. She didn't want to live.”

“But she has to!” he says, insistent. “She has to, at least for a little longer… I want to talk to her.”

“I know you do,” she says. “But there's nothing we can do until she wakes. 

“She was going to tell me something. What did she want to tell me, Scully?” he looks to her, his eyes pleading. She wishes she knew, so she could take away his burden. But she doesn't, so she just holds him as he sobs into her shoulder, and comforts him.

-.-.-

She's roused from her uncomfortable sleep in the hospital chair by none other than Walter Skinner. Mulder is fast asleep still in his own chair, his face pressed against the scratchy blankets of his mother's hospital bed.

“The case is heating up,” Skinner says, whispering so as not to wake Mulder. “The LaPierres are asking for him. I know it's probably not a good time, but—”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, surprising even herself by agreeing with him. “He needs to get away. From what I'm told, she's stable but not likely to wake anytime soon. The drugs are still making their way out of her system. Can you book us both a ticket?”

“Of course. I'll be coming as well, the Bureau needs this one wrapped up,” Skinner says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Should I get you one room or two at the motel?”

At first, Scully isn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “...Sir?” she asks. “You know we're not…”

“I know,” he says. “I just wasn't sure if you'd want to… keep an eye on him.”

It’s nice of him to ask, she supposes. The answer is yes, she would like to keep an eye on him, actually. But even this isn’t enough for her to forsake the appearances they’ve worked so hard to keep up these last few months.

“Two is fine,” she says with finality.

Skinner nods, and disappears the way he came.

-.-.-

She feels sick, standing in a field littered with tiny graves.

What makes her even more sick is seeing how desperately Mulder hopes to find his sister in each one they dig up. It's written plainly on his face, and she sees him sink deeper into himself with each one that doesn't match her description.

He just wants this to be over. He wants to move on, and she can't blame him. 

But after all this time, she really does wish there could be a happier ending. The one he'd hoped for for so long, where he rides off into the sunset with his sister in tow. Somewhere along the way, she'd begun to hope for that too.

And somewhere along the way, he'd stopped.

She tries to get him to come back to Washington with her and Skinner, but her efforts are in vain. He stays, swindled by some self-proclaimed police psychic who claims he can help find Amber Lynn LaPierre, who also was never identified amongst the other victims.

She leaves him, promising to check in on his mother and let him know how she's doing. But of course, her worry for him won't let sleeping dogs lie.

She pokes around, digging into his regression hypnosis recordings. She even visits Mrs. Mulder's home, looking for what? She isn't sure.

But she finds it.

Burnt documents putting an end to the search for Samantha in 1973. 

And the initials C.G.B.S.

~~~

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[missstratford]

Apricity

Chapter 7

A/n: Surprise!!! I decided to post twice this week and i'll mostly be posting the next parts weekly (on wednesdays maybe?)

Warnings: None(some angst)

Taglist:Open!

@ssnapsaurus , @mafeperspective , @unicornqueen05

Your eyelids felt heavy as your vision cleared, blinking against the brightness of the infirmary. The mild smell of antiseptic salves wafted in the air, a faint bitterness lingered on your tongue. For a moment, the past few events felt like a distant dream, a nightmare, but the dull ache in your arm and the splitting headache quickly reminded you that none of it was imagined.

Madam Pomfrey entered with a soft smile on her lips, "Ah, good to see you awake," she said gently. "Your potion exploded. Might have added an odd ingredient there— a concussion, which seems to be a side effect of the potion itself—and an injured arm otherwise you’ll be just fine, dear." Her voice was calm, but the lingering worry in her eyes told you that it hadn’t been a simple accident.

You nodded, trying to shake off the fog that clouded your thoughts. “How long have I been here?”

“Two days,” Pomfrey replied. “The concussion required a stronger potion. The healing process is going well, though. You should be up and about in no time.”

Your mind reeled, trying to fill the lacuna of memories. “I-my friends.” You mumbled as you tried to calm yourself.

“Miss Vivienne did show up multiple times, though I eased her worry,” Madam Pompfrey began undressing your bandages, “and, Mister Malfoy.” She gave a gentle laugh.

Your heart quicken slightly at the mention of Draco. “He refused to leave your side, probably hasn’t eaten a thing since. I had to threaten reporting him to a Professor before he chose to step out.” She smiled.

Uncharacteristic of him, you thought distantly. Maybe it was truly real. You wished, feverishly on some days, the ardent adoration his gaze held when he would look at you was not merely an act.

You wondered why you even came to like him, constantly having to remind yourself of the rumours his father was swathed in, sinister and conniving people that his family is. The apple wouldn’t have fallen far.

The sound of footsteps brought you back to the present. Madam Pompfrey having completed redressing your arm, you could tell she was about to leave when she paused. “Oh how it warms my heart, the innocence of young love.” With that she closed the curtains around you and left.

If only she knew what this “love” was based on. A crude blackmailer and a fool’s bargain on your end.

The stillness of the infirmary felt suffocating, but it was the kind of silence that let you think too much. Too much about the chaos Draco had been caught up in and had inadvertently drawn you into.

But how could you ignore the way he kneeled next you and held you so gently after the explosion? It was as if a part of you wanted to believe that maybe—just maybe—there was something more there. Something real. Maybe he wasn’t like his father. Maybe he could be different. Maybe he felt different towards you.

Why had you gotten yourself in a tough spot? Right, he bribed you with dresses and deserts. How gullible you were.

The creak of the door interrupted your thoughts. You heard Draco’s voice before you saw his silhouette, low and urgent. The soft shuffle of his boots on the stone floor made your breath still. What would you say when he’d arrive? Draco, why are you starving on my behalf? You felt giddy from the emotions.

You finally laid back pretended to be asleep, better thoughts eluding you.

You then heard another voice, laced with a skittish tone. He seemed to have accompanied Draco. The two of them were talking, and every word cut through the silence like a knife.

“Draco,” the man’s voice was edged on imploring, “you know how it is. You wanted this. She was collateral damage. You knew that.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You noticed the faint outline of their figures on the other side of the curtains. Draco was standing with his back to you, his posture tense, his voice cold.

“That’s not true, Blackthorn” Draco snapped, but there was hesitation in his tone, like he didn’t fully believe it himself.

“You’re right,” Blackthorn said, his voice now taunting. “But you’ve always had a way of convincing yourself of things, haven’t you, Draco?”

The world seemed to close in on you. Your chest tightened as you heard Draco’s next words—words you wished you hadn’t heard. They made your heart crack, the pain almost unbearable.

“She was mine to deal with,” Draco said, his voice steely. “And required none of your intervention.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know if you were more shocked or betrayed. His words—those words—felt like a slap across your face. It was as though all the moments you had shared, the moments you had allowed yourself to believe there was something between you, were suddenly shattered in an instant.

The betrayal cut deeper than you could have imagined. You had convinced yourself that Draco might actually care. That you had something beyond the walls of house rivalry, beyond the darkness of his family’s influence. But now… now it felt like a lie. Like all of it had been an illusion. You didn’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken.

Blackthorn's voice interrupted your spiralling thoughts. “Lucius asked you to do it, didn’t he? He wanted the ingredient. It wasn’t personal.” His voice softened in a way that made your stomach churn. “You needed someone to help you get it. So you used me.”

“Don’t bring that up,” Draco muttered. “I didn’t—”

“Stop lying to yourself,” Blackthorn sneered. “You’ve always done what your father told you. Even when it’s her you have to sacrifice.”

Sacrifice? Your mind raced. It was always about power, always about control. It was never about you. Not truly.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Derek continued, as if relishing Draco’s discomfort. “You complained that she overheard our conversation that night.”

And that was when it hit you.

The night in the classroom, Draco had found you with the potions book, it was Derek Blackthorn from Slytherin he was talking to. He wasn’t trying to save you because he cared about you. He was trying to protect his family’s interests. He didn’t care about your life. He cared about the mission, about appeasing his father, about keeping everything under control. And to your horror, help smuggle dangerous ingredients for Merlin knows what reason.

Your heart felt like it had shattered into a thousand pieces, and you were disappointed on yourself for not seeing it sooner. You hated yourself for hoping, even for a moment, that Draco Malfoy could be different. But you hated him most.

You wretched the curtain apart, startling the two.

 “What are you doing here?” you demanded, your voice shaking with emotion, hurt stricken across your face.

Draco stood still, unsure of how to respond. Derek, however, was the one to speak up. “She woke up,” he said, sounding almost surprised.

Draco’s gaze flickered toward Derek, his expression unreadable. “Leave,” he said, his voice low, but it didn’t hold the same fire it had moments ago. He was… tired. Was it guilt? Or something else?

Derek didn’t argue, but before he left, he threw one last look at you. “Don’t expect any pity from me. None of this is personal.” he left, leaving you alone with Draco once again.

You stayed silent, your mind swirling. Finally, Draco spoke, his voice softer than before. “You heard everything?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded. The pain in your chest constricting your lungs, and the more you thought about it, the more you wanted to scream. But all you could manage was a raspy, “Leave me alone.”

“Let me expla-” Draco moved to touch you and flinched when you held up your shaking hand. “We don’t have an audience to please anymore Malfoy.” You spat.

“Was I truly so naïve?”  You whispered almost as if asking yourself, “did you even care that I lived? Or was it some sick entertainment to you? Did you truly starve for two days or was that an icing on the cake?” a bitter laugh escaped you as looked up at Draco.

Your name fell from his lips over and over, like he was begging. “All that your family has brought mine are tears. And I thought, I prayed you to be different. Yet here you are, having lived up to your reputation.” Your voice betraying you as tears fell.

You watched through blurry vision of tears as he reached out, his hands shaking. Your own emotions so intense that you refused to acknowledge his.

“Just leave, Malfoy.” You closed the curtains leaving him with your wretched heart behind.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Absolutely banger content!! Love it! When Kaz calls Inej "treasure of my heart" he's cheapening an otherwise meaningful phrase. Do you think he is being totally sarcastic or is he deadpanning his feelings to a degree? Because a little later he describes another time he said something cold-blooded to Inej and says to himself "in moments like that he thought she might hate him." Can the second quote be used as context to explain the "treasure of my heart" quote?

Hi, thank you so much!

I definitely think that this is a prime example of using sarcasm as a defence mechanism, so although he comes across completely sarcastic - as confirmed by Inej’s reaction, which is to look pointedly at his cane and wish him a long trip down the stairs before she herself slides down the bannister - I would agree that to some degree he is voicing his genuine feelings. It could be viewed in a somewhat self-destructive nature, because by voicing these feelings in a manner that he knows will elicit a negative response from Inej he can use it as evidence for her not returning his affection and therefore use it as a reason not express his feelings in any real way - claiming that she won’t be interested, when actually he simply has a massively debilitating fear of being vulnerable bred in him by Rollins and the general attitudes/environment of the gangs in the Barrel (and arguably to some degree Jordie as well; by trying to protect his younger brother he doesn’t necessarily convey the full severity of their situation when they first arrive in Ketterdam, inadvertently leading to the belief that such vulnerabilities should never be spoken of or discussed becoming a highly complex and difficult aspect of Kaz’s character)

When Kaz comments “in moments like that, he thought she might hate him” it’s coming off the back of him effectively defending the appropriation of Inej’s culture. She is horrified to see the Suli Jackal masks on sale and being worn by pleasure seekers in Ketterdam, because they should only be worn by Suli seers and are “sacred symbols”. In return, Kaz says that he’s seen the seers “ply their trade on party boats and in pleasure houses” and that “they didn’t seem very holy”, and when she says that “they are pretenders” and “they’re laughing at you behind those masks” he responds coolly that he would never pay to have his fortune told, whether it was from a conman or a holy man. When Inej is visibly upset by this conversation, he comments that he wonders if she hates him, and I think that a large aspect of this is because he is the only person who knows what she went through to its fullest extent. And the specifically relevant aspect of what he knows here, is that Inej was forced to appropriate her culture herself when she was at the Menagerie (slight tangent, but so was Nina, it’s very interesting, I’ve mentioned it in a post before). Inej describes her room at the Menagerie to be a farcical mockery of a Suli caravan, she was forced to “donn false Suli silks”, and it’s even mentioned that the only reason she was ‘the lynx’ is that the Jackal masks were seen as unattractive - “but what man would want to bed a Jackal? So instead, the Suli girl - and the Menagerie always stocked a Suli girl - wore the lynx”. What a quote. What. A. Quote. Starting with the Jackal, it makes it clear that there are no lines that won’t be crossed, and that’s emphasised by other girls at the Menagerie wearing animals sacred to their countries such as the Fjerdan woman being the wolf, and that the only reason Inej didn’t have to wear an outfit similar to the one she’s so horrified by here is that it couldn’t be sexualised and exploited the same way the lynx could. And then we have “and the Menagerie always stocked a Suli girl”. Wow. That gets me every time I read it. There are two main things I want to comment on in this quote, so I’ll start with “stocked”. This singular world is so dehumanising; the idea that the women and girls at the Menagerie are seen as stock, produce, literal consumables that can be bought and traded and sold. There’s also the point that Inej herself is the one using this word, and I think it’s left purposefully ambiguous as to whether this is a satirical usage of the word on her behalf as a criticism of the culture surrounding pleasure houses and cultural appropriation in Kerch (although more specifically Ketterdam), or if it’s the product of indoctrination to this toxic culture - similar to Nina’s horror at releasing that the appropriation and disdain for foreigners she’s been surrounded by has actually led her to judge traditional Ravkan dress as old-fashioned in Crooked Kingdom (I think it’s chapter 13). The second thing about this quote I want to mention is “always”. “Always”. It so subtly introduces so early on in the books the deeply ingrained over-sexualisation of Suli culture, which is evidenced time and time again but most specifically in the ‘Rare Spices’ billboard that Inej describes un Crooked Kingdom. I could talk about that billboard for DAYS so I won’t go into it here because this is already a long post.

But I think it’s incredibly important that Kaz knows all of this when he makes these comments, every time he mocks her gods or her “depressing Suli wisdom”, he knows that he is part of a culture that dehumanises and sexualises and appropriates and reduces everything about who she is, and he knows that it’s hurting her, of course it would hurt her anyway, but especially hurting her because she was forced to do it herself as a cherry on top of the worst year in Inej’s life, a year made of unending pain and terror. But arguably this is once again all that self-destructive nature; the pushing her away, similarly to the sarcasm as a defence mechanism, because it is easier to hate than to love, and because if she hates him then he never has to be vulnerable with her.

Oh wow I just looked at that and realised it’s way longer than I thought, sorry about that… Thank you for reading it, and thank you so much for the question this was really interesting to think about! :)

[mountttmase]

A Mountain To Climb - Part Two

Note - thank you all so much for the love on chapter one. i've been really sick and haven't written anything new so i thought it would be best to post this now so you can can into it a bit more rather than post something random. i hope you enjoy this one too, let me know what you think 💙

Pairing - Mason Mount x Reader

Word count - 2.5k

Warnings - series will contain fluff, smut & angst

Master list

It had been five days since your lift incident and you were glad to now be back home. That didn’t mean you’d forgotten about Mason completely, if anything you were annoyed at yourself for still thinking about him for this long. As much as it looked like it from the outside, you weren’t completely sworn off boys. They had their uses, you just had no interest in what followed after you’d got what you needed from them.

You’d often been labelled as cold by men, but you didn’t let the words effect you. You’d probably never see them again so why did you care what they thought? Plus the double standards made you laugh.

You were working from home this week, but the reality of sitting within the same four walls for hours on end all day was sending you crazy so you told yourself on Wednesday you’d venture out, hence you were now sat in your local Starbucks, nose buried into your laptop screen with an iced latte and chocolate brownie to the side of you.

‘Well, what are the chances’ you suddenly heard, and even though you barely knew him, you could recognise that voice anywhere. Your body froze but your eyes slowly made their way up to connect with a pair you thought you’d never see again.

‘Mason?’ You breathed, and you felt your skin tingle as he flashed you that wide smile of his. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I had an appointment a few doors down and fancied a coffee for the way home’ he explained, taking up the seat opposite you, and you shut your laptop over so you didn’t come across as too rude. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m working, I just came here for a change of scenery’

‘So you live round here?’ He asked, and you nodded before you could stop yourself. His face lit up at this new information whilst you internally cursed yourself. You didn’t want him to know where you lived, after the whole lift incident you were hoping to keep him as far away from you as possible, but luck seemingly wasn’t on your side. ‘You know I almost didn’t recognise you’ he teased.

‘I wish you hadn’t of’ you whispered and your tummy dropped at the hurt look that washed over his face. You weren’t sure what it was about his eyes but they had this weird effect like they were directly connected to your emotions and whatever he was feeling you also felt.

‘You don’t mean that’ he chuckled, clearly trying to brush off your hurtful comment but you didn’t want to let him know you sort of did. ‘We’re bonded by trauma, this is fate I saw you in here’

‘You surly don’t believe in that’ you murmured, opening your laptop back up so you could carry on working in attempts to make him leave, but he wasn’t getting the hint and continued speaking.

‘I mean, I don’t have any other explanation’ he told you quietly. ‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot since I saw you’

I’ve been thinking about you, too you thought but you held your tongue, biting your lip and pushing the thoughts back down so you didn’t say anything stupid, but the way he was looking at you was making it hard. You’d forgotten how attractive he was and how his smile made your insides churn but looking at him in this light didn’t help. The afternoon sun highlighting all the freckles that dotted his cheeks and you willed yourself to keep your expression blank as you looked back at him even though you could feel the butterflies swarming. You could tell he was struggling to know what to say or do, eventually dropping his eyes to the table.

‘I thought you’d be a bit happier to see me’ he chuckled but you could tell he was a little upset by your attitude. ‘I thought we were friends’

‘What made you think that?’

‘Are we not?’ He countered, rubbing the back of his neck before running his fingers over his facial hair. You couldn’t deny his sad eyes were having an effect on you and you willed yourself not to melt under his stare.

‘I don’t have friends, Mason’

‘Sure you do. You told me yourself you were visiting friends when we met’

‘No, I said friend. I have one friend, who I’ve known since I was little. That’s it’

‘Well where’s the fun in that’ he huffed and you had to take a drink to stop yourself from smiling. ‘Come on, I’d make a great friend’

‘Oh yeah?’ You asked, raising your eyebrow at him and he smiled at the fact he seemed to be breaking you down a bit.

‘Definitely. Come on, let me prove myself to you’

‘I’ll think about it’ you breathed and you had to look away as he smiled in triumph. You wanted to smile too, the feeling of being around someone like him felt so foreign to you but you couldn’t deny the way your heart thumped when he flashed you those pearly whites.

‘I tell you what’ he laughed, plucking the pen from out of your hand and scribbling down on the paper in front of you. ‘That’s my number. You can text me whenever you feel like. No pressure or anything’

‘You did not just write on my report’ you grumbled and you watched him swallow nervously.

‘Fuck, I’m so sorry y/n’ he panicked and he was about to speak again when a knock on the window nearest you distracted the pair of you. You turned you your left to see a group of five boys, aged about 12 staring in at the pair of you with shocked faces before pushing and shoving each other in excitement.

You turned to look at Mason, confusion written all over your face whilst he was blushing and trying to hide a smile.

‘Look, I have to go. Just text me please? And I’m sorry about your report’ he smiled apologetically before standing and leaving the table. You watched him walk back up to the counter and have a word with the barista before they led him through a back door and out of sight.

You were left confused. Both interactions you’d now had with him made you question what was going on but you didn’t have much time to ponder it, being snapped out of your bubble by the same barista that Mason had spoken to, placing a fresh coffee and brownie down on your table.

‘Oh sorry, I didn’t order this’ you told him but he just smiled at you.

‘Mason ordered it for you, asked me to bring it over’ he smiled, and you thanked him quietly before he walked back to the counter.

You could feel something wasn’t right, but you were unsure of what it was. Why did he leave through the back door? Why were those kids looking at him? How comes everyone seems to know his name? It wasn’t something you’d ever felt possessed to do before but you wondered if he was worth a quick google, hoping to find him on LinkedIn so you could figure out what he does for a living but you couldn’t remember his last name.

You knew you’d heard it, the receptionist had used it when you’d both come out of the lift and it was on the tip of your tongue but it just wasn’t coming to you. You huffed when you couldn’t quite recall it, so instead you typed in his first name, hoping it would spark some inspiration, when you saw it pop up.

He was the second suggestion that came up after you’d typed his first name in. Mason Mount. You clicked on it with a gulp, unsure about what you were about to uncover but you never expected anything like this.

It was definitely him, and your heart thudded as you took in what you were seeing, eventually clicking on his Wikipedia to hopefully explain to you who he was.

Mason Tony Mount is an English professional footballer who plays as an attacking or central midfielder for Premier League club Chelsea and the England national team…

Oh shit.

So much made sense now, all the looks and special treatment he seemed to get and you were eager to know a little more, forgetting the report you were supposed to be writing for now and focusing on what more you could find.

The recent match section caught your eye, showing they had just played Leeds on Saturday, which explained why he was staying in the hotel the night before, and you glanced to see he would be playing Brighton in a week and a half.

You weren’t sure how long you were looking for, and it wasn’t until you phone rung beside you that you remembered you should be working. You quickly answered, your boss asking when your report would be ready but thankfully for you, you were ahead anyway so you told her you’d send it within the hour and quickly finished it off before heading home.

You knew you shouldn’t, but you looked into Mason more on the way home. Looking him up on instagram and you were shocked by how many followers he had. You’d managed to scroll all the way down to a video of him having buckets of water chucked on him when you finally came to your stop.

You tried to think about other things as the night went on but you kept catching yourself reminiscing about seeing him earlier and the way he would switch from shy to confident with you. You knew you had his number sitting in your bag and you were contemplating on putting it in your phone but you took a shower instead, wanting to try and forget about him.

Yes he was gorgeous, yes he seemed like a lot of fun, and yes he probably would make great friend just like he told you he would. But you weren’t looking to add anyone new into your life. You had your select people and that was good enough for you. No need for any changes.

To you, more people in your circle meant more chances to get hurt, so the fewer people you let in the better. Mason included.

You tried forgetting about him for a few days but not matter how hard you did, those brown eyes seemed to be everywhere you looked, wether that was seeing something that reminded you of him, or waking into a shop and seeing his face plastered on the advertisements. After four days you felt liked you’d been broken down and on the verge of texting him but you made sure to distract yourself with other things.

You settled on the sofa after your shower, putting on the news whilst you tried not to think about his number sitting in your bag but your thoughts began to run wild. You wanted to know why he didn’t tell you who he was? Or how long he thought he could of carried on without you finding out? You also felt bad for not thanking him for the coffee the other day. Yes you didn’t want any other friends but you didn’t want to be rude.

In the end you found yourself rummaging around your bag, fishing out the paper and popping his number into the contacts. You thought over what to message him first, wanting to lull him into a false sense of security so you could eventually make him squirm. The idea of inviting him to hang out when his next game was on sprung to your mind, thinking about what he might say to try and get out of it, and you began texting him straight after.

He went silent after that, and you knew he was thinking about what to say. You couldn’t deny you were enjoying teasing him, wishing you were sat with him so you could watch his face as he tried to worm his way out of it, and without thinking anything of it, you hit the FaceTime button.

You sat waiting, and he picked up on the third ring but you couldn’t see his face straight away. You watched as he shut the door to whatever room he’d gone into before flopping down onto the sofa. His face coming into view soon after and you hated the way your heart gave a thump at the sight of his smile. He was dressed in a white hoodie with a purple beanie covering his head and you couldn’t get over how cute he looked

‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ He laughed ‘you made out like you wanted nothing to do with me, ignored me for days and now I can’t get rid of you’ he winked. ‘Nice hair towel by the way’

‘Thanks’ you said sarcasticly, suddenly realising your hair was still up from your shower and you cringed at how ridiculous you must look to him. ‘Anyway, you made out you wanted to see me but your diary seems to be full’ you told him and you noticed his face falter for a second. ‘Come on then, out with it’

‘I don’t know what you mean’

‘Mason’ you huffed, and he gulped nervously. ‘I already know. I’m just waiting for you to tell me’

He seemed stumped but this, but then let out a little laugh whilst he hid his face. He’d been caught and he knew it.

‘If you know, then why are you making me say it’

‘Cause I want to hear it from you’ you laughed and he finally raised his head.

‘Fine, y/n I’m sorry but I won’t be able to see you on Sunday because the football team I play for has a game that day’

‘Thank you’ you laughed and he shook his head, an unmistakable blush creeping across his cheeks. ‘I appreciate your honesty’

You carried on talking for another ten minutes or so, teasing each other endlessly about pointless things. He tried hiding his face so you couldn’t see him get flustered, but you couldn’t miss his flushed cheeks.

‘I should go, need to get my beauty sleep’ you told him and he smiled gently at you.

‘I mean it looks like you’ve had enough from where I’m sitting’ he said quietly and you gave him a confused look. Was this his attempt at trying to flirt with you? He let out a small laugh before nodding and scratching his head ‘I’ll let you go, speak soon yeah?’

‘We’ll see’ you winked and you both laughed before you gave him a little wave as you ended the call.

You sat there for a few minutes, smiling to yourself before you realised what you were doing, reality hitting you like a slap in the face as you pushed all of these new feelings out of your body.

This wasn't you, you didn't feel things like this when it came to boys and you'd be dammed if you let Mason trap you under his spell like he had been.

Tagged: @alwaysclassyeagle @ricsaigaslec @cinderellawithashoe

[skylarmoon71]

Miguel O' Hara (Across the Spider Verse) - Extra 2

Miguel had a tolerance for a lot of things, but it was clear that this wasn’t one of them.

His eyes scanned the words on the blog posted. It was a site used to keep spider-people informed of changes and important information within the organization. Yet someone saw it fit to spread what they probably thought was juicy comedic gossip.

It seems that our stoic leader known as Miguel’O Hara is far more dangerous to the ladies than we realize. His gaze seems to have rendered our very own (Y/N) completely helpless to his charms. An anonymous source has said that this endearing couple did not even have to share a kiss. One smoldering look from the stern ruby eyes of our glaring prince had been too much for her pure little heart. Stay tuned for more juicy romantic tidbits from the organization’s hottest new couple.

“LYLA!!!”

She flickered in with a grin.

“Yes~”

He just pointed to the article and Lyla laughed.

“I’m just giving the people what they want. It was too good a story not to share. She actually fainted at the thought of kissing you. How sweet is that!”

He could feel the migraine coming on. It was already embarrassing having to carry you into the infirmary. He kept hoping no one would ask what happened, because he could not provide an explanation that wouldn’t earn some very curious looks. Running a hand over his face, he removed the article.

He needed to focus, but he was too agitated.

Partially due to the looks he would now receive and because he..he’d been looking forward to that kiss.

He groaned, jumping off the platform and heading for the gym. He needed to work out all his frustrations.

For the next few hours he glared at everything in sight and almost broke three punching bags. He thought the workout would keep him grounded, but the faster his heart rate got, the more he could picture your flushed cheeks, beautiful eyes, tempting lips..

The distraction was having a completely different effect. He finally gave up, heading to the shower. The feel of the cool droplets did provide a decent relief. There hadn’t been any anomaly activity. He never thought he’d be so agitated at that fact. Stepping back into his main office, the tried to busy himself with something.

Anything.

“You should really talk to her.” 

Lyla’s comment just earned another hard look.

“Are you really just going to sulk?”

He didn’t reply.

“Well I already called her. Good luck!!”

She disappeared before he had a chance to explode.

“M-Miguel.”

Your voice makes him spin around. He wishes he’d been better at keeping his composure. Your bashful expression is just another reminder of that tender moment and he feels annoyingly pent up again. He didn’t understand why he was acting so uncharacteristically awkward.

“This is my fault.” You confess. You look sullen and Miguel shakes his head.

“It’s mine. I shouldn’t have approached you like that.”

He kept his eyes on the wall and you flushed, thinking back to the moment. You couldn't believe you’d actually passed out. You’ve always been pretty awkward when it came to love, but that was next level. You felt a bit defeated. You’d ruined a perfectly good moment that probably wouldn’t present itself again.

Miguel has been cautious around you since the blog was released. You could understand why. He had a reputation. Not just that but he’s a very mission oriented person. You’ve never heard or seen any mention of love in his life, so it’s possible that he’d written it off to focus on his work which was quite literally saving the world from catastrophe. You sighed under your breath.

You wish there was a way to shove all your feelings in a bottle and toss it away. There was no way you could go back, so maybe if you’d just confessed it all, then you would be able to get past this.

“I-I like you Miguel!!”

He lifted his head, taking in the tears that gathered at the corner of your eyes.

“I-I really like you! I was so happy when we started working so close together. I’ve always been pretty good at compartmentalizing. That’s why I kept running. I thought it would be better if I kept my distance but that just made everything so unnecessarily messy. I’m sorry!”

You feel so pathetic.

He realizes at that moment that he really was blind to anything not associated with his work. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to hold you and tell you that it was all okay. He was an idiot for being completely oblivious. Deciding that the slow approach had been a disaster, he pulled you into a hug. Your hands flattened on your chest, body tense with shock.

“I hope that for now, this will be okay.”

His words sound a bit hesitant, like he’s afraid and your body slowly relaxes. He was just as flustered by this as you were. When you returned the embrace, he felt his own heart change pace. You couldn’t stop the smile or the blush at the sound. You were so used to seeing the serious side of this man that you’ve forgotten that he is still very much that.

A man.

You’re both just very awkward when it comes to this thing called love.

You giggle under your breath, pulling away slowly. Miguel looks down when you part, the blush on your cheeks as clear as day. He can’t believe that he’d robbed himself of something so pure, amazing.

Your expression changes and he’s about to question it, but your hands reach up, cupping his cheeks. He doesn’t get a word in, you lean onto your toes, lips pressing into his. His eyes grew wide and yours were tightly shut. The longer you stayed there the faster his heart raced. You pulled back after what felt like an eternity, just looking at him. You expected a comment, something, but he slumped forward and you caught his weight clumsily, shocked.

“M-Migue!!”

You couldn’t believe it.

He fainted.

Maybe it was contagious.

“This is definitely going on the blog.” Lyla comments. 

[moonstarhui]

through the phone

Pairings: afab!reader x minghao Warnings: smut, masturbation, phone sex 

───────────────────────────────────

How could you have expected that you would be having phone sex, just because of a single story your boyfriend, Minghao, posted?

Going back and forth from one app to another while simply scrolling through your phone. After all, it was a dull afternoon.

You almost put your phone down after yawning when you unexpectedly received a notification that Minghao had tagged you in his Instagram story. Even though you were tired, you contemplated checking it when you woke up, but curiosity won out.

what a bad decision…

Tapping the notification, you were baffled with what you just saw. How can your boyfriend just post something like this?

It was you on his lap, inside the dressing room. Pants discarded and you remembered too well what you felt when that picture was taken. His erected bulge against your heat. Of course, it did end up with him fucking you. Before you even know it, you already feel yourself getting tensed and feeling that wet sensation beneath you.

You replied to his story :

baobei???

minghao is typing . . .

do you not like it?

should i delete it?

NO

it’s just

nothing nvm

what’s wrong?

nothingg

say it

baby you know i’m just human ahhaha

brb

whyy i wanna talk to you 

:(

can i call?

You knew you were doomed if he rings you up, but you also knew you could never say no to him. How could you? He was missing you, but he was clueless with the effect he has on you. Groaning, how can he call you when you want to touch yourself so fucking bad.

You've made the decision to reply to him, you're completely unaware that it's been five minutes since you last left him on seen.

unless you wanna hear me fuck my fingers, sure

oh

why not ask me to fuck you

i’m impatient and need it now, you’re like 20 minutes away from me

hmm.. okay

go do your thing

you want me to join you? joke lol

sure :)

You told yourself that it was just a joke, but a part of you did wish that he would call. The ringing of your phone hit you back to reality, fuck he’s really calling, huh?

You answered the phone, shuffling around on your bed trying to get comfy.

“Hey.” you said, but more of coming out as a whisper.

“Hi” he replied turning on his camera.

Of course he’s fucking shirtless.

Removing every piece of clothing you had except your underwear, more than ready to fuck your fingers. “Fuck, you’re really testing me.”

His voice was stern, lust visible in his tone. “Turn your cam on, baobei.”

You turned your camera on and placed your phone on the bedside table, your boobs flashed on his screen. He licks his lips, definitely aroused with what he’s seeing and you can hear him whisper “gorgeous” under his breath.

“Go touch yourself, baby.”

“Oh, I fucking will.”

You began to squeeze one of your mounds with one hand while simultaneously reaching down with the other to touch your clothed pussy and sticking one of your fingers inside of yourself.

Minghao groaned with just hearing your light moans which eventually made him start palming himself through his sweatpants. “Move the camera so I can see all of you.”

You fixed the position of your camera, moving it farther so he can see every inch of skin you have, and proceeds with rubbing yourself through the lace.

It was one thing for Minghao not to be there to please you — but him grunting into the microphone made you feel even more helpless.

Your hand traveled all the way to the inner of your laced underwear.  Visions of him clouding your mind.

His lips turned up in corners, proud that he can make you this wet with just the thought of him. He hummed and rubbed his shaft, still wanting it to be you giving him this pleasure. “Good… you’re touching yourself so well huh?”

Getting your phone, you wanted to show him your amorous actions. You positioned the camera between your legs, showing all of your cunt to the camera and continued rubbing your folds. “Wonder who could’ve gotten me this wet.”

“I haven’t even done anything, baobei. What more when I ruin you later, hmm?”

Heavy breaths filled your room, thrusting your fingers in and out of your clit. Lewd noises every time your fingers go deep down you. You squeezed your boobs, nibbling with your nipples and trying to picture it was Minghao who is playing with your body.

“Show me how you are right now, Minghao” You plead wanting to see the state of your boyfriend who is in no better condition than you.

He moved the camera upwards, showing all of him. His eyes closed, lips getting bruised from biting, hand rubbing his dick. Oh what a sight for sore eyes.

His grunts made you envious, wishing that it was your hand making him moan out those pretty noises, instead of his.

“Want your lips on my pussy right now, you to eat me out.”

“Do you me to come over after? Fuck you into your mattress while you be the good girl you are?” He managed to laugh out between his whimpers.

You practically begged for him to come over, feeling pitiful of yourself for being so weak for him, for wanting him so bad that you can’t even manage to be a tiny bit patient for him to get to your place. No, you needed him as fast as you can, even if the means would be displaying both of yourselves in the camera.

You hear him moaning your name, fuck him I swear (you wished). “Do you not have any toys?”

You get your phone and hold it above you, flashing your boobs while you squish them making him groan.

“I do, do you wanna see me use them?” You chuckled out, watching him react to the way you’re playing with your breasts.

He smiled. “go on, use your favorite one.”

You placed down your phone back on your nightstand, opening your drawer to reveal your vibrator that you haven’t used in awhile. I mean, you had no purpose for using it, your boyfriend was there to give you more than enough sex (not that you were complaining).

You laid back on your bed and turned on the said toy, “This doesn’t make me feel as good as you though.”

“I know, baobei” he murmured, “Your toy can’t even come close to how good I make you feel.”

You looked at him, still seeing him rubbing himself. “Can you spit on your hand and rub it for me? Only rub your shaft until I tell you that you can touch yourself.”

He did as what you told him to, rubbing it on the tip of his cock and spreading it all over. “Fuck, if only this was your spit.”

This made you grow wetter, moaning to his words.

“You sound so pretty, my baby.”

Hissing at the sudden feeling of your vibrator entering you, you start moving it and told him to start pumping himself.

Minghao followed you, still groaning and moaning your name. “I’m really close what the fuck, you got me so hard.”

“Eye contact when you finish, baby.”

From being the one who was extremely horny and was practically drooling, to him following your orders. How ironic. You increased the speed on your toy, thrusting it in as much as you can while looking at your boyfriend. This made you clench and realized that the knots in your stomach are getting harder to hold in. “Baby, I’m gonna cum soon.”

His breath got heavier as his noise becomes gradually louder, and getting ahold of his phone. He showed you his torso, and the way his cum lands on his abs as he chuckled, “This should’ve been your mouth, baby.”

You whimpered his name as you finished, wetting your sheets and telling him how much you need him.

He hummed as you dropped and attempted to regain your breath, “Let me get my keys and I’ll be on my way to you. See you in a bit, baobei.”

He smiled and cut you off before you could respond, leaving you speechless.

Your body remained stunned.

he’s coming over already?

Before you even got to gather your thoughts, you suddenly heard the doorbell rang.

:P

[yarameijer]

Hiiii Yara!!!!

I have changed accounts bc I forgot my password, but I was Flan-Girl304! I have been commenting in ur fics for years now lol, except in the last couple of updates, bc, yk, lost my password.

Anyways, I was rereading Accidental Reverse, as one does, and now I really want to know your opinion on the relationship between Sengoku and Tenma, because I love the idea of Sengoku being so protective and caring of the rest of the team and noticing Tenmas problems/struggles early on.

He really is like a pilar of peace between all the chaos of raimon, isn't he? (Most of the time)

Also, completely unrelated, but I just realized how long it has been since Accidental Reverse started, I was still in school. Now I'm on my last year in pyschology. And now knowing the struggles of university, I absolutely understand ur updating schedule, I haven't updated my own fics in ageeeees. But I'm still hyped for whatever you decide to post in the future!

Anyways, hope you're doing well!!!

WHOAAA I CAN’T BELIEVE IT, it’s been so long!!! Hi!!! How have you been??

I'm good, just super tired! University's been pretty demanding and I ended up pulling an all-nighter last night to almost completely finish my thesis, so I am going to bed very very soon.

‘’rereading, as one does’’ you know it’s almost 300K, right

Aww Sangoku, yes we love him. He’s great. He’s the best, hands down. He’s the voice of reason, the eye of the storm; he fades into the background when compared to other members on the team, both in terms of personality and appearance (...pink hair, anyone?)

I headcanon that Sangoku is the eldest on the team and that makes him feel responsible for his teammates. We know from the anime he’s already a very caring and responsible person, as shown by his interactions with his mother; she works late often, so he is in charge of groceries and cooking and other chores. He was canonically captain before Shindou and never really got rid of some habits from that time.

Which means that, just like Shindou, Sangoku understands Tenma's struggles as captain and tries to support him as much as possible; he did the same thing when Shindou was made captain after him, although of course the specifics are different because Tenma and Shindou are different. Sangoku doesn't really interfere with the leadership part; he's not one of the loudest voices on the team, and he doesn't want to be. He can leave the decision making to Shindou, Kirino, Tenma, Tsurugi, all the more outspoken members, all more qualified and talented than him - that’s what he thinks.

Instead he tries to help in more subtle ways: by caring.

(This doesn’t just apply to Tenma, of course. Sangoku keeps an eye on the whole team - literally and figuratively. He’s the keeper, he’s always in the back, always in position to keep watch over his teammates during a match, and that doesn’t end when the match does.)

He keeps an eye on Tenma whenever he can. Does he look tired? Upset? Ill? If Sangoku notices this, depending on the severity, there's a few different things he might do. If it's not that bad, he'll usually cue in the other first-years and let them drag Tenma along to hang out and unwind for a bit. The quickest way to get Tenma to forget about his worries for a bit is to let him spend time with his yearmates and act his age. They're a chaotic bunch and there's no room for worry or stress there.

If it's worse, Sangoku might interfere more directly. If it's more of an internal problem in the team, Sangoku can and will tell the others to lay off (Shindou means well, but sometimes he gets carried away). The rest of the team listens to him, and this is a rare enough event that the few times he's had to do it, it's been very effective.

If it's an external problem, Sangoku can't honestly do much. In those cases the whole team is stressed and trying to support each other, and as much as he wishes he could, Sangoku can't just go up to their opponents and tell them to knock it off. Instead, he'll ensure (by teaming up with the managers) that there's enough snacks and drinks present for everyone, and try to keep them all calm and rational.

Sometimes, when Tenma is being especially stubborn, Sangoku will outright scold him and tell him to go home, go to bed, take a break. Tenma definitely doesn't like this, but he respects Sangoku too much to deny him.

It's even happened a few times that someone else on the team cued in Sangoku. They know Tenma will listen to him, even when he's being stubborn, and they're not afraid to misuse it.

And always Sangoku is just ready with a listening ear, an offer to help, little check-ins, even when nothing bad is happening and Tenma is just busy or mildly stressed.

Like I said, Sangoku does this with most of the team, but he's more aware of Tenma. This, again, stems from having been captain himself. Early on, when Tenma became captain, Sangoku worried and tried to make sure the kid was doing alright, and that just stuck. Even years later after Tenma has proven himself more than capable, it's an old instinct that Sangoku can't get rid of.

And Tenma doesn’t really… know? Sure, after being captain for so long, he knows the dynamics of his team. How Sangoku is the voice of reason - no, rather, how he’s the calm inside the storm, the one who worries quietly and cares for them all and has taken the responsibility to watch over them through their craziest adventures and laziest days. He knows, by logical reasoning and several late night instances where Sangoku was the one to check up on him and tell him to get some rest, that Sangoku does it for him too and he appreciates that more than he could ever say. He just doesn’t notice that Sangoku is a little more keyed into his well being specifically - probably the only one who does is Shindou, and that’s because Shindou is the exact same way, for the exact same reason (they both agreed to make yet another first-year captain, when they know the burden of it; they refuse to let him drown under the pressure).

So Tenma hasn’t noticed, is not as close with Sangoku as some of their other teammates, and Sangoku honestly doesn’t mind. Truth be told, after so much time he barely notices it himself, it’s just become a habit.

Their relationship is interesting because they don't really hang out outside of the team - sure, if the team will go out together, they'll both join if they can, but they don't usually meet up with just the two of them. They’re both closer with other people on the team. Their relationship originated as simply senpai and kouhai - Sangoku feeling a sense of responsibility towards a younger teammate, Tenma looking up and listening to an older teammate. And yet it’s grown so much from what it was. Tenma knows Sangoku's door is always open and he can always count him. Sangoku respects Tenma as his captain, and cares for him as a friend rather than a kouhai.

Funnily enough, they’ve got a bit of a similar opinion on taking care of the rest of the team. Perhaps Tenma has been unconsciously imitating Sangoku’s behavior in the way he cares for them, and even handles them when they’re acting rash. It actually makes Sangoku his biggest ally in getting the team to behave! As we see in Accidental Reverse, Tenma is fully capable of being the craziest on the team, but in his actual timeline where he's captain, he's usually the semi-responsible one, if you'll believe it (in his defense, if something happens, he's the one who has to deal with the paperwork). And Sangoku is most often the voice of reason on the team, so he will fully support Tenma when they're trying to get the team to NOT do anything stupid for once.

So yeah. In summary, this is a relationship that was at the start nothing more than regular senpai and kouhai, and funnily enough never changed much in their roles - but the sentiment behind it? That has become much more genuine. Sangoku doesn’t look out for Tenma and feel responsible because that’s what is expected of him, but because it’s Tenma. And Tenma doesn’t respect and listen to Sangoku because he’s older, but because Sangoku has time and time proven that there are few people Tenma truly appreciates and admires more.

So! I hope you enjoyed that. Oh, don’t mention how long I’ve been working on AR, I know exactly how you feel. I uploaded the preview for it on my sixteenth birthday. In less than three weeks I’ll be celebrating my twenty-third.

I am still planning to continue though, I just need to deal with stubborn characters who don’t want to be written, tss.

It was really great hearing from you again!

[mishkakagehishka]

Hey Korka I saw a thing so of course I have to shu-ify it because it can fit this idiot who never says what he actually thinks unless it's strictly necessary.

Anyway thinking about something going wonky with some thing or other and being able to hear Shu's inner voice... Like getting to hear his actual feelings with a sort of echo effect after he says his usual harsh words... Maybe using that to your advantage to tease him a little bit and fluster him while making it not completely obvious so he doesn't evaporate on the spot

I think we don't have to really use any logic because "Well, we just want to see it happen!!" is enough. For the sake of an argument, let's imagine uhhhhhhh [checks notes] the time and space matter is falling apart because of the perpetual timeloop and it's showing in the fact that Shu's thoughts are now shared with whoever he's speaking to in the moment. We could bring up the idea of a soulmate AU, but I won't torture you tonight.

idk the word count i wrote it directly in post (so no spellchecker! should be fun!!) and i . didn't really plan on doing that.

Shu's usual biting remarks - something that takes lots of getting used to, and even then can hurt quite a lot. It's not like he wants to be mean, but that's how he comes across to most. To most, with a few notable exceptions, to most except to those who, after all, know him.

But it takes practice to know how to translate Shu's words, to know that his "Even a child could do it" doesn't necessarily mean you're stupid so you should be able to do it - it doesn't mean that he considers you on the level of the imaginary child he is mentioning, but that he expects someone of your skills and knowledge to be able to breeze through it. To know that his scoffs and "Don't bother me" and "I'm only doing this because it'd be an inconvenience to me otherwise" are just ways of masking his own care for you. That his scoffs are to hide his smiles, his shooing of you just a way to make sure he's not distracted by wanting to talk to you, that he just cannot come clean about his true intentions - it's not in his nature to show vulnerability.

And one day, all that practice, all that difficulty is just. Gone. And suddenly you have access to Shu's inner thoughts. How? Who knows. The author doesn't particularly care, either. But the reality is that you were left sitting in your seat, listening to Shu berating you for not bringing an umbrella, yet very much hearing the echo of, what would I do if you got sick? Why do you always insist on worrying me like this? And how were you supposed to pair it to "Are you a moron? Do you not check the weather like an adult before leaving the house?!"

Easily. By batting your eyelashes at him, by saying, "Sorry, did I worry you?" He paused in his berating, mid-sentence, mid-calling-you-an-imbecile. Eyes widened, mouth still left half-open. Is that the faintest rosiness of a blush you see on his cheeks? "Don't be ridiculous. Whether you get sick or not is none of my business, but think about the work you'd be pushing onto others because of your lack of care. It is highly irresponsible." Yet the echo was panicking. Panicking! Screaming, is it that obvious? Am I that obvious? I don't look worried, do I? You may have just found your entertainment for today.

"Well, I just forgot my umbrella. I'm sorry, but I don't think I deserve to be called names for it," you defended yourself, just wanting to see if he'd think anything vaguely remorseful. "I'm simply stating facts. Forgetting such a trivial thing makes you seem dumber than you are." - If you feel bad about being called names, then quit behaving so carelessly.

Well, Shu will always be Shu.

I hate making you feel bad, too. I wish you would smile at me." And wasn't that your perfect sign? Your wonderful cue to shoot him the brightest, most blinding smile known to humanity, in such perfect timing. And as if an arrow had struck him, he froze. Even his thoughts - empty. But he was under your effect, that was certain, with that faint blush easily deepening, splashing his cheeks in a far more noticeable way. In a way that was, quite frankly, very taking-advantage-of-able. "Are you okay? You're looking a bit red?" Don't come closer, don't come closer, don't come closer, DON'T- Of course you came closer. Of course you placed your hand on his forehead, pressing ever so lightly. "Do you have a fever?" "NO! I'm fine. Don't touch me!" Though he attempted to swat your hand away, it was clearly rather low-effort, and your hand remained on his forehead. He almost leaned into it, and you could hear words so unfitting of Shu's voice, yet undeniably in his voice. Ah~ Your hand is so soft... I wish time would stop so you would never pull away... It's so warm... What a capricious man.

"You're burning up, Shu! And you scolded me about getting sick..." "I'm not sick, I told you! Let go this instant!" Please don't let go please don't let go please don't let go "Why don't you move away? Nobody's holding you." Really, nobody was. You only kept your hand on his forehead, but he was free to even just take a single step backwards. But you knew the reason. And he knew the reason as well. The blush spread to the tip of his ears, making him look nothing less than like a rose in bloom. Or an embarrassed tomato. "You're not sick? So what's with your face? You're red all over. Could it be you're embarrassed?" You happily watched his composure crumble, his breathing turn uneven, his eyes trembling. What's happening?

Suddenly, his cheeks were cupped, squished until his mouth was stuck in a pout. A most undignified state that had him scrambling, trying to push your hands away, but ultimately it was a fruitless endeavor. What's happening!??!?! "You're so cute." "UNHAND ME!" But, like a puppy, his thoughts just repeated the compliment over and over. I'm cute... I'm cute...? He seemed to enjoy it, his heart pounding in his ears at the words, at your touch, at how close your faces were. "You're adorable. Do you like it when I compliment you like that?" I love it "You do, don't you? So cute."

A loud smooch to his cheek. And his knees buckled. Pathetically. "Wha-what is the meaning of this? You're behaving most inappropriately and-!" "Are you crying?" "I'm NOT!" He was not... technically. The tears that collected in the corners of his eyes were those of frustration with himself, frustration with the situation. I would want for nothing more than to embrace you and kiss you, but... Even his thoughts hadn't a ready excuse. It was simply not something that would be in his nature. But I could never take the lead with such acts.

And isn't that all you needed to know to grab his face once more, albeit less like a fussy baby's and more gently now, to cup his jaw and press your lips against his? To cradle his face in your hands, to feel his body tensing up for a mere moment, before his arms caught hold of your shoulders, attempting to ground himself. His breathing evening once more, though his heart continued pounding hard enough that you could feel it against your own chest. And his inner monologue nothing but an unending scream of, what you assumed to be, excitement. It probably wouldn't be horror, else he wouldn't have been kissing back as fervently as he was. Pulling away was equally as entertaining as listening to his inner screaming throughout the kiss, rather, watching him quickly trying to mask his softened features back into a frown, getting ready to scold you, but... No words came out.

"You..! You..! You.....!" He tried his best, he really did. I cannot believe you did that i cannot believe we did that that was so good that was great i want to do that again i never want to be away from you i want to hug you more i want to kiss you more i want to "Me? Me? Me?" You mocked, a victorious smile on your face, knowing you had one over him. Him, who was still out of breath, tried as he did to hide it. "You're that into me, huh?" At this point, he had the bright idea to hide his face. "I already saw how red you are, no use hiding it now. Come kiss me again." Peeking through his fingers, no, glaring through his fingers. He pondered on a response for a second, face still heating up, embarrassment still evident. But, for once, his thoughts and words overlapped, "Can I?"

[sitp-recs]

HP Rec Fest, Day 31

Last day of @hprecfest and I AM NOT READY to say goodbye 😭 so sad to see this incredible coming to an end but also thrilled that I’ve had the chance to participate and found my reccing mojo again. Thank you @givereadersahug for this incredible initiative and to all the mods for for your hard work!!! Of course the last prompt is a banger, it was so hard to pick a fav amongst favs but to honour my commitment to rec fics that deserve more visibility I’m sharing two stunning works that showcase the beauty of short (3k) and medium (31k) form. No better way to close it out than reccing two stories that have been so very special for me ever since I first read them, and informed the way I see the ships and my respect for short-medium length. I can only hope this post will inspire more folks to check and experience these beauties by themselves. I hope you’ve had as much fun with the Rec Fest as I did! Wishing everyone a happy NYE and an amazing start to 2024 🥂

Day 31) a fav amongst favs:

Drarry

Still Life (orphaned, M, 3k)

No summary provided so I’ll quote:

if you’ve ever wondered if it’s possible to create a perfect short fic the answer is yes and the proof is right here. what a masterclass in short form! the gorgeous prose, the introspective tone, the slice-of-life atmosphere, the perfect pacing and unexpected ending - everything comes together so seamlessly it might feel casual at first but I promise it’s actually quite profound in meaning. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read Still Life and it still hits me in the solar plexus. every. fucking. time. Harry’s pov is a triumph, nuanced, hilariously oblivious and so charming as he navigates conflicting feelings about his growing attraction to Draco. it’s as if we are right there by his side, watching as he overanalyzes their casual-not-so-casual relationship and Draco’s not helping by being infuriatingly hot, tender and quirky (god what a compelling combo, and he has such brilliant lines too!). I am obsessed with their voices and with Harry’s mental gymnastics from horny denial to stunned resignation. this was such a transformative read for me because it’s one of the few fics that made my jaw drop with every paragraph, masterfully crafted to hit me right in the feels. by now I know by heart the lines that give me the “heartkick” - a physical reaction that makes my heart contract and expand with warmth at reading something that changes me in a permanent way. there’s nothing I could say to do this fic justice so I rest my case by stating that it’s a privilege to have the chance to read seefin’s works! what a legend.

Rare pair

A Fine Foray into Fashionable Fellatio by @wellhalesbells (Draco/Ron, E, 31.5k)

First comes tolerating, then comes shagging, then comes unintended consequences.

this is the fic that effectively and irreversibly pulled me into Dron 🪦 I remember being so completely mindblown and obsessed with this story that I immediately found 1824947 ways to mention and rec it every chance I got. holy shit, what a journey! before reading this fic I didn’t know it was possible to love them together and not even think about Harry. but here Ron and Draco are so fully realized, so well-matched in wit, charisma and personality I was promptly sold on the ship without ever comparing their dynamics to Drarry, after all Ron is so very different from Harry. this is quite the emotional rollercoaster, as chaotic, impulsive and intense as both characters; their chemistry and sexual tension are off the charts (the bathroom sex and smoke kink, my god!!!! 🥵) and the Mpreg plot works surprisingly well and in a very Dron way: jump head first, talk feelings later. love the mix of playful banter, horny smut and tentative sweet romance with a long-standing friendship in the background. this is such a FUN read and I really appreciate that the author took their time to develop both the plot and the characters, it certainly felt refreshing to me as I’m used to short rare pair fics. definitely a Dron classic that deserves to be read and reread many times!