#It’s just a polite request to my mutuals

[eddis-not-eeddis]

Girls, I love you, you are all precious to me. But please do tag your Taylor Swift posting. I understand you are excited, I love that for you, I fully support your going bananas. But please tag it if you can.

[benetnvsch]

(also real talk cuz ive been getting more bongostraydogs followers,, id appreciate it if u do not follow / unfollow / block me if u call urself/identify as a pr0shipper or ship things like 0dazai or fvkuran. obvs I can't (and entirely don't care to) 'police' what people post/like but I can control my own experience here so f u do follow or even interact w my posts and I notice it ur just gonna be blocked. these just personally make me very uncomfortable cuz of trauma so this is less of a request and more just an explanation why u may suddenly blocked after interacting ough-)

[psychic-vamp]

You can't force someone to tag things for you, especially if they don't even see your blog or follow that link way off on card, you cannot control other people online, realize that now pls

you can't force someone to change their behavior on their own blog, especially if you do it anonymously and don't offer any alternative advice. you cannot control other people online, realize that now pls

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

update: i wrote a part 2 because it was highly requested! you can read it here :)

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

—

“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetical torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies. 

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.” 

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent. 

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?” 

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his. 

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects. 

“If I may.” 

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will. 

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use. 

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given. 

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.” 

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate. 

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table? 

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’d already successfully wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all. 

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were. 

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. Heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.” 

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness. 

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!” 

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?” 

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.” 

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided. 

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that. 

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan. 

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront. 

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves. 

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.” 

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.” 

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.” 

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce. 

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones. 

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.” 

“But they’re so heavy.”  

“Well, what would you use?” 

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow. 

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.” 

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted. 

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.” 

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?” 

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat. 

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact. 

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.” 

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. 

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?” 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.” 

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for. 

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?” 

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin. 

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled. 

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders. 

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“ 

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one. 

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair. 

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place. 

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine. 

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.” 

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin. 

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work. 

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh yes. You’re about to.” 

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement. 

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.” 

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your  permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other. 

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor  craved to postpone the main course. 

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face. 

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss. 

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites. 

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind. 

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness. 

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him. 

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin. 

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman. 

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.” 

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.” 

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief. 

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you. 

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter. 

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp. 

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye. 

“Why should we limit it to just that?” 

[dreamingcricket]

politely requesting either halsin or astarion with a tav/reader who like..shrugs off their advances bc they don’t think someone like either of them would take interest in them. like very oblivious to the fact that people actually like them. (totally not self indulgent lmao) ((i love mutual pining to lovers i-))

CW: Mild sexual content, reader is injured

Astarion has started to question whether this is your way of gently rebuffing him, or you're actually this dense.

He's not a subtle flirt. He uses all his most seasoned tricks, exhausts every overture he can think of. He can't remember wanting anyone this much. And yet, every one of his suggestive quips is laughed off.

He's there in the morning, sliding in beside you as you drink your tea. "Good morning, beautiful. You're looking absolutely radiant today." He runs a finger down your arm. When you blush and smile back, something warms in the pit of his stomach.

He's there as you put on your armour. "Allow me, dove." And as he tightens the straps on your mantle, he lets his fingers brush the underside of your jaw. "There. Just right." He purrs into your ear.

And of course, when he feeds. He takes his time, pulling you close, cradling your head, running his fingers through your hair. He nuzzles into your neck before he bites, pressing his lips against your rabbiting pulse for just a moment longer than he should.

Even in battle, when he's swiftly at your back, flashing you brilliant smiles as he races to your defense, you jovially thank him, like you do all your companions. Like he's your friend. Just your friend.

All efforts so far, completely ignored.

So now he watches you from across camp, the firelight dancing across your features as you laugh (he tries to ignore the tender stirring in his chest at the sound).

He throws back his glass of wine, and grimaces at the pitying glances of his compatriots. Of course it was obvious to anyone except you.

You stood, bid Wyll and Karlach goodnight, but instead of disappearing into your tent, you vanished into the brush.

Astarion sat for a long moment. He should let you go. You clearly weren't interested, and he should just... move on. Like he always had.

Who are you kidding, you fool?

He didn't care that he startled Gale with his speed and he pursued you into the woods.

You were seated on a rock, your face turned up toward a shaft of moonlight, eyes closed. He stopped to admire you.

"Sorry I took off. I just wanted to enjoy the quiet."

"I'll go, if you want me to."

You start, and turn towards his voice. "Astarion, didn't expect you."

"Were you expecting someone?"

"No... just-

He's suddenly surging forward without thought, and the two of you are rolling across the grass.

"Astarion, what the fu-"

He silences you with a burning kiss, brimming with anger and desperation. You roll him onto his back, furiously returning his advance. "What-" you pant between kisses. "-took you so long, idiot."

He's furiously tugging at your linen shirt, baring your back and shoulders. You'd be angry if you weren't still reeling.

"You never flirted back!" He pins you down, only to find his hips locked between your legs.

"I flirt constantly, Astarion! You drink my blood every night! I've been waiting for you to take the next step for weeks!" Now it's you tearing at his shirt, your hands groping for purchase on his shoulders. "I thought you didn't think of me like that." Now it's your lips against his neck, and he chokes on a moan.

"That's not flirting!" He's never been this heated during sex. He's a collected lover, and for all the inherent violence of his existence, he realizes - he wants to be gentle. At least this time.

He takes your hands in his and stills your thrashing. You lock eyes, both of you out of breath, chests heaving. He places a single, gentle kiss to the palm of your hand. "Shall we begin again, love?"

"I'd like that."

"My name's Astarion. You are a truly stunning creature," he leans down, and whispers to you, "... and I'd very much like to make love to you tonight."

Halsin thinks you are quite possibly the most extraordinary person he's ever met.

 

He can't erase the image of you the first time he saw you from his mind, eyes ablaze, arcane power crackling at your fingertips. 

He's had so many partners, but all of his love affairs were brief, transient. Deep, but nothing had ever moved him like this. Typically, Halsin is straightforward with his feelings. His passing dalliances with fellow druids and traveling rangers had never daunted him. But with you, making his feelings known was... complicated.

You'd been through a significant trauma, and while you put on a quite the brave face, ever the intrepid leader, he's been around long enough to see your fragility. You'd seen so many horrors in such a short amount of time. Emotions were running high, he wouldn't risk coming on too strong.

So instead... he brought you gifts. It was a very natural way to court someone, at least. Baskets of berries, a fresh catch from the river, perhaps they're gifts to his own taste, but he hopes you'll enjoy them.

He offered to braid your hair, to help ease the tension in your shoulders with a massage in the evenings (his hands are absolutely enormous, which certainly helps). 

And, unbeknownst to the rest of the camp, and to his mild shame, he couldn't help but rub his scent near your tent. He wouldn't invade your boundaries and touch your things, but he couldn't help his instincts. Lae'zel noticed at last, but only scoffed and offhandedly remarked, "The way you dance around your affections is pathetic. Tell them, or stop simpering."

Things eventually came to a head when you were injured, badly. The arrow tore through your side, and you hit the ground before you could register you'd been shot, the world became pain and a blur of color and noise. 

Halsin was by your side in a heartbeat, shielding you with his frame as spells and arrows flew overhead.

"Don't move little one, you're losing blood." He sounded calm, but there was a tremor in his voice. You'd never seen him afraid before.

"Halsin..."

"Shh, shh. Hold still." His magic flows through you, and the muscles in your side knit back together as he pulls the arrow free.

"Halsin." Your hand lifted to weakly brush his cheek. Your vision was swimming. 

The thunderous roar of battle magic echoed nearby. Gale rushed towards you. "Are they alright?"

"They will be." Halsin spoke it like an oath. "But they're weak." 

"We'll finish this, get them to safety!"

Halsin cradled your body to his chest and barreled off the battlefield. You drifted in and out of consciousness, but were always aware of his arms around you. They felt like safety. Like home.

The druid ducks behind a half destroyed wall, and begins to reassess your wound. "Gods, you frightened me." He lays you down carefully, head in his lap, and begins to clean the wound. 

You smile up at him. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me."

"I like this."

He's puzzled. "Being horribly injured?"

"Being held by you." 

At that moment, your body finally gave out, and your vision went black. 

When you woke, bandaged and sore, in your tent, Halsin was sitting by your bedroll with his back to you. Recalling in horror the confession you'd made, you try to pretend you were still asleep. 

"I know you're awake, little one." 

You sigh. "I'm... about what I said, I'm sorry. I know you don't feel that way, and-" 

"Stop." He turned and placed a finger against your lips. "No more words." 

You braced for his rejection. At least the druid was kind, empathetic. Or perhaps his pity would make it worse. 

His lips coming down on yours were not what you expected. He was gentle, and smelled of moss and pretrichor, dark soil and sweat. You kissed him back, laughing into his mouth. 

He pulls away, then presses his forehead to yours. "I'm here. As long as you'll have me." 

"Oh, I intend to." Your attempt to sit up is hampered by a shock of pain from your wound. "Ow. Shit."

Halsin guides you back down to your pillows. "All in good time, little one."

[luveline]

May I pretty please request an emergency medicine doctor!reader x Hotch blurb? I’d love to see both of them in careers that are difficult, yet despite that they still manage to be together because they understand each other so much. Maybe something with the rest of the team as well if it’s possible 🫶🏼🥹

Emily used to think Hotch would never be happy again. She’d drive him home after work, pick him up in the mornings, and she’d think about how miserable he was, the kind of misery that hooks you in its grip, has you turning to wine or whiskey just to keep breathing. 

She thought for sure he’d buckle. When Hayley died, he’d have to. How could you not? But he kept going and proved she should’ve had more faith in him, becoming the father Jack deserves, and, surprisingly, your partner. 

“You’re squeezing me too tight,” you mumble, just loud enough for Emily and the others to hear you where Hotch hugs you a few feet from the dinner table. “Why are you trying to break my back?” 

“I haven’t seen you in three weeks.” 

“Eighteen days is not three weeks.” 

“It might as well be.” Hotch peels away from you to give you a once over. Emily’s half jealousy and half fondness, seeing him love someone so obviously. “Are you hungry? I ordered for you.” 

“Super hungry. Do I smell like antiseptic?” 

“No, just soap.” 

“Well, that’s not much better.” 

Hotch puts his arm behind your back and guides you to the table. The team squeeze out hellos between mouthfuls and you take your place at Hotch’s side behind a steaming plate. You’re as ravenous as the rest of them after your long shift; Morgan can hardly get a word out of you for the first ten minutes, though he tries, and you attempt to be polite. Emily nudges him until he gets the hint to stop. 

“Here,” Hotch says, putting a heaping of his food onto your plate with a large spoon. 

“Stop.” You attack his spoon with a fork. 

“It’s fine, you like it more than I do.” 

“Don’t care. You need your energy. I’m going to make you carry me up the stairs home.” 

He’s unintimidated. “Ah.” 

“Ah,” you echo. “You sound so doubtful.” 

Hotch looks like he might try to keep flirting with you, but he gives in quickly, betraying how much he’s missed you with a hand slipping under the table. Emily sees his fingers curl over your knee, averting her gaze with a feigned sip of coke. 

She can deduce the silent question you ask one another about anyways. 

“We’ll have dessert,” you say. We won’t skip out early. “What are you having, Dr. Reid?” 

Hotch orders you three different things, which you eat fast. 

“They’re not feeding you at the hospital?” Rossi asks. 

“Three emergency transfers in twelve hours,” you explain, slouching now into Hotch’s side, one slow inch at a time. “I didn’t have time for much.” 

“That’s not healthy,” Hotch murmurs in concern. 

“I’m sure I can ask any of your friends about your eating habits and find a similar schedule,” you brush him off, raising your gaze to Emily, then Morgan, then Rossi and Reid. Everyone smiles the same way. Hotch is caught, and his laugh jostles your shoulder. 

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘do as I say, and not as I do?’” he asks. 

God, Emily thinks with a huff of a laugh she can’t contain, get a room. 

“He likes that one,” Spencer says. 

“I don’t doubt it.” You lift your lips to his jaw and press a peck to the line of it. One, then two. “Maybe that’s why we've lasted as long as we have. Mutual disregard for our wellbeing.” 

“And a great deal of care for each other,” Rossi says, nodding sagely. “This is why my marriages never last.” 

“Is that why?” Spencer asks. 

“You’ve gotten to be quite the lark.”

“Lark,” Hotch whispers to you. Emily, sitting at his other side, might be the only one who hears, the others distracted by Spencer and Rossi’s ensuing squabble.

“Scoundrel,” you agree. 

“How’s your head now?” 

“It’s gonna be a hundred percent better if you give me that,” you say, pointing hopefully at his full drink. 

He doesn’t hesitate to press it into your hand. Emily would never suspect you hadn’t seen one another for weeks; you move and he follows. You rub your cheek against his shoulder. He touches his nose to your hair, his eyes shuttering closed for one stolen, blissful second. “Missed you,” he says under his breath. 

Emily looks away with a smile. Hotch isn’t hopelessly miserable anymore. 

[maxtermind]

(texts masterlist \ main masterlist \ navigation )

★ : summary :: you've moved to a new city with no contacts whatsoever, feeling totally out of your element and completely alone— but woah, whos that?— oh how could you forget that's your brother's very generous, very polite, very sexy bestfriend hell bent on making your life… miserable? ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ★ : tropes :: brother's bestfriend; idiots in love; she falls first, he falls harder; mutual pining; fake dating; secret relationship ★ : key :: (f) fluff; (a) angst; (c) comfort; (h) humor; (m) mature/mentions of sex ★ : a/n :: just the usual text aus with a little bit of plot and interconnectedness!! if you have requests to fit anything in the subcategories below, send them in!

. brother's best friend 𓂃 ♥︎

- reconnecting with your brother's best friend (f)

- when you leave f1 drivers cash (h)

. friends with benefits 𓂃 ♥︎

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. lovers (in secret) 𓂃 ♥︎

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. married 𓂃 ♥︎

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©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★ : a/n :: feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Human cameramen are crazy

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The greatest decision Intergalactic Wave 6 ever made was hiring Reggie Bradford.

At the time of Finch’s hiring IW6 was a relatively small news organization based in the outer worlds. Barely reaching four systems on a good day compared to the top contenders like Celestial Times which was broadcasted in inner core systems and pulled in an average of twenty to thirty systems each broadcast. The anchors for IW6 were locals, a Temrelien that needed a third grade translator unit just to be barely understood and a Myporie which couldn’t see the color green.

As the underdog’s underdog, IW6 more often fed off larger stories reported by other stations or small local stories relevant to a handful of worlds.  Nothing interesting happened in their corner of the universe so as long as they broke even they were fine to never reach further than the length of their arm.

Reggie Bradford was a hired on as a cameraman to work for one of the planetary studios on Orbin VIII. You’d find him either working in the back making sure the camera bots were functioning or, more often, when they weren’t he’d be manning the forty pound cameras himself. The studio crews were always amazed how this seemingly out of shape man could heft the heavy outdated camera unit like it was as light as a pen.

They wondered what a lone human was doing so far out in the boonies as he would say, but he would always shrug and say that he felt like this is where he belonged; a notion IW6 would be most grateful for in the coming days.

When the Intherax/Coalition war broke out it was the biggest news story to hit the plasma streams since the death of Empress Karen III when she was eaten by her own corganai.

The Intherax were a militaristic society, trained from birth to kill before anything else, and spanned some fifty star systems not including client kingdoms and vassals. General galactic dealings with them often boiled down to standing aside from whatever they wanted and hoping it wasn’t you or your world, lest the invasion armadas would descend and obliterate what little civilization your people had been able to achieve and then be sold into slavery.

This time however when the Intherax made a proclamation to annex the colony worlds of Jense, Shatu’a, and New Hamburg the current occupants politely told them to bugger off and formed a Coalition for mutual defense. From there dozens of governing powers flocked to the coalition and added their strength to it in what they saw as the best chance of finally checking Intherax aggression once and for all.

Ever one for a challenge, the Interax declared war on this new found coalition and opened the conflict by orbital bombarding Jense until it was little more than a cold husk of rock trapped in the decaying orbit of its system’s sun.

What followed was best described as two sides of no holds bar warfare as the Coalition retaliated with the first ever invasion of Intherax territory against the world called Kai���de.

Naturally every news organization wanted to be seen covering the war, including IW6. Sadly they did not have anyone either brave enough to send so they settled on sending someone they believed was stupid enough and sent Reggie.

They expected to get some b-roll of soldiers marching or shots of fleet warships in formation. They never expected nor asked him to go into active combat. So when the first feed came back during their late night broadcast they were surprised to see that Reggie was onboard an assault ship breaking through atmosphere.

“Reggie,” the Temrelien spoke with every other word shifting tone from the broken translator, “where are you?”

“I’m currently with brave members of the 27th Dragoons as they head to take the fight to the surface of Kai’de.”

Reggie waved a hand at the soldiers who in turn gave a rousing cheer and slammed their feet against the metal decking.

“Orders came in late last night for a massed landing to take the enemy by surprise. From what I understand the Intherax military had not expected coalition forces to invade their territory and have not had time to establish proper defenses.”

Both news anchors looked at each other in confusion.

“If that’s the case isn’t this broadcast putting the entire attack at risk?”

To their surprise Reggie laughed as the camera shook.

“The plan was to get them by surprise, but judging from the amount of anti-air fire,” he said as the assault ship rocked back and forth, “I don’t think they were fooled.”

The camera panned right suddenly as one of the armored dragoons grabbed it and spoke directly into it.

“We want them to know we’re coming! Because we’re going to kill them all!! AHAHAHAH!!”

Another chorus of cheers and whoops came from the soldiers as the soldier let go of the camera and Reggie readjusted it. The anchors wanted to continue their questions when the leader of the dragoons shouted out and interrupted them.

“60 seconds!”

With the order given the soldiers stopped their foolery and began hefting their weapons. Reggie panned the camera over them as they slapped in fresh clips or attached power cables from their backpack generators to their more heavy weaponry.

In awestruck silence the anchors and their viewers watched as the assault shuttle slammed hard into the surface and the boarding ramp flew open.

“GO GO GO GO!!!!” the dragoon leader shouted as the soldiers poured out screaming their battle cries. Reggie waited and filmed them as they disembarked but did not join the first out the ramp. A inclination that saved him as enemy gun fire began raking the ramp striking several soldiers down in clouds of viscera and gore.

The censors barely had time to cut the feed while the horrified anchors composed themselves to resume the broadcast.

In the hours that followed IW6 confirmed that Reggie had survived the battle and had been with the unit of dragoons for the entire duration. During those hours he had recorded the entire engagement from ramp down, to storming city streets as the Intherax deployed building sized walkers, to the hoisting of the coalition flag over the central governing building at the heart of the city.

With this footage viewership numbers for IW6 skyrocketed overnight as none of the other networks had been able to capture such stunning footage. In fact, by the intake of broadcasts none of them had been able to attach an anchor or cameramen to the initial assault save for Reggie. When asked how he had been able to get approved for such a deployment he did not say which only further added to the mystery. Yet for the moment IW6 was far from ready to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Reggie’s footage was shown over and over on IW6 and was soon sublicensed to other networks and shown there. Exploits of the dragoons became known galaxy wide as Reggie followed them through battle after battle; never afraid to risk his life to capture the perfect moment.

When the Intherax fleet arrived in orbit and began to bombard the planet while also fighting the coalition fleet Reggie had forgone sheltering in nearby bunker complexes to film the orbital strikes as they hurtled down all around them.

Thick columns of pure energy shattered buildings and mountains alike as the ground quaked and there stood a lone Reggie filming it all. Even when the anchors begged him to find shelter he simply panned the camera over the city to show entire skyscrapers be reduced to molten mounds the oozed and sludged through the city streets.

By the time the battle had finally ended thanks to Reggie’s footage IW6 climbed the viewership charts to be the third most watched network galaxy wide. Much to the dismay of IW6 it also drew the attention of Reggie the cameraman to the other outlets who began showering him with ever more lavish offers for employment.

Too their surprise he denied them all and said that he was right where he belonged.

[totalswag]

Hi you! I was thinking about actress!y/n is in a ceremony and Drew is filming of obx s4, they're both so busy in their film industry, that they miss each other terribly that they kept contacting in messages and calls,

(especially him, who is very proud of her, who would like to be by her side even if she tells him to keep working on the set of obx, that she wouldn't want to disturb him. Like they both put up with each other so much they love each other)

that they haven't had time to talk to each other much, they want to meet up face to face again for once, so she decides to visit him as a little surprise to see him again in Charleston

surprise visit on set — DREW STARKEY

authors note thank for the request lovie! i have a few requests that i will work on or currently working on. all the love you guys have been showing me lately is absolutely amazing, i couldn't thank you lovies anymore. halfway to 1k too!!!

summary surprising drew on set after months of not seeing each other.

warnings cuteness thats all

masterlist

Being in a relationship where you both act and are continuously busy filming is difficult, but there is always time and space to see one other when you take a break from filming.

Drew and you began dating in 2021, after he completed season two of his show, Outer Banks. You met through mutual friends at a gathering and hit it off right away.

Outer Banks season four is presently in production, which means Drew is in Charleston filming. It's been about two months since you last saw each other, and you miss each other a lot.

You were on the red carpet on the premiere of your new movie. As you went through the crowd, cameras flashed and captured every moment. In the back of your head, you couldn't stop thinking about Drew and how much you miss him.

A young woman called your name where interviews stood infront of cameras waiting for you and your cast mates to interact. You smile with a kind wave, walking over.

“Miss, Y/N, "I must say you look absolutely stunning tonight in this dress you're wearing," she says, praising you from top to bottom.

"Thank you so much; it means a lot to me, and I'm glad I chose to wear this dress tonight," you giggle, smoothing your hands over your sides.

The interviewer asks you a few questions on both the film and your character. You were grateful to be asked these questions because you had worked so hard on set.

"Before we part ways, noticed your boyfriend, Drew Starkey, is filming season four for Outer Banks. How is that going, do you know?" She asks politely.

"We haven't seen each other in a while, but we text every day," you place the front strands behind your ear, "he said everything is going well on set and he can't wait for fans to see," you explain, smiling before saying goodbye.

You just hopped on a plane to Charleston to surprise Drew. You secretly organized this trip because you miss Drew and want to spend time with him. You can't wait to be in his arms again.

With all of your free time, you decided to pay Drew a visit and meet the rest of the cast, whom you consider friends as well.

When the plane landed, you walked down the stairs to find Maddie, Madison, and Carlacia waiting for you beside the car, holding two posters designed specifically for you. You took out your phone and started recording them as you came closer.

"Finally back with my hot bitches," you exclaim, extending your arms for a group hug.

"How long has it been since we saw you last?" Madison asks, "I don't know, but it's been too long," and then grabs your suitcase and places it in the trunk with your other belongings.

Everyone knows about you coming except for Drew. The look on his face will be priceless and unforgettable. Knowing you, you might cry.

A few hours go by, you left early with the girls to set since they are filming their scenes first. You were able to hid in Drew's trailer on the couch in the corner where he won't see you when he enters.

Drew's reaction was clearly visible on your phone. Hearing his voice get closer filled your tummy with butterflies. Taking a deep breath as you heard the doorknob turn.

"What time do you want me to get back on set again?" You hear him say this while the door is still open and you have no view of him.

"Okay, that sounds good; I'm going to take a quick nap," he says before entering his trailer.

His figure enters the trailer and turns right, with his back to you. When he turns around, all he sees is the love of his life in the corner, wearing the most beautiful smile that makes him fall harder each time. He can't believe you're standing in front of him now.

"Please tell me I'm dreaming right now and you're a vision," Drew blurts out, placing both hands over his head to digest what's going on in his mind.

"Don't think I'm a vision baby," you giggle, getting off the couch, "so are you gonna give me a kiss or stand there handsome?" You make amusing gestures. 

"Oh I'ma kiss you alright," he quickly responds, taking you in his arms, lifting you up with his arms; you wrap your legs around his waist.

You two remain like this for a full minute, taking up the sensation of being together. You place kisses all over Drew's face, making him giggle.

"I've missed you so much; seeing you now and seeing your beautiful face in person makes me so happy. Drew expresses himself meaningfully: "I fucking love you so much baby."

The tears come down your face, Drew's quickly to wipe them.

"I can't explain the emotions I'm feeling right now, but to sum it up, being in your arms again, hearing your voice, touching you, makes me want to not leave you."

Drew helped you get to your feet and led you to the couch. You inform him you have a surprise trip planned; he assumed you wouldn't see each other until next month. Drew gave you an update on how filming has gone, etc.

The past four days has been wonderful. You went onto set, met up with the crew and cast, beach, shopping, drinking, went out to dinner, etc.

Talked about the movie premiere and how your movie turned out after you watched it.

It's a lovely night in Charleston. The sun had just set, which was breathtaking from the view at dinner. Drew and you were strolling out of a restaurant holding hands, laughing at each other's jokes.

"Oh my gosh is that Y/N and Drew?" A faint voice from across the street causes you both to turn your heads at the same time, filled with curiosity.

"I suppose I am dreaming right now. I love you two so much and you've helped me so much, I can't thank you enough," the young girl confesses, struggling to fight back tears, "my name is Skylar."

Your heart warmed at Skylar's sweet comments. You and Drew instantly drew her into a group hug. Skylar wept with happiness. 

"Thank you for your love and support. We're both glad we could support you through your difficult periods in life, and we hope you'll keep fighting. Would you want a picture? Drew speaks with genuine sincerity, holding her hand and maintaining her composure.

After talking for a time, you took a few photos with Skyalr before going your separate ways. More fans have approached you two since your arrival. It's always good to meet supporters.

"How about we grab ourselves snacks from the gas station for a movie night and cuddle all night then possibly have a little fun" Drew implies with a hint a flirtatious about the having fun part.

You let a yelp when he squeezed your sides, leaning back against his body.

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea to me" you shrug, smiling.

Drew sighs and wraps his arms around your neck, "I'm glad you took the time to come here. I missed you so much and am finally able to be with you. I'm extremely proud of all of your hard work and your new movie. "I love you, baby."

"I love you more my sweet boy, best thing that's ever happen to me."

my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account.

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[improbable-outset]

for an angst/whatever else Miguel fic

what about an inexperienced reader who has a shitty bf and he makes a cruel joke at her expense in front of people, including miguel, who's her boss and later or something miguel comments on it to her and it can either lead to smut or fluff, your choice 💓

Hi anon, thanks for the request. I might’ve gone a little carried away with this one heh…

📄 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐞

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.7k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Toxic relationship, Manipulative and controlling behaviour, humiliation, alcohol consumption, unresolved pinning 👀, fluff and comfort, intimate tension.

𝐀/𝐍: WE ARE SO BACK. While writing this, I’ve discovered that writing toxic characters is actually kinda fun and amusing, especially with dialogues

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: During a company dinner party, you find yourself humiliated by your current boyfriend. Seeking some escape, you confide with your boss, Miguel, whose support reveals some hidden emotions you’ve buried.

Your reflection stared back at you blankly as you fixed the strap of your dress for the umpteenth time. Despite the dress fitting you perfectly, you couldn’t stop yourself from anxiously adjusting it— even if there was nothing to fix.

Social events were always outside of your forte but you wanted to put yourself out there, especially given the fact that it was an event from your work.

You wanted to look your best for tonight and make yourself as presentable as you could, leaving a lasting impression outside of the work environment.

You quickly patted the beads of sweat that were forming from your forehead before touching up on your makeup.

“Are you ready?” A male voice called out from outside the room. Your chest clenched slightly, a sudden sense of urgency washing over you.

“Almost,” there wasn’t much for you to do now but you didn't want to leave the house just yet.

Not a moment passed before Adam stepped in the room. He had a tone build and wore a dress shirt with contrasting dark pants for the occasion. His hair was combed back and he was growing out a stubble that gave a charming feature to his look.

Adam’s held his gaze on your form, eyeing you and your outfit. You felt a tinge of self consciousness until you saw a small amused smile on his face.

“What?” You asked teasingly.

“Nothing,” he stated, his line of sight still sweeping over you. “You look phenomenal, as usual.”

The compliment made your chest warm. You met Adam through a mutual friend at work. Before you got together, you were typically more reserved and kept conversations with everyone to a minimum.

But Adam would always try to spark a conversation with you, even when you gave him one worded answer. He even tried to invite you to socials outside of work with your other co-workers in an attempt to get you to open up.

Though you knew it was only an excuse for him to get to know you and to get your attention, even if it was just disguised as a regular polite conversation. Eventually you caved in to him and a few friendly conversations later, he asked you out.

You took another look in the mirror. There was something missing in the look. You reached over to your vanity drawer and pulled out one of your favourite lipstick shades before putting it on.

Adam leaned over to see your reflection in the mirror and frowned. “Oh…are you wearing that shade of lipstick again?”

You turned to look at him. “Yeah. What’s wrong with it?”

“It doesn’t suit you,” he said simply, his tone casual but the words stinging like a slap. It was one of your favourite lipsticks, a shade you thought complimented you well. No one had ever said otherwise.

“Really? Everyone has said that it matches with my complexion,” you arched your brow in confusion to disguise how bothered you were.

“Well, I’m telling you that it doesn’t look good on you,” he further added. All the reassurances you felt from the compliment you received was replaced with a dull ache.

“I wore it on our first date and you said that you loved it.”

You remembered you were feeling nervous and thought you didn’t look good enough. But Adam reassured you that you look beautiful and that was enough to lift your mood throughout the entire date.

But after hearing his comment just now, you didn’t know what to feel anymore.

“I said I liked the outfit, not the lipstick specifically,” he corrected.

“Should I take it off then?” Reluctantly, you picked up a tissue from the box with trembling hands, ready to wipe it off your lips.

Adam didn’t reply, instead looking at his watch impatiently.

“Look, we need to leave now if we want to avoid the traffic. Meet me in the car in five minutes,” he instructed, completely dismissing your question before leaving the room abruptly, now driven by urgency.

Just to save yourself from hearing him point it out again, you wiped off the lipstick from your lips. However, before you left the room, you packed the lipstick in your purse. A small act of defiance.

As you made your way to the car, you saw Adam fumbling with the glove compartment from the passenger side. Whatever he was looking for, he managed to find it and keep it hidden from your view before you could open the passenger side door.

You stepped in and buckled yourself up before you closed the door behind you. Unintentionally, you closed it harder than you intended, causing Adam to jolt in response.

“Hey, hey easy with the door babe-” he reprimanded, his voice tinged with annoyance.

“What?”

“Are you trying to break the car?” He tried to lighten the mood with a small smirk but failed— his feeble lightheartedness faded like over washed denim.

“I didn’t slam it that hard.” You quipped back.

Adam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You could tell that he didn’t want to dampen the mood and argue about this, especially now.

Defuse the spark before it gets ignited.

This wasn’t the first time you fought about something trivial. He left the argument hanging and pulled out a small box.

So this was what he was getting from the glove compartment…

“Here, I got this for you,” His voice switched like a flipping coin, as he opened the box to reveal a necklace. Your eyes widen, taking in the sight of the jewellery that glistened under the low lighting in the car.

The necklace was a silver chain with a pendant that matched with the dress you were wearing. He took the necklace out of the cushion packaging and gestured for you to come closer.

“Come here. Let me help you put it on,” he said. You leaned forward so he could reach the back of your neck.

His fingers grazed on your skin as he fastened the clasp, an act that felt almost too intimate given the recent tension. The coolness of the metal brushed against your neck.

“It’s beautiful. But what’s the occasion?” You asked, one of your hands reaching to touch the pendant. It sat on your neckline perfectly.

“Do I need a motive to give you a gift? I thought these things would be more spontaneous if they came from the heart,” he said as he put on the car's ignition. The engine hummed to life and Adam drove off the driveway with one hand on the wheel.

The car was bathed in his cologne smell. It wasn’t his usual signature scent that he used everyday. This has a spicy undertone to match the occasion, though you preferred his usual scent to this. The aroma seemed to cling into the air and linger long after he sprayed it. You didn’t want to admit that it was too strong for your liking.

You cruised through the streets smoothly and watched as you passed each building and property. Adam glanced over at you from the corner of his eyes, lingering for a moment before he spoke.“You know, I hope you can handle yourself tonight.”

His eyes went back on the road, leaving you perplexed from his comment. Did he think you needed babysitting?

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been keeping to yourself a lot lately.” He said, teetering with the edge of criticism before he continued. “Don’t you think you should be a bit more sociable at these events? It’s not a good look to be the quiet one in the corner,”

You frowned at that. You knew that navigating through small talks wasn’t your strongest suit but you didn’t need him to tell you how to act. It felt patronising.

“Are you seriously concerned about that? I always preferred to let my work speak for itself.”

“But this isn’t another day in the office, this is a dinner party,”

“I think I’ll be fine,”

“We’ll see,” There was an edge to his response that made your gut twist.

The car fell quiet between the two of you, with the only sound being the low hum of the engine and the occasional honks from passing cars.

Adam broke the silence again, desperate to kill the awkward tension that he had caused. “So, are you looking forward to the event at least?”

“Yeah, it should be interesting. I don’t think they’ve done anything like this before,”

“You’re right,” he said “It might be the new HR coordinator they hired. Seems like they’re trying to make a good first impression.”

Your destination was coming into view now. The venue where the event was taking place was not too far from the main facility building, making it convenient for the employees that were attending.

It was the company’s 25th anniversary so there were a lot of guests attending, which also meant the car park outside the venue was packed. Adam had to drive around the block— you didn’t miss the annoyed scowl on his face— before he found a decent spot to park.

After killing the engine you both stepped out of the car and made your way to the gate. The entrance was dotted with recessed floor lights, highlighting the pathway along with flowers that adorned the grass area.

You recognised a few of your colleagues from your department. It was refreshing seeing them outside of their work attire and in more festive wear.

Stepping inside, you were first introduced to the complimentary drinks before the main hall that was beautifully decorated. The sound of heels clicking and glass clinking bounced off the walls. The company really went far out to organise this, and you had to admit, you were impressed.

The tension from the car ride still lingered in your mind, but you were determined to make the best of the event, despite the rough start. The buzz in the room helped you forget about your unease.

As you padded further into the room, you spotted a few familiar faces from your department. Jess, one of your closest coworkers and best mentor you’ve had, caught your eye and approached you with a welcoming smile.

“Hey, glad you two could make it,” she greeted you.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Adam replied.

Jess leaned in for a hug, and you returned with air kisses on each cheek. She stepped back to admire your outfit. “You look incredible. That dress looks so good on you, girl.”

A sense of gratitude washed over you at that. “Thanks, Jess.”

“We’ve saved you a space on our table at the back,” she said before you all made a beeline through the throng of people.

As you made your way to your seats, you caught sight of Miguel, your boss, from the corner of your eye. You turned your attention over to him momentarily, while still following Adam and Jess towards the back.

His height and physique naturally drew attention. Or maybe it was the way he had presented himself tonight. You didn’t know what it was that made him seem more alluring.

His outfit wasn’t vastly different from what you would normally see at work. He wore a well-fitted blazer that accentuated his form.

It wasn’t tight enough to show off his bulging muscles overtly, but it wasn’t loose either. A balance of both, maintaining a modest look that still seemed to draw wondering eyes.

Adam pulled out a chair for you, an unexpected show of chivalry, before taking his own seat. You couldn’t help but pick up on his charms and how his mannerism was a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor back in the car.

You and Jess caught up and chatted for a while. You twisted your body so you could fully face her but as you did, your elbow accidentally knocked over a glass of water. If it weren’t for Adam’s quick reflexes and catching it before it tipped over, the water would’ve spilled all over you.

“Careful babe, that would’ve been a disaster,” Adam said with a hint of concern.

You still felt your nerves spiked from the small shock but it was quickly relieved when Adam placed the glass safely away from the edge. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see that glass there,”

He peered at you with an unreadable expression. You had an uncomfortable feeling that he was going to say something condescending but you couldn’t tell.

A sly smile played on his lips. “It’s alright, babe. Hey, do you remember when you spilled coffee all over the table during your interview?”

You felt like your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. That was a moment you would rather forget, especially in front of the people you work with every day.

You noticed a few of your colleagues at the dinner table glancing over at you. Their eyes felt like lasers, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at them.

“Did she really do that?” You heard one of them asked, you didn’t want to find out who.

You felt a hint of irritation that they didn’t address the question directly at you. It was as if you were invisible, a subject of gossip.

Adam let out a chuckle before he said, “Yeah, I’m surprised she even got the job after that. If it were me, I would’ve been too embarrassed to show my face again,”

You could feel multiple eyes on you as Adam recounted the story. This wasn’t something that you would like to share with anyone else, so you didn’t understand why Adam was telling everyone as if he were sharing an amusing anecdote. It felt like betrayal.

It had taken you a while for you to open up to Adam enough for you to share some embarrassing stories like that. Knowing that he was going to share them like an open book so casually felt like an icy grip around your throat.

Despite your silence and reluctance to look at everyone, Adam seemed oblivious to your discomfort. Either he was ignoring you, or was blinded by his bravado to even notice. Jess managed to see your change in demeanor and how quiet you were all of a sudden.

“Maybe we should talk about something else,” she suggested, placing a hand on your shoulder as a silent comfort. Everyone seemed to agree and the conversation steered away from the topic of you.

As the evening progressed, you managed to emerge out of your shell again from your previous embarrassment. You engaged in light conversations with your colleagues, though you found yourself listening more than talking.

Throughout the interactions, you didn’t notice a familiar pair of eyes that was observing you from afar and picking up on all of your body language silently.

The food served was exquisite and left everyone more than satisfied. Between courses, the CEO took the stage to give a speech, thanking everyone for their hard work and dedication throughout the years.

A loud round of applause erupted in the room, accompanied by smiles from everyone. You could feel the sense of unity and camaraderie in the room.

Dinner was followed by an open bar, which meant more mingling. There were more guests now after dinner than there were when you arrived, so the room felt more confined and bustling.

The mixture of alcohol and perfume smelled like an intoxicating fume. Adam effortlessly moved around from one group of people to another, his presence was booming with flamboyance wherever he went.

He was able to attract people’s interest with his bold body language and confident speech.

You, on the other hand, focused on the small group you were sitting with. You decided to stay at the table, enjoying the conversation and occasionally chiming in with your input.

As you were lost in the office gossip that everyone was exchanging, Adam approached your table with a drink in hand. He leaned in to kiss your cheek before he took a seat next to you.

You didn’t miss the looks that some of your female colleagues flashed at you both. You couldn’t tell if it was jealousy, but it definitely sent a prickly sensation through you. How charming…

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked, his tone casual and calmer now.

“Yeah, it’s nice catching up with everyone,” you shifted wearily in your seat.

Adam’s gaze locked onto you as you took another sip from your drink. His stare felt like poking needles and you could tell that he was going to say something.

“You might want to be careful there, babe. Remember the incident last time…”

“Adam please,”

“…you threw up on the sidewalk? You’re lucky no one else was around to see you,”

Your grip around the glass tightened and you wanted to plummet through the floor. You started to wonder if his bold personality and ability to entertain people in a conversation came at the expense of embarrassing others for some laughs.

Being the ass of the joke.

Did he feed off of the attention? Was that why he kept doing this? You noticed no one was laughing. Some gave you sympathetic looks, while others felt awkward.

Adam took this opportunity to add on to the story, his voice resounding with pride. “And I had to carry her home. I felt like a hero that day,”

You forced a smile to try and disguise your discomfort that flickered in your eyes. At this point you didn’t know how to respond or act. But the last thing you wanted was to cause a scene, especially over a comment.

You waited until the subject of the conversation changed again so you didn’t look suspicious before you rose from your seat.

“I’ll be back,” you said as you took a few steps away, excusing yourself from the group. “Just need to freshen up,”

You left the bar and made your way to the end of the room. There was the dreadful feeling that everyone in the room was staring at you as you swiftly manoeuvred past them. The desire to escape the room intensified with each step.

Finally, you reached the door to the patio and stepped outside. Thankfully, there were only a few people scattered around, making it easier to uncoil the tension that built up inside you.

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the fresh air — a relief from the stuffiness inside. Even with the different environment and open space, you still felt the modification catching up to you.

“Is he always like that?” A sudden, familiar rich voice pulled you out of your misery.

You turned to see Miguel standing a few steps behind you. “What?”

He looked striking now that you were up close to him, with the soft glow of the patio light highlighting his features.

His expression was serious when he said “Your boyfriend, Adam. Does he always treat you like that?”

You blinked, swallowing thickly before you spoke. “Oh…yeah. He just has a habit of making jokes like that. It’s just his humor,”

“Interesting sense of humour he has, making you the punchline every time,” he paused, his gaze drifting towards the clear night sky before returning to you. “I find it amusing that you’ve gotten used to being treated like that,”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend…I shouldn’t be—”

“You know, being someone’s boyfriend doesn’t give him the excuse to humiliate you. Why do you keep defending him like this?”

Truthfully, you didn’t know why you kept making excuses for him. Maybe it was easier to downplay the situation than confront reality. You didn’t want to make a big deal out of something that wasn’t that serious in the first place— or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“He’s not always like this. He’s supportive in other ways. But he does get carried away sometimes,”

“Supportive? Do you mean when he points out your mistakes in front of everyone?” He arched his brow, obviously skeptical.

His words shook you but you had to admit, you didn’t believe your own words, especially after tonight.

“I don’t want to seem too sensitive. I’ve been with him for so long. It’s hard to think about leaving him…”

“Don’t let history keep you in place. You shouldn’t lower your standards just because he’s your boyfriend,”

There was a pause that hung between the two of you. The chilling air was nipping at your bare arms now but you didn’t want to step back inside.

The muffled chaos that you could still hear was enough to make your brain melt. You turned to look at the door that led back inside the bar, a sickening feeling churned inside your stomach.

“I don’t want to go back in there yet,” you admitted.

“Then don’t.” He followed your line of sight before he looked back at you. “We can stay out here for as long as you need to,”

You didn’t speak again after that. Your mind seemed to drift to the facility building that wasn’t far from here. The thought of a quiet secluded space was becoming increasingly appealing now.

You noticed the flicker of curiosity that crossed Miguel’s face as you looked far ahead before realisation gradually dawned on him. He seemed to pick up on your gaze and spoke your mind for you.

“You know, my office isn’t far from here,” he commented, voice boarding a suggestive tone.

“Yeah…I know,”

“Why don’t we head there instead? We can stay there as long as you want without being interrupted,”

“I don’t know…” You knew you didn’t want to be here anymore, but you couldn’t just leave, especially unannounced.

“There’s no one there at this time, and it’s quieter than this place,”

The offer was tempting, but what would Adam say? “I can’t leave Adam here,”

“You still think you need to be with him?” He let out a dry chuckle, stepping closer towards you. “Let him fend for himself for a while. I could tell you weren’t having a good time in there,”

You thought about it for a moment. What was the harm in stepping out for a little while? Adam couldn’t say anything if he didn’t know, right? You did owe it to yourself after everything that had happened, after all.

“Alright,” you agreed. Before you knew it, you were walking towards the car park and stepped into Miguel’s car and on your way. It didn’t take long until you arrived outside the familiar surroundings of the establishment.

The slick glass exterior of the building stood out in the night. During the day, it would be bustling with people coming in and out through the revolving doors.

Now, it was quiet and not a sound could be heard. But even if the building wasn’t running its usual course, there were still some occupants inside with a few of the lights on.

As you made your way inside to Miguel’s office, there was a comfortable silence. Miguel’s presence felt like a calming anchor in the sea of your anxiety.

Once you made it outside his office, Miguel held the door for you to step in. “After you,”

Miguel flickered the lights on before closing the door with a click, sealing off the blaring noise of the outside world. “It’s quieter here. You can take a breath,”

His office gave a different aura at night compared to what you were used to in the day time. The windows that provided a stunning view of Nueva York twinkled with the city lights. You couldn’t help but stare out in awe.

You turned back to look at him and he handed you a water bottle. “Thank you, Miguel,”

The condensation of the water bottle felt cool against the pad of your fingers.

By now the alcohol was settling in your bloodstream, creating a gentle warmth that radiated in your chest. You felt like you were floating as you walked over to take a seat on one of the plush chairs.

You were starting to notice that the alcohol made you forget about Adam and his concerns about your whereabouts and what he might think or say.

You cracked open the bottle and took a small sip, the cold water tickling your throat.

“So, how have you been handling things lately?” Miguel asked, taking a seat on his usual office chair.

You were grateful the topic wasn’t centered around Adam anymore. You didn’t want to linger on the sting of his words and actions from earlier.

“Well, I’ve been working on that new project proposal so that has been consuming most of my time,”

“I’ve noticed your dedication and your work on the proposal has been impressive so far,” Miguel’s voice carried a note of genuine admiration.

“Thank you…it means a lot hearing that from you,” you replied. You felt a sudden tingling sensation coarse through you and you knew it had nothing to do with being under the influence.

It was a mystery to you but Miguel’s compliments seemed to resonate with you, making your heart quicken slightly. You didn’t feel this type of effect with Adam, not even at the start of your relationship.

Miguel gave a small nod, his eyes studying your keen interest. “I’ve noticed you prefer working alone rather than in a team. You seem more comfortable that way,”

You were taken back slightly by the subject change. Where was he going with this?

“I guess I do. Sometimes it’s easier to focus that way,”

“It’s important to have people who support you. Do you have someone like that?”

Despite trying your best not to think about it, the question pulled your mind back to Adam. After all, he was supposed to be your support system, the first person you go to. “I thought I did but I’m not so sure now,”

You didn’t know what you were expecting after tonight. Miguel seemed to pick up on who exactly you were thinking about.

“How do you really feel about you and Adam?” He asked.

You recalled the conversation before you left the house for the party, when you were still getting ready. You still remembered putting on the lipstick and how you thought you looked good before Adam’s remark.

That wasn’t the first time he had put you down like that when your confidence was at your high. Did he feel threatened by your self-assurance?

“Well, he’s always been charming but recently he’s been more…critical, especially in front of others. I don’t know where this change of character came from.”

As you spoke, you felt yourself unraveling all of your true inner thoughts about Adam now— one’s that you tried so hard to push away just to salvage your relationship.

Perhaps some liquid encouragement and having the right person to talk to was needed for you to loosen your tongue and finally admit all of this.

“Sometimes, people reveal their true colours under pressure,”

You pondered that. Maybe Adam was trying to fit in and had some unresolved issues. Whatever it was, that didn’t justify his actions and the way he treated you.

You bit your lip, feeling a surge of conflicted emotions. “It has been a lot to handle tonight. I never expected him to be so cruel. Part of me wants to stay and fix things, but at the same time….I want something more,”

You didn’t know why it took you this long to finally confess it but now that you did, the air left lighter.

“You deserve something more.” Miguel said softly. His words, though simple, charged with meaning and something more. Affection?

You were so lost in a trance when opening up your emotions, you haven’t realised the close proximity between the two of you. Close enough to capture the faint smell of his sweet musk.

It made you wonder if he was talking about something beyond your professional ambitions. Miguel leaned closer— either he was studying your expressions or memorising your features.

However the moment was cut short when your phone suddenly vibrated in your purse, shattering the fragility in the room and yanking you back to reality. Startled by the sudden noise, you fumbled in your purse to retrieve your phone.

You felt bile creeping up your throat when you saw Adam’s name on the notification. The text was short but jarring.

‘Where are you? We need to talk’

Shit…

Adam needs to get decked ‼️

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @cl3stevu @tarjapearce (GIRL I GOT INSPIRED BY YOUR TENTATEUR FIC OMLL) @lazyjellyfish300 @kavimoo @laysmt

@mybvalentine @boringpersonality @mun-2996 @leshasnolife @slut4oscarissac23

I was originally going to add smut to this but it didn’t feel right. Especially the position that reader is in here. If this does end well, I MIGHT do a part 2 where she finally ends things with Adam and smut

Ayrus xoxo

[hyunjins3rdleg]

🍸 What’s Your Poison?🍸

Hi,I’m A—Jay! Nice to meet you,honey🩷

• Bbygirl of ‘01

• March🌷Pisces Princess

• Somehow managing to work a big girl job in the real world of the USA

Just vibin’ & thrivin’ on my new little blog sharing my cute little ideas with cute little strangers.

(That’s you, babe. You’re the cute stranger💋)

*Hwang Hyunjin bias based!*

(But you’ll see me reblog all the boys!!)

Join me for Happy Hour Gossip!

I’m open to request or a chat if you’d like to giggle,rant,or cry with me!

*Request🔒:fake text(predominately),drabbles,au prompts,etc(I have more time for shorter fics)

*I will not write member x member or poly(just not into that,sorry)incest/step siblings, taboo/hardcore themes, include the members’ real life family, and I will politely decline your request if it’s something I am not comfortable with writing or speaking on :)

*Stray Kids are real people & therefore everything below is completely fictional. This doesn’t reflect who they truly are in any way, shape, or form. I am not trying to misconstrue who they are in real life.

Don’t forget to touch grass,babe <3

✨Everyone’s welcome at Stay’s Bar✨

(especially my fellow Black stays🤎)

**MDNI & SFW Rules**

Minors(16+)are free to interact with my blog as long as you keep it cute & appropriate.

*SFW* Fics are safe for the younger stays and will usually only have profanity listed as the main warning.

*MDNI* Fics are self explanatory and should not be interacted with unless you are 18+

Keep it cute or get blocked <3

Angst⛈️/🌩️; Fluff🧸; Smut/Suggestive🔥

FWB!Hyunjin Text Series 🧸⛈️🔥 (MDNI)

A late night text accidentally sent to one of the artist you’re working with leads to a half a year long agreement and Hyunjin wants more…

(fwb to lovers)(IdolxMusic Producer!Reader)

Before You Ruined My Outfit? 🌩️🧸 (SFW)

Han Jisung is your childhood best friend and his attempt at playing Cupid goes horribly wrong somehow thanks to Hyunjin…

Fix Your Face, Please! 🧸🌩️ (MDNI)

Hyunjin’s very vocal about how jealous & possessive he can get, and although it can get troublesome you find it kind of hot…

We Were On Break!! 🌩️🧸 (SFW)

Your ex boyfriend, Hyunjin, has a hard time accepting the end of your relationship and is very persistent on getting back together…

Corporate Gang 🧸 (MDNI)

JYP Co. gets a new IT-Agent and you can’t help but gush about him to your favorite coworkers…

(Nerdy,shy!Hyunjin Series)

Take Your Friends Out ⛈️🧸 (pt.1 ) (MDNI)

Your boyfriend has stood you up 3x this month and you decide that you’re done with being second place. Of course he disagrees…

Don’t Say That To Me ⛈️ (pt 2.) (MDNI)

Months after you took Hyunjin back you have to face the tough reality of falling out of love with him and end things for good…

Stress Induced Fever 🧸 (SFW)

Your job has decided to transfer you to their USA branch for a year and Hyunjin is failing miserably at holding himself together before you leave…

Sad Nudes? 🧸 (MDNI)

You’ve had a shit day and Hyunjin tries his best to cheer you up thousands of miles away…

I Love You. Now Date Me! 🧸🌩️ (SFW)

Your bestfriend has been jokingly telling you he’s in love with you for years only for you to find out it’s not a joke…and oh yeah, he HATES your boyfriend…

Babe, I Broke It 🧸 (SFW)

Hyunjin broke your brand new coffee mug and he’s taking it harder than you are (soft bbyboy)…

I Really Like You, Like Romantically 🔥🧸(MDNI)

Your best friend asks you for an insane favor of helping him lose his virginity and discovers his feelings in the process…

I Will Win! Fighting!🔥🧸 (MDNI)

You and Hyunjin make a friendly bet to survive No Nut November and despite his persistent confidence on winning, he eventually gives in…

Emergency Contact ⛈️ (SFW)

You and Hyunjin had a mutual breakup over a year ago, but apparently he forgot to remove you as his emergency contact and feelings are revisted…

Safe,Loved,& Accepted ⛈️ (SFW)

Bang Chan has been making light of the nasty comments you’ve been getting online until you are put in a sticky situation and he’s worried sick a thousand of miles away…

Have You Always Been This Hot?? 🔥🧸 (MDNI)

Attempting to survive No Nut November with your best friend Chan brings forth feelings neither of you knew existed…and really good sex…

I Just Want To Help ⛈️ (SFW)

Your ex Hyunjin takes it upon himself to help you with financial difficulties after months of no contact, but he never expected you to fight him every step of the way…

Wanna See It Up Close? 🔥🧸 (MDNI)

You always jokingly try to convince your best friend to get laid and he jokingly tells you to take his virginity (except it’s not a joke)…

I Hate You. All Of You. 🌩️ (SFW)

A sneaky picture brings your relationship and trust crashing down and he refuses to let it all go over a stupid misunderstanding….

Keeping Secrets 🌩️ (SFW)

Felix’s antics leaves Hyunjin an over dramatic mess and it takes an entire week before he confronts you about the secret you’ve been hiding…

Is This A Trick Question? 🌩️🧸 (SFW)

It’s not a secret that Hyunjin’s perusing you romantically, but despite returning his feelings your past relationship holds you back. Little did you know Hyunjin was just what you needed to try at love again…

Model!Hyunjin Text Series 🧸🔥(SFW/MDNI)

At the height of his career, Hwang Hyunjin goes down the road nearly every 24 year old with fame in the public eye does - sex, money, and rebellion. You accepted a job set up by his parents to get his reputation and career back on track, and you’ve known no peace since thanks to your very clingy (and unashamedly in love) client…

(ModelxAssistant!Reader)(grumpy gf,sunshine bf)

[surielstea]

Your Needs, My Needs

Request made by @loving-and-dreaming

Pairing: Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary: With the return of Cassian’s ex, Reader makes the decision to distance herself from him— but hasn’t expected him to notice.

Warnings: A teensy bit of angst, mostly fluff!

A. Note: Sorry this is so short, I just began writing for Kinktober and started pouring all my focus into that and totally forgot about my reqs, hope this is enjoyable nonetheless :)

1.3k words

The past week has been hell.

Cassian and I haven't touched or had a meaningful conversation in seven days. All due to the return of his ex.

Alora was back from her three-year-long expedition of traveling courts and making connections. Cassian and her called it off before she left, it seemed mutual, and neither of them was too broken up about it so when me and Cassian got much closer over those three years it hadn't felt wrong.

But now she was back, and I was determined to save myself from the heartbreak of being the other woman.

So I distanced myself, backed away, stopped my lingering stares and cuddling on the couches, and stopped the flirty teasing and banter altogether.

We sat in the training ring, panting and out of breath, drinking from our waters silently. We used to sit shoulder to shoulder— despite the heat emanating from our bodies, we preferred to be close, but now there was a noticeable gap between us and it cleaved my heart in two.

I glance over at the winged male to see him already gazing at me. I give him a polite smile, trying not to fumble with my water as I avert my stare and place the bottle down beside my feet.

"What are you doing?" He suddenly asks and my brows crease, glancing back over to him, the hurt expression on his rough yet handsome features.

"Trying to catch my breath?" I say through a slightly dramatized pant.

"That's not what I'm talking about. You've been avoiding me, what have I done?" He narrows his eyes on me and I huff, looking away, afraid he might be able to see right through me if I held eye contact.

"I haven't been avoiding you Cass, just, giving you space." I shrug, keeping my voice from wavering.

"One and the same, what did I do?" His blunt words struck me like a slap, a frown pulling at my lips.

"You didn't do anything." I shake my head, finally meeting his hazel eyes.

"Then why give me space?" It hurt more than I expected it to, to look into those eyes after so long, torture to be away from him for only just a week. I doubt I could even stomach being around him once he got back with Alora.

"Alora returned, Cass, I figured you'd want to pick up where you left off," I explain, remaining strong on my point.

"And what if I don't want that?" He stands, now looking down on me. I mirror his position, rising onto my feet yet he still remained looking down at his nose and I cursed his tall height.

"It's what you should want," I argue with narrowed brows.

"No, what I should want is what makes me happy." His voice brooked no room for argument as he took a step forward, and for a moment he looked like he was going to reach out towards me, then thought better of it. "And that's you." He confesses.

My heart stutters at his words, fingers twitching with the need to touch him. "Cass." I sigh, shaking my head.

"Don't 'Cass' me, sweetheart." He tilted his head down at me.

"She's better for you," I murmur, shrugging and fighting my need to wring my hands.

"You think I can't decide what's best for me?" He steps closer, a dangerous distance now between us.

"No,” I blurt, my brows bunching.” I'm just trying to make all of this easier." I huff, my bottom lip now protruding. I didn’t want to argue, I didn’t want to even be bothered to discuss it, I thought this was what he would want?

"Easier for who?"

His question was met with silence as I debated the question. I thought it’d be easier for him, I hadn’t realized he would notice my distance. I was only trying to save him from having that awkward conversation with me.

"I don't want her, I want you." He reaches out, his hands cupping my cheeks. I blink in surprise, a blush staining my cheeks. He wanted me?

"But, I thought—" I begin to say but he cuts me off.

"You thought wrong princess," He smiled arrogantly, but the line between his brows told me he was still distressed. "I didn't want to tell you, I thought you might realize on your own.” He said, then let out a soft chuckle as he added, "Figured the nicknames and cuddling was enough to give you a hint."

I avert my gaze, the burning on my cheeks starting to grow overwhelming. "Sorry," I utter, wrapping my arms around myself.

His hands slip from my cheeks to the nape of my neck, his thumbs tilting my jaw up, making me look at him. "Don't apologize just, please, no more distancing yourself from me,” He reasons and I frown.

"I was only trying to protect you, protect myself," I explain my stance on our argument still not satiated.

"I don't need protection, I need you." His hands tightened around the back of my neck but it didn’t hurt, it was a reassuring squeeze, a reminder. "I'm not going anywhere, alright?"

"Okay." I nod slowly, a soft smile spreading across my lips, one I haven’t given him in the past week.

He leaned closer and my breath hitched, eyes flicking down to his lips. “I’m going to kiss you now, is that okay?” He asks and I nod fervently. A wicked smile spreads over his lips at my reaction but doesn’t leave me waiting for long before his lips crash down onto mine.

The kiss was soft, yet passionate. He conveyed every neglected emotion in that kiss, how much he desperately needed me in the seven days I didn’t look or touch him, how depraved he was. His lips were skilled, and his tongue even more so as it slipped into my mouth. I sighed softly, allowing him to explore every crook and crevice, studying and memorizing it as if for later reminiscence.

“I missed you,” He whispers into my mouth and I giggle, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, my chest pressed into his.

"You're so clingy." I rolled my eyes, feigning annoyance. He smiled wildly at that, because despite the kiss, this was normal, the hugging and teasing, he hadn’t realized how much he cherished it until it disappeared.

"Gods, I missed you so much." He repeats, a cadence in his voice that sounded so genuine, making my frown return, my hand rubbing circles on the back of his shoulder slowing.

"I thought you'd go back to her, I was only trying to help," I say softly, his eyes soften as he quickly shakes his head and says,

"I was never hers, just didn't know it until you." He leans closer and pecks my lips softly. "I'm yours, I always have been." He reassured and my smile returned, I pushed up onto my toes, connecting our lips over and over again, kissing him until we were both sick of the taste of each other.

“And I’m yours,” I confess. “I’ve always known that, though,” I say bashfully and his grin widens, feral, genuine. My hand slithered to his jaw, my thumb now tracing over the outline of his sensuous lips. “I missed you too,” I confess, even if I was the one pulling away.

“I know, sweetheart, your sorrow-filled stares were proof.” He teased and I shuddered, looking away with a bright red blush. He chuckled and brought my face back to his with a nudge of his nose. “It was cute,” He reassured me, and even if I didn’t believe him, I allowed his lips to press against mine, again, and again, and again.

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[takes1]

[final part] asahi x reader grinding

thanks for tuning in :)

warnings. nsfw, minors DNI

details. mutual pining! / mutual!inexperience / skipped!talking phase / mutual lust! / asahi has a crush on you / forced proximity / asahi is hung / premature ejaculation / praise / asahi has horrible endurance / lap sitting / beach setting / grinding with clothes on / implied mutual virginity / asahi is a soft top / 3.3k words

links. my masterlist. part one. more haikyuu. got any requests?

Your chest rose and fell quicker, your heart beating harder, your hands twitchy in your pockets. You felt glued to the concrete. You never expected him to catch you so off-guard.

"Was I-," Asahi looked back and forth between your eyes, then down, a little sheepish, "-Wrong, to assume...?"

"N-o," You winced at your terribly huge crush ceasing to be a secret anymore.

"You're not wrong-," When you took a tentative step forward, and he met you in the middle. You were both hesitant to look at each other, let alone do anything else, "If that's what you wanted."

His tone came as a shock to you.

"I thought I made it pretty clear what I wanted."

Every little thing he said or did today rushed through your mind, now laced with the connotation he was trying to communicate the whole time. There wasn't much else to say.

It was funny entering the hotel, just you two, walking as quiet as possible across the vast first floor. You even nodded to the receptionist on your way to the elevator. You only started giggling when the doors closed.

Upon arrival last night, the team had made the delightful discovery that this elevator moved at a snail's pace; Getting to your floor would take at least a minute.

"How long do you think we could stay up here for?" You pressed 9 on the number pad, surprised when you turned and he was closer than you assumed.

He read your shock as disinterest. When he backed up to the wall, reddened at his failed attempt, thinking of a realistic timeline, you closed the distance again.

You were as close as you could get without touching. He had his hands on the built-in railing but didn't lean away from you.

"Maybe..." He looked down at you, words sounding distant as they left his mouth, "An hour?"

Tentative, you watched your own hands place themselves gently onto his big, bulky shoulders. You had been wanting to feel him there again ever since that impromptu hug weeks ago, after a big win against Date Tech.

"That sounds like plenty of time," You kept your voice from shaking by being as quiet as you possibly could.

He seized your wrists and placed your arms around his neck for you, hands flying back to meet your waist and pull you flush onto his front. Your breath stalled when he squeezed you, fingers grabbing as much of you as he politely could.

Your skin was left prickling anywhere he touched.

You weren't sure how this hour was going to go, what you'd do, but you knew you had to start with a kiss.

It was gentle, and soft, and felt like a quiet question- like the kiss itself was asking for 'more, please.'

"Holy shit," You sighed against his pillowy lips. It got so heated, so fast.

You went in for another, then another, and another, and forgot you needed to breathe.

Neither of you were very experienced, but you had the passion to keep trying, to keep making up for it and trying again for each kiss that didn't seem quite as satisfying as you wanted.

Asahi stumbled back with a laugh when you pushed on him- you pressed your lips onto his open mouth and caught a bit of his tongue in the process. It was way hotter than either of you expected.

"Mmn," His little moan into your mouth practically liquified you- he scooped you up in his big, strong arms and you barely moved in time to wrap your legs around his waist.

You were both so surprised at yourselves and each other, but didn't want to stop for anything.

The elevator door opened slow and creaky.

He carried you a short distance down the hall to your assigned room, not his. You tried your luck at sucking on his neck.

"Are we- augh- are we- really doin' this?" He struggled to mumble his words out, keep his wits for the both of you in this painfully public hallway, handle how good your tongue felt right there, and swipe your room card at the same time.

You weren't exactly sure how far he thought 'doing this' meant, but you also weren't sure how far you wanted to go, either. It was a simple, yet powerful feeling. All you could guess was that it was a simple, powerful solution.

"Mm...As long as you're into it."

Your momentary letting up, in order to answer him, made room for the spare second he needed to get inside.

Once you were in, you decided to hop down and kick off your shoes since he seemed so out of breath. But all he did was lock the door, kick a towel under the crack in the bottom, get his shoes off, and pick you right back up.

His voice was rushed, breathy with the need to have you right now. It sounded like he could've been rolling his eyes at how obvious the answer was, "Yeah- I'm into'it."

You yelped and instinctively wrapped your legs around him while he wasted absolutely no time putting you on your back.

It was so exciting that you had to giggle at his enthusiasm, and once again, his ability to throw you around.

"You're so strong," Your eyes danced around his face between messy, perfect kisses, delighted to see that your compliment embarrassed him a little.

His warm forehead pressed against your shoulder with a chuckle, shy and huffy.

Your fingers took every precious moment they could to take his headband off and rake through his long hair, nails across his scalp in the hopes to make him feel good.

"Ohh," His eyes squeezed shut, legs slowly joining the rest of his body onto the mattress. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and pulled away from you.

He sat back on his heels, flushed with the realization that his body was parting your thighs open under him.

Hair a mess, eyes unfocused with a fuzzy warmth to them, jaw tight- he looked completely undone.

"Can I take your clothes off?" It sounded like more of a hushed admission, of sorts, rather than the question that it was. Like he was revealing he'd been wanting to do that for longer than you could imagine.

You had to keep from squealing out the answer- "Yes."

Everything was so quick and distracting that even you forgot you were wearing your swimsuit underneath. He grinned with your shirt still balled up in his fist.

"That's- really cute," His eyes bounced between your tits, starting to pull your shorts off as he muttered to himself, "I guess I would've seen it all anyway, today."

You scoffed, trying to hide your nerves by not making a big deal of it, "I wasn't gonna wear this in front of everyone."

"You were gonna get in the water with everythin' on?" He grinned and slid to meet you for a hungry kiss, satisfied to hear this was still all for him and no others idiots on the team.

His fingers were digging into your fleshy bare hips, his groin against your needy sex with hardly anything separating you.

Your unruly whine was swallowed up but not ignored.

"You're'sooo perfect," Was a rushed and heady sigh, something in between a whisper and a groan right under your ear where he tried to mimic your unsuccessful attempt at a hickey.

The heat rushing to your face, the dizzying weight of his body, and your feverish desire to have him made it hard to think.

Your breath was tough to catch. A clumsy attempt to take his shirt off was your only solace in the buzz of it all.

You were given a picture perfect view when he sat up again and pulled it from the back of his collar- his lightly flexed arms, the reveal of his strong frame and kinda fuzzy chest made you infinitely more curious. Your hands jutted out to feel him.

You just couldn't help it, "Woww."

He chuckled watching you sit up, hands scouring his body like you were on the hunt for something. You palmed his chest, fingers filled with muscle as you squeezed- his laughter only grew to full volume when you stuck your face between his pecs and nearly knocked him off balance.

"Okay, okay-!" He giggled and rested his hands on your shoulders to pry your off, ecstatic about your obvious fascination.

You wiggled out of this position and met him on your knees for a big, messy kiss. It was starting to feel more real now that you had gotten a bucket list item out of the way.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," You groaned against his lips -still curled in a smile-. You palmed both of his arms simultaneously, then stretched over his shoulders to grab onto his back.

He couldn't have been more amused. It was crazy to think that he didn't understand how hot he was.

"So," His hands, much more reserved, much slower, than yours, spread the bottom of your ass and you were suddenly sucked back into reality, "You must like guys with a lot of muscle, right?"

The span of his fingers meant that some of them were awfully close to the inside of your thighs- he knew it, too. He kept palming you and reaching further into the warmth there.

"Uh-," You lost your breath, arms tighter around him, unsure if you wanted him to feel you or not, yet, "I just like you."

Asahi chuckled at your answer and, buzzed with the preoccupation of how hot and wet his fingers were getting, muttered, "I can tell."

You flinched at his heated words and tore away from him- he let up and was all sheepish, again, "I didn't mean it in a mean way-."

When he held his wet fingers between you, your face flushed at the sight and you had to look away, missing the chance to see him suck all of it off as he settled onto his back.

"I like you too," He addressed your previous admission, placing his hands on your hips as you tentatively made your way onto his lap.

His eyes just drank all of you up, sitting like this. You'd be lying if you said you didn't like it, but it did make you nervous. No guy had ever seen you this undressed.

"Ever since you joined."

"No way," You rolled your eyes, calling his bullshit immediately, "You didn't know my name until three months after I joined."

Asahi grinned, palms sliding up and down your bare thighs. You could feel his cock flex under you and he reveled in seeing your little jump.

"I couldn't remember your name because I got so nervous. I couldn't think when you were around, and I played like an idiot," You grinned at some irrefutable truth in his little confession, "I had to relearn how to be a normal person."

You recalled how mean and gruff he seemed to you as a freshman. He was the only member of the team who wouldn't talk to you. It felt like you couldn't even stand in his vicinity without getting stared down- who knew it was all amicable? It got easier to manage as time went on, especially after he left and came back, leagues more friendly thanks to the new freshman class. But your longstanding crush never wavered; he had always been your type.

"Well," You leaned forward, nose-to-nose with him, twirling some of his hair in your fingers, "You came across as a real big jerk."

It seemed you couldn't just talk to each other. Your gaze grew hungrier. His big fingers dug into the crease of your thighs, hips, and ass.

"Oh, yeah?"

Your lips crashed against each other's again, starving for more; your fingers of one hand were all tangled in his roots, the other free to feel the rest of him.

All you could think about was how big he felt, how it might fit in your hand, or your mouth, or your cunt.

He made the prettiest sounds when you pressed your palm against it- it was so warm, swollen under your touch and you thought of how long he had been hard for, how painful that probably was.

And you were amazed at how easy it was to make him so messy.

Your hand worked back and forth over his clothes- he was getting worse at kissing you because of his lack of focus, so you pulled back a little to look at him.

He was so cute. Brows screwed up at the crude and simple pleasure, pupils blown out and the sounds- shit, the choked groans. Like he was just short of begging.

Your hand dipped to feel him- you wanted to at least see his cock.

"I really like you," He muttered, hot and quick on your ear you almost didn't catch it. "I don't want you to think I'm into you just for--,"

Fingers slipped past his waistband and you barely got a feel- it was burning hot to the touch.

A very cute, unbridled moan got cut short by his awkward laughter. He nabbed your wrist.

"Ah-! Haha," He cleared his throat and let you go quick, "Sorry, I guess- I--,"

He clearly wasn't comfortable with that yet, so you slid your hand back to his tummy instead.

"No, it's okay!" You readjusted to sit on top of his hips, face burning at the pace of it all as you tried to put yourself in his position, "I just got...curious. We can stop there?"

You may have reacted the same if he tried to go that far with you. Everything was happening so fast.

Asahi stammered over himself for a second, face burning darker as he tried to explain.

"Nonono, I-I don't'wanna stop," His eyes kept darting to his print taking up the space between your legs, "I...just..."

It wasn't a malicious attempt to make him reconsider, nor was it trying to accomplish any distraction-like motives, but you found that you just couldn't force your hips to stay completely still when you could feel him pulsing through your flimsy clothes.

And he was perfect. Just a marble statue, really, who you could tell would only age like wine. His strong chest filled and shrank with a powerful shudder. His face looked pained-- his jaw tight and worked, his eyes unsure where to get their fill of you.

They settled for the most part on your hips, slowly raking back, and forth, and back, and forth over his swollen cock.

Part of his briefs sported a darker black from all the precum he was leaking. You desperately wished you could pull him out and use it as lube.

"I don't wanna stop," He said definitively.

It didn't need to be discussed. You ravished in the light of his daunting, but exhilarating attention as you got off just rubbing on his restrained print.

You let your head fall back, praying you looked like some kind of fantasy, and found yourself gasping at the yummy tension building once he bucked against you.

This could work. It was kind of? Like sex. Not really, but it was perfect for two people who weren't ready yet.

With his knees a little bent, and his forearm weighing on your lower back, there was more of an even distribution of work beginning to form. He was gentle and slow with the motion of his hips.

If he looked gone before, he was completely lost in it now.

He followed your natural rhythm without obstructing anything- you began to slowly, very minute increments, feel his hands trembling against you.

"This is--mm, this is'nice," You laughed- it made him smile and you bit your lip to keep from grinning too wide.

His big hands laced through your hair, pulling you down, gently directing your eyes to him.

"You have no idea- ah-h, how...God, how good that feels."

This was all you had wanted to do in that stupid golf cart. You moaned freely into his roughening kisses, swimming in the simple, slick, nonpenetrative pleasure sliding just right against your clit.

"I think I do," You sighed, whine caught early in your throat, "It's-mmmnh-!"

While you had planned on telling him how good it made you feel, you found you didn't have the physical capability of talking that much.

It would've been a tall task anyway with how insatiable his appetite was for your kisses.

"Damn-," His groans were deeper, needier, "You sound- ahh,"

Those big, rough hands were scouring up your sides, past your bikini top, grabbing as much of your breasts as he could. He was getting so rough, now- like he was searching, prodding, grasping for more of you.

"So-! Ah- Hot-,"

It was harder keeping up with his intensity, but you tried, enthusiastic and buzzing with his praise.

He felt amazing, but it was starting to seem like it felt better for him.

His breathing was hotter and heavier. It was turning you on to no end, and one of the only tangible encouragements you had, so you kept up what was already working.

"Mmn-h," He sighed. At this point, with his grip stronger than the rock of your own hips, he was using you as some sort of toy.

You thought back to practices where you were handing him a towel, or water, and how he struggled to thank you, breathless and flushed and sweaty. How often you pretended for many nights that he had been made that way, just for you, and not the sport that brought you together.

"Augh- fu-ck!" He whined, loud, and curled a little forward as if he'd gotten punched in the gut- he wasn't kissing you anymore, but his mouth was open, so you weighed him down and stuck your tongue inside.

You couldn't recall any other time he had ever said 'Fuck.'

That last buck of his hips took the breath out of you. A sharp moan at the perfect friction racked through you and spilled onto his lips.

But, suddenly, it was more teeth than lips that you were trying to kiss.

You pulled to look at him and, however steamy that wince on his face was, it confused you. You took a short breath to ask, in the midst of all the panting, but he muttered:

"I think, I-," He squeezed his eyes shut with the humiliating realization. The next word out of his mouth so quiet you didn't understand he said until you looked down. "Came."

You were sitting back on his lap, both palms covering your bitten, swollen lips, eyes wide at the semi-clear mess painted on his tan stomach.

Your heart was still pounding, you were so wet it was slick down your upper thighs, and looking at the vulgar, intimate sight before you made you want him even more.

"Are you okay?" Was all you could think to ask.

He laughed, "Am I--? 'Am I okay'- Yeah," He sighed, one more disgusted look down at himself, "I'm fine."

You were trying to be gentle, especially careful to not laugh with him, "...You don't seem okay."

"That's- it's- just never happened to me before," He stumbled over his words again, palm sliding over his side so he didn't drip onto the sheets.

There was so much of it. Did you really feel that good to him? You didn't hear him apologize past all your loud thoughts.

"That's so hot..." You said on the tail-end of a wistful sigh.

You had never seen somebody's expression change so quickly before. He started off looking like a kicked puppy, once it sunk in that you didn't find him the most abhorrent creature on the planet, he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

"Is there usually-," He flinched, wide-eyed when you traced your fingers on his glazed stomach, "This much?"

Amazed, he shook his head.

You were teeming with pride and he was coming back around his insecurity to meet you.

"Let's keep going."

♕VIP♕

@integers @yuchacco

my masterlist. request box.

[sashayed]

I haven't said as much about electoral politics this year as I have in previous cycles, because I am exhausted like everyone else and have nothing new or helpful to add. That is still true, so caveat lector I guess lmao!!! Happy American Election Day Fellow Sufferers!!

I have been experiencing an internal backlash the last few years to my extremely Sorkinpilled D.C. private school upbringing -- my childhood spent as a kind of convent schoolgirl in the faith of The System Is Good If We All Participate, which of course has a uhhh let's say generously a minimal engagement with the ways in which many of us are by design shut out of participating. I don't think idealism is necessarily childish, but I think MY idealism certainly has childish qualities, an undergirding of 90s feel-goodism, of civic participation as a subtle ego stroke and of voting -- although I would never have consciously put it this way -- as a way to feel superior to people who don't vote.

Lately there has bubbled up in me a sludgy, adolescent fury at this whole stupid country that has made it very very hard to feel like I should do even the bare minimum. For these people? AMERICANS? The ones that not only want Donald Trump to be president but saw what happened the first time and were like, We love this, do it again but worse? Whatever, fuckos. "I hope you people get your dearest wish and it chews you to death slowly," I may have thought.

I have also thought: why is it so controversial to ask elected officials to stop funding a genocide? Why are we treating people who make that ask, who are watching the current administration directly fund death on a mass scale and objecting to that choice, as if they are being babies and just need to get over it? How are they supposed to get over it? Why is anybody over it?

Anyway all this means that I, a known chipper door-knocker and caller of congresspeople, have been pretty low-key this current cycle. I think that is OK. I don't want to make this a big dramatic confessional about how I didn't write enough postcards or whatever. We all get exhausted and this was my turn.

But it has also been an illuminating cycle in that it's made it clear to me how much at my big age I still want politics to make me feel good, and when they don't, I still have the urge to throw a lil tantrum about it! I can get very superior and intellectual about how right-wing operatives manipulate their voters emotionally WITHOUT EVEN NOTICING that I too have been manipulated, in my case into the feeling that nonparticipation is a kind of revolutionary act.* Just absolute "I threw it on the GROUND" logic happening inside my head. "Maybe if I don't vote I will be doing Quiet Quitting, which is uhhhhh anticapitalist." I'm not a part of your system!!!

Anyway, I am trying to have self-compassion about it, and one way for me to do that is to project my internal experience onto a theoretical reader. That would be you, my imaginary friend who clicked on this post for some reason even though you have already decided not to vote! I just want to tell you that I am more sympathetic to your point of view than I have ever been in my whole life, and I'm sorry I have historically been a glib, holier-than-thou asshole about it in ways that may actually have made you MORE resistant to civic participation.

And you're right: it doesn't make that big a difference whether I personally vote or not, or whether you do. But if there are hundreds of us, and I think there are, then each of those people individually do starts to matter.

I guess I would humbly request that you and I both pay attention to what people who need help are actually asking for. I would ask that we both notice who wins when we abdicate this single responsibility. I would remind us both that participating in the electoral process is not some kind of weird either-or with participating in decentralized community building and mutual aid, and the best people we know do both. Isn't it interesting that somehow, insidiously, without even consciously becoming aware of this belief, we have started to think that you can only do one or the other? Who is telling us that story? Who does it serve?

Anyway. I took the stupid 90 minute round trip to my polling place which was VERY hot for some reason and I stood in the stupid line and some babies waved at me and I cast my vote for Kamala Harris and I'm glad I did it in the same way I'm glad after I do the dishes or take a stupid shower. Doing work doesn't always feel like anything. I also saw a really wonderful small black and white dog that I thought was a cat on a leash. I would not have seen that dog if I hadn't gone to vote. So politics can still make you feel good!!!

*I mean all this analysis is cute and everything BUT ALSO i did switch antidepressants twice in the last year, an astonishingly grueling process that almost made me [affect the trout population]. Could these things be related? hmmmmmmm, don't understand the question, won't respond to it.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Reveal (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you can’t seem to quell Celebrimbor’s suspicions, and he finally learns the true identity of you and your husband

Warnings: evil!reader who fakes an injury and licks the blood off Sauron’s hand just because, light choking while kissing, you and Sauron being creepy together in general

Note: Can be read as a part two to Jealousy, but works as a stand-alone as well. Also, I have to say I feel awful for Mirdania and Celebrimbor in the show, reader is only antagonistic towards them in this fic for the sake of the plot.

The hours drag by most tediously as you assist Celebrimbor in the making of the Nine. The silence is broken only by the occasional request or observation from him, and your impatience grows by the moment. But you sit there, helpful and obedient, as you have in all the years you spent in Eregion.

You only need to endure this a little longer. Soon, everything will change.

There is a small break in your dull routine, though, when Celebrimbor suddenly says your name. He seems a bit more alert than he has been of late, and you see that he is now staring at the floor rather than at the Ring he had been tinkering with.

“Yes, lord Celebrimbor?” you reply, polite as always.

“That mouse,” he says. “You see it, don’t you?”

You throw a brief glance in the direction he is pointing. “Yes.”

“It’s not the first time it’s been here,” Celebrimbor says. His tone and the pointed look he gives you make it seem like more of a question than a statement, one to which he expects a positive answer.

“Indeed not,” you confirm. “Should I call a rat catcher?”

“No, that’s not what I...” Celebrimbor shakes his head, standing and walking to a different table. “This candle here. It hasn’t burned an inch. For hours, I am certain. And the embers in the fire—”

“Because I have replaced them, my lord,” you say, quite casually.

“I never noticed.” He frowns in your direction, unconvinced. You give him a small smile.

“It’s my task, isn’t it? To aid you in performing yours,” you explain softly. “You were quite absorbed in your own work.”

“I...” Celebrimbor looks to the place he had indicated when speaking of the candle, blinking in confusion. “I—”

“Why don’t I...?” you cut him off, standing from your seat at the worktable. “Why don’t I go and send for something to eat? I believe we have missed breakfast by quite a few hours.”

For a moment, he seems as though he might protest. But the kindly encouraging expression on your face deters him in the end. “Very well,” he nods his consent. With a smile and a respectful nod, you take your leave.

Your expression is anything but respectful, however, the moment you are out of his sight.

“A mouse,” you mutter to yourself as you descend the stairs to the bottom of the tower. “He had to invent a mouse.”

By ‘he’, you mean Sauron, of course. He may have many names, but to you he is, first and foremost, your husband. Long have you awaited his return, biding your time as one of Celebrimbor’s trusted smiths. Until, finally, your love had joined you in Eregion, posing first as Halbrand, then as Annatar. You had pretended not to know him, of course, only stealing moments of passion whenever you found yourself away from prying eyes. The ears have done nothing to diminish your craving for each other. Your bond is as strong as ever, your goals perfectly aligned.

There is only a small inconvenience to your shared plans now. When you bound yourselves to one another in marriage, those vows had a certain, mutually agreed upon effect. He could not use his power to deceive your perception, while you, in turn, received a part of his abilities—which you could not, however, use against him. As such, you can’t see the illusion Sauron has created for Celebrimbor, and can only hope to improvise correctly when the need arises. Had you noticed the discrepancies, you would have informed your husband of them long ago.

But it isn’t too late.

Chaos greets you the moment you take a look beyond the door that leads outside. Stone walls are being shattered by boulders flung from across the river, Elves are running every which way. What truly disturbs you, though, is the fact that your husband is talking to the Elf called Mirdania—again. And again, she is looking up at him with wide, doe eyes, practically begging for the slightest touch of comfort from him. Reaching out with your heightened senses, you hear what they are saying from a distance.

“Celebrimbor’s mind is gone,” Sauron says, sounding the perfect amount of regretful. “We are alone.”

Mirdania shakes her head. “No,” she says, full of sentiment. “Not alone.”

She puts her hands on his arms, tentatively lowering them to his wrists as if she hopes he might move to hold them in his own. It would be irritating if it wasn’t so pitiful. How he keeps his arms firmly planted at his sides while she searches his face for a sign of hope he might share in her feelings.

It would be an act of kindness, really, if you think about it—to open her eyes to the reality of things, once and for all. For now, though, you decide to put a stopper in this unbridled hope of hers without completely shattering the illusion. If only for a bit of personal satisfaction. You do still need her well within your husband’s power after all, same as the other Elves of Eregion.

Now, you may not be able to lock someone inside their own personal illusion, but you can alter your own appearance to the eyes of others. With a bit of concentration, your hand becomes covered in blood and your dress stained with it. You don’t need powers to make tears stream down your cheeks in an instant—your years of expertise in deception are enough for that. Holding your supposedly injured hand to your chest, you rush desperately towards Sauron and Mirdania.

“Lord Annatar!” you cry out. Mirdania quickly releases him as he turns towards you in haste, brow deeply creased with the concern he plays so well. “Lord Annatar, you must come quick! Lord Celebrimbor has—” you hesitate, glancing at Mirdania unsurely.

“It’s all right,” he says, understanding at once. “She knows of his state. Tell me, has he done this?”

He reaches for your bloodied hand, cradling it gently as he speaks. You see Mirdania avert her gaze uncomfortably, and—there. That’s better.

You suppress a smirk as you look up into Sauron’s eyes, nodding with the most helpless expression you can muster.

“He wasn’t pleased with the manner in which I was using the hammer. He-he snatched it from my hand to do it himself, and I don’t think he meant to do it, I truly don’t, but I didn’t manage to pull my hand away before—”

You dissolve into sobs, letting yourself fall against him as if you can’t stand on your own any longer. “Please, you must speak some sense into him,” you whimper into his chest as he wraps his arms around you for support. “I cannot bear it any longer!”

“Mirdania,” he says sternly, “you know my orders. See to it that they are followed.”

“Of course, my lord,” she promises, and promptly leaves. Maybe she looks pained because her city is under siege and its supposed leader has gone mad, as far as she knows. Most likely, that is the main reason. But you like to think a small part of it is seeing the object of her foolish affections holding his one true wife to his chest—even if she doesn’t know that is what you are.

You and Sauron keep up the charade for as long as you are visible to others, with you leaning against him as he leads you inside. Once the door has closed behind you, your tears and blood vanish as if they had never been there, and self-satisfaction replaces the feigned despair on your face. Your husband, however, doesn’t seem quite as pleased as he unceremoniously releases you to stand on your own.

“Must you be so dramatic?”

You smile sweetly up at him. “Would you love me if I wasn’t?”

“Depends,” he says coyly, “on whether you were still as wonderfully cruel as you are.” You delight in his compliment, but he grows serious once again. However enjoyable your twisted version of flirting, this is not the time for it. “What is it, really?”

You cross your arms with a small sigh. The fun was nice while it lasted. “You’re growing careless, and Celebrimbor is starting to notice. Apparently, there’s a mouse that keeps running in the same circle over and over, or something of the sort. And the candles never seem to burn out.” You tilt your head disapprovingly. “Really, it’s as though you’re barely trying.”

Sauron narrows his eyes slightly, but remains calm in the face of your teasing. “We are under siege, my love—”

“Which you orchestrated—”

“Still,” he insists firmly, “I was otherwise preoccupied.”

You might have made a snide remarked about who he had been preoccupied with—but a great rumble comes from outside, catching your attention and leading you to head for the window. The view that greets you draws a gasp from you.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” Sauron says, watching the mountain crumble. “They are damming the river.”

“Just as you expected,” you say. After all this time, your husband’s cunning still leaves you in awe when you see his plans come together so smoothly. Or at least smoothly enough—the Rings are yet to be finished. “But we need more time.”

“Tell them to prepare for ground assault—my orders.” Your eyes meet, his as determined as yours. “I shall deal with Celebrimbor, then leave him under your watch once more.”

“You truly are cruel,” you lament. “You’d have me sit still and play the obedient little smith whilst there is a perfectly good siege right outside.”

The ghost of a smile tugs at Sauron’s lips. “I would much rather stand in the midst of chaos with you at my side,” he confesses, his arm sneaking around your waist to pull you close, “but we must practice patience before we indulge in its reward.”

His voice is low and suggestive, drenched with lurid promises. His gaze is just the same, and desire washes over you with enough force to break any dam in existence.

“Keep looking at me like that,” you say, turning towards him fully and leaning in close enough for your breath to ghost his lips, “and the chaos shall have to unfold without us.”

A groan leaves his throat, right as he takes hold of yours and kisses your lips. The pressure on your neck is just right, only just enough to stake a claim and convey his greed for you in the most delicious way. You whimper into his mouth, grabbing his wrist, wishing that you could direct his hand to places more desperately in need of his touch. Yet you know this is going to be a short kiss, a parting kiss, and so it is. He leaves, as always, with a sliver of your soul caught between his teeth. But you don’t mind, because you know there is always an equal part of his soul, trapped under your thumb.

Right now, there is work to do.

Although, it seems his side of it doesn’t go quite as planned—because when you return to the forge a little while later, you open the door only to be nearly knocked down by a wildly panicked Celebrimbor who was in the midst of bolting out of the room.

“My lord!” you exclaim, catching him by the shoulders. “Where are you going in such haste?”

“We must run!” he cries out. “We must call the guards—!”

“But my lord—!” You hold fast, refusing to let him drag you along with him. Sauron, to your surprise, is merely standing next to Celebrimbor’s worktable, watching calmly.

“We have all been deceived!” he screams in your face, desperate to make you believe him. “This—all you see here—is but a prison of the mind. A trick!” He turn away, pointing an accusing finger at your husband. “He is Sauron! Look at his blood!”

You’ve seen his blood. You’ve seen it, clear as day, since the moment he cut his hand to replace the mithril that the Dwarves had refused to provide. But the fact that he’s now allowing Celebrimbor to see it himself...

Oh, finally.

Finally.

“His blood?” you ask, barely maintaining some semblance of your pretence as pure elation runs through you. “What of it?”

Celebrimbor practically shakes with frustration. “Don’t you see? It’s black as pitch!”

But when he looks back, Sauron is no longer there. In the blink of an eye, through a power unknown, he is now standing at your side, between Celebrimbor and the door. The smith gasps in terror when he notices, and stumbles backward. You, on the other hand, merely lower your gaze to Sauron’s bloodied hand.

“You’re right,” you muse, as if deeply intrigued by the sight. “It is black.”

Celebrimbor watches, locked in confusion, as you take Sauron’s hand with both of yours, tracing the open cut with a gentle finger. As Sauron allows you to do so, holding completely still as you lift his hand to your lips and—under Celebrimbor’s horrified gaze, you lick the palm of Sauron’s hand. Eyes closed, humming contently, as if the pitch-black blood is the sweetest liquor to have ever graced your tongue. Your eyes open slowly after, sinisterly drifting to Celebrimbor.

“Seems fine to me, though,” you taunt, wiping your thumb over the remnants of blood on your lips and licking that clean as well. No more masks of kindness, no more concealment of your true, twisted nature. You feel as though you’ve been loosed from a horribly tight shackle, and the sensation is divine.

Celebrimbor, on the other hand, seems like he is either about to faint, cry or throw up, in no particular order. “What...” he mumbles helplessly. “What?!”

“Easy, my love,” Sauron all but purrs, his clean hand caressing the back of your head as if to tame a newly awakened beast. “We would not want to disturb Lord Celebrimbor’s... sensibilities.”

“‘My love’?” Celebrimbor’s repeats in disbelief. “You... you’re one of my oldest collaborators—”

“And have you any idea how tedious it was,” you hiss, spitting out long-suppressed venom, “playing the devoted subject all this time? Obeying your orders, when I should have been the one giving them? I had half a mind to overthrow you and take Eregion for myself. But I knew my husband would need you, if ever he was to return.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes dart between you and Sauron, taking in the sight of you standing side by side—his loving hand at the nape of your neck, yours clasping his other hand like a most prized possession—and realization dawns on him. “All this time... you knew,” he murmurs, terror giving way to resignation. “It was all a lie. All a charade.”

Your face twists in a mockery of the concerned expression you had worn the day Halbrand had arrived in Eregion. “My lord, he appears to be hurt,” you repeat your own words from back then, the ones that had convinced Celebrimbor to finally allow him an audience despite Galadriel’s wishes. “My lord, the night is cold. Shall I bring him a shawl?” Cruel amusement mingles with the over-dramatism in your voice, a sickly sweet chuckle bubbling out of you at the end.

“She can be... overzealous, at times,” Sauron says, a subtle smile on his lips as his knuckles brush your cheek affectionately. “A most endearing quality.”

“No, this will not stand,” Celebrimbor mutters to himself. “This will not stand!” the poor Elf tries to convince himself as he musters the strength to rush past you and out the door, hoping to find salvation where there is none left. Sauron makes to go after him, but you tug at his hand to hold him back.

“No, let him go,” you insist with a sick kind of enthusiasm. “Just for a little while. Let him look the fool and do your work himself, for a change.”

Sauron turns back to you, persuaded for the moment. “Your heart has grown even blacker in my absence, love,” he remarks, gaze dark with admiration. You give a small shrug, pressing his hand flat against your chest so that his open cut stains the fabric of your dress, right over your heart.

“What matters the shade of it,” you murmur, “so long as it beats for you?”

His other hand cups your cheek with the kind of possessive reverence only he can convey. He leans to you, his tongue slowly swiping away a drop of his blood which had lingered at the corner of your mouth. Then, he puts his lips to your ear.

“Work now,” he whispers darkly, “play later.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Jealousy

Next fic with same reader -> Theatrics

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: none yet, but they are coming in subsequent chapters!

word count: 1.4k

story tags: if you want to be tagged, leave me a comment!

This is a slow-burn, angst filled story! So buckle up and hang on for the ride! Thank you for reading my dive back into writing fanfiction!

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For all the girls who have been told you are too different and too weak, always remember you have everything you need inside of YOU and you are stronger than you know!

You are enough!

Chapter 1

Azriel POV

The missive arrived at dawn, delivered by a pair of Summer Court guards who greeted the House of Wind’s wards with nervous smiles and relieved sighs when it was received without incident. The guards from the Summer Court handed over a slender roll of parchment sealed with wax that bore the familiar crest of a seashell twined with vines of coral. Rhysand stood at one of the balconies as he cracked open the seal, his violet eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he read the elegant script. The morning light caught the silver accents in his tunic, and the wind ruffled his dark hair, but he paid neither any mind.

Azriel lingered just behind him, half in shadow. He noted every flicker of emotion that danced across Rhysand’s face—slight tension in the jaw, a thoughtful crease between the brows, a subtle shift in posture. Not displeasure, Azriel decided. More like careful consideration. Whatever was in that letter, it had piqued the High Lord’s curiosity.

Azriel moved to stand at his shoulder, reading over his friend’s arm. He noticed immediately how few details had been included. There was no mention of why Tarquin had requested their presence, no explicit reason for this sudden summons. Instead, the High Lord of Summer had written in polite, measured phrases—couched in formality and courtesy—but the essence was elusive. Tarquin asked for Rhysand’s “counsel” and his “company,” hinting vaguely at a matter of some sensitivity, a topic “pertaining to connections long misunderstood.”

The letter itself felt more like an invitation to a private conversation than a formal diplomatic gathering. No agenda was outlined, no negotiation topics listed, not even a hint of trade routes or mutual enemies. In fact, very little addressed the broader alliance between their courts at all. Instead, Tarquin’s words circled around the mystery he wished Rhysand to solve. It was an artfully arranged puzzle, each line carrying a quiet promise: come, learn what has been hidden, what might redefine all that you think you know.

Yet Tarquin never said what that secret was. He didn’t explain why now, after all this time, he was willing to peel back this layer of secrecy. It was only in the final line that Tarquin’s meaning became something Rhysand could almost grasp: “In your presence and hers, truths may finally step into the light.”

Azriel studied his friend’s face, searching for any sign of distress. Instead, he found curiosity, guarded hope, and wariness. “How do you feel about going?” Azriel asked gently.

Rhysand turned back to the view of Velaris below: the spires and terraces, shops opening their doors to the morning’s first customers, the Sidra glinting in the rising sun. “I don’t know yet,” he said quietly. “I must be careful.”

Azriel’s wings rustled, a subtle shift that conveyed understanding. Caution was wise. Still, Azriel could sense Rhysand’s intrigue. He, too, felt a stirring of curiosity. 

“Do you trust Tarquin?” Azriel asked.

Rhysand sighed, not taking his eyes off the shimmering city. “He’s a proud High Lord, one who wants to do right by his people. We’ve had our differences, but I believe he respects me—respects what we’ve built here. I trust his intentions enough to find out what he wants.”

“And if it’s a trap?” Azriel’s voice was mild, but his hazel eyes were cool and sharp.

Rhysand inclined his head, a dark smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I doubt it,” he said. “But if it is, we’ll be prepared. That’s why I want you there, Az. Your shadows have a way of seeing what others miss.”

Azriel nodded once, accepting that charge. “When do we leave?”

Rhysand folded the parchment with careful fingers. “I’ll send a reply that we will come in three days’ time. That gives me a moment to inform Feyre, let her decide if she wishes to join us or remain here. But for this initial meeting, it might be best if it’s just me and you.”

Azriel dipped his head in agreement. “I’ll be ready.”

Azriel felt Rhysand’s tension increase as he read that last line. They exchanged a glance, and Rhysand’s brow furrowed. There was no denying the note’s courtesy, but its omissions were glaring. The High Lord of Night flicked his fingers in silent frustration, and Azriel understood his meaning at once: they were being invited into something unknown—perhaps delicate, perhaps dangerous. And the vagueness was intentional, forcing them to come to Summer if they wished to learn anything at all.

In the early morning hush of Velaris, with the dawn just breaking across the Sidra, they stood there a moment longer in companionable silence, the rolled parchment in Rhysand’s hand, knowing that the answers they sought would not be found in these few polite lines. They would have to go to Summer to discover what Tarquin truly wanted—and what secrets lay behind his carefully chosen words.

3 days later…

They chose a quiet, windswept terrace high atop the House of Wind as the place to winnow from. The morning sky blushed faintly with pink and gold, the hush of the early hour wrapping Velaris in soft silence. Rhysand and Azriel stood side by side, the brisk mountain air tugging at their hair and the edges of their cloaks.

Azriel could feel the taut energy humming through Rhysand—keen anticipation tempered by wariness. This would not be a show of strength or pageantry. It was a journey into unknown territory, a meeting built on secrets and hints rather than clear truths. Still, Rhysand’s posture remained confident and poised, his violet eyes steady as they fixed on a point in the distance only he could see.

Azriel took a breath, readying himself. Winnowing was second nature by now—a single blink, a gathering of night and shadow, and then the world would shift. No matter how many times he did it, there was always that brief, disorienting pull, as if reality blurred and stretched like ink swirling in water. But he trusted Rhysand’s ability to guide them both, to weave their powers together and reemerge exactly where they intended.

Rhysand offered him a faint, reassuring smile. “Ready?”

Azriel merely inclined his head. Words were unnecessary between them at a moment like this.

With a subtle shift of magic, Rhysand reached out, as though cupping the very night sky in his palm. Azriel’s shadows flattened and stretched, wrapping them both in a whisper of darkness. The terrace, the fresh mountain air, the distant murmur of Velaris below—they all fell away in an instant, like slipping out of a familiar dream.

Time folded. Space bent. A heartbeat passed, maybe less, and then the world settled again.

They stood on a patterned marble courtyard bathed in golden sunlight. Salt-tinged air drifted around them, warm and humid, carrying the distant cries of gulls and the gentle hush of waves rolling onto shore. The stone beneath their boots gleamed with the Summer Court’s signature warmth, and lush greenery framed the path ahead, leaves shimmering with tiny prisms of light.

Azriel adjusted to the sudden brightness and warmth. Only a moment ago they had been amid Velaris’s cool dawn. Now the day was brighter, the atmosphere heavier with the scents of citrus and brine. This was Tarquin’s domain—familiar in its own way, yet each visit offered something slightly different, as though the Summer Court’s beauty changed with the shifting tides.

Rhysand drew himself to his full height, his demeanor that of a High Lord who had come by invitation but would take nothing for granted. Azriel let his wings relax, but he remained vigilant, his senses attuned to every soft footstep or change in the breeze. They had left one home behind to step into another’s territory. There would be courtesies, discussions, revelations. And beneath it all, the unspoken question of what waited for them in these sunlit halls.

A pair of Summer Court sentinels approached, cautious but polite, their spears angled low in a gesture of greeting rather than threat. Rhysand inclined his head in acknowledgment, and Azriel noted how the guards seemed relieved to have their arrival proceed without incident. After all, High Lords did not always travel so peacefully into one another’s realms.

As they followed the sentinels toward the palace’s open corridors and glittering chambers, the hush of the morning terrace in Velaris already felt like a memory, a point on a distant shore. The path ahead was bright, uncertain, and filled with the secrets that had drawn them here.

Chapter 2