#The idea that women would be lonely never crossed my mind as anything more than a thing that exists.

[xoxochb]

⋆·˚ ༘ * if you get lonely, think of me only

warnings: major foreshadowing, more kissing at the end, vulgar language, I got lazy trying to end this because I’m awful at ending fics

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of hades and persephone

series master list

“what? I don’t- I thought he was with dad?”

nico shrugs

“okay, okay. well I need to change out of this, will you give me a moment?” you say referring to your wedding dress

your brother nods and closes the door behind him. you quickly change out of your wedding dress to your ‘casual’ dress. you give percy a sentimental look and a peck to his lips

“I’ll be back in a minute” another kiss and you’re off

for percy however, he doesn’t like that you left him- your boyfriend- for another man- your soon to be husband. would following you be too possessive? perhaps, but his jealousy got the best of him

your walk to the foyer was entirely nerve-wracking, many questions fill your mind. why was he here? how long would he be here? would the wedding be sooner than anticipated? was the wedding called off? was your father back?

when you catch sight of your soon-to-be husband- what was his name again? tristan? travis? triton? troy! you knew you would get it some day

he waits by the door and even as you were far enough that you could barely see him, his ocean scent was strong, almost suffocating when you stand directly beside him

“you wanted to see me?” you cross your arms

a smirk appears on his mouth “ah, yes. your father thought it would be a good idea for me to get to know my wife”

“what?”

“I suppose you don’t understand those words yet. talking to younger women is useless” he mutters, but his next words are back to normal volume “he wants me to get to know you”

“what the hell do you mean by that? we’re the same age are we not?”

“well yes… my last wife was much older though”

“your last wife? does my father know you were married before me?”

“of course he does”

you run your hands over your face as a way to relax “okay. that’s fine”

it’s not fine. you want to see him publicly executed

“so when are you free”

“never if it’s to see you”

“your father wouldn’t like the way you’re speaking to me”

“well forget him! I don’t give a shit what he thinks”

“I didn’t know princesses used such vulgar language”

“well they do”

silence

“well, seeing that this conversation is getting inappropriate for a married couple I’ll be in the parlor, come find me when you’ve matured”

he brushes past you, gone, get the ocean still lingers. you take one last look at your surroundings before walking back to your room

on percy’s side of things he hides behind a nearby pillar, close enough to see, too far to hear. however he can always tell the mood of the conversation by your demeanor, this time furious. he watches you attentively for absolutely anything, any small details at all. he doesn’t know this man, not at all, but when the pungent scent of the sea fills his senses he knows he doesn’t like him, and he has a legitimate reason this time. had your father purposely set you up with this boy?

when he sees you walk past the pillar he hid behind he swiftly- yet stealthily- rushes back to your room in an attempt to beat you there for a ‘Ive been here the whole time’ appearance

when he arrives at your room he flops down on your bed out of breath and you make your arrival only moments later

he sits up (‘act casual’ he reminds himself) “welcome back, princess. what’d he want to see you for?”

you roll your eyes at the reminder of your unbearable future husband “I don’t want to talk about it, he’s absolutely absurd. something’s off about him I swear”

he doesn’t ask any further questions. for one reason because he knows better than to anger a daughter of hades, and another: because he respects your wishes unlike your soon-to-be husband. regardless if both of those factors he hated you marrying another man. he deserved to be the one marrying you, not some idiot who doesn’t treat you right

you lay down beside percy in his propped up position. he takes advantage of this and places his lips on yours; passion and jealously-filled

“hate that you’re marrying another guy” he rasps against your lips “doesn’t deserve you”

he puts his free hand on your waist to pull you closer, because for him your bodies being any more than one inch apart is utterly preposterous. he puts one leg in between yours as the kisses get more heated. your hands tangle in his hair, pushing him almost impossibly closer to you. gods- your lips would be so swollen tomorrow morning

tag list: @itzmeme @lara20aral @saint-jaz-the-queer @leathesimp @pevenxie

[weemssapphic]

You Make Me Feel

Larissa Weems x f!reader

Summary: At 49 years old, Larissa Weems is the principal of Nevermore Academy - a successful career woman whose dominating energy demands respect from everyone she comes into contact with. She is also a virgin. What happens when she finally meets someone who wants to have sex (and so much more) with her?

Words: ~6.6 | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: virgin!Larissa, internalized homophobia, hurt/comfort, nsfw (sickeningly sweet smut) - cunnilingus, vaginal fingering

A/N: after reading Hot Chocolate on ao3, I couldn't get the idea of virgin Larissa out of my brain so... here we are lmao

Larissa didn’t really know how it happened - the years had simply passed her by in a blur. She was a studious teenager, scoffing at her horny, unfocused peers. It’s not that she never had the opportunity, per se - there were boys who asked her out, who tried to ‘seduce’ her in that awkward, teenage boy way. They all disgusted her - she would wait until college, she reasoned, where she could find someone more mature.

So she left Nevermore behind for her studies. Here, the men - if they could be called such - were just as crude, just as unappealing. The thought of being touched by any one of them filled her with disgust. 

It wasn’t until her senior year of college, when she found herself smitten with one of her female professors, that she entertained the thought of being anything other than straight. It was a thought that had only crossed her mind once before, when she’d accidentally caught her roommate at Nevermore, Morticia Frump, getting undressed. She’d felt oddly… aroused at seeing the girl’s bare skin - and immediately pushed down those feelings. Larissa Weems was enough of a freak as it was - she didn’t need the label ‘lesbian’ stamped on her as well.

But at the age of 22, Larissa had to admit that it was strange she’d never wanted a boy to touch her. She’d gotten close once, during a heavy drunken make-out session with some boy at a freshman party - before freaking out completely and leaving the poor boy squirming uncomfortably at the edge of the lake. And so, at the age of 22, Larissa finally had to confront her very un-platonic feelings for women.

By the age of 49, she’d gone through all the stages of grief regarding her sexuality: she’d vehemently denied entertaining the very thought of being anything other than straight. She’d been angry, oh so angry - at herself, at the world, at Morticia, at the boy she’d kissed. She’d gone through all the what-ifs: what if she’d made a move on Morticia, what if she hadn’t been so uptight, what if her family had been more accepting. She’d even fallen into a bout of depression, realizing how sad and pitiful she was for being a lonely virgin who hated herself for something she couldn’t change.

She’d finally settled on acceptance. Larissa had accepted that she was a lesbian. But, through all those years, she’d been too busy hating herself and throwing herself into her work to entertain thoughts of actually dating. So now she was 49. And a virgin. And who would want to be with a 49 year old virgin?

Sometimes, Larissa could ignore those thoughts, push them down. Sex and dating aren’t everything, she’d reason. She didn’t need anyone else. She had a successful career that kept her busy enough, after all - it was her dream as a teenager, wasn’t it? 

Some days, though - days like today - it was harder to drown out the lonely, self-pitying thoughts. Days where she had a one-on-one meeting with you, for example. 

As one of the teachers at Nevermore, Larissa found you particularly alluring - everything about you seemed to draw her in, leave her wanting more. You carried yourself with such confidence, you challenged Larissa in ways that both delighted and aroused her. You were kind and chatty, interested in what Larissa had to say - she felt she could talk to you for hours.

And you looked so delicious. In her weakest moments, Larissa imagined how it would feel to have a woman’s hands on her body - and more often than not, it was your hands she pictured, your face that surfaced in her mind as she pleasured herself. She yearned to feel your lips on her own, your body pressed against hers. How delightful it would feel to finally, finally be touched, to finally feel desired.

Today was no different - when you knocked on her office door for the start of your quarterly review, Larissa had to take a moment to compose herself before calling out “come in.” Her breath hitched in her chest as you strode up to her desk, grinning widely and taking a seat across from her.

The review of your performance took no time at all - you were honestly one of her best teachers, well-liked by the staff and the students (even Wednesday Addams had yet to cause an issue in your class). With twenty minutes left of your scheduled meeting time, the two of you began to chat about various, non-school-related subjects. Larissa found herself relaxing more and more, and before she realized what she was doing, she found herself asking if you’d like to join her in her quarters at the end of the day for a glass of wine and a chat.

“Of course, Larissa.” You beamed, sounding eager - was it Larissa’s imagination, or had a faint blush crept up your cheeks?

After agreeing to come by at 7, you took your leave to prepare for your afternoon classes - Larissa walked you to the door, which she leant against as soon as it shut behind you. Oh God, what had possessed her? An entire evening in your presence would be torture for her… 

The worst part, somehow, was the fact that she knew you liked women - you’d brought up an ex-girlfriend once, Larissa had been taking a sip of coffee at the time and had nearly begun to choke. It was entirely plausible that you could… Larissa quickly shook the thought from her head. Even if you returned her affections, surely you’d hightail it out of there the second you found out how little experience Larissa had.

~~~

The afternoon passed quickly and soon Larissa found herself nervously pacing the length of her office, smoothing her sweaty palms over her dress to remove non-existent wrinkles.

Your knock sounded for the second time that day, and Larissa jumped at the sound. With a deep breath, she slipped into the persona she’d begun to adopt when dealing with the Mayor and other important figures - authoritative, even slightly seductive. It was the only way she wouldn’t crack under her nerves.

“Hello, darling,” Larissa husked as she opened the door and stepped aside to allow you to enter.

“Hey!” You’d changed out of your clothes from earlier into a low-cut blouse and a short skirt. A pair of simple black heels added two inches to your height, a fact that Larissa couldn’t help but find incredibly alluring. In your hand you held a bottle of Chianti, which you offered to Larissa. “Didn’t wanna come empty-handed,” you added with a nervous giggle.

“Oh…” Larissa’s heart fluttered at the kind gesture. “You didn’t have to.” She accepted the bottle with a grateful smile, hoping her blush wasn’t too obvious.

“I know, I wanted to.” You grinned at her, finally stepping into the office and closing the door behind you. Larissa reached past you to click the lock - and immediately paled as you smirked at her.

“My, my, Principal Weems, trying to trap me here and get me drunk?” you teased. Larissa’s panic must have been evident on her face because you burst into laughter and placed a reassuring hand on her arm - her skin burned at the contact as if it had been branded.

“I-I just don’t want students bursting into my office after hours, I…” Larissa trailed off lamely, unable to focus when your hand was still on her arm. It was so warm, so soft… she found herself imagining that hand on other parts of her body, trailing along her skin…

“Relax, Larissa, it’s okay,” you said, your face softening. “Either way it’s fine by me.”

Either way? Larissa nodded, swallowing thickly and trying to regain her composure. You’d always been very friendly, borderline flirty even, but something about being alone with Larissa outside of school hours seemed to relax you even further.

Larissa took a deep breath. A bit of teasing she could do - she was no stranger to a healthy bit of flirting to get what she wanted. Granted, her heartbeat was a bit more erratic this time, as she was actually attracted to the person across from her. Regardless - a bit of flirting couldn’t hurt. It didn’t have to be more than that.

“Would you like to take this to my quarters?” Larissa purred, plastering a seductive smile on her face and nodding in the direction of a door at the back of her office.

“I would love that.”

Minutes later, you were settled on the couch in Larissa’s living room and she was pouring two generous glasses of wine. She kicked off her heels and made herself comfortable beside you - you followed suit, taking the liberty to scoot just a bit closer. Larissa noticed, quirking an eyebrow - you laughed in response.

“Sorry, too forward?” You were still smiling as you made to shimmy back a bit - Larissa found herself placing a hand on your thigh, stilling your movements.

“You may stay,” she replied airily, grateful you couldn’t pick up on the way her heart was thundering loudly against her ribcage, seconds away from bursting. You placed your hand atop Larissa’s and she took a sip of her wine to mask the blush that was spreading across her face. Out of the corner of her eye, Larissa could see you mirror her movements, bringing your glass up to your mouth and taking a sip, watching her intently over the rim of the glass.

“Didn’t your parents tell you that it’s rude to stare?” Larissa murmured playfully, watching your cheeks go pink.

“No. They didn’t, actually,” you teased, before turning slightly more serious. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… you’re really beautiful. Just want you to know that.”

Larissa felt butterflies erupt in her stomach and she turned to face you fully - you looked so cute, staring into your wine glass, cheeks pink… It had been so long since Larissa had been called beautiful - she was so careful not to put herself into situations where rejection could be the possible outcome. “Thank you.” You looked up and Larissa smiled.

“Larissa?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know why you invited me here tonight. I was hoping… Well, I have to confess something, I want to be open with you.”

Larissa could feel her heartbeat in her throat, and she nodded slowly, suddenly becoming aware that her hand was still on your thigh.

“I’m interested in you, Larissa. Now maybe I’m interpreting this all wrong, and if so I’m very sorry - I promise I won’t let it affect our professional relationship. But maybe the feeling is mutual…?”

She could hardly believe her ears. Of course the feeling was mutual. Larissa felt warm and tingly all over, her heart pounding and her head reeling. All she’d ever wanted was suddenly in her grasp  - it was now or never…

Larissa’s eyes flicked down to your lips. Something in her expression must have given her away, for you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers - Larissa was helpless to stop you. It was just as she imagined - better, even. Your lips were soft and warm against hers, gentle - a stark contrast to the boy she’d made out with in college.

You quickly deepened the kiss, licking at Larissa’s lips which she parted almost out of instinct, allowing you to explore her mouth. You tasted of red wine and the lipstick you were wearing - Larissa couldn’t help but let out a soft noise of pleasure as heat pooled in her core. She felt you take her wine glass out of her hand and briefly pull back to set the two glasses on the coffee table - then your lips descended upon hers once more, the kiss quickly gaining intensity.

A wanton groan escaped your throat as you pushed yourself into Larissa - it was a beautiful sound, and Larissa could feel her underwear growing damp. She squeezed her thighs together for some much-needed relief, an action which you immediately noticed. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” you rasped against Larissa’s lips. Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest - this was moving so fast. She wanted to protest but with the way you were looking at her, eyes half-lidded, pupils wide, cheeks flushed - she found she couldn’t summon up the courage to deny you, despite how her stomach began to burn with anxiety.

Instead, she stood and led you to her bedroom, allowing you to guide her backwards onto the mattress. She felt your fingers toy with the zipper of her dress and push it down to pool at her hips - then, suddenly, your lips were everywhere at once. You planted urgent, demanding kisses down her chest, her stomach - your hands caressed the bare skin of her waist. 

These were the touches Larissa had yearned for for so long - your soft fingertips leaving marks on her waist as your warm breath caressed her skin, your lips and tongue and teeth peppering her body with kisses as evidence of your desire. But she wasn’t enjoying them. It was too much, too fast - she was overwhelmed with sensations. The throb between her legs no longer felt pleasant - it felt daunting, dirty even. What would happen when you’d fuck her and notice how skittish she was? What would happen when you’d expect to be pleasured in return and she would, inevitably, fail miserably?

As your lips moved up her body again, Larissa knew she needed to slow this down and confess, before her inexperience became evident and disappointed you. She took a deep breath.

“I don’t have much experience,” Larissa confessed quietly - the words sounded foreign to her ears. She could feel her nerves rising further as she wondered if you would hate her for it, leave immediately and never touch her again - she waited with baited breath to see what you would say.

“A woman like you? I find that hard to believe,” you murmured playfully, your voice low and sultry as you began to trail kisses all along Larissa’s jaw, as your fingers dug into her hips.

You weren’t getting it. Larissa felt, for the umpteenth time in her life, shame well up inside her, warming up her skin and pricking at her eyes. She felt her throat begin to close as panic overtook her body, and she tried to no avail to calm her racing heart with deep breaths as her eyes glazed over with tears.

“Larissa? Larissa?” Everything sounded like she was under water, your voice was so far away. Eventually, she recognized her name and turned to meet your gaze. You were no longer kissing her - you looked down at her in concern, brow furrowed, frowning as your lips sounded out her name.

Larissa took a deep breath to steady herself. She felt foolish for getting so worked up - surely you would think she was some sort of freak. 49 years old and unable to even so much as make out with a woman without having a panic attack.

“Larissa?”

“Yes?” She tried to sound normal, nonchalant, but her voice betrayed her as it gave out, even on that one syllable.

“Where’d you go? What’s going on up there?”

Your fingers caressed her cheek in a soothing gesture and she allowed her eyelids to flutter shut, leaning into the warmth of your touch. She found herself craving it so, so badly, but she couldn’t allow herself to enjoy it - not when it would surely be the last shred of affection she’d ever receive from you. She stared at the ceiling, a hollow feeling settling in her chest.

“We don’t have to do this, we don’t have to do anything. You know that right?” You shifted off of her, lying on your side to face her and propping yourself up on your elbow. When Larissa failed to meet your gaze, she felt your fingers grip her chin, urging her to face you. “We could just watch a movie or something?”

I don’t want to watch a movie. I want to fuck you. I want to be fucked. I want my body to let me have this. 

Larissa nodded numbly.

You sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Larissa moved as if on autopilot, pulling her dress back up and sliding off the bed, guiding you wordlessly back into her small living room. She gestured to the couch and you took a seat. 

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, clearing her throat. 

“Just water, thanks.” You offered her a grateful smile, and Larissa winced - she was going to need something stronger than water to get through the evening now, but she didn’t want you to think she was an alcoholic either, so she nodded and padded to the kitchen to grab two glasses of water.

When she returned you were focused on the television, flicking through Netflix. You paused to take one of the glasses out of her hand, careful not to allow your fingers to brush against hers as you did so - Larissa swallowed nervously and averted her eyes, taking a seat next to you - close enough to feel your body heat, but not touching you.

“I feel like Netflix took all the good movies off,” you whined with a slight pout - if Larissa hadn’t been so in her own head, she might have chuckled, finding you quite endearing. “Is there anything you want to watch?”

Larissa felt herself shrug. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying your interactions leading up to now, internally berating herself for letting on that she wasn’t okay. If she’d only been able to play along better… it was something even teenagers did, for fuck’s sake - it shouldn’t be a big deal. If she could just get it over with, then maybe -

“Are you more of a romcom or action kinda gal? Ooh. Maybe you wanna watch a horror movie or something? What about-”

“I’m a virgin.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

You hadn’t heard her. Larissa once again felt the sting of oncoming tears. “I’m a virgin,” she repeated, a bit louder, unable to stop her voice from rising in pitch, eyes trained on the floor in front of her.

The silence that enveloped the two of you was deafening. 

A warm hand was placed on her thigh - she whipped her head around to face you, confusion and insecurity marring her features.

Your own eyes shone with care - Larissa felt her heart pound wildly against her ribcage.

“Thank you for telling me,” you said softly. “I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you earlier - I shouldn’t have moved so fast.” You looked almost ashamed, which confused Larissa further… What were you apologizing for? Clearly she was the one with the issues. She shook her head lightly, a bit dazed.

“No, I’m sorry…” Larissa hesitated, swallowing against the lump in her throat and fighting back tears. “I’ll walk you to the door, we can forget this ever happened.” As she stood, she felt your fingers gently encircle her wrist.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Larissa. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

Larissa scoffed, but she made no move to extricate herself from your grip. Not when your warm fingertips were the only thing that could bring her comfort.

“I’ll leave if you want me to… but I’d rather stay and make sure you’re alright - if that’s okay?”

A part of Larissa was screaming, begging, pleading with her to kick you out so she could do what she always did - drown herself in her own self-pity (and maybe half a bottle of wine) and cry. But when she glanced down at you and saw the worry in your eyes, the adorable little crease between your brows that deepened at whatever you saw in Larissa’s own eyes, she nodded and sat back down.

“Is it… would you rather I not touch you right now?” you asked as you dropped Larissa’s wrist. There was a healthy distance between the two of you on the couch - it couldn’t have been more than a foot or two, but it felt like miles to Larissa, who felt the crushing weight of loneliness descending upon her again as you retracted your fingers.

“You can touch me,” she whispered, ashamed at how desperate she sounded. She felt the couch cushions shift next to her, and soon your warm thigh was pressed against hers - then your hand found her own, intertwining your fingers together. Your skin was so soft, your hand fit so perfectly within Larissa’s that it made her breath hitch in her chest, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of your small, feminine hand clasping her own. She wished her hands weren’t as clammy as they were, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“I hope I didn’t scare you away,” you said timidly. “I really like you and I… I didn’t mean to push you into anything. Fuck, I didn’t know, I’m sorry. I thought…” You trailed off, watching Larissa apprehensively.

“You really like me?” Larissa’s ears had perked up as you’d said it, she figured she must’ve misheard you. You smiled shyly then, and Larissa felt butterflies in her stomach. “Even… even now?”

You let out a low chuckle, giving Larissa’s hand a squeeze. “Even now? Is you being a virgin supposed to change my mind?”

“I’m 49…” Larissa whispered in anguish, her heart constricting in her chest as she realized she was admitting things to you now that she’d never told anyone.

“And? I mean I guess I’m curious why - it can’t be your looks or your personality, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and you’re so easy to talk to… But it doesn’t bother me or anything.”

Larissa sighed, dropping her gaze to your intertwined hands. When she spoke, it was barely audible. “I was never attracted to men, so I didn’t want them to touch me. I didn’t realize I could be attracted to women until college and by the time I’d come to terms with that… let’s just say I’m certain no one would want to deflower someone in their 40s.”

“I would,” you said with a shrug, so nonchalantly that Larissa whipped her head around to face you. You chuckled at her bewildered expression. “Come on, Larissa. I don’t care about that. I like you as a person and I find you attractive. I want to have sex with you, if you also want to have sex with me. I don’t care how many other people you’ve been with - I really don’t care if the answer to that is zero.”

Larissa took a moment to mull over your words. They sounded almost too good to be true - she never thought she’d find someone who would be so calm, so gentle, so unfazed about the whole thing. And, well, that it just so happened to be the woman she had a crush on… she could feel herself nodding at your words.

“But we don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to. Obviously.”

“I want to,” Larissa said firmly, if a little too quickly - it made you smirk, and her cheeks turned scarlet.

“We’ll go at your pace then.” You brought Larissa’s hand up to your lips and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles. The soft brush of your lips made a rush of heat pool in Larissa’s abdomen. “Only what you’re comfortable with. And if you want to stop, we stop. I want you to have fun, Larissa. I want this to be good for you.”

“Thank you,” Larissa whispered. The smile she received in return was blinding, and her heart felt just a smidge lighter. 

“Do you want me to leave for tonight?”

Larissa shook her head no. You snuggled into her side and picked up the abandoned remote again, flicking through a few more options before finally settling on Carol - Larissa felt herself slowly begin to relax as the film started.

A few minutes into the movie, Larissa felt your fingers begin to trace absent-minded patterns on her knee. She shivered at the touch - she could feel herself start to get worked up. She wondered if there was any way to salvage the evening - her attraction to you had only grown through your show of empathy, and maybe now that you knew her secret, her body could feel safe enough to let go.

Larissa turned towards you - your head was resting against her shoulder, it would be so easy to just lean in and-

You turned your head and met her gaze. “Now look who’s staring,” you teased. Larissa’s eyes were glued to your lips as you spoke. You were such a good kisser, you tasted so good. She leaned forward, focused on her goal - your lips curled into a smile as you leaned in as well. Larissa’s eyes fluttered shut the moment your lips met and she let out a breathy moan. You didn’t deepen the kiss - you simply pressed your lips to hers, humming and gently cupping her face in your hands.

Larissa felt emboldened by your gentleness - she parted her lips slightly to lick at yours. You opened your mouth for her, allowing her to explore your mouth before gently flicking your tongue against hers. She felt a mad fluttering in her abdomen at the deepening of the kiss, a little whimper escaping her throat at all of the sensations once again flooding her body.

Pulling back once she’d run out of air, Larissa rested her forehead against yours. Your hot, heavy breaths mingled with her own, her skin tingled with electricity.

“I want to try this again,” she whispered resolutely.

“Really?” You pulled back, your eyes flicking between hers. Your expression was a mixture of concern and excitement, and Larissa nodded.

You stood, extending a hand for Larissa to take and helping her up.

This time you climbed onto the bed first, settling against the pillows and waiting for Larissa. She followed suit, lying down next to you and pressing a hesitant kiss to your lips. She could feel the affection and tenderness with which you kissed her back and quickly relaxed, allowing her hands to rest on your waist and tugging you closer. You wound your arms around her and held her tightly - she felt safe in the minutes that you spent making out, heat slowly building within her.

Larissa froze as your fingers played with the zipper of her dress, her breath quickening. Noticing the change, you removed your hand and sat back on the balls of your feet.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked - there was no judgment detectable in your voice, only sweetness and worry. “Yes, I am, I’m sorry.” Larissa took a deep breath, trying to relax again.

“What if I got undressed first?”

She considered for a moment - yes, perhaps that would make her feel less vulnerable. She nodded and you began to unbutton your blouse.

“May I?” she asked. You smiled and dropped your hands, shimmying a bit closer. She unbuttoned the blouse the rest of the way, pupils dilating as it fell away from your front to reveal your lace-clad breasts. You slid the blouse from your arms and reached behind yourself, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside - your breasts jiggled slightly as you did so, and Larissa felt her mouth go dry.

Shimmying your hips, you slid your skirt down your legs and tossed it aside, before doing the same with your underwear. There you sat, completely naked, thighs parted slightly to reveal the wetness that glistened between your legs. Larissa’s own pussy throbbed with desire at the sight - she felt an overwhelming sense of euphoria at the fact that you were so aroused, in spite of everything that had transpired that evening.

“All for you,” you purred seductively, smirking as you noticed Larissa’s eyes glued to your cunt. Larissa snapped her gaze up to meet yours and you leaned forward again, pressing a soft kiss to her lips as your fingers once again found her zipper and began to drag it down. She moved her body accordingly so you could slide the dress down her body - nodding as you cocked your head in question when the dress pooled at her hips. You slipped her out of the dress completely, then crawled up her body and settled next to her, toying with the clasp of her bra. 

“You can take it off,” she whispered, almost amused at how fast you complied. 

The hunger with which your eyes roved over her torso, drinking in the milky expanse of her soft stomach, the swell of her breasts, her pink nipples that slowly hardened at the chill in the air - it felt like a drug to Larissa. She’d never had anyone look at her like that - no one had ever seen her naked in such a context, and she felt her chest flush.

Part of her wanted to cross her arms over her chest, her anxiety rising at the unabashed attention - but then you lowered your mouth to her right nipple and gently soothed your tongue over the bud, and her brain short-circuited.

Arching her back off the bed, Larissa let out a strangled, breathy sound - your tongue on her nipple felt like velvet, divine and soothing, and it sent tingles down her spine. Then she felt you roll her other nipple between your fingers and groaned - it was a filthy sound, and her hand shot up immediately to cover her mouth.

Your tongue stilled and you looked up at her with a smile. “No, I want to hear you. That was a very pretty sound you made.” Larissa blushed, removing her hand from her mouth. Your tongue resumed its ministrations, slowly causing the small, pink bud to harden, and Larissa whimpered at the shocks of pleasure that originated behind her navel and rippled outwards in waves.

“Does it feel good when I do that?” you murmured, moving your mouth from one breast to the other, and Larissa nodded fervently.

“Please, keep going,” she breathed, a tightness coiling in her abdomen as your hand joined your tongue to knead at the soft flesh of her breast.

Once you’d showered each of her breasts in ample attention, your lips began trailing down her stomach - much gentler this time, much slower. Larissa almost felt embarrassed at how her body was reacting, how excited she seemed to be getting, as your lips left a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Can I take these off?” You toyed with the waistband of Larissa’s underwear - she paused for a moment, before finally nodding again.

Your fingers brushed against her skin as you tugged her underwear down her legs, then settled between them. With you suddenly this close to her pussy, Larissa began to worry whether she should have shaved. She felt her nerves rising again as she waited for you to tell her how disgusting you found her - then she felt your lips begin to press reverent kisses to the little curls, as if you could sense her anxiety and were trying to reassure her that it was okay.

“Is it okay if I use my mouth?” you asked sweetly. Her eyes widened and her face suddenly felt hot - you were being so considerate, asking all these questions, making sure she was okay with everything, and Larissa wished you didn’t have to do that - she wished she could just be okay with whatever you wanted to do to her.

“I’m sorry, this must be terribly tedious,” she mumbled, her voice dripping with insecurity that, in any other context, she simply did not possess - she hated herself for it right now, and she was unable to meet your gaze because of it. A light slap to her thigh shocked her into looking at you, however. You frowned up at her from between her legs. “Hey. Don’t say that. Making love to you isn’t a chore, Larissa. I want this. So bad. And I want you to enjoy yourself as much as I am. Understood?”

“Yes,” she replied, breathless at your display of dominance.

“Good girl.” Larissa let out an involuntary moan - she had never considered that she would enjoy being called a ‘good girl’, but she couldn’t help the way her cunt throbbed at your words. “So. Is it okay if I use my mouth? Or do you want to stop?”

“N-no, I don’t want to stop… you can use your mouth.” 

You beamed up at her, before carefully hooking one of her legs over your shoulder - Larissa could feel herself being spread open at the action.

Soft lips began littering her inner thighs with gentle kisses. Larissa tried her best to stay still, not to squirm - but when your mouth finally met her cunt, your tongue slowly trailing up her slit, she couldn’t help but buck her hips into your face.

A soft groan left her lips when she felt your tongue flick against her clit - she was so sensitive, and the touch was so different than when she pleasured herself - it made every hair on her body stand on end. Your lips closed around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking gently and drawing little whimpers from Larissa’s throat as her back arched. She felt herself quickly getting lost in the sensation.

“Does this feel good?” you murmured, pulling back for a moment.

“Y-yes,” Larissa panted - her breathing was already beginning to get heavier.

“If anything doesn’t feel good, if you don’t like it, tell me, okay?”

Larissa hummed and you began licking at her folds, gathering her juices on your tongue and letting out a loud moan of delight. “Fuck, you taste amazing.” Larissa couldn’t help but blush again, but her embarrassment was forgotten the second your tongue circled her clit. She shut her eyes and tried to focus on relaxing.

She found herself unsure what to do with her hands - she briefly brought them to your head, then fisted at the sheets next to her. Then she felt something brush against them and opened her eyes to see your own hands blindly reaching out and grabbing for hers. She intertwined your fingers, her heart leaping in her chest as you gave her hands a squeeze.

The coil in Larissa’s stomach was tightening by the second. She felt herself growing more comfortable with every passing minute, allowing unfiltered moans to pass her lips, spurred on by the noises you were making - the breathy groans, the wet sound of your tongue lapping at her folds. When you gently circled her entrance, she couldn’t help but whine and buck her hips.

“C-can you go inside?” she asked quietly, rolling her hips against your face. You groaned in response, slowly pushing your tongue into her hole. Larissa’s walls fluttered against your tongue and she let out a guttural moan. 

“Good girl,” you purred between thrusts of your tongue. “You’re doing so well for me, love.”

Larissa could feel herself getting closer, her thighs trembling - she tried to keep her legs open but the next thrust of your tongue caused her to snap them shut around your head.

Slowly she began to unravel, her release cresting like a wave as you alternated between teasing her hole and sucking her clit. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she lost herself completely in the feeling of ecstasy overwhelming her body.

She felt your tongue soothe over her folds, then her thighs, lapping up the evidence of her orgasm. You gave her hands a gentle squeeze, before gently extracting your fingers from her grip and crawling up her body. Larissa’s eyes were still closed when she felt your lips on her own. At your tongue’s insistence she parted her lips, whining at the taste of herself as you licked into her mouth.

When you pulled back and cupped her cheek, Larissa opened her eyes. She was almost shocked at the sheer amount of affection and adoration that swirled in your pupils as you searched her face - it made her heart flutter in her chest.

“How was it?”

Larissa hesitated - what was she supposed to say to that? It was everything I’ve ever wanted and more, because it was with you… She buried her face in the crook of your neck and sighed, inhaling the scent of sweat and your sweet perfume on your skin.

“Really good, darling,” is what she settled for as she contentedly nuzzled her nose into your pulse point. She felt your arms wind around her and allowed herself to be held as her breathing slowed. A chaste kiss was pressed to the crown of her head and she smiled against your skin. 

You shifted next to her, wrapping your legs around hers, and Larissa could feel your slick rub against her thigh. Tentatively, Larissa allowed her hand to trail down your bare waist, over the swell of your hip. She could feel you shiver against her as her fingertips brushed against your mound.

Larissa reached between your thighs and pulled back to get a look at your face - you watched her intently, pupils blown, lips parted to let out shaky breaths. Slowly, Larissa spread your folds with her fingers, gasping as she felt how wet you were. She gathered some of your juices on her fingertips and massaged them over your swollen clit, enraptured by the soft moan you let out, the way your eyes fluttered shut and your hips twitched seemingly of their own accord.

With your eyes closed, Larissa allowed herself to admire your beauty, the way you gave in to her touches. She touched you the way she normally touched herself, and it seemed to please you - your face was gorgeously flushed, the most obscene noises slipping from between your swollen lips. When you arched your back, Larissa’s eyes fell to your nipples, hardened with arousal. She lowered her mouth to your breast, flattening her tongue and soothing it over the pink bud, drawing a moan from your chest.

“Bite,” you murmured. Larissa paused, glancing up at your face - then felt your hands on the back of her head, pushing her into your chest. She licked your nipple once more, before grazing her teeth against it and gently biting. 

“Fuck, just like that,” you mewled, and Larissa bit down again, the heat within her own body building at the string of obscenities dripping from your lips.

You rolled your hips against her hand as she continued to stroke your clit. She felt your fingers encircle her wrist, guiding her to your dripping hole. “Two fingers,” you instructed breathily.

Larissa complied, first pushing in one, then two fingers, inadvertently biting down on your nipple again as she felt your walls draw her fingers in. She curled her fingers, experimenting with the pace of her thrusts until she heard your breathing stutter.

“Shit, you’re so good at this,” you praised, your thighs beginning to shake and the rolling of your hips becoming more and more erratic. Your face contorted with pleasure as you rode Larissa’s fingers - she felt your cum drip down her hand as you tensed around her, then you sighed and relaxed into the mattress.

Larissa sat up, pulling her fingers out of your cunt - the needy mewl that left your lips caused a shiver to run down her spine. Your eyes met hers, full of affection and desire, and she felt emboldened - she brought her fingers up to her mouth and licked them clean, moaning at the taste. It was intoxicating - she knew she could get addicted to that taste.

“C’mere,” you murmured, holding your arms open for Larissa. She settled into them, slinging an arm around your bare waist and tugging you closer. You pressed a kiss to her lips. “That-” kiss “felt-” kiss “incredible” kiss. 

Larissa felt herself blushing at your compliment - she couldn’t have asked for a better experience for her first time. It might have come some twenty years later than she’d hoped for, but if it meant she could be here with you right now, your fingertips tracing soothing patterns on her back, your breath tickling her cheek - she’d wait those twenty years all over again.

“I’m glad it was you, you know,” she whispered.

“I’m glad, too,” you whispered back, a gentle smile tugging at your lips.

x

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[quietwhispersofaffection]

Written by: Whispers of Affection

Edited by: Whispers of Affection

Date: 2/3/23

Word Count: 1,785 (Itsa big boy)

Status: GREEN

Warnings: None

Pirate Gojou??? I hate this man but this idea was stifling the rest of my creativity, it needed to be written down. Was this inspired by Harry Styles's song…… dEfiAnTlY nOt.

She.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She.

She was always in his dreams, laughing and smiling, a smile as bright as the sun that washed the sea in sparkling colors and sunny skies.

Eyes as dark as emerald pools filled with shimmering stones that held every emotion in its soft waves.

But he didn’t know who she was.

She.

He loved her more than the sea itself. He would do anything for the woman in his dreams.

“Satoru!” She called from the water alongside his boat, that bright smile blinding him. “The water feels amazing! You should come in!”

“Ah, but Darling,” he smirked, looking down and lifting his blindfold to stare at her with his shining eyes, the eyes he knew she loved so much. “I have to watch my crew. You know those men are trouble.”

“They won’t cause trouble!” she laughed, holding up her arms for him, a gentle call for his presence. “Come in with me!”

“You tempt me too much, my love. Get ready I’ll be down!”

She was a piece of heaven that he never deserved.

She.

He loved her so much, the woman from his dreams.

If only he knew who she was.

＿

Satoru opened his eyes to see the ceiling of his captain’s cabin, like every other morning he woke up from that paradise that was his dream. He blinked a few times, thick white eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and eyes sparkling in the dim light the window from the wall provided. He closed them, remembering fondly of his recent visit with her, trying to grasp the thread of a memory that felt like it might slip away.

“Satoru?”

“Yes darling,” he asked, holding her in his arms, staring out at the sea that they both called their home. The waves crashed upon the bluff violently and created a sound like no other, placing them both into a state of pleasant comfort within each other’s embrace. “What’s bothering you?”

“I don’t quite understand.”

“Understand what?” Satoru did not comprehend the vague statement, trying to relax her further with touches as soft as morning rain.

“Why did you go through what you did for me? You traveled the world for me,” she answered, fiddling with his long slender fingers. “You didn’t have to help me, yet you did. And you loved me when I put you through hell.”

Satoru smiled, looking down at her and gently turning her head to face him, feeling her presence even though he could not see her. “I knew from the moment I saw you, that you were the woman of my dreams. My dear, I would cross oceans for you and do it over and over again just to call you mine. I would travel through hell and face Satan himself if just to see you content, our love knows no bounds, darling. ”

Opening his eyes again, he inhaled deeply, face devoid of emotion. Why did she have to be in his dreams, why couldn’t she be real? That thought alone was the entire bane of his existence. She haunted him with that smile every day to the point where his crew thought he might be falling into delusion. She twisted his mind into a state of compliance and left him a lonely man who realized how meaningless his life was without her.

Satoru blinked once more, wondering why she would ever think he wouldn’t love her, or wouldn’t die just to see that smile one last time. Her emotions as of late had been different in his dreams. She was sadder, more insecure, and constantly needed reassurance that he was still there by her side. Normally, Satoru would not find this quality bearable in a woman, he had no time to pick pieces of broken lovers and he was not usually one to pick women who did not match him in power and skill.

But he would pick up her pieces just to try to make her happy. Even though she blatantly did not have any reserves of cursed energy like him, no way to openly defend herself with something as trivial as magic, he would protect her forever. He would die for her if that’s what it took.

“What did she do to me?” Satoru sighed, throwing an arm over his eyes with a wry smile.

His mingled thoughts were interrupted when a brisk knock was put upon his door and someone cleared their throat. Satoru didn’t need to sense the cursed energy to know that it was Nanami, the disgruntled huff was enough.

“Gojo, we are nearing the harbor. Do you want Fushiguro to bring her in?”

“Yes,” Satoru answered after a quick thought, sitting up and tossing his legs over the bed. “He’ll do fine. I've taught him well. Were we followed by Mahito and his band of bitches?”

There was a pause, making Gojo raise an eyebrow. Was his blatant foul mouth too much for his first mate or was there something else? “Nanami, were we followed?”

“No,” he sighed from the other side of the door. “We lost them last night just before we reached these waters. There will be no doubt that they will try to find us but we have a bit of time.”

“Ah good,” he smiled, very pleased by that answer, standing up and going to his drawer filled with clothes. “I would hate to kill them all. Their ship is not designed to keep up with the Infinity so I’m sure they are kicking themselves for losing us. They’re all whale blubber with hair for brains. You can leave now Nanami, I’ll be up in a bit.”

Another sigh. “Alright.”

Satoru stood in silence, waiting for Nanami to go above deck, his footfalls getting farther and higher while he climbed the stairs to get to the outside air. He turned, opened the drawer, and grabbed a fresh pair of trousers and a shirt, putting them on and buttoning up the silver buttons only about halfway, leaving some of his chest exposed. He grabbed his blindfold, slipping it over his head while he leaned back, letting the covering go over his crystalline eyes unhindered by his soft white hair.

He exhaled a tired breath, turned around, and walked out of his quarters. Above deck, he basked in the way the wind hit his face just right. He inhaled the salty air he had grown up around and surveyed his crew, who were starting to hustle to prepare everything.

“Captain on deck!” Todou yelled from his spot refilling the canons with powder, his voice traveling in the wind. “Look alive you rapscallions!”

Gojou chuckled, shaking his head, and walked along the planks of his beautiful ship towards the wheel, waving at Megumi, who adorned a rather disgusted look on his face upon seeing Gojou. “Good morning Megumi! And how are you doing? Taking care of my ship in my stead?”

“Mhm,” he murmured, trying to concentrate on something other than Satoru’s face. “Why did you make me do this?”

Satoru’s smile widened like a Cheshire Cat and Megumi rolled his eyes, deciding it was not worth it to hear his captain's answer. He turned back to the wheel, hoping that Gojou would get bored and walk away to bother another who had more free time on their hands.

“The real reason I’m having you steer the Infinity is that I’ve noticed she has been doing better under your hand,” Satoru answered, face resuming one of a more serious tone. “Since she is technically a weapon imbued with cursed energy, she can feel yours. I think for right now, you have the most potential to become something bigger. You have the upper hand over Itadori and Kugisaki since I am training you three. Use it, sometimes being selfish isn’t all that bad.”

Gojou nodded, turning and walking away from the wheel, leaving Fushiguro to do the job he was getting proficient at.

“Satoru,” she whispered, poking him and turning over in their plush bed, pulling the blankets further up her body. “Satoru I’m cold.”

“Is that so darling,” his voice laced with sleep, eyes slowly opening and staring directly into hers. “And what do you want me to do? Don’t you live in the sea? You should be accustomed to the cold, am I wrong?”

“You know that’s not the same thing,” she practically whined, making him crack a smile at her adorable antics. “Can you please hold me? You're so warm.”

“So, are you saying that you would only be in my arms to be warm and not-”

“Gojou Satoru hold me right now I swear to the gods!”

Satoru laughed, quickly grabbing her by her cute plump stomach and pulling her flush to his chest. He buried his head into the back of her neck and placed a soft kiss there, feeling her relax into what she claimed was his warmth.

“I love you,” he murmured against her skin, gently caressing the now prominent hips that showed when she lay beside him.

“I love you too,” she whispered, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together, bringing their connected hands to her chest. “So much.”

“Gojou?”

“Let’s stay here forever my love.”

“Gojou?!”

Satoru inhaled sharply, turning to Itadori, who was waving a hand in front of his face frantically. “Gojou what happened? Are you ok? You never space out like that?”

Satoru frowned, trying to understand why he was just remembering that now, of all times. That hadn’t been in his dreams had it? No, he would have remembered that.

Then it hit him.

“Don’t you live in the sea?”

“What?” Itadori frowned, starting to feel worried for his captain. “No- no I don’t live in the sea. Are you ok?”

“Yes,” Satoru paused, not truly paying attention to the young man, more preoccupied with the fact that the woman of his dreams did not live on land like the rest of humanity. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Tell me when we are nearing the harbor. I’ll.. be in my quarters.”

“Sure thing! But, why are we going to the harbor? We don’t need to right now. We gathered all of our supplies a few months ago and we don’t need to restock. Plus, we got a whole lot more when we raided that other ship.”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to Yūji,” Gojou called, walking away, expression never changing, making Itadori frown.

The fact was.

Gojou didn’t know why they were going to the harbor either, but he had this very strange gut feeling that it had to happen. And his gut instincts were never something to be ignored.

___________________________

© Whispers of Affection

I do not own any of the characters created by the mangaka of Jujutsu Kaisen but I do not condone rewrites or copies of my work. Reblogs are fine as long as I receive the credit.

[sadprosed]

𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑶  𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

↬   OF  FAIRYTALES,  FOLKLORE  AND  FAEKIND.

scenarios  inspired  by  various  settings,  encounters  &  magic  tucked  between  pages,  fashioned  by  the  author.

+   feel  free  to  change  pronouns  /  roles  !

FAIRYTALES.

‘  let  me  guess,  you  thought  a  true  love’s  kiss  would  help  you.  ’

‘  you  will  always  follow  the  trail  in  the  wood,  and  it  will  guide  you  on  the  same  path,  to  the  same  cottage,  the  same  witch.  it  will  always  be  your  undoing.  ’

‘  i  have  never  seen  a  more  tragic  creature.  how  might  i  help  you  ?  ’

‘  you  must  take  this  knife  and  plunge  it  into  his  /  her  /  their  heart.  ’

‘  forget  yourself.  that  is  how  you  break  your  curse.  ’

‘  remove  this  thorn  from  my  hand,  and  you  will  be  rewarded.  ’

‘  i’m  tired  of  being  a  prince.  i  think  i  would  actually  enjoy  being  a  frog.  ’

‘  tell  me  of  the  beast,  and  i  will  hunt  it  for  you.  ’

‘  mice  are  never  just  mice,  and  pumpkins  are  rarely  just  pumpkins.  ’

‘  i  don’t  think  breaking  a  spell  should  be  this  simple.  ’

‘  i  never  thought  i’d  return  here,  to  the  site  where  it  all  began.  ’

‘  are  you  an  orphan  ?  it’s  just  that  they’re  always  finding  themselves  in  magical  predicaments.  ’

‘  the  mirror  speaks  falsely  in  your  ear.  it  is  your  true  curse.  ’

‘  my  heart  feels  uneasy,  although  i  am  free.  is  it  supposed  to  ?  ’

‘  i’m  sorry,  it’s  just  that  i  thought  this  is  the  part  of  the  quest  where  the  animals  ought  to  start  talking  to  me.  ’

‘  of  course  i  plan  on  going  to  the  ball.  why  wouldn’t  i  ?  ’

‘  jealousy  has  made  more  witches  out  of  women  than  adam’s  rib.  ’

‘  where  has  choosing  goodheartedness  and  having  golden  hair  ever  gotten  you  ?  ’

 ‘  are  you  a  helpful  wizard,  or  the  kind  that  sits  in  a  tower  reading  moldy  books  ?  ’

‘  i’m  dreadfully  bored.  who  knew  waiting  for  a  prince  was  so  strenuous  ?  ’

‘  we  all  have  towers  we  must  leave,  and  magic  that  will  try  to  thwart  us.  ’

‘  i’m  afraid  for  the  clock  to  strike.  the  hour  will  ring  in  the  place  of  my  heartbeat  when  we  must  be  parted.  ’

‘  i  had  no  idea  carpets  could  fly.  or  pigs  for  that  matter.  ’  

‘  what  would  happen  if  the  knight  did  not  arrive  to  the  castle,  and  the  dragon  made  a  den  of  it  and  a  hoard  of  its  people  and  prize  of  its  princess  ?  ’

‘  i  sometimes  think  i  was  switched  out  at  birth,  like  a  lizard  in  a  bird’s  nest.  i  belong  somewhere  else.  ’

‘   in  another  kingdom  exists  a  throne  and  a  crown  that  is  mine  by  right.  ’

‘  if  i  did  not  wake  up  one  day,  i  would  still  be  waiting  on  a spinning  wheel,  dutifully  bored.  ’  

‘  something  in  me  knows  you  are  here  for  my  heart.  ’

FOLKLORE.

‘  in  all  the  myths  i’ve  heard,  it’s  never  been  worthwhile  to  approach  strange  sights.  it’s  best  to  turn  around  and  pretend  you  never  saw  them.  ’

‘  nothing  is  folklore  until  it  exists  longer  than  consciousness  remembers,  and  lives  in  spite  of  it.  ’

‘  i’ve  heard  your  name  before,  in  songs  and  lengthy  ballads.  ’

‘  whatever  has  led  you  here  to  me,  there  is  destiny  in  its  making.  ’

‘  the  beast  returns  every  century  or  so,  and  tries  to  devour  us.  it  will  come  again  before  long.  ’

‘  a  pretty  face  is  not  nothing.  it  earns  you  a  hearth  and  a  kind  hand,  after  all.  ’

‘  their  lips  are  red  as  blood,  and  their  teeth  carve  ruin  into  throats.  ’

‘  aren’t  dragons  supposed  to  breathe  fire  and  make  a  fuss  about  having  their  treasure  found  ?  ’

‘  someday  you  will  become  a  pilgrim,  a  saint,  or  a  favored  story,  while  i  will  be  a  voice  on  the  wind.  ’

‘  the  stories  say  brides  don’t  live  to  the  light  before  demons  devour  them.  why  should  i  become  one  ?  ’

‘  there  was  another  girl  like  you  once,  in  a  small  town  like  this  one.  i  can’t  remember  if  she  became  the  monster  or  died  trying  to  escape  it.  ’

‘  remember  to  festoon  the  hearth  with  garlic,  or  rosemary,  or  one  of  those  mundane  herbs  that  keep  evil  out.  ’

‘  that  sounds  like  nothing  but  a  tall  tale,  but  i’m  certain  smaller  minds  would  eat  it  up.  ’

‘  to  cross  this  bridge,  you’ll  have  to  pay  a  heavy  toll.  ’

‘  don’t  stray  too  far  from  the  path  set  before  you,  or  something  interesting  might  happen.  ’

‘  i’ve  passed  that  yard  of  crops  a  million  times,  but  the  crow  never  moved  from  its  post  until  this  morning.  ’

‘   it  is  as  though  ancient  fears  are  still  in  us  like  scars  or  stitches.  ’

‘  graveyards  aren’t  where  you  find  ghosts.  look  for  them  in  places  that  feel  like  memories  you  shouldn’t  have.  ’

‘  stories  reap  princes  from  peasants  as  if  their  skins  were  crops  in  the  ground.  ’

‘  what  form  does  your  fear  take  ?  surely  not  that  of  a  bear  or  a  lion.  such  things  are  too  assuring.  ’

‘  i  found  myself  where  everything  was  too  familiar  to  be  real.  ’

‘  in  safe  beds  on  cold  dark  nights,  we  learn  to  face  the  monsters  in  our  own  minds.  ’

FAEKIND.

‘  you’re  not  to  partake  in  a  fairy  feast.  don’t  you  know  it’s  the  food  that  will  devour  you  ?  ’

‘  i’m  sorry  you  did  not  read  the  eyes  of  the  trees  before  finding  yourself  here.  ’

‘  i  wish  to  go  back.  i  want  to  forget  everything.  ’

‘  you  think  that  believing  in  us  is  enough  to  protect  you  ?  that  it  will  kill  us  if  you  forget,  and  we  prey  upon  your  unknowing  ?  ’

‘  step  around  the  ring  three  times,  like  a  backwards  clock.  that’s  how  you  get  to  fairyland.  ’  

‘  i’ve  never  heard  such  sweet  music  before.  ’

‘  where  the  trees  begin  to  twist  and  groan  in  their  roots,  remember  you  must  not  make  a  right  turn.  ’

‘  i  didn’t  feel  like  i’d  stepped  into  another  world,  but  like  it  stepped  into  me.  i  knew  i  was  there  and  forgot  i’d  left  anything  behind.  ’

‘  how  amusing.  a  human  !  ’

‘  would  you  be  my  bride  if  i  were  to  take  you  into  the  ground  ?  ’

‘  i  know  of  tunnels  you  might  take,  the  burrows  of  trolls  and  rabbits.  ’

‘  don’t  take  anything  from  this  realm,  none  of  it  is  worth  the  price  of  keeping.  ’

‘  there  are  courts  by  many  titles  in  the  lands  beyond  the  veil,  all  of  them  other.  ’

‘  names  are  not  like  currency  here;  they  are  more  precious  than  diamonds  and  legacies.  ’

‘  did  you  think  all  of  us  looked  like  goblins  ?  ’

‘  getting  here  is  easy,  but  getting  home  is  quite  the  trick.  ’

‘  i  shall  give  you  a  riddle,  and  it  will  puzzle  you  until  you  know  the  answer  but  forget  your  own  soul.  ’

‘  a  bloodline  is  nothing  when  you’ve  outlived  civilizations.  ’

‘  refusing  my  hospitality  is  like  human  sin,  and  it  will  bring  worse  upon  you.  ’

‘  everything  here  is  and  isn’t,  and  things  are  and  aren’t.  ’

‘  on  lonely  nights  i  stare  into  the  trees,  and  a  strange  face  leers  back.  ’

‘  the  thrones  here  are  made  of  bones  and  blood,  and  built  upon  decay.  ’

‘  a  third  time  is  not  a  charm,  but  a  bargain.  it  says  that  you  want  something  enough  to  wager  your  sense.  ’

‘  it  is  dangerous  to  think  that  magical  beings  do  not  have  human  intensities.  ’

[illylli]

Bite My Tongue (Pt. 1) | Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

→ Eddie’s never felt so enamoured with someone before he met you. The only problem is, your heart’s already spoken for. Still, the Dungeon Master of Hellfire Club has a plan to keep you close, even if he can’t have you.

→ 3k words: includes mentions of drug use, unrequited love (or is it?), sneaky touches

→ a/n: I’m hoping to make this into a multi-part series, so please comment if you’d like more + message me if you’d like to be added to the taglist. this is also my first fanfic so please feel free to send me any writing advice you have x

♫ mood: ‘no other heart’ by mac demarco

→ read part 2 | → read part 3

Eddie Munson doesn’t do flustered.

He doesn’t have time for dumb crushes, heart palpitations, or anything of the like. He had always scoffed at the heart-eyed, body-floating, jaw-dropping interpretations of attraction. The dramatization of which filled his ears with static as late-night cartoons hummed on the TV, the off-switch neglected while he greened out, having pushed the limit once again.

It was at such times that he felt dauntingly lonely. He flirted with just about anyone who spent more than 5 minutes with him, to feel something, anything. It was not for lack of wit which danced on his silver tongue that he failed to sway both women and men alike into growing fond of him. He would give up the chase before it began.

Maybe he’d set his standards too high. He was a secret lover of romance; he managed to convince the Hellfire Club not only into hosting a plethora of romantic subplots in their campaigns, but also that it was of their own accord and totally not planned out in detail prior by their Dungeon Master.

Still, he had yet to meet anyone who made him feel a fraction of the excitement that surged through his veins whenever the dice rolled in favour of a kiss. Fiction was far superior to reality, so much so that his mind was steeped in unrealistic expectations of perfectly timed confessions and sweeping romantic gestures.

He always searched for a secret beauty hidden amongst the rowdy bar crowd when he was strumming epic riffs for Corroded Coffin. His eyes always scanned the cafeteria for someone interesting to fall for. Time and time again, not a soul caught his eye, at least not in the way he was yearning for.

Which is why a mundane interaction in the Hawkins High parking lot caught him so off guard it had him rethinking his entire outlook on life.

“Eddie,” His name said in a huff, like a passing thought.

He had turned, a smirk already tugging the corners of his mouth, ready to exude cool indifference to whatever half-assed insult was about to be lugged his way. Instead, he felt his limbs go rigid as you stepped into his space, soft fingers following the curve of his ear as you tucked his hair back.

“You dropped your joint.”

“Yeah?“ He was stunned from the sudden contact, but more so from the fact that your touch had caused his eyes to start burning.

He reached up, tapping the twisted edge of the paper, then, so stiffly he thought you’d perhaps injected him with paralysing venom, he gave you a two-finger salute.

“Appreciate it, sweetheart.”

You gave a single nod, your textbooks clutched under taut knuckles. “Sure.”

With that you’d turned heel, and Eddie stood there like an idiot, crowds of people brushing past him as he watched your jock boyfriend open the car door for you, clicking open and closed, engine revving, reverberating in his heart, until he was left in the wake of burnt rubber and swirling dust clouds a changed man.

It didn’t make sense. You were nondescript, you were another face in the crowd, another hand raised in class, hidden behind the gossamer of the everyday.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n)?”

Dustin looked unimpressed when Eddie had suggested the idea of gauging your interest in joining the club.

Eddie crossed his arms, knowing he could pull off nonchalance better than anyone else, yet his heart still hammered, reminding him he was not immune to the mention of you yet. “You know her?”

“Of course,” Mike interjected as he slid into the seat beside the two, his lunch tray clattering. “She’s always hanging out with Nancy.”

Eddie realised he was gnawing on his bottom lip when the two boys narrowed their eyes at him. He gave a little drumroll on the lunch table, hoping to distract them with the flourish of a newspaper. He cleared his throat as he straightened out The Weekly Streak, eyes darting to the place on the page he’d kept coming back to.

“In the Dead of the Night, chapter forty-two by (Y/n) (Y/l/n)…”

By the time he’d finished reading the story aloud, Mike and Dustin at least looked half interested.

“He going on about that newspaper chick again?” Gareth sighed as he took a seat, getting comfy as he reached for his juice box.

Eddie seized it first, holding it just out of reach as Gareth snatched for it.

“An astute observation, my friend, but surface level,” he placed the juice box down with a thump and flung an arm over his shoulder, pulling him close, his voice lowered, “You know I wouldn’t invite just anyone into Hellfire, so think a little with that great big brain o’ yours,” he nuzzled a knuckle against Gareth’s temple and he wriggled in Eddie’s grip.

“I don’t know,” he scrunched up his face.

“I’ll give you a hint,” Eddie raised a hand to the ceiling, fingers outstretched as he punctuated each word as he said “Year. Long. Campaign.”

“Impossible,” Jeff’s greeting was one of awe as he sat down, “There would be too much ground to cover. No one person can handle campaign that big.”

“Ding ding ding,” Eddie clapped succinctly, his excitement growing, “Though your assumption is humbling, it is correct. For such a grand journey, we’d need another master writer. Someone-“ Eddie tapped on your column in the newspaper, “who knows how to weave a narrative. Attention to detail, characters, subplots. She’s the one.”

Mike and Dustin looked at each other after taking in Eddie’s beaming façade.

Mike shrugged. “I can ask her if she’d be interested, next time she’s over my house.”

“No, no,” Eddie shook his head animatedly, “No. Wheeler, you have the charisma of a damp towel. I need to be there to convince her.” He pointed a ring-clad finger at the boy, “You call me as soon as she shows up and I’ll be there.”

Gareth perked up at Eddie’s enthusiasm. “There something we should know?”

Eddie gripped Gareth’s shoulder, just hard enough to be slightly threatening. “Only that you’re all about to be treated to the best damn adventure of your lives.”

Mike’s call came later that afternoon, passing on the information that you and Nancy had made a peculiar stop before going home. The ring of the landline echoed in Eddie’s head as he pulled out of the trailer park, his palms sweaty against the steering wheel of the van.

He wanted out of his mortal body. If he could’ve separated heart and soul, he would have, so that he could focus on the task at hand without freaking himself out.

What if you said no? What if you said yes? Why did he care?

He’d never gone so out of his way to recruit someone to Hellfire before, and maybe, if he allowed himself to admit it, it was because he was chasing that high only your touch had been able to give him.

Despite being surrounded by drugs in his tailer, he’d never been tempted to overindulge. He wasn’t an addict. But one close encounter with you and he was itching for his next hit. Suddenly the romance novels all made sense, and things that had never clicked before were falling into place, the once-obscured coming into view.

It was painfully cliché. He wanted to pull the steering wheel and wake up from whatever dream this was. But as he pulled up at the arcade, he felt that strange bubbling still within him, like he truly had woken up. He could see you through the window if he squinted, the class reflecting the sunset over your form. Nancy was nodding politely to whatever you were saying, though she looked out of place, much too mature for such a setting.

Eddie hopped out of the van, the chain on his wallet clinking as he approached the entrance. The door squealed on its hinges, but was immediately drowned out by the chatter and loud music, all out of sync as each machine carried its own game theme.

Nancy’s eyes followed the darting pinball as you attempted to rack up your points, but her gaze went smoothly from top to bottom.

Nancy gave you a tight smile, “Should we head back to mine and get started on brainstorming your next chapter?”

“Good idea,” you replied, your feigned up-beat tone fooling no one, including Nancy.

Eddie thought it a good moment to swoop in and save her from needing to say something peppy to pry you from the machine.

“This one taken?”

You blinked up at him, a slight frown forming in the split second before you realised who it was.

“We were just leaving,” you announced, taking a step away and motioning like you were offering up a gift.

“Y’know, it’s all about the timing,” he said, slipping a quarter into the slot. The pinball machine lit up again, a tinny jingle sounding as the balls were loaded up. Eddie’s rings clacked against the side as he waited patiently to launch the first one into the arena.

You hovered closer to him as you watched him flip the ball expertly, hitting the bumpers with ease to allot him more points.

Nancy exhaled loudly, drawing your attention.

“What’re you girls doing here anyway?” Eddie asked casually, trying to stall for time. “Didn’t take the illustrious journalist-writer duo for a bunch of arcade dwellers.”

He viewed your downtrodden expression in the reflection of the pinball machine glass.

“A bad case of writer’s block,” you revealed, “I thought, I don’t know, the excitement might spur something within me. But nope. Turns out the only thing evoked today was the truth of how bad I am at pinball.”

Eddie chuckled, the screen lighting up with an impressive score as he finished his playthrough. “I’d take future bestselling author over future pinball champion any day.”

He felt his soul go gooey as he watched your smile grow in the glass reflection.

“If only a person could be both,” you teased, then turned as Nancy called your name from the door, where she was now waiting.

Eddie caught your arm before you could leave, and immediately regretted it, meeting your eyes in a stomach-churning instant. He forgot how to talk for a few seconds, his brain lagging behind his hard-beating heart.

“Listen, (Y/n),” he started, balling his fist to rest on the machine as the lights went out, “I uh…” He met Nancy’s gaze and she rolled her eyes, but exited with a good-natured smile on her face. “Why don’t you play one more round? I could teach you a few pointers before you leave. Take a crack at that writer’s block with some healthy ego stroking?”

You took position as he fed the machine another quarter, grinning as you asked, “What, are you going to be my cheerleader?”

He watched in the reflection as your smile fell, mouth parting as he slid his hands over yours, wishing and hoping and goddammit, even praying that his touch had the same effect on you as yours did on him.

“You paying attention?” He whispered as the pinballs were loaded onto the spring. You nodded silently, and Eddie could feel your back brush against his chest with each breath.

As the first ball fell towards the flippers he tensed, pressing down onto your fingers and subsequently the right button, flicking it back up and into a route that had your score shooting up. You let out an elated sound, something between an unbelieving scoff and an amused giggle. It had him reeling.

“Watch out,” he laughed, “Right there. That’s it.”

As the score went up so did the stakes. Both of you could see it was fast approaching the high score. Eddie didn’t stop encouraging you, and he could tell with each spoken word that he was bolstering you.

“Good girl,” he coaxed, “Keep going. Just a little more.”

He felt every jolt of your body as you anticipated the silver ball’s movements, so engrossed in the game that as he eventually removed his hands, you were still able to mimic his technique to perfection.

He could already tell that you’d work well together.

“You’re a quick learner,” he praised as you released an elated sigh at the new high score that flashed on the screen.

You turned to him, your eyes sparkling with a new energy. “You’re a good teacher.”

He tapped a hand against the machine as it went into idle mode once more. “At pinball, maybe, but I could use a few pointers on some other things…”

You shook your head, knowing this had to be leading somewhere, but you still humoured him, “Other things?”

“Well, you know,” He threw a hand up, counting off each finger as he started, “How to put on eyeliner without looking like a racoon, how the hell taxes are supposed to work, how to write a wicked story…” He drew out the last word, his last counted finger wiggling as you smiled.

“Did Nancy put you up to this?”

Eddie took a step forward as he crossed his heart. “I have a vision for the future of Hellfire, but I’m gonna need your help to get it there.”

“That’s the roleplaying game you play, right?”

“Pretty much,” Eddie confirmed, “Dungeons and Dragons. DnD.”

“I don’t get it,” you admitted as you picked up your bag, “You have to write a story to play it?”

Eddie followed you as you made your way to the door. “There are pre-written campaigns with their own lore, but I’ve always wanted to delve into writing original storylines. Only problem is, it takes a lot of work. Lots of writing, character design, you’d know how it is since you write those stories for the school paper.”

“Okay,” you pushed the door, the arcade’s bubble of noise being shut in as it drifted closed behind you, “So… you want me to join?”

“You wouldn’t have to,” Eddie slipped out in front of you, causing you to halt. “I know you’re the busiest person in school next to Wheeler, so I wouldn’t ask you to play. I’d just… appreciate some help with the story. Your writing is really, really good. I mean, honestly, I got chills reading those horror stories you posted last Halloween.”

“Really?” you glowed.

“Really,” Eddie answered.

It was the truth. He had enjoyed those stories, but he hadn’t paid much attention to the school newspaper in general until that fateful day you’d tucked his joint behind his ear and he was compelled to learn everything about you.

He’d hassled some nerd who worked at The Weekly Streak into lending him a copy of every newspaper that had come out since last October, and in the span of a couple days he’d binged all your work, through which he’d picked up on your style and quirks. He supposed that he’d learnt an integral part of who you are from the pieces of yourself you chose to reveal through your characters and stories.

Still, he wanted to learn more; he wanted to learn exactly how you’d managed to distil pure electricity into those soft hands of yours. He wanted to know how a person managed to fit the whole world into their eyes.

“So,” He fought the embarrassing urge to pout, “You in?”

You glanced between him and Nancy, who was tapping her fingers against the steering wheel of her car.

“I should say no,” you admitted. He knew why: your boyfriend certainly wouldn’t like the idea.

“But you will say…?”

“Maybe.”

Eddie huffed, pushing his tongue against his bottom teeth.

“Say yes,” His eyes flitted up to yours, “Please.”

You could tell he wasn’t used to asking for favours. His arms were folded behind his back and he was swinging on his heels. Eddie could scarcely believe he would sink as low as pleading, but he had never been more determined for something in his life now that he’d set his sights on you.

“Fine,” you spoke quickly, conscious of how long you’d made Nancy wait, “But Chance can’t know.”

“Chance?” He spoke aloud, but it clicked in his brain and he nodded. “Your boyfriend.”

“Eddie,” you raised your brow at him, “Seriously. If he found out-“

“Hey, my lips are sealed.” He even made the gesture of zipping them closed and throwing away the key.

You nodded, “Good. Then I’ll see you at my place, Friday night.”

Nancy smirked as you finally entered her car, and she said something that had you hiding your face in your hands. Eddie turned away then, knowing he’d only pick apart every miniscule expression for anything negative and be persuaded by his interpretation to call the whole thing off.

As soon as he slid into the driver’s seat of the van he took a deep breath, checked his side mirror to see that Nancy had pulled out, then shook himself out let a wet dog, expelling all the nervous energy that had pooled in his body.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled to himself, turning the key in the ignition, “It’s happening, it’s happening.”

He was so ecstatic for the rest of the day, his uncle asked if he was high when he got home.

→ message me to be added to the taglist for this fic and/or character → comments & reblogs are super appreciated as it encourages me to post more → please do not repost any of the art or writing in this post, thank you!

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 || helmut zemo, bucky barnes and sam wilson x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : your sugar daddy boyfriend is finally out of prison and he brought a few friends to show you off to.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : just over 4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (foursome/group sex, oral m receiving, spitroast; sliiiight dubcon???), established zemo x reader, sugar daddy relationship, ‘sir’ kink, ‘daddy’ kink, pussy spanking, one regular spank, orgasm control, overstimulation, creampie, a bit of cockwarming, exhibitionism, possessiveness (kinda? but also not at all lmao it’s hard to explain), a bit of degradation but plenty of praise as well, subtle cuckolding but without the usual power dynamics there, shitty reconstructed “sokovian” (I wrote it in the latin alphabet but the cyrillic and translations are at the end), unexpected and unnecessary fluff, very subtle angst (basically all in a flashback anyways)

                  You were needlessly anxious as you waited for him to arrive.  It had been your own idea to wait in the jet, and yet you spent every other second glancing out the tiny window, desperate for a glance of the man you missed so dearly.

If someone had told you all those years ago, when this arrangement first began, how easily he would have you wrapped around his finger… you couldn’t have believed them.  It’s just about the money, you would’ve told them, but you would’ve been impossibly wrong.

For a lot of women in this sort of situation, it really was just about the money; likewise, for a lot of men in his situation, it was just about the sex.  But the two of you had something entirely unique, nearly indescribable in fact, that very few could ever understand.  In the beginning it became clear to you that he was more in need of a companion than a lover or girlfriend, specifically.  He was still grieving his wife, still devoted to her completely, but lonely right to his core… angry, even, at the prospect of a life without his family.  You were a shoulder to cry on, first and foremost.

You thought maybe he enjoyed spending money on you because it was his way to protect you, in a way he felt he had failed to protect his family before.

And it was you that fell for him first, for his passion and his kindness before his riches or looks.  Just when you feared that he’d only ever see you as a status symbol or dress-up doll, he returned your affections in spite of his guilt at first and the two of you were inseparable ever since.

Except, of course, when you were separated, and he was imprisoned, and you were left on your own again.  Not that spending his money wasn’t fun or anything, but his loneliness was more sympathetic with each night you spent in that massive bed by yourself, wanting just to feel the warmth of him beside you again.

So, it should be understandable why you were so on edge in anticipation of his arrival.  Your painted fingernails toyed with the hem of the dress you remembered he liked on you most— the silk one that barely covered your legs and was only held up by absurdly thin straps crossing at your back.

The night he bought it for you was clear in your mind like it was only yesterday; his voice in your ear telling you how he couldn’t resist taking such a thoughtful, intelligent woman like yourself and dressing you up like a mindless drolja… or ‘slut’ as it might be said in English.  Just remembering the way he said things like that sent a shiver down your spine as strong as really hearing it, your thighs clenching together on top of the plush leather seat.

Just as you thought you might go crazy waiting for him, you saw the car pull up— your Helmut at the wheel and his two associates in tow— and your heart soared.

Longer than all the years apart combined was the minute you spent waiting to descend the jet’s staircase, hoping to meet him on the taxiway at the exact right moment.  You made sure the jewelry around your wrists and neck was laying just right before finally making your appearance.

The way he looked up at you as you started to walk down towards him… it wasn’t so different from the way he’d looked at you through the glass for the past few years, really, but it felt different.  He certainly looked different to you, without the prisoner’s uniform and looking rather imposing with that massive coat instead.

You were careful to still walk slowly, since you were wearing stilettos and all, even when you wanted more than anything to run to him and jump into his arms.  Instead, you came face to face with him, loving that confident smirk which never seemed to leave his expression, and slipped your arms around his fur-adorned neck.

“Dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi,” you hummed, pressing your lips to his and almost letting out a squeal of surprise when he immediately slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you aggressively as his gloved hands gripped you at the waist.

He was rarely so bold, but then again he had been alone in prison for so long with only your words to try to satisfy him.  As much as you cherished being in his arms again, you also got the impression that this wasn’t just about making up for lost time— if that were true, he would’ve skipped the kiss entirely and taken you in the back of his car the moment he saw you.  No, this was a show of dominance, and not only for your benefit; that was clear when one of the men with him cleared his throat loudly and Helmut still didn’t stop.  

But that was very much like him: he was never finished with you until he was satisfied, and not a moment sooner.  His power over you was so effortless because you didn’t mind at all being his plaything… so much so that it was you leaning in for more when he pulled back, making him laugh softly.

“Did you miss me, lutka?” he purred, and you nodded as you bit your lip slightly.

“Always, Helmut,” you nodded, finally taking a moment to look away from him and at the visibly uncomfortable men at his side.  “I heard you freed him,” you said to the man you knew to be James Barnes, “thank you.”

“I’m still not over that,” the other— Sam, as you’d heard— added with a scoff.

“Come on, darling, let’s board the jet and we can talk there,” Helmut suggested, and you nodded as you turned to let them follow.

Of course, you couldn’t be totally sure, but you were pretty confident you could feel three pairs of eyes on your ass as you climbed the stairs.  Honestly, with how short the dress was, there was a risk of your thong being exposed as well, exactly the sort of almost-subtle teasing your Baron loved the most.

Once inside, Helmut showed James and Sam to their seats, and took his own as he instantly pulled you into his lap.  You caught the other two men glancing to the empty fourth seat, knowing there was plenty of room for you two to stay apart, but could they really blame you after how long you’d been alone?

Throughout the takeoff, one of his strong hands rested comfortably on your crossed legs as the other held his glass of champagne, and Sam’s gaze was attached to the way his thumb gently stroked your thigh while James seemed to be doing his best to look literally anywhere else.

“I noticed you haven’t introduced us to your… friend…” Sam trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, yes,” Helmut chuckled as if he actually forgot, “this is the woman who has been managing my estate in my unfortunate absence.”

“You’re trying to tell us this is your accountant?” James grumbled.

“She’s also my lover,” Helmut relented.

“Obviously,” Sam replied, unamused.

“She’s beautiful, no?” Helmut prompted as he ran his fingertips higher up your thigh, only glancing at the other men as he focused mainly on nuzzling against your neck. 

“Yeah, the finest money can buy,” Sam quipped, earning a cold glare from you and your man.  

“Are you with me for my money, draga?” Helmut asked you quietly as he planted a gentle kiss to the spot right where your neck met your shoulder.  You smiled and shook your head, staring right at Sam’s nervous expression.

“No, sir,” you answered aloud, and the title clearly made both of the other men uncomfortable… if, perhaps, in different ways.

“Uncross your legs,” he demanded, though his tone was still soft, and you obeyed right away as he started to lightly move his touch between your thighs.

James began adjusting in his seat and never really stopped, tugging at his jeans in an obvious attempt to conceal the growing bulge between his legs, but you only laughed at his clear embarrassment.

“See how respectful she is?” he cooed his praise, addressing the other men but keeping his eyes on you.  “I know exactly the words to make her obey to my every whim… James, you and her share that quality.”

The man sneered as you suppressed a giggle, squirming in Helmut’s lap impatiently.

“She’s loyal, too, unendingly dedicated,” he continued.  “You know she visited me weekly in Munich, at the very least?  Always by my side… like any good pet.”

A whimper escaped your throat at that term, your gut burning with need as he balanced praise and degradation effortlessly.  You didn’t find it truly demeaning only because you loved being his plaything so much, and because you knew mutual respect was at the core of your relationship with him.  But, still, it was nice to feel small when he was there to keep you safe.

James watched with a small snarl and Helmut slipped his hand into your panties, and Sam licked his lips but shifted his stare to your face instead, just as your eyes started to roll back and your head fell weakly on Helmut’s shoulder.

“And such a precious little pussy as well,” he added darkly, giving you a spank between your legs to make you choke on a squeal.  “Sweet, delicate… much like a Turkish delight, but even more addictive.”

“Please, sir,” you whispered under your breath.

“You want more, don’t you?  Tako očajno…” he chuckled.  You nodded, already starting to soak through the lace and rock your hips.  “You want to be fucked, yes?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Be polite and take care of our guests first, draga,” he encouraged, kissing your neck one more time before releasing you from his embrace.

Although you were most interested in being with the man you loved, you were happy to obey whatever he wished— and, frankly, sinking to your knees on the jet’s carpeted floor to crawl towards James wasn’t exactly lacking in its own appeal.

James’ eyes narrowed as Sam’s widened, and you sat up between the spread, denim-clad thighs as you blinked up at him and licked your lips.

He tensed up slightly as your hands delicately slid up his legs, his Adam's apple bobbing with a dry swallow when you grabbed his belt buckle and began to open it.

“You… you don’t have to…” he mumbled, apparently too distracted to finish his sentence.

“Yes I do,” you denied.  “Because he told me to.”

Sam winced and looked away as you unzipped James’ fly and pulled his jeans and boxers down to expose his cock, already hard and leaking a bit from the tip.  You smiled proudly, but chose not to tease him for his eagerness and instead just get right to work; you gripped him at the base and gave a few kitten licks over his shaft, savoring the taste of his precum and looking up at his expression that was equal parts shocked and sultry.

You only spent a moment suckling on the head before skipping right ahead and deepthroating him all the way to base.

“Oh, fuck,” James choked, reaching up grab the seat behind his head as his back arched, making you want to smile though you thankfully kept it down.

“Well-trained, isn’t she?” Helmut interjected proudly.

“Y-yeah,” he answered, his other hand grabbing your shoulder tightly as you began to bob your head.

Occasionally, in your peripheral, you caught Sam looking, and it made you wiggle your hips with the desire to rub your throbbing clit against the floor.  

You got a chance to breathe whenever you pulled back to suck the head and stroke the rest with your hand, and in a few minutes you had already found all the little spots that made him moan the loudest, or made his legs quiver a bit by your sides.

“Stop,” Helmut instructed, and you were already starting to pull off when James hissed and grabbed your head to hold you down.

“N-no, please,” he blurted out.

“She’ll come back to you but Sam is looking rather lonely in the corner over there,” Helmut explained, and James hesitated but let you go.  You wiped your lips and started to move towards Sam, but he shook his head.

“I don’t roll like that, man,” Sam explained, “I don’t want her doing it just because you said so.”

“Darling, won’t you tell us how badly you want to service your new friends?” Helmut challenged, and you swallowed nervously because you were a bit embarrassed to say too much and potentially anger him.  But the sparkle in his eyes didn’t seem like he was leading you into a trap… even if the other two men were confident that was what it meant.  “You find them attractive, don’t you?”

“Um, yes, sir,” you answered hesitantly, “I… saw them, and I wanted to know what their cocks looked like.  And tasted like.”

Helmut smiled and leaned forward, giving you a spank of approval through your dress (which was riding up to show most of your butt anyways).

You looked at Sam expectantly.  “May I please suck your cock, Mr. Wilson?”

His eyes darkened and you knew you were on the right track.  “What happened to ‘sir’?” he asked coyly.

“I only call Helmut ‘sir,’” you explained, “but I could call you something else.”

His finger curled to encourage you to come closer and you crawled up to sit between his legs.

“Call me ‘daddy,’” he finally instructed, opening his belt and pants for you.

“Yes, daddy,” you nodded, keeping your mouth slack for him to push his cock into.  You hummed as the head slid over your tongue, looking up at him as he bit his lip and thrust back into your throat.

“Shit, that’s good,” he whispered, guiding your head at the speed he wanted.  “Who taught you how to suck cock so good, baby?”

Helmut raised his hand and James snorted.

Sam was a bit longer but he was still no challenge to swallow all the way down, and you heard him breathing through his teeth but let your eyes fall shut to focus on your work.

“Is this… how you treat all your guests?” Sam asked tensely between heavy breaths.

“Only those who are at the right place at the right time,” Helmut answered cryptically, but you happened to know this sort of occasion was incredibly rare.  Although it might seem counterintuitive to some, this was his way to re-stake his claim over you, and after so much time apart apparently he felt he had a lot to prove.  “Keep going, but don’t let him come,” another instruction echoed from behind you.  

You pulled back to stroke Sam’s length while you croaked: “yes, sir.”

Helmut had you go back and forth for a while, keeping both men on edge and occasionally allowing you to stroke one while you sucked the other, your own need growing so quickly as you dreamed to have something inside you, anything really.

Obviously, he knew exactly how much having a cock down your throat made you wet and desperate.  And he knew that such a taboo act of, in a certain sense, breaking fidelity with a man as he not only watched but commanded you to do it would get you right on the edge in no time.

He had gotten in your head so quickly after meeting you, memorized everything that made you tick, and not once had he forgotten.  

“I-I’m close,” James warned as you sucked his head, making you slide the tip of your tongue over his slit before you took a break to suck his swollen balls into your mouth.  “Fuck, can I come?”

“Not yet,” Helmut instructed sternly.

You felt him tug you back and into his lap suddenly, and he quickly yanked your dress down to expose your breasts to the men in front of you.

“Her tits are hard, no?” Helmut prompted them, and you watched them both nod as a warm hand reached around from behind you to tweak your hardened nipples.  “Yes, she really loves to get on her knees and choke on cock.  I’d let her do the same to me but I have greater plans for her…”

As if it weren’t obvious what those plans were, he pulled your skirt up to your waist as well, spreading your legs and pulling your flimsy panties aside.  

“Is she wet?” he asked the men and they nodded again.

“Drenched,” Sam chimed in.

Helmut gave another spank to your clit as you shuddered, then rubbing slowly as if to soothe the sting.  “I’ll teach you what happens when you get wet for another man, little girl,” Helmut growled against your ear, “not to mention two.  And they’re Americans, do you have no shame?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whispered.

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he corrected.  “I love seeing you act like a whore all for me.”

You hadn’t even realized he’d taken his cock out of his trousers until you felt the thick tip of him prodding at your entrance.  It was already a lot just by itself, but then you had these strangers staring at you and for some reason it only turned you on more.

That ‘some’ reason of course being that you loved your Baron taking ownership over you for anyone to see.  Clearly, prison had given him much more creative ideas than just fucking on a balcony or against the glass of a window.  

“Are you ready for me?” he asked in a hushed voice against your skin which seemed to be burning hot all of a sudden.  

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

It took a lot not to cry out as he pulled you down and filled you in one deep stroke, your nails digging into the leather of the chair’s armrests at either side.  But more than the sting of pain it felt so perfect, so fundamentally right, and just after your gasp of shock was a sigh of relief.

He sighed along with you and let his forehead fall between your shoulder blades, clearly a bit overwhelmed at being inside you again for the first time in so long.  “Draga...” he breathed, “not that I ever doubted… but you must have been faithful to me; you’re so tight, I know no one has touched you since I left.”

“Only you, sir, nobody but you,” you agreed breathlessly, eyes falling shut.  

He kissed your back as he started to move your body on top of his, the hands at your waist tightening and tugging on the remaining fabric of your dress.  “Tako dobro,” he hissed, “you feel so good, darling, you can’t imagine how long I spent dreaming of being inside you again.”

A tear rolled down your cheek, and it would be impossible to say for sure what caused it— a little bit of everything, really.  

Opening your eyes and noticing the way they were staring at you, you leaned forward and took each of the other men’s hard cocks in your hands, stroking in time with the way you bounced your hips on top of Helmut’s.

The both of them had been on the edge for a bit too long, Sam already biting his lip as James thrust himself up into your palm.

“Fuck, please,” James moaned, “I need to come in your mouth.”

“Come closer then,” you breathed, watching him stand up and bring his cock right to your lips which you eagerly gagged on, any pretense long gone as you sloppily sucked and stroked while Helmut thrust up to slam into you.

“Ohh, fuck, that’s it— gonna come,” he grunted as he reached up to press his hand against the ceiling of the jet, and it all must have hit him rather unexpectedly since the moment his musky taste began to coat your tongue, you heard a clanging sound and realized he had pushed up so hard that he bent the steel interior, his other hand tightening into a fist in your hair.

You moaned happily as you swallowed every drop, still sucking even as James’ moans became loud and higher in pitch.

“Fuck, don’t stop, oh god,” he whined, cock throbbing even after he stopped filling your throat with come.  You reached between his legs and squeezed his balls a bit and you could tell his knees nearly buckled, causing him to finally pull back and tilt your chin up to stare down at you.  “You’re somethin’ else,” he panted, taking a moment to catch his breath before falling back and slumping into his chair.

You looked over at Sam and saw his hand was still lazily guiding yours to stroke over his cock although come already painted his abs and dripped down from his swollen head over your fingers.  “Can I clean up your mess, please, daddy?” you asked, voice a bit hoarse though you couldn’t be sure if that was from the deepthroating or just how hard Helmut was fucking you now.

Pulling your hand back, Sam’s eyes followed as you lapped the thick, hot come from your hand, moaning openly at the taste.  You sucked your fingers down into your throat, not leaving a drop behind.

He leaned back in his chair and began to catch his breath, both of them now staring at you with that exhausted, glazed-over expression.  They looked satisfied, and you considered it your reward for a job well done.

"A belly full of come and a pussy full of my cock, you must be feeling ecstatic," Helmut presumed.

"Yes, sir," you agreed quickly.

All at once he began to fuck you faster, harder, deeper which you hadn't even realized was an option.  He growled a string of the filthiest curses in your ear, in Sokovian so the other men wouldn’t understand, with one hand wrapped around your neck as the other pinched your clit almost too roughly.  Even in your native language you could barely understand it: how could you when he was so deep inside you?

“Will you come, draga?” he finally asked, voice rough with his own desperation.

“Not until you let me, sir,” you moaned, and he chuckled a bit.

“Good girl.”

But wow, the way he rubbed your clit was impossible to ignore, like he was trying to make your promise impossible to keep.  You tightened your jaw, moaning through your teeth now as you fought to keep your orgasm at bay.  

“Please sir, I need to come, please— so close, I’m so close,” you mewled.

“I won’t be much longer, either,” he warned.  "Too long without you has taken its toll, I need to finish."

“Inside me, sir, please,” you begged, “come inside me.”

You felt him nod against the back of your neck.  “Come for me,” he instructed simply, and as obedient as ever, you felt your walls pulsing as pleasure overtook you.  Not even meaning to, you threw your head back, and he had to hold you tightly to keep you from shaking too violently as the waves of sensation washed over you.

The heat of him spilling inside you warmed you from the inside out, making you smile happily through the fog of your high and intentionally tighten your walls around him.  He hissed and throbbed within you, his fingers digging into your hips now as he held you down against him.

He gave a few more lazy thrusts until finally slowing to a stop, both of you catching your breath eventually.

"My... accountant will be keeping my cock warm for the remainder of the flight," Helmut informed the other men, "I hope you don't mind?

"No, no, go ahead," James approved as his head fell back against his chair.

It was still quite a ways to your final destination so it wasn't much of a surprise that you ended up falling asleep in the Baron's arms, something you used to do every night that had been only a dream for years.  Perhaps this afternoon wasn't the reunion you expected, but it was somehow even more perfect than you could've ever wished for.

///

dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi = добродошла назад, љубави = “welcome home, love”

lutka = лутка = “doll”

draga = драга = “dear/beloved”

tako očajno = тако очајно = "so desperate"

tako dobro = тако добро = "so good"

[fang-wife]

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voyeur | m. izuku 

➳ tags ;; sub!izuku, dom!reader, watching hentai together?, reader is mean and nice </3, quirkless college au!izuku, corruption kink/religious guilt, unprotected sex/creampies, established relationship, afab reader

➳ wc ;; 2.1k

➳ a /n ;; @/sems-diarie made a post abt this a while ago n my brain wouldn’t let it be so. here we are </3 

➳ plot ;; izuku didn’t sneak you into your dorm to watch.. this with you. but he has a habit of letting you do what you like. 

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This is embarassing. 

He knows this is embarassing - more embarassing than he really cares to admit to. He should really know better by now then to let you do as you please. You’re always stringing him along with your schemes and plans and he loses sight of his morals. His standards. 

Then again, he doesn’t have any at this point. The point of him paying for this single dorm was so that he could have space to focus. It wasn’t to sneak you in when his R.A. wasnt looking. Even more then that, it wasn’t to do.. whatever this was. 

It’d be one thing if he was having sex. That’s a normal thing to do in college, to sneak your partner in and smash. But you’re you, and all you ever seem to have planned for him are hair-brained schemes. It’s what this feels like - when you sit on his twin size bed and pat the empty space next to you. The distrust in his expression makes you laugh.. He sighs and does what you’ve asked. 

“What’re you doing?” 

He sounds exasperated. You laugh - too pleasantly for him to be comfortable. You type something into the search bar. Green eyes widen, skin warm and blushing. 

“Wh-what’re you doing?” 

You laugh as you prop the computer on the bed. You grin at him, tucking yourself under his arm. The website mocks him, all black background and animated women with huge tits covering the screen edge to edge. 

“You know something, after you’re done using incognito mode - you’re supposed to switch out to regular search, you know,” you explain. Your hand rests on his thigh. Deku freezes. 

The sound of your voice has always been something of a vice. It gets a little raspy like this - sultry in a way that has him squirming. He doesn’t know what to do. He can feel the heat of your body. 

“Would you know my surprise when I borrow your phone to look up when the convience store closes,” you inch closer, press further “only to see..” 

He knows what you saw before you announce it. His skin feels like it’s on fire, tuning out whatever description you’ve been giving of what he chose to watch. 

Maybe it was the way he was raised - but he always had such a specific sort of guilt towards pornography. Always told himself he shouldn’t watch things like that, shouldn’t touch himself. Izuku had always been a good, well-behaved boy. Done the right thing even when it was hard. 

Meeting you had changed that, changed him. He found his body craving you when he couldn’t control it and he ended up here - watching porn and jerking off with his shirt in his mouth. It’s all come back to haunt him, really. 

“I’m not mad, y’know,” ― and your tone goes soft - it’s assuring enough that Izuku can whimper out an okay, but you’re not done ― “I’m just curious. Can’t we watch it together?,” 

“That’s ― !” 

You flutter your lashes him. 

“That’s?” 

He has a million words that he can say. That he should say. Bad, wrong, immoral. Words that belong at the end of the sentence to describe what he’s doing with you and what he’s considering. 

None of that comes out. 

“That’s.. too much” 

You grin at him. 

“Do you not want too?” 

“..I didn’t say that, it’s just -” 

Your hand squeezes his thigh until your stiletto's dig into them. Your mouth trails his jaw with hot, open mouth kisses until your turning his head to face you. A hand splayed on his face, tongue deep in his mouth. French kissing makes him pant - hands twitching eagerly to touch you. He watches, dazed - the spit trail of saliva that stretches between you two. 

He’s so easy, it’s cute. You press forward with a chaste kiss. 

“Show me what you were watching, Izuku,” 

His hand trembles as he leans forward. He remembers the title - doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. Within seconds, it shows up and he clicks. You lean forward too, observing the tags with a small smile on your face. 

“Milf, NTR, Gangbang,” 

“S-stop reading them!” 

You giggle. 

Without warning - you press play. Izuku finds himself frantic. Worried about the sound, the time, all of it - but you don’t seem to care. The AD comes on and you skip that too. It’s on. A familiar arousal blooms in his chest, the memory of what he’d seen appearing. You settle between his legs, your back pressed to his chest. You bring his hands around your waist.

“Let’s watch ~” 

Izuku face twists with displeasure. The plot nothing to ride home about - a lonely housewife goes out to a club and finds someone to take care of her needs. At first it’s just one stranger at the club - then two, then she’s surrounded and its too much. 

Izuku assumes you’re gonna find him disgusting, but when he looks at your face - you’re smiling, heart-beating in your chest. His eyes blow wide when you take his hand between your legs. You’re wet and you’re letting him touch you and he’s trying his hardest not to show how much he’s shaking. 

A little sigh of pleasure leaves your mouth when Izuku very carefully rubs your clit. It throbs under the pressure of big fingers - you hold his wrist and moan. He can hear the porn in the background but it doesn’t serve to distract him from you. 

“You want me to go n’ get fucked by a bunch of strangers, ‘zuku?” 

He shakes his head furiously. 

“Then you just like watching depraved shit, huh?” 

Unable to argue with you or with the the way his cock twitches and jumps in his jeans, he opts to whine. You can feel his it against your lower-back, the little wet-spot that presses to your thin tshirt. He’s too turned onto think properly - watching the way your body jerks and twitches. 

The woman on screen is stuffed to the brim with cock - it’s all over exaggerated he knows, but he thinks that’s why he likes it. Maybe he just likes the idea of fucking someone that stuffed fulled of cum, how it leaks and pours onto every surface and the way her cunt just seems to take it. And Izuku is such a good, well behaved boy - it’s never crossed his mind to think about doing it to you. 

And no, he doesn’t really want to see you get fucked by so many men but if there were more than one of him he’d be more than inclined to let you. His chest feels tight forgetting to breath. 

He thinks maybe you’re some kind of witch because you always seem to know what he wants before he does. The right way to push all of his buttons. 

“Oh, I see’ ― and he’s afraid of whatever words come out of your mouth next ― “you wanna fuck me full of your cum, Izuku? Wanna know how it feels raw?” 

He moans - loud and shameless and needy against your ear. A breathless laugh leaves your mouth because that’s exactly what he wants. He wants to fuck you full of cum, just picturing how good it might feel. 

You sit up on your knees and bend over a little - pulling short-shorts beneath the curve of your ass and thickest parts of your thigh. Your panties are drenched, clinging to your folds. He inhales sharply, frozen till as you lean forward - pulling them to one side. 

“Take your cock out ‘n fuck me then, baby” ― you challenge, dark and dangerous. Everything about you is so sinful and too tempting for him to ignore. His cock aches ― “Do your best”  

His body moves before he has a proper chance to feel shame. Whatever devils been whispering in his ear (read: you) has won whatever leftover dignity he has left. Without a proper word, his cock stands to attention. His hands are fidgety but they mange to settle on your waist. He guides you down on his dick, bottom lipped pulled between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. 

“Oh, fuck” 

He’s going to cum right away if he doesn’t take a breather. This is the first time he’s feeling you, and it feels so much better than he could understand. The lingering thoughts of the dangerous act silence by how tight and how wet and how willing your pussy is for him. The way your walls twitch - ache shamelessly around his cock. He’s fucking sliding in and out of you - it feels like a special privilege he’s done nothing to earn.

He’s shivering, over and over. When he looks down, he’s not all the way in. He’s not sure if he’s praying to god for the right reason - for forgiveness. All he can think about is how good it feels to be inside and how he absolutely doesn’t want to do anything else. 

“How’s it feel, Izuku?” 

He groans at the sound of your voice, the way you clench down on him and stretch so tightly around his shaft. He’s too wrapped up in the feeling of your cunt - like heaven and silk. 

“F-feels so, so good” 

Part of you thinks you should ride him, but another part of you is more interested in seeing how he fucks you. You snap the laptop closed and push it to the other side of the bed, before flipping around and laying on your back. His cock slips out and he snaps into reality - the way you have your legs in the air and your arms out. 

“I’ll let you fuck me as many times as you want today,” ― your legs reach and wrap around his waist, easily forcing his cock back inside ― “go on,” 

Izuku is a mess, really. His pants are only half-way pulled down and he’s wearing a nerdy graphic t-shirt. He’s borderline in hysterics over how good your pussy feels and can’t do anything other than thank you repeatedly and fuck you with an animalistic need. It’s clumsy like you’d expect, but he makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm. 

His cock is long and pretty - hits every spot you need it too. Izuku fucks you with shallow, sloppy thrusts - so needy and chasing his orgasm. Selfish and inexperienced. Every time he pushes forward, you can feel he’s throbbing. Aching to cum inside and unload. 

You reach a hand between the two of you to finish on your own time - planning on cumming before him. He doesn’t seem to care. 

“Ngh, ohh my god, feel’s’good” 

“Yeah? Gonna cum inside me, handsome? Makin’ such a pretty face for me” 

His stomach churns at the way you call him pretty. It sounds so sweet and adoring - but he knows that you’re a bully. He knows that about but fucks you with all his strength anyways - overly frustrated and fucked out of his mind by the feeling. Like a drug. He likes you so much he feels stupid over it. 

“Yeah, yeah ‘m gonna” 

Your own orgasm washes over you in a pleasant wave, squeezing his cock with force. He gasp and goes faster - all the thoughts washed away from his head. He needs to finish more than he needs anything. More than he needs to sleep for his 6am work-out and 8am class. More than he needs to be quiet because the walls of his dorm are paper thin. More than he needs to exercise self-control, he needs to cum so fuckin bad. 

“Look at me,” 

He follows your command, like always - and you look amused and fucked out just like he is. And Izuku has really never been this into anyone before so seeing you evokes feelings he can’t understand. 

“Oh, fuuck“ 

Briefly he understands that he really just came by looking at you, but nothing really makes sense to him. His eyes are heavy and he’s drooling onto your shoulder, spasming and clinging to your body with the most needy little whimpers. It’s so lewd, how he can feel his cum spurt out and coat your insides and his cock. It’s all so sinful but it feels so good, he can’t bring himself to care. 

“So,” ― you smile, full of mischief ― “if you want to be like that, we’ve got a few rounds to go” 

Izuku splutters at your comment and you laugh. He knows you’re not joking and he whines. You really are a bad influence on him. But with the way his cock is twitching to life again.. 

He might not be any better. 

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[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Loss

Summary: Your husband had to learn a lesson. That he would have to sacrifice your marriage by losing a bet to August Walker seemed something he just accepted. That he would lose you to August in that process wasn’t something he expected. 

Pairing: August Walker x F!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: gonna tag this as dub con to be safe, also: soft August (yeah just as surprising to me as it is to you) smut (Oral; female receiving, protected sex), mentions of a miscarriage, infedelity 

A/N: It’s been a hot minute. I’ve had this idea a while ago, but only now had the motivation to finish it. Hope you enjoy this wiiiiiild August journey

Masterlist

Taglist in reblog

Looking at your husband you tried to make sense of the words that had just come out of his mouth. You had been thinking about divorcing him before. He just wasn’t the man you had fallen in love with all these years ago. You didn’t care for luxury. You wanted the man back that you fell in love with. The man who stayed up with you at night, watching the stars, reading to you until you fell asleep.

The man was long gone.

He changed once you had moved to the states. His suits got more and more expensive and the time he spends with you got less and less. His answer for everything seemed to be to throw money at it. You had a big collection of jewelry, shoes, art, you name it. But all you wanted was him. At least you used to until you found out just exactly how he made his money.

Selling weapons on the black market.

“You lost a bet. And you bet me? What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m not your whore, I’m your wife.” you shook your head.

“Look I need you to do this one thing for me and then I’ll give you everything you want, honey.” He said exhausted, not looking you in the eye. You sucked your bottom lip in, your body shaking with rage.

“You want me to fuck a man I’ve never met before? And you’re okay with it? Just like that?” You fought back the tears threatening to escape. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll make it up to you. Everything you want.” He said quietly. He would get you anything you wanted? Fine.

“Everything I want?” you asked to be sure.

“Everything.” he nodded, finally looking at you. Almost 15 years ago you had looked into his green eyes for the first time. You always thought these would be the eyes of the man you would grow old with. But now all you felt was a disappointment.

“Fine. One night with me for this Mr. Walker for everything I want from you.”

This was really happening. It was a week later, you were sitting in your bedroom, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your husband had instructed you to wear the sexiest lingerie you owned. Shaking your head you heard a knock at the door.

“You ready?” your husband asked. You looked at him in the mirror. Even now he couldn’t meet your eyes.

“Don’t you feel the tiniest bit of guilt at whoring out your wife to some shady men you made business with?” you asked.

“I’m sorry…” he said quietly. Closing your eyes you got up from your seat, pulling the long silk robe you were wearing closer around your body. You wouldn’t be sleeping with the man. Not in a million years. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t gonna make your husband feel bad about it.

Stopping next to him you patted his chest.

“Maybe he knows how to make me cum,” you whispered against his ear before you walked out into the living room.

You always loved this house. It reminded you of your parent’s home. It was warm and you had spent so much time decorating it. Now, sitting on the sofa as your beloved husband welcomed the man he had practically sold you to, all you felt was cold. This hasn’t been a home for a long time.

Nursing the glass of champagne you ignored your surroundings, your mind trying to figure out when the last time was your husband had actually talked to you. When did it all go downhill? Even in the beginning when he started working with these shady people he had always made sure you were happy. You wanted to have a baby. That you were pregnant at some point but lost the child before the third month was something the two of you had never talked about after it happened. Only you and your therapist knew how much you mourned the loss of your unborn child.

“Mr. Walker, this is my wife,” you heard your husband say. Well... Showtime you joked to yourself, emptying the glass of champagne before you turned your head to look at the man who had entered the room.

“I know,” the man said quietly, his eyes not leaving yours. You knew him. He had been over a few times. You had never spoken to him, but sometimes it was like you could feel his eyes on you. He was tall, dark curls framing his face, but it was his eyes, that captured you. The light blue a contrast to the darkness that seemed to surround him. You didn’t get why he was wearing a mustache but somehow it seemed right.

“Mr. Walker,” you nodded and he held out his hand that you took, helping you up before he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. He released your hand, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as you swallowed the knot that had formed in your throat.

“Pleasure,” he winked and you breathed in deep. His eyes didn’t leave your face and you had almost forgotten that you weren’t alone when your husband coughed behind you.

“Scotch, Mr. Walker?” he asked. August shook his head.

“No. I’m not here to drink.”

“Did you forget your whored me out already?” you asked, looking at your husband before you walked past both of the men towards your bedroom.

“Honey…” he warned. You shrugged.

“Come on, Mr. Walker. I think we wasted enough time already.” You said over your shoulder, not waiting as you made your way down the hallway.

You left the door open, your confidence shrinking the further you went into the bedroom. Sucking your bottom lip in you knew that you wouldn’t stand a chance if August Walker would want to have sex with you. A shiver ran over your body and you jumped as the door clicked close behind you.

Slowly you turned around, looking at the man that leaned at the door. You were about to open your mouth to ask him how on earth he would think about even suggesting something like this when he sighed.

“I’m not here to fuck you. I’m merely here so that your husband learns his lesson.” He pushed himself from the door walking to the sofa that was in front of the big window overlooking the ocean. You watched him, as he sat down, taking out his phone, and began to read.

Unsure on how to proceed you sat down on your bed with a loud sigh. He merely looked up at you, a small smile on his lips before he focused back on his phone. That gave you time to look at him.

You had noticed him before when he came by, always wearing the most expensive suits. He always seemed calm, spoke quietly which made him somehow more dangerous.

“Is this something you do often?” you asked, hugging your knees, making sure you were covered by the robe you were wearing. He looked up, one eyebrow raised.

“Teaching people lessons?” You added sarcastically.

“Only if they think they can make a fool out of me. Usually, my lesson involves a more… physical approach, but I didn’t want you to suffer through his recovery.” He set his phone down on the sofa next to him.

“Maybe you should pick something he loves more than me to teach a lesson then. Like his scotch.” You rolled your eyes.

“He loves you.” Mr. Walker said. You chuckled.

“Yeah. Clearly he does. Mr. Walker would you let any other man lay a hand on the woman you love?” you asked. He looked at you and there was something in his eyes you couldn’t name. Longing? Desperation?

“I would kill the man who even dared to suggest such thing.” He said quietly, his eyes not leaving yours. You ignored the shiver that ran down your back. “And please call me August.”

“Well then, August,” you had to smile a little. “How does this work? How long am I to be at your pretend mercy?”

“I do like to take my time when I’m with a beautiful woman. So make yourself comfortable.” He winked and you rolled your eyes.

“Pretty full of yourself, huh?”

“I never had any complaints,” he shrugged.

“Ever thought people had been too scared to actually complain?” You tried to hide your smile, as August chuckled, shaking his head before he got up and slowly took off his suit jacket.

“I’d like to think the women I fuck are too satisfied to complain.” He folded the jacket, letting it hang over the sofa.

“Well if that’s the case I envy these women…” you whispered. He still stood there, in all his wide-shouldered glory, looking at you. Slowly you sat yourself up, crossing your legs as you lean with your hands back on the bed, supporting your upper body.

“You have a loving husband, I’m sure there’s….”

“What is it that you do August? Why did my husband get involved with you? Why… Why is everything more important to him than I am?” You shook your head. “Nevermind, don’t answer that.” You let yourself fall back on the bed, looking at the ceiling.

Minutes went by before he spoke again.

“Do you still love him?” August asked. You turned your head, seeing him still standing next to the sofa.

“I am in love with the man he once was. But the man out there? The man who asked his wife to sleep with a man because he lost a bet in some gambling? How could I love him?”

“He does love you.”

“He certainly has a funny way of showing it.” You grumbled.

“What do you miss most? About him?” August asked. You turned to your side, not caring if your robe wasn’t covering you anymore. Somehow you felt safer with August, only knowing him for an hour or so, than with the man you were married to.

“The way he used to look at me. How we could spend all night talking. How we used to not leave the bed all weekend. I miss feeling safe in his arms when we used to dance with him humming a song in the moonlight…” you closed your eyes.

“That’s a lot you miss,” August said quietly. You heard him come closer and you opened your eyes as he knelt in front of you.

“I’ve been lonely for a long time. He may love me, but I don’t think he is still in love with me. And I’m not with him.” You felt his hand on top of yours then.

“Come on.” He pulled you up from the bed and you let him.

“What?” You asked confused.

“Dance with me.”

Slowly you let him guide you to the middle of your bedroom, his hand holding yours until he stopped. Shuddering you breathed out before you looked up at him. His thumb rubbed circles over the back of your hand and like you had done it a million times before your other hand curled in the back of his neck. He was so close. He closed his eyes at your touch, breathing in deep, before his other hand came to rest on your back, slowly pushing you against him, before he began to lead you into a slow dance.

His eyes opened just when you decided to rest your head on his shoulder. Your fingers played with the hair in his neck and you may have imagined it, but you felt him shiver. You breathed him in, feeling a little dizzy feeling someone so close again. He kissed the top of your head.

“I wanted you since the first time I saw you almost a year ago,” he whispered. “You didn’t even know I was there when you were outside in the garden. I think you were cutting some flowers, wearing a blue summer dress. I watched you instead of listening to your husband who was trying to sell me god knows what.” You closed your eyes, letting him talk.

“He doesn’t deserve you. Fuck I don’t think I deserve you. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you and when he lost everything he had with him at the poker table I did the first thing that popped into my mind.”

You breathed in deep. Slowly his hand on your back had wandered lower, stopping just above the curve of your ass. You shivered.

“He told me I can get everything I want when I do this, you, for him.” You said quietly. “So to get what I want you to have to take what you want.” You looked up at him, seeing the storm in his eyes.

“How is the man that supposed to love me learn his lesson if he doesn’t suffer?”

“Don’t…” he growled.

“He thinks you’re fucking me, August,” you got on your tiptoes, whispering in his ear.

“Don’t you think he should hear how you fuck me too?” He released a breath, his hand finally running down, grabbing your ass as he pulled you even closer.

“I won’t be leaving his house without you afterward,” he said, making sure to look into your eyes.

“That’s good, cause I don’t want to stay here with him afterward.”

He closed his eyes, his hand releasing yours after he gently lay it down on his shoulder. He reached for your face, tilting your chin up before opening his eyes.

“How long?” he asked, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“How long hasn’t he touched you?” August leaned down, kissing your forehead, your temple, your eyes.

“At least a year…” you breathed out, melting against him.

“Fuck…” he cursed before his lips crashed down on yours. His hand caressed your face, pulling you closer as you held on to him. You parted your lips, moaning when his tongue slipped into your mouth. He tasted dark and dangerous and you didn’t want to live without tasting him ever again.

He tugged on the belt holding your robe together, pushing it off your shoulder as your fingers slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groaned against your lips before his mouth wandered down, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Pushing his shirt off his shoulders when you finished unbuttoning it your hands pulled his head down to kiss his lips.

“I want you on the bed. Legs spread,” he whispered, his voice deep and you whimpered as you turned away from him, walking over to the bed to lay down. You watched him, as he opened his pants, pushing them down, getting his shoes off in the process. One of your hands ran down your body, slipping in between your legs. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this wet. Rubbing slow circles over your still clothed clit you bit your lip as you watched him come over.

“Show me how wet this pussy is for me,” he demanded hoarsely. You bit your lip as he knelt on the bed in front of you. Pushing your panties to the side you heard him groan.

“Fucking soaked. Touch yourself,” he grabbed your ankle, slowly kissing up your leg as you teased yourself, wanting nothing more than his mouth on you. You cried out, when he playfully bit the inside of your thigh, both of his hands parting your legs wider.

“Make him hear you,” he smirked before his tongue licked through your slit. You threw your head back, your hands grabbing the bedsheet beneath you. He nibbled and sucked, his tongue driving your sheer insane.

“There… Right there…” you grabbed his hair, grinding your hips against his mouth. You felt one of his hands ran up your body as he looked up at you, his lips sucking on your clit. He pushed two of his fingers into your mouth, you sucked hard and almost biting him. He chuckled against you, his fingers leaving your mouth only to bring them down to your pussy as he released your clit.

“You gonna cum for me?” His fingers lazily circled your clit before he slowly pushed them into you. You parted your lips, breathing loudly, trying to maintain eye contact until he angled his fingers.

“Fuck August,” you cried out, surprised by the wave of pleasure that shot through your body.

“There it is…” he grinned. You moaned when he focused on that spot inside of you.

“I need…” you began only to moan loudly when his tongue was back on your clit. Your eyes flew open, your hands grabbing his thick hair.

“I’m gonna cum…” you cried out, moaning loudly when your orgasm washed over you, your legs shaking, your thighs caging August in between your legs. He moaned against you, devouring you like you were his last meal, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm until it became too much and you whimpered, pushing him gently away.

“Fuck me…” you whimpered, trying to normalize your breathing.

“That’s the plan,” he teased, grinning down at you.

“Fuck you,” you chuckled.

“Yeah, that too.”

You shook your head with a smile. He kissed up your body, stopping at your bra.

“Let’s get you naked so I can fuck you.” You sat up, letting him take off your bra. He pushed you down into the mattress, kissing the valley of your boobs as his other hand slowly pushed your panties down.

“I want you inside of me,” you pulled at his hair, earning a moan from him. “And I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Careful what you ask for, princess.”

“I want to feel you every time I sit down in the next days. I won’t break…”

“At least not today,” he winked before he pushed his boxers down. You bit your lip as he stroked his cock. It was bigger than any you had before.

“Condom?” you asked. He nodded, jumping off the bed to get to his pants.

“So you weren’t planning on this happening, huh?” You raised your eyebrow as he walked over, pulling the condom over his cock.

“Wishful thinking.” He slapped your thigh, hard and you whimpered.

“You liked that huh?” He slapped you again. You moaned, turning on the bed to get on your hands and knees.

“Don’t be gentle,” you reminded him, wiggling your ass as you looked at him over your shoulder. His eyes seemed to darken as his hands landed on your hips, pulling you towards him as if you weighed nothing.

“Say the word and I’ll stop,” he said before he entered you in one hard thrust.

“FUCK!” you cried out loudly.

“Still sure you don’t want me to be gentle?” He asked close to your ear as he bends down, his teeth pulling at your earlobe.

“Do your worst,” you clenched your inner muscles making him curse. He slapped your ass, hard.

“You’re such a bad girl, princess. What am I gonna do with you?” He kissed down your back before he pulled out and entered you again. You didn’t get time to answer when he began to fuck you. Deep and hard, just how you liked it. His fingers would leave bruises on your hips from the way he held you and you would wear these marks with pride.

“Such a tight fucking pussy. I knew you’d be the death of me…” he groaned. You let yourself fall on your elbows, the change of angle making you see stars.

“Shit I want to cum inside of this pussy. Mark you from the inside so every fucking man on this planet knows your mine…” He slapped your ass and you whimpered his name. It never felt like that. Sex never felt that good…

“I’m yours. All yours…” you moaned, your head pressed into the mattress to lower your moans. You felt him pull at your hair.

“No. Let me hear you. Let him hear what he lost when he put his job in front of the woman he loves.” One of his arms pulled your upper body up against his chest, his hand holding one of your boob

s as he fucked into you.

“August…” you cried out.

“That’s it. Cum for me.” He thrust faster, holding you close and pulled at your nipple. Your orgasm took you by surprise, like a tidal wave spreading over your whole body and August fucked you through it following you only moments later, biting into your shoulder, marking you as his.

You stayed there, in his arms, his cock still deep inside of you, the only noise in the room your heavy breathing. He kissed your shoulder softly, his lips wandering up to your neck until you turned your head and he kissed you.

“You really wanna get out of here?” He asked.

“If you’ll have me?”

August was standing next to the two suitcases you had packed that contained only some clothes you would need. You made sure to wear a strapless top so your husband could see the marks August had left on you. Your wedding band and engagement ring lay on your side of the bed.

“Ready?” August asked quietly. He was standing at the door. You nodded, taking one last look before you opened the door. Your husband was sitting across the door at the wall, staring up at you as you stepped out.

“Everything I want?” You said. He nodded with a small relieved smile until August stepped out of the door and you made sure your husband saw that you weren’t wearing your wedding band when you took August’s hand.

You looked down at him, seeing his face fall. Once upon a time you had loved this man. But this was before he had willingly sold you. Before he had neglected you. Before he had ignored you.

“Everything I want,” you squeezed August’s hand as you looked at your husband, seeing him nod slowly. You took one suitcase and August the other, bigger one. You saw your husband’s eyes wander up your body, stopping at the bite mark on your shoulder.

“Everything you want,” your husband said with a sad expression.

“Consider your debt paid,” August said, before he squeezed your hand. You looked at him then, his eyes on you and you couldn’t help but smile.

You didn’t know that this would be the beginning of something you had been searching for all your life. A life with a man at your side who would always put you first. And who would let the whole world burn before any other man would have the chance to even think about touching what was his.

[hewantshisbrideback]

Jonrya AU: Other Engagements

Summary: The remaining Starks gather some time after the Long Night is won to discuss possible plans for marriages and alliances. With Jon crowned King of the Wall, ruling under Daenerys, High Queen of Westeros, discussion of who will reign by his side as queen over the north is paramount. But Jon is not the only wolf for whom a match must be made.

“Proposals," Rickon groaned and tossed back his head, auburn curls glinting. "My spear is still crusted with blood, and we're already talking of politics?"

"And how long a grace period were you expecting?" Arya snorted, shaking her head. Her dismissive words were born partially of relief. 

She had been speaking with the washer women when Jon found her and pulled her away. He had lead her to a small, stony room, recently rebuilt, containing only two windows, a small side table of wood, and her siblings gathered around in a semi-circle as if for a ritual. 

Her hackles had risen in an instant, but Bran had quickly laid her greatest fears to rest. There was no new tragedy to break their hearts, no new disaster to ravage their land; only the tedious intricacies of a civil society.

“A longer one,” the boy groused. Arya imagined that in his mind, there was likely no tragedy more agonizing than such tedious complexities.

“Oh? Are you inconvenienced?” She tilted her head at him. "Shall we postpone rebuilding the kingdom until the armory's polished nice and new?"

"Can we?" He asked. For a moment it was difficult for her to tell whether he was serious. Maybe the boy didn’t know himself. She cuffed him lightly over the head with a scoff just to be safe, and the grin that broke on his lips was wild.

Still, she had to admit he wasn’t exaggerating. Hardly a moon had past since the last dregs of the Others had been sighted, had been felled, and already there were talks of contracts, engagements, and promises between names she recognized only from war letters and fireside whispers.

During the blight, there had been hurried ceremonies in Great Halls, like that between Princess Val of the Free Folk and the gentle Willas Tyrell. However, there was no need for hushed vows in torch-lit gatherings anymore. What was left of the nobility, and whatever names had been gilded by the Long Winter, would want feasts, balls, parades through the streets.

Arya thought she almost preferred a quiet cloaking in the night. Perhaps that was only natural. After all, she had been present for the wedding of Val and Willas, and no better a pair had been made than they.

She recalled what a sight they’d been: the free woman’s flushed cheeks painted orange with firelight, the lord of the Reach’s nervous brown eyes pinned to his bride’s easy smile, rapt and adoring. They had danced for only a short song, but they had whispered all throughout, and had been whispering to each other ever since whenever she saw them.

The warrior princess and her lord of roses. She could count at least three songs that had been written of them since, the battles the lady fought and the bed of flowers her lord laid down for her, but none of them noted how they made each other laugh, how they sat at each other’s side like old friends.

"Bran is right,” Arya blinked from her thoughts in time to see Sansa grimace and continue, “We may have put aside our differences to face a greater threat, but that won't make for a lasting peace now that the threat is extinguished.”

"Fine," Rickon groused, then pursed his lips, surveying the room sullenly. "So, we're looking to pick up a queen already?"

Arya flinched, eyes snapping to Jon. Perhaps Rickon had been right to moan and whine. She knew her cousin would be married off eventually, now that he'd had a crown foisted onto him, but the idea of helping select his bride settled like shards of ice beneath her ribs. She cursed herself. How selfish she was. Finding a queen for the North was in the best interest of all who inhabited it, and here she was, unable to look at this as of yet faceless woman as anything but another competitor for Jon’s attention.

"A queen for the North?" Sansa contemplated, sounding as equally troubled as Arya felt. Her hopes that Sansa might object in her stead were dashed in an instant. "I suppose it bears discussing--”

"We can't," Arya blurted, panic coursing through her like lightning. Her siblings turned to stare at her. She flushed under their baffled eyes. Swallowing her shame and clearing her throat, she leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. "Well, we can't. We can't start making decisions yet. Not on our own. The dragons. They have a stake in this, too."

Jon lingered on her for a moment. She held her breath, brow cocked defiantly, but he made a noise of agreement that showed she need not have worried. "That's true. I'm heir, second to Aegon. Daenerys lets me keep my name, but she will want a say in who shares our blood all the same."

"You're right. It may be one day that the children of your union and hers are married themselves," Bran conceded. “It won't do to decide without her.”

Her sister nodded, expression poised and thoughtful. "That’s true. I suppose there should be some talk between us and her, even Aegon perhaps, before we think about who would be a suitable choice.”

The ice in Arya's chest melted, soft like relief, but colder and heavier, and she made an effort to ignore the stab of resentment at her sister’s next words.

“Jon, you can send her a message, invite her to share her thoughts. Of course, you could always visit her in person as well, if she prefers it.”

Jon's jaw ticked as he nodded, eyes flickering towards Arya, only to snap away as if it burned when she returned his gaze. For a moment, she was petrified. Had he noticed? Had he noticed how upset this talk of queens had made her?

"Alright," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "I'll draft a letter after supper."

His words were disappointing, and his tone was resigned, but it was also familiar. She felt her heart calm. It was no use to fret, over any of it. They were close, and given all that happened, it only made sense for her to be worried. She shouldn’t be afraid for him to see it. 

And at least the decision itself had been delayed some, Arya thought, staring at the ceiling, even if only until Daenerys had enough time to consider the best use of her nephew.

"Great!" Rickon looked around at each of them. "That's that, then, isn't it?” Sansa tutted at him for his impatience, and Bran shook his head, and Rickon threw up his hands. “If we can’t do anything without the queen’s say-so, why stand here brooding over it now? Just wait until she tells you what to do."

“She’s not just going to tell us what to do.” Arya tried not to quibble over semantics with Rickon, as he was still learning the world of kings and courts, but she couldn’t stop herself this time. “Daenerys isn’t a tyrant. No doubt she has prospects in mind, but the choice is ultimately Jon’s.”

“Which is why it’s worth going over the options now,” Sansa added on, “to prepare ourselves for when we do make that decision.”

“And we will,” Bran intercut, "but we can afford to set it aside today. There are still some other arrangements we need to consider.”

“What arrangements?” Jon rumbled, but the stiff set to his jaw and the scowl inching onto his lips made it clear he had some idea and, evidently, disapproved already.

If Bran sensed his ire, he ignored it. “Arrangements for the rest of the Starks."

Arya blinked. She had seen the eyes of visiting nobles and their kin lingering on her brothers and her sister. Even she had received some curious glances. But somehow she’d still managed to overlook the obvious, managed to fool herself into thinking that they had more time.

“Are we really to be parted from each other so soon?” she murmured.

Bran gave her an appreciative glance tinged with grief, and in that glance she felt all those lonely years already spent apart, a splintered pack. After spending this many fighting so hard to reunite, she felt sick imagining any of her family leaving Winterfell. No wonder Jon was on edge.

“I don’t like it,” Rickon grumbled in tandem with her thoughts, and from the looks on everyone else’s faces, they weren't the only ones. 

Sansa had folded in on herself, a brooding edge to her perfect mouth, but with Rickon’s complaint, she moved beside him, tucking his stray red curls behind his ear, a gesture that smacked of their late mother to a degree which hurt.

“Nevertheless,” she muttered after a moment, hand retracting and interlacing with the other, but she could not bring herself to follow through and continue the thought. No one could.

The room was still and heavy with preemptive sorrow, until Arya could bear it no longer. What would they do, sit in silence in this room until the fire dwindled and the sun set? There were meals to be had and men to appease, even just this evening, and waiting wouldn't stall the inevitable. Bran knew that. They all knew that. Sucking in a solemn, silent breath, she asked, “So then which of us is to be married first? And to who?”

Sansa opened her mouth, face wilted with regret, but Bran shook his head dismissing her, and the rest of them mirrored him. There was no need for a defense to be made.

“I’m well aware of the union between you and Sandor Clegane,” Bran assured her. “I would never ask you to break your vows. Aside from this, your first two marriages would have diminished your prospects regardless, one of which still needs to be annulled. Sansa is not an option. I mean you no offense, sister."

Sansa did not look offended. If anything, her expression spoke to some small, secret amusement. Arya was just glad that she wasn't weeping.

“No,” Bran continued, “by now, the attention of our allies has wandered to our other sister, Princess Arya.”

Arya was still beneath her brother’s cool, blue stare. She used to squirm whenever someone referred to her title aloud. By now, she’d nearly grown used to it. After all, she’d answered to far too many ill-fitting names to abandon Arya Stark for her accompanying titles, so she wasn’t left with much choice. 

Now, something in her felt hollow, as though if the wind began to blow, it would whistle through her insides, and she’d be able to hum without using her mouth.

“They intend to offer their sons to Arya." Jon's words were slow and pointed and metered all the way through. “Have they no daughters for you or Rickon?”

“I did not say that they are not looking out for their daughters as well,” Bran reasoned, just as slowly and emphatic as his cousin had. “But of the three of us, Arya is the most attractive option. She cannot give them a royal title, but it’s no secret what she means to you, and the North at large, or that she’s earned the favor of Daenerys. Every wifeless heir on the continent will be interested.”

She must’ve imagined the way his fists clenched. Jon was smart. Men underestimated him, always, but he was smarter than all of them. He should've expected this, even if, somehow, she hadn’t. Of course suitors would seek a princess’s hand. It would not matter to them whether that hand was supple or calloused. Jon knew that. If he didn’t, he should’ve.

If the world had taught her anything, it had taught her that nothing staves the ambition of powerful men. Not even death. Not even ugliness.

“Good.” The word startled her, even more than her sister’s soft hand suddenly pressing to her cheek. But she smiled, albeit with closed lips, as Sansa's furrowed gaze swept over her features like she'd never seen them, like she was trying to absorb all she could for safe keeping. “You’ll have your pick of the lot.”

“Septa Mordane would be quaking to hear such talk of Arya Horseface,” Arya snorted in response, provoking a wry smile from Bran, an expression she sheepishly mirrored.

“Be serious, Arya,” Sansa huffed with a noble frown, hand falling from her face to clutch her wrist in earnest. Arya adjusted her clasp so that they held hands instead, and Sansa's thumb swept the back of her hand in search of comfort. “That silly, old nickname couldn’t be more ill-fitting. You’re quite pretty now.”

Jon made an ill-tempered rumbling noise, and Arya wanted to press him, but refrained in front of the others. He’d been reserved since he was a child, but ever since the Long Night began, he’d been downright secretive. She wouldn’t pry, at least not until she’d gotten him alone.

“It’s true," Rickon cut in, offering a rakish grin. “You should hear the free folk talk of you, sister. They say such things I’ve had to threaten to gut near half of them. They might’ve tried to steal you already, if they weren’t so frightened of Jon. And me, too, of course!”

The others stiffened, but Arya saw his assurance for what it was and spared a moment to thank the old gods for her littlest brother. Though her gratitude didn’t prevent her from rolling her eyes.

“The freefolk have a might different set of standards than the noble lords of Westeros. I can only hope that my reputation is not too far spread. It’s too much harder to see a she-wolf wed than a proper lady,” she drawled, letting go of Sansa as she paused and turned to him with a shrug. “Though I suppose in another world, a marriage with some wily freefolk warrior might've suited, and done well to unite the North.”

Rickon puffed up with pride, though on behalf of whom she had no idea.

“You can’t be serious,” Sansa huffed, then turned an admonishing glare on her brothers. “I know that you have all grown quite fond of the wildlings, having spent so much time with them, but however helpful they’ve been, there is hardly a suitable match for a lady amongst them.”

“A princess, now,” Bran reminded her, and Sansa nodded firmly.

“Suitable how?”  A sneer curved on Rickon's mouth. “I’m not the one who wants to marry her off, but a free man can be good as any lord of Westeros. It wasn’t a wildling who tortured the poor girl in Arya’s stead, was it? And your good Joffrey was a prince. It seems that didn’t stop him from being vile.”

“Rickon!” Arya snapped in warning.

The youngest Stark stared her sister down, burning as remorselessly as the sun, but Sansa’s face was stone and her eyes blue flint.

“That is not what I meant,” she amended calmly. “Of course, the wildlings are no more capable of cruelty than the rest of us. That being said,” her words sharpened to points, like they were her talons, "the lords of Westeros will not stand to see one Stark sister married to a former knight and the other to a wildling. Not when order has just been settled and peace is still in question. If we marry Arya to a wildling, we spit in the faces of our Northern lords and our Southron neighbors both.”

“Aside from that, we don’t need another tie to the free folk,” Bran noted mildly. “With Tormund in our council, Val in the reach, and Jon their chosen king, their loyalty is as guaranteed as we could hope.”

Arya shrugged. “Well, as far as I've heard, if I were to be stolen, I'd hardly be in a position to refuse."

"Perhaps not, but I don't think Jon would be all too pleased to wake up and find you stolen by one of his subjects." Bran was watching Jon as if it were his sole, solemn duty. "I imagine they'd only get so far before he stole you back."

Jon flinched violently and it was a shock, how pale and harrowed he looked. 

"It’s not like anyone could ever steal me away in the first place," Arya reminded him quietly, and when he looked at her, his mouth was pressed into a bitter facsimile of a smile.

“Unfortunately,” Rickon mumbled, and when Sansa and Jon simultaneously turned to glare, he merely scuffed his foot against the ground defiantly. "I mean it. At least then she could've stayed in Winterfell.”

Ridiculous boy. Arya nearly pulled him into a hug, but Bran interrupted her before she could move and his next words kept her still.

"It's not entirely out of the question,” he professed. “It’s possible she’ll find a suitor who will be able to reside in the North."

Arya felt her heart stutter. “You mean, like someone who’s not an heir?”

“No,” Sansa asserted. “If you snub the heir of one house for another’s second son, their entire territory will take it as an offense.”

“No, I was not specifically thinking along those lines,” Bran amended. “There are those with other circumstances under which you may be able to remain.” His eyes slid curiously to one of the windows as he tilted his head. "Ned Dayne, for example. We’ve received word that he intends to act in service to the Queen’s Greater Westerosi Council. You get along well, don't you?"

Jon stepped forward before she could reply, straightened to his full height. His stare was locked on her, stark and unyielding against the pallor of his cheeks, like stones atop snow dunes. "How do you know the Sword of the Morning?"

Arya felt apprehension tighten like a cord around her throat.

This had been the way since they’d reunited.

When Jon introduced her to his allies, she’d beamed like the sun. They had delighted her, despite her jealousy, for all the years she’d spent apart from him, that he’d been with them instead. The jealousy didn’t matter as much as the relief that he’d found friends. She took them as her own. She had been excited for him to do the same with hers. She had been so sure he would, it hadn’t even felt like hope. She’d just known.

But when she brought Jon to Gendry, explained who he’d been to her, he met the smith with suspicious words and a dark glare. When she told him of Hot Pie, or Lommy, or Weasel, or any of the number of sailors and whores from Braavos, he answered only with sarcasm and silence. And the Hound...

Now she’d be the first to point out that Sandor Clegane had not been her friend, or her ally, when they first travelled together. But she would also admit, begrudgingly, that he’d become something close by the time he accompanied her to the Wall with the Brotherhood. Jon had known that. Still, when Sansa brought the Hound into their home as her husband, Arya had heard the King of the Wall bellowing his objections from the other side of Winterfell.

"We travelled together, for a time," she replied carefully. Her tongue suddenly felt too big for her mouth. "Not very long.”

“When?” he prompted impatiently.

“When I was with the Brotherhood,” she confessed, “back when it was still lead by Beric Dondarrion.”

“You didn’t say anything.” In other circumstances, these words might’ve been a mere observation, or even an expression of concern, but here and now, they were an accusation.

He had mentioned the Sword of the Morning to her before in passing, but by that time, around the time poor Morgan Umber started running away whenever she waved in his direction, she had heard just about everything he had to say about her friends. So she had decided not to mention it. That would be easier.

Except now it looked like she’d been keeping secrets. She cursed the gods and all they stood for. “He wasn't the Sword of the Morning then — just a boy."

"Oh, just a boy," Rickon snorted. "Just another boy, you mean?"

Jon glowered but said nothing.

"That's right," Sansa tittered, with a sudden little smile. "You’ve collected so many. The blacksmith, the baker. Even that boy from House Umber. And now, the heir of Starfall."

"Gendry wouldn’t be a bad match either," Rickon piped up, a grin forming. Like Jon, he had been wary of the smith when Arya first introduced them, but unlike Jon, that had since changed. There was a higher degree of respect between the Free Folk and the Brotherhood than between either of them and any of the other factions. They worked together more easily, and more often, and Rickon was always with Osha and the free folk. Between this growing familiarity and Gendry's formidable reputations both as the Bull of the Brotherhood and the Arm of Stoneheart, a friendship had formed.

Her sister, on the other hand, had been entirely lukewarm when it came to the blacksmith. It was clear she saw him as beneath Arya’s station, but he was useful and she’d kept any complaints to herself, likely as recompense for Arya’s support for her and Sandor. This worked in Gendry’s favor as Sansa hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, only saying, "Who knew your habit of collecting strays would come so in handy?"

Arya's cheeks warmed. "They're not strays."

Rickon shrugged. "Not anymore, I suppose.”

"They're allies!” She insisted. “They're vital allies."

This time, Bran shrugged. "They can be both," he suggested innocently.

Arya growled and whacked his shoulder gently, turning to Jon for even a drop of support, but the only thing she found was frustration marring his brow. They were stalling again, wasting time. Arya sobered. She felt a bit like a child, finding Jon so troubled and having been so oblivious.

"Jon?” she ventured. “What are you thinking?"

He was quiet for a moment and she thought he might scold them, but instead he responded, "It's as Sansa said before. A knight is hardly a suitable match for a princess, let alone a smith."

Arya prickled at his words. True as they may be, in the political sense, the insinuation that her friends were somehow beneath her would never sit well with her. She knew that Jon was just being practical, that he had too much sense to hold a man's status against his character. 

But then, he seemed to make many exceptions to sense when it came to those she cared about. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to marry Gendry, but she knew she’d prefer him to most, and she wasn’t about to let Jon discount him without objection.

"Gendry isn't just a smith.” She reminded him stiffly, fighting to remain civil as he huffed and turned away. "He leads the Brotherhood without Banners. He has earned the respect of Westeros.”

"And the smallfolk adore him. He's not just some war hero to them," Rickon added eagerly, looking to her, and she nodded him on. “He means something more. The whole Brotherhood does. They love them.”

"And he may not be a lord, by his own choice," Arya concluded, "but he is a Baratheon. That could mollify at least some of the lords."

"And would it mollify Daenerys? Or Aegon?" Jon snapped. "When it was a Baratheon who killed their family and sent them into exile in the first place? I may be their kin but I can only do so much to protect you."

"I thought that Daenerys granted immunity and legitimacy to Robert's children in exchange for recognizing Targaryen rule?" Sansa asked, hands moving to her hips. "Even Edric Baratheon has bent the knee."

"So how do you think she feels about Gendry, then, the only bastard to refuse her offer of a title and land? And the leader of a band of fools," Jon spat the word like it tasted foul on his tongue, "who reject the authority of anyone who wears a crown?"

Why Jon was suddenly spouting hostility at the Brotherhood he'd vocally appreciated during the war, Arya wasn't sure, but as much as she took issue with his slander, it wasn’t the time to bring it up. "If Daenerys does see the Brotherhood as a threat, then a marriage between us could be a means of establishing peace before a conflict breaks out...”

The look Jon gave her was that of a wounded animal with its prey cornered. She forgot what she had been about to say.

"If you think," he hissed, "that I'm going to risk your life on the premise that it might prevent disputes between that menace and the Crown, then I am going to have to disappoint you."

"And what of Edric Dayne?"

Arya could only watch as Jon turned away to face her sister, whose chin jutted out defiantly at the king. That imperious timbre sent shivers down Arya’s spine. She hadn’t heard her sister take such a lofty tone with Jon in ten years.

Jon, on the other hand, just sounded irritated. "What of him?"

"As a candidate for Arya's husband,” Sansa deadpanned, as unamused with him as he was with her. “Is something wrong with him?"

"Is this not the boy that used to traipse around with the same Brotherhood?" Jon enunciated his words as if he was speaking to someone extraordinarily slow and particularly annoying, and if his goal was to offend, then by the way Sansa bristled, he had succeeded.

"His involvement with the Brotherhood was minimal, contingent on his position as Ser Dondarrion's squire, and has already ended," she pointed out hotly. "It would have to, either way, seeing as he's not just a lord, but the heir to Starfall." 

"And you think as the heir to Starfall, he and his bride will not be obligated to return to Starfall?" Jon replied just as impatiently. "He could afford to pick up the mantle of Sword of the Morning and run around the continent as a knight during the war, but do you truly think he will forfeit his responsibilities at the behest of a girl he knew when he was a squire?"

"But what if he forfeits his claim? If he intends to work for the council, he will."

"Then there is no guarantee he settles here."

“Oh,” Sansa made a cruel, ladylike sound, something like a laugh but not. "Is that all?"

The whites of Jon’s eyes had never been so visible. "Is that all?"

"Is that all, that she may have to leave? Is that your only qualm?"

"He offers her nothing!"

"He's a lord. He's an heir." Sansa lifted a finger with each point she made. "He's a war hero. He's a celebrated ally to the Martells, and to the Targaryens!"

Jon scoffed, loud, and so unlike him at all that Arya's jaw fell a little. "If a king with Targaryen blood is not enough to guarantee peace with the Targaryens, then a marriage to Edric Dayne will do no better! He offers her nothing!"

"He offers her security and kindness!" Sansa roared, calm breaking like the sea against cliffs. "He and Arya are not just familiar with each other — they're friends. Do you understand how rare and precious it is? As far as safety and happiness can go, there's no better assurance than that."

"What of our assurance?" Rickon snapped, stepping into line with his cousin, opposing Sansa. "We can offer her better than that."

"Exactly, Rickon!" Jon crowed, towering above them all even as he leaned in to emphasize his point. "Her family, in Winterfell, is better than that."

Her sister sputtered at his malice, turning to Arya, but she could only stare back, face still slack with surprise. Helpless, Sansa seethed, shaking her head at them all. "And so, what? She will never marry anyone?"

"I don't see why she has to," Rickon grumbled, but Arya barely heard him as Jon crossed over to her, took her by the shoulder, and tucked her into his side. "At least right away.”

"She doesn't," Jon agreed, gaze soft and raw, as if he’d been stripped bare and bleeding before her and didn't mind at all. What was she supposed to do? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Time? But then he said, “She won’t.”

Sansa shrunk back as if slapped and Arya stilled under his arm. This was a voice she'd only heard him wield on the battlefield, or in court, deep as a wolf and imperious as a dragon. He had never been the king with them, not with his family, no matter how they'd fought or what over. But now, he’d raised his head to look at Sansa with narrowed eyes, and did not seem to see a cousin at all.

He continued steadily, "We have every right to keep her."

Sansa’s teeth were small and peeked out from her mouth like she wanted to run but when she met Arya's gaze, her mouth shut. She straightened her posture, her chin dipped low and humble this time. "You are a Targaryen king, but you're not her head of house. You may have a say, but the final word is Bran's."

Jon’s grip tightened and Arya winced as he positioned himself between the two sisters, almost as if to make sure Sansa wouldn’t reach out and grab her.

"Oh, did you forget?" she asked, so elegantly applying salt in the wound.

"It seems Bran has," Arya interjected. "Surely he has something to add?"

She looked to her brother, silently imploring, but he merely made a contented hum. Part of her wanted to tear her hair out, another wanted a go at his. She did not see what was so amusing about their siblings spitting and hissing at one another over her marriage prospects. Jon and Sansa were volatile enough as it is, some days managing genuine cordiality and others only just barely maintaining a facade of civility. This couldn’t help.

"Bran will do what's best for Arya," Jon spoke on his behalf, drawing her even closer, so her chest was pressed to his ribs. His heat warmed her like a furnace. "I trust him with that much. He loves his sister."

"And I don't," Sansa inhaled, eyes wide and stepping back. "That's what you mean, isn't it? Be honest with us, Jon. Arya and I have made our peace and moved past our childhood quarrels, but clearly, you haven't. You still hold them against me, don't you?"

"It's nothing like that," Arya assured her with a furrowed brow, gesturing for her cousin to corroborate. Jon didn't say a word.

Sansa looked down at her and soon deflated. "What would you know? He's an entirely different person to you.” She turned back to Jon, her voice low and scathing. “You’re making me look like a villain for suggesting she marry at all, but I’m just trying to find her someone who will be good for her before it’s too late. I will not allow her to suffer like I did.”

"No, you would just exile her from her home, to live with strangers.” There was no room for argument. There never had been. “Arya has been away from home long enough without you sending her away once more."

"Away from home, or away from you?”

She might’ve said more, she must’ve said more, and Jon must’ve said more too, but Arya couldn’t stand to hear another a word of it. What was the point of this bickering and bullshit? All the while Bran just sat there with that inscrutable certainty as his eyes trailed after Jon, and what did any of it matter?

“Enough!” she howled, pushing at his chest and ripping out of Jon’s reach.

His arm hung in the air for a moment, expression hurt, but she didn't have the time to be sorry.

"Were either of you going to ask me what I thought? Or are you two happy assuming you know what's best for me, as well as the North, and the rest of the kingdoms?" she snapped. Sansa, Jon, and even Rickon all began speaking at once, but she'd had enough of listening for an entire week. “Shut up! I’m sick of it. I’m sick of all of you.” She sneered. “What a waste of time.”

Sansa objected, and Jon tried to defend himself, but it had been, nothing but a waste of time and a strain on their throats. If this was the way things would go, she was better off being stolen by the free folk. She was half tempted to leave her window open in invitation. They might not even have to bind and carry her.

"We are not going to make these decisions in a single evening," Bran's voice raised now, cutting through the clamor like a sword through cloth. "I knew that when I brought it up. Although, I had thought we'd at least get the chance to discuss some of the prospects for Rickon and me. But that can wait for now. We have other engagements to attend to.”

"Right," she croaked. Meals and men. Meals and men. She was supposed to meet with Ser Davos and Lord Manderley. Through the window, the sky was orange. She swallowed, but her throat kept dry. "I'm already late. I have to go.”

She moved to leave, and Jon moved to follow, but Bran called out and asked him to wait as the door swung shut behind her, and that was the last she allowed herself to hear before breaking into a sprint.

X

@mysticalmuddle This isn’t the fic I was talking about before, but I thought you might like to be tagged anyway, seeing as you’re basically the sole reason I ever post my fics! Thank you for all your encouragement, you are amazing.

[honeypiehotchner]

illicit affairs (Spencer Reid one-shot)

This is wayyy overdue! It’s just been sitting in my drafts, waiting for me to edit her, but she’s finally here. This is very loosely based on Taylor Swift’s song of the same title. And it’s 100% me writing out some feelings through fanfiction, so it’s also loosely based on true events. Enjoy!

Summary: You and Spencer have been “dating” without a label for a few months now, until you witness something that has you wondering if it was too good to be true (as always).

Warnings: it’s so dramatic. Angst with a happy ending!

Spencer has no fucking clue what he did.

Well, to be more accurate, Spencer has no idea if he even did anything at all.

One second the two of you were acting as normal as ever, attached at the hip and nothing less, and the next you’re barely able to look at him. You won’t speak to him, you insist you’re fine, and you ask him to leave you alone -- please.

A new case comes and he thinks things will fall back into their rightful place. He expects you to sit with him on the plane, but you choose the farthest seat away from him. He expects you’ll be paired with him when he says he’ll go to the local station to work on victimology, but instead you agree to Morgan’s offer to look at the crime scene.

He’s desperate. He’s a so-called genius, and he’s losing his mind.

“Morgan, help me out here, man,” Spencer pleads, cornering Morgan when he’s getting a coffee. He’s just returned from the crime scene with you, but of course, you’ve ducked away from Spencer.

Derek’s eyebrows raise. Slowly, he turns around, eyeing the desperate genius. “You’re asking for my advice?”

“She won’t talk to me,” Spencer whispers, eyes cutting to you, but only for a second. He doesn’t want you to think he’s creepily staring at you all the time. So far, you haven’t caught him (that he knows of).

“Well, what did you do?” Morgan asks like the answer should be blatantly obvious.

“I don’t know!”

“Alright, let me rephrase that for you,” Morgan’s tone is bordering on teasing, but he can’t help it. The resident genius of the BAU is having trouble talking to a woman. Who knew? “Have you done anything that would lead her to believe you’re not interested in her anymore?”

“What? No!”

“Think, Reid,” Morgan replies, tipping his cup of coffee in the air. “And when you figure it out, apologize.”

He leaves without another word. Morgan joins you and Emily back in the room where the team has set up base. You share a particularly heated look with Morgan, but he shakes his head, letting you know he didn’t betray your confidence. You relax.

Spencer doesn’t know this, but earlier when you were riding with Morgan to the crime scene, you confided in him.

It had been completely accidental. Something about car rides brings out the need to ask for advice. Maybe it’s the fact that there’s the road to focus on, or the case to segway into, you don’t know. But what you do know, is that when you confided in Morgan, he shook his head, and called Spencer a dumbass.

“Hypothetically,” you had begun, and Morgan remembers wondering if you were going to talk about the case, but you didn’t. “If you’ve been talking-- flirting with a guy and going on a few dates over the past few months -- but there’s no label -- but so if you’ve been doing all this and then you suddenly see him outside his apartment hugging another woman -- like arms around her waist kind of deal, face in her neck...what does that mean?”

Morgan had nearly slammed on the brakes. Reid? A two-timer? He never would’ve guessed. The kid could barely get his words out when he first met you, and now he’s playing you?

“Well, hypothetically,” Morgan played into your game. “I’d be suspicious. Personally, I don’t just hug any woman like that if I don’t have other intentions,” he shook his head. What you’re describing is intimate, especially for Reid. “You’re right to think something else is going on.”

“Who said it was about me?”

Morgan looked at you with his usual knowing stare. Sometimes you forget you’re all profilers. You’ve made deals not to profile one another, but you’re sure it still happens. You all have another silence agreement to never voice it aloud, unless needed.

“Fine,” you caved, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know, I just-- I was going to drop off his stupid jacket that he left in my car the night before, and I saw him hugging her right on his doorstep and she kissed his cheek and I just-- I bolted. I don’t know.” You had let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought he was different.”

“If it helps,” Morgan shrugged, “I’ll kick his ass.” He might protect Reid like a mother hen, but he’s not afraid to give him a hard time, either.

“No, no, don’t,” you groaned. “I’m just gonna keep my distance. No sense in putting effort into something that clearly is never going to happen.”

“Oh, come on, don’t talk like that,” Morgan said. You used to talk that way all the time when you first started at the BAU, but it slowly died out the more you hung out with Spencer. Morgan connected the dots, but never told you.

“You know I’ve never been in a relationship?”

This time, Morgan did slam on the brakes.

“What?”

“Never,” you shook your head, motioning for him to keep driving. “Not one. They all fall through. I started thinking something was wrong with me, you know?” Morgan gave you another look, his sad, big brother one this time. “But then Spencer and I started getting closer, he took me on what I thought, I guess, were a couple of dates. I mean, he paid and drove and walked me to my door and all that cute shit. That’s a date, right? I mean, he never kissed me on the lips, but it’s Spencer.” You didn’t even look to see Morgan’s reaction, but he was nodding. “I started to think maybe it was never me, maybe it was the guys--”

“It was the guys,” Morgan argued. “Alright? You’re amazing. Anyone would be lucky to have you. It would be a damn honor. Don’t let that head of yours convince you otherwise.”

You shook your head, the crime scene rapidly approaching. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

You were out of the car and introducing yourself to the police on the scene before Morgan could even blink.

Morgan can only hope Reid had a good reason for having a woman at his door and hugging her, and letting her kiss his cheek. Reid doesn’t give hugs to just anyone, let alone accept a kiss, so whoever it was, obviously she was more than a friend.

The thought of Reid being a player makes Morgan smile. On the one hand, he’s a little bit proud. On the other, he’s pissed. It’s one thing to have one night stands with women who are into that sort of thing, but it’s another to drag someone along -- someone like you, someone who is too good, who deserves better than that.

Morgan had thought about telling you to just talk to Spencer, in hopes that there was a good reason for what you saw, but you’ve made it painfully clear over the past two weeks that you’d rather keep your distance instead.

So, he lets you. He can’t say that he blames you, really. Not after what you told him. He can only hope Spencer will figure this one out before it’s too late.

+++

After the case is closed and you’re back home, you immediately head for the shower. Cases are exhausting enough, but avoiding Spencer made it worse. Going from being attached at the hip to trying to be anywhere except in the same room as him took a toll on you. Not to mention, dodging everyone else’s worried looks. Morgan is the only one you’ve confided in, but that hasn’t stopped Hotch, Emily, JJ, and even Garcia from constantly asking if you’re alright.

Once you’re finished showering and in your pajamas, you head back to the living area. Spencer’s forgotten cardigan lays on the arm of your couch, lonely.

You know you shouldn’t, but you shrug it on anyway. No harm in wearing it. Not like he misses it. He probably has a hundred others.

You head to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, hoping it’ll soothe your nerves and help you drift off to sleep before your mind has the time to make you think of Spencer.

Too late.

Sighing heavily, you place the kettle on the stove. You hum a song while you’re at it, knowing that you’re being endlessly dramatic.

It’s not like you had sex with Spencer. Hell, the most the two of you did was hold hands and you kissed his cheek. He kissed your head once, though you think it was an accident.

Still, there was never a label. Why are you so upset?

Don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby/Look at this idiotic fool that you made me

It’s stupid, really, how hung up you are over this. A few dates don’t exactly mean anything at all. Flirting nowadays can mean nothing, too. You don’t understand any of it.

You cup your cheek gently, foolishly wondering what it would feel like if Spencer’s hand was there instead -- maybe even as he kissed you, but you don’t want to get too carried away. It’s not like anything will ever happen now.

And you know damn well/for you I would ruin myself/a million little times

Maybe you just need more time. This was the first time in a long time that you had let your guard down, let yourself go on dates. So many times it had all gone wrong, so you closed yourself off and focused on your career. You thought since you were stable at the BAU that now it was okay.

You thought Spencer -- Spencer Reid, of all people, you really thought he would’ve been different.

Maybe it’s just your type. Maybe that’s who you attract. The men who don’t want anything serious and never will. They’re stuck in Peter Pan mode. You must be Wendy. It must be a curse.

The kettle boils and you cut the burner off, fixing your tea.

You’re just walking back to the living room when there’s a knock on your door. You freeze, your panicked mind expecting the absolute worst, until you hear Spencer’s voice.

“Y/N?” He calls out. “It’s Spencer-- You probably knew that already.”

You smile into your tea, but you make no move for the door. You want-- no, you ache to let him inside, but you know it’s a bad idea. He’s probably here to ask if you’re alright, and you don’t have the energy to answer him. He’s probably going to go back to his girlfriend after this. You really don’t know that you can handle a face-to-face rejection.

“Y/N, please,” Spencer says again, pleading. He knocks once more, quietly. “I see lights are on, so I’m just going to...assume you can hear me.”

You walk a step closer. You don’t want to let him inside, but maybe you can listen. That won’t be too bad, right?

“Y/N, I’m...I’m sorry.”

Oh, tears. Stupid, stupid tears. You wipe them on the sleeve of his cardigan, glad that they’re at least falling quietly right now.

“I don’t know what I did, but I’m...I’m just sorry and I miss you and it’s killing me that you won’t even look at me. I…” Spencer pauses, and you walk closer, biting on the sleeve to keep from letting out a sob. “I’m sorry, I don’t… Please, just tell me what I did.”

You press your back to the door, sliding down until you hit the floor. You keep your knees against your chest and set the mug of tea down next to you. The noise causes Spencer’s ears to perk up.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Spencer,” you barely speak loud enough for him to hear. “It’s me.”

“Please, tell me what I did,” he pleads, voice breaking. Is he crying, too? “I don’t know what it was, but I’ll fix it. Or I’ll try-- Please, let me try.”

“Spencer…” You sigh, tears falling down your cheeks with no restraint. “Be honest with me, are you seeing someone else?” You pause, choking on a sob. So many times you’ve had this conversation, the rejection, finding out you weren’t the one they wanted. Too many times. But none of them ever hurt this bad. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” Spencer nearly falls over. Why on earth would you think that? “What are you talking about? Of course not.”

“Don’t lie to me, please,” you groan, pressing your hand to your forehead. This is pathetic. You shouldn’t be showing him how upset you are. And through a door, no less. Can you get any more dramatic?

“What are you talking about?”

“I was at your apartment, Spencer,” you mutter, wiping angrily at your cheeks. “I went to drop off this stupid cardigan of yours and you-- You were hugging a woman outside your door and I saw it and I saw her kiss you--”

You cut yourself off, choking on another sob, and Spencer sighs. He understands now.

“Open the door. Please,” he says.

“Why?” You reply quietly. “If you’re just going to reject me, please, just do it through the door.” The last thing you want is for him to see you like this when he tells you he’s seeing someone else, that he didn’t even know you liked him, and so on.

“I’m not rejecting you,” he says softly. “Please.”

You know it’s a bad idea, but how much worse can things get?

You stand to your feet and open the door, careful of the mug of tea on the floor. Spencer’s heart drops at the sight of you. Tear stains on your cheeks, red eyes, your quivering lip as you try to hold things together, and...his cardigan hanging off your shoulders. Somehow the last tops it all off, sends a strike of pain right to his heart.

You wipe some more tears away with the sleeve, motioning for him to start talking. “Go on.”

“She’s an old friend. We did kiss before, once. But she’s not my girlfriend. She was in town and wanted to stop by to tell me she’s getting married...to her girlfriend of three years.”

You nod slowly. For some reason, that doesn’t even make you feel better. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Spencer asks, hopeful tone and all. “Are we okay?”

“What are we, Spencer?” You ask, eyes still watering. “I can’t keep going on the way we were going, you know? It’s agonizing, I just want to know what’s going on in your head.”

Spencer smiles softly. “I want you to...to be my girlfriend.”

Your ears are deceiving you. They must be. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I thought it was obvious,” he chuckles. “That’s one of the things I talked to her about -- her name’s Jess. She invited me-- us to the wedding. I was gonna ask you to be my girlfriend-- I still want to, I mean, if you’ll have me.”

More tears spring to your eyes and Spencer’s heart jumps, thinking he did something completely wrong.

“What happened? Did I say something?”

“No,” you shake your head. “God.” You wipe at your cheeks before turning and retreating back into your apartment. Spencer has no choice but to follow you.

He spots your mug of tea and places it on the coffee table as he shuts your front door gently with his foot.

“I’m so...stupid,” you mutter, jumping when you see he’s followed you inside. He’s not unwelcome here by any means, you’re just an idiot. A huge idiot.

“You’re not stupid,” he argues. “I wish you would’ve talked to me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you this has happened to me before?” You murmur pathetically, propping your body against the arm of your couch.

Spencer’s heart breaks more. You won’t look at him again.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, clasping your hands together, fighting the shakes. “I should’ve talked to you, I just-- This has happened before and those times it was… Well, you know.” You finally look up at him, tears falling. “The first time the guy didn’t even try hiding it. The second one did, but not very well because I still found out. The third wasn’t even aware that he was flirting with me, I guess. I don’t know how you can take someone on dates for months and not be aware, but he said he wasn’t.” You pause, looking away again. “I just saw a pattern and I freaked out and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Spencer whispers, even though you still feel like it’s not.

You shake your head.

“Y/N, it is,” he presses on. “I should’ve...talked to you about how I’m feeling, but I was scared. You’re the first girl that’s-- I don’t know, liked me for me, I guess. Dorkiness and all.”

You chuckle, and Spencer nearly grins. He got a laugh. That’s something.

“How about we both make a deal to communicate better?” He offers. You nod, so he keeps going. “I’ll go first. I really want you to be my girlfriend.”

You can’t help but smile now, all dumb and trying to hide it in the sleeve of his cardigan. “I’d really love to be your girlfriend.”

“Yeah?” He asks, almost like he wasn’t even expecting you to agree, but you nod, confirming it for his genius brain.

The kiss the two of you share is a long time coming. It’s gentle and warm, relaxing your muscles and easing the tension you’ve held in them for the past two weeks. Spencer gathers you in his arms, keeping you close, with zero intent of ever letting you go.

+++

When you walk into the BAU the next morning, you are painfully reminded that you are surrounded by the best profilers in the country.

It’s no secret that you and Spencer have been “dating” for a while, but you never showed PDA -- partly because the two of you were fumbling around your true feelings, and partly because you’re not too sure how relationships stand with protocol here.

Apparently, despite coming in fifteen minutes apart from one another, everyone can see right through you both.

Morgan is the first to say something. He catches you when the elevator doors open and you have Spencer’s cardigan hanging over your shoulders. In your defense, Spencer forgot to grab it when he left your house sometime this morning, so you were just trying to return it -- again.

“Late night?” Morgan raised his eyebrows.

Realizing your mistake, your eyes widen. “Shut up.” You step off the elevator and point a threatening finger in his face. “Not a word.”

Morgan’s hands raise in surrender, but he still has that goddamn smile on his face. “Might wanna take off that cardigan, sweetheart. You’re too obvious.”

Angrily, you shrug it off and walk into the bullpen.

Spencer is at his desk, so you shove his cardigan into his chest. “You forgot this.”

Upon seeing that it’s you, Spencer’s lips stretch into a grin. “Thanks.” He pauses, folding the cardigan over his arm. “I was kind of hoping you’d keep it,” he whispers, eyes darting around to be sure no one is listening. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. “Give it to me tonight, then,” you wink, earning a light blush on Spencer’s cheeks.

Hotch watches this encounter from the railing and smiles. He’s sure neither of you will do anything to warrant him giving you a stern talk about relationships and work, so he won’t mention anything for now.

Instead, he retreats back into his office, glad you’ve finally gotten over yourselves.

Garcia catches on when you come to visit her in her office only to find Spencer already standing there. He’s animatedly talking about Doctor Who, but stops abruptly when he sees you. It doesn’t take a profiler to understand the glances, the smiles, and awkward goodbyes that were shared so you could ask Garcia a question.

Prentiss is just glad the two of you will look at one another again, but the way you keep glancing over her shoulder to see Spencer is more than obvious. It’s so obvious that Prentiss and JJ share a knowing look, but say nothing. They should’ve placed bets.

You and Spencer catch each other’s eyes more than a dozen times every hour, and he follows you to the break room to conveniently get a coffee at the same time as you.

Yeah, you’re not being obvious at all.

Neither of you notice that the team has caught on, so you take your chances when you find yourselves alone in the break room. You can practically hear the conversations the rest of the team is having out in the bullpen, so you let Spencer pull you into his arms, his chin resting on top of your head.

This is a lot for Spencer, and you too, if you’re honest. Hugs are something you never found yourself enjoying, but when you’re tucked into Spencer’s chest, you never want to leave.

You’re both too busy holding one another to hear Hotch’s footsteps as he enters the room. The clearing of his throat is what finally breaks the two of you apart.

“Agent Hotchner,” you blurt, straightening yourself and taking one too many steps away from Reid.

Hotch smirks. You haven’t called him that since your first day. “New case. Looks like a short one. Conference room in five minutes.”

And he leaves as quick as he came, chuckling under his breath.

You and Spencer share a look before dissolving into laughter and fixing your coffee. You don’t try to walk out of the break room separately, knowing that there’s no use.

Especially not when you get cold on your way to the conference room, and Spencer promptly wraps you in his cardigan.

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwynriel angst

I’m backkkkk! It feels good to be writing about my two favorite characters again. Idea from @bookish-isha

Gwyn peaked over the edge of her book to see Azriel watching her from the library doors. Surprisingly, his shadows were no where to be found. She turned her eyes back to the page she was reading without further acknowledgment to the man at the door. They stayed like that for awhile, Azriel staring from the doorway and Gwyn attempting to read, failing, and turning the page anyways. It was a game between them to see who would speak first, and it was not going to be Gwyn. She had put herself out there only to be rejected. If he had something he wanted to say to her, he could speak first. Eventually, a long sigh escaped from the Shadowsinger.

"Gwyn."

She ignored him and continued to pretend to read.

"Gwyn."

She shifted on the couch to cross one leg over the other.

"Gwyn, I know you are not reading."

She sighed heavily before slamming her book closed and setting it in her lap. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.

"What do you want, Azriel?" Gwyn finally caved. He watched her through narrowed eyes for a moment causing her to roll her eyes.

"I wanted to apologize."

"For what?" Her question seemed to surprise him. His eyes widened for a millisecond before his normal unreadable face was back in full force. He cleared his throat before crossing the room to sit next to Gwyn on the couch. The space between them suddenly felt suffocating, forcing Gwyn to turn away from him. Luckily, he did not attempt to touch her.

"For hurting your feelings. It was not my intention." He sounded genuine, but he was an excellent liar. Gwyn had to remind herself that she could not blindly trust him like she instinctually wanted to.

"What are your intentions, Az?" She turned to look at him, only to find an adorably confused look on his face. Adorable was not a word she would have used for Az often, but in the moment it was quite apt.

"What do you mean?" His hands laid limp at his sides. Gwyn wanted to hold them, wanted to feel close to him, but figured it might be inappropriate now.

"Are you with Elain?" Azriel avoided eye contact. His shadows still no where to be seen.

"Does it matter?" His response only infuriated her more.

"Of course it does Azriel! Do not sit here and act dense. I am not just making this all up in my head. We have been...well I suppose I don't know what we have been doing. But if you are with someone else, then this," she motioned between the two of them with her hand, "is inappropriate."

A lone shadow slipped out to caress her cheek, but she did not want to be comforted right now. She quickly turned her head away to avoid the touch. The shadow jolted back and once again could not be seen.

"Elain is...complicated. But I do not want to lose your friendship."

"Friendship." Gwyn muttered to herself as she rolled her eyes. Azriel heard her, but said nothing else. Gwyn did not want to be Azriel's friend. "Are you not tired of chasing women who don't want you?" It was harsh and perhaps not true. Gwyn did not know how Elain felt about the situation. Azriel flinched at her words. It was so microscopic, Gwyn thought she might have imagined it. Imagined or not, she still felt bad.

"Sorry." She muttered.

"Gwyn, this would never work." He said in a soft tone. He wasn't trying to be mean, just honest. It still felt like a stab to her heart.

"And you and Elain would?" She sounded as miserable as she felt.

For the first time ever, Azriel's face turned bright red. He refused to meet her eyes. He wasn't telling her something and she was going to discover what it was.

"Why do you think this wouldn't work?" She narrowed her gaze at him as he shifted away from her. She grabbed his hand to keep him from running away. He shook his head as if to say he would not tell her, but she did not accept that.

"Why, Az?" She interlaced her fingers with his and pulled his hand into her lap to force his full attention on her. "Why?"

"I know this sounds bad, trust me," he gave her a sideways glance before looking away again. He couldn't meet her eye. "It's just that I have needs in a relationship and I would never want to push you into something you're not comfortable with and I also would never want to hurt you by seeking for it elsewhere..." he trailed off, taking a peak at her before pulling his hand back into his own lap.

Gwyn was not understanding as she tried to make eye contact with Azriel. Was she missing something? What needs could he...her thoughts trailed off as it finally hit her.

"Are you talking about sex?" She felt the need to clarify before saying anything else. He still refused to look at her, but gave an almost imperceptible nod. It was absurd enough that she started giggling hysterically. Azriel glanced at her curiously, obviously confused by her response.

"Trust me that would not be an issue." When her laughter finally stopped, she felt the need to clarify. Her face was warm with heat and she also found it difficult to look at Azriel.

"What does that mean?" He asked. His shadows were out in full force now. A few of them were touching Gwyn, but she did not mind so much now. She could, begrudgingly, admit that she liked their comfort. He angled his body so that his knees were almost touching her. Now it seemed that all he wanted was eye contact from her while before it seemed he could not even look in her direction. He grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger and pulled her to look at him. Once their eyes met, she was locked in place. He kept his hand on her chin as they spoke.

"Gwyn, what do you mean it wouldn't be an issue?"

She cleared her throat awkwardly and squirmed in her seat.

"Do you really have to ask? All of Pyrinthian wants to sleep with you. Why would I be any different?" Her voice was quiet as though she was afraid someone might overhear her. Azriel's expression became difficult to interpret. All she knew was that he was staring at her with such intensity that a dangerous heat was starting to pool low in her stomach.

"Gwyn, I would never assume that you..." he trailed off in a tortured voice that had Gwyn all sorts of confused. "You have not shown interest in sex with anyone so I just assumed..." he trailed off again. Gwyn shrugged.

"I am not interested in sex with just anyone. I am interested in sex with you."

"Oh."

Azriel's hand was still on her chin but their faces had moved closer together since the start of the conversation. There was only about an inch or two between their mouths. Both of their eyes kept flickering down to the others lips. It was quiet for a long time before Gwyn remembered why this was inappropriate. She pulled away and sat back into the couch.

"Doesn't matter though, right? Because of Elain." She sounded bitter, but she could not help herself. Azriel looked torn.

"I am sorry Gwyn. It's just..." he did not seem to have the words to explain whatever his situation with Elain was. Gwyn figured this would be her last chance to convince Azriel, so she better make it count.

She grabbed his face with her hands, and slowly brought his face to hers. She wanted to give him time to pull away if he did not want this. He did not pull away though, instead their lips softly brushed each other's. It was a thrill like any other. Gwyn had kissed a few people recently. None of them really all that noteworthy, except maybe Nesta. But this kiss, this kiss was exactly what kisses were supposed to be like. Gwyn tried to deepen the kiss as she pushed her body closer to his, basically sitting in his lap. He tried to slow the kiss down, but Gwyn did not want slow. She wanted to prove to Azriel that she could handle whatever he wanted from her. She held his face tighter in her hands and slipped her tongue between his lips. The first touch of their tongues was electric. Gwyn moaned, loudly which seemed to illicit a groan from Azriel. She noticed his hands were laying limply at his sides which just wouldn't suffice. She pulled Azriel over her as she laid on the couch and pulled one of his hands to rest on her thigh under her gown. He tried to nestle himself between her thighs, but the gown was too restrictive. Gwyn hiked it up around her waist and then they were lost in the kiss again. Everything about his kisses were all consuming. She never wanted this feeling to stop. It was almost like a glow in her chest. The kiss became more erratic, hungrier from both ends. He squeezed her thigh causing her hips to buck up. She made contact with his hips and moaned as she felt the full extent to his excitement. Even as the kiss intensified, Az did not move his hands or hips to Gwyn's utmost annoyance. She moved one of his hands to her ass and the other to her breast, eliciting a sweet sounding moan from him. She could listen to him moaning all day long. It was better than any symphony she had ever heard before. She lifted her legs to wrap around his hips and pulled them down to meet hers. Finally, he started moving on his own accord. Grinding into her and massaging her chest. Gwyn ran her hands through his hair as they wrestled for control over the kiss. Eventually, Gwyn let him takeover. It was everything she could ever dream of sex being and they weren't even having sex.

"Never stop." Gwyn whispered in his ear. He shuttered against her as he lowered his mouth to her neck. He licked and sucked and bit that spot so perfectly that Gwyn thought she might finish right then and there. His wandering hands felt so good.

"Gwyn." He moaned low in her ear while he pushed himself against her. It would be a lie to say she wasn't intimidated by the size hiding in his pants.

Everything felt so intense that Gwyn had to let her hands wander. Gwyn threw her hands around his shoulders to pull him closer when she accidentally brushed against his wing. He, suddenly, cried out. Gwyn couldn't decipher if it was pleasure or pain and pulled away to check.

"You okay?" Her chest was moving rapidly as she tried to catch her breathe. Azriel's eyes were squeezed shut while he pressed his forehead against her shoulder. His body was no longer pressed to every inch of hers, but instead hovering. She tried to push him closer again. Instead, he quickly disentangled himself from her.

"I need to go." Gwyn thought she might get whiplash from his sudden change of mood, but one glance at his pants had her understanding.

"It's okay, Az." She grabbed his hand and pulled him back on the couch. She hiked her dress up again as she straddled him before setting it back down. He refused to look at her and the hint of a blush colored his cheeks.

"Sorry." He muttered. Gwyn shook her head with a smile.

"Don't be." Gwyn grabbed his face to look at her while sitting on his still semi-erect cock. "You'll have to end things with Elain before I let you go any further anyways."

A look she couldn't decipher crossed his face. It was definitely a look she didn't like either. It slowly started stamping on the warm, glowing emotion she had been feeling. She sighed heavily before pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was short before he pulled away.

"Wings are extremely sensitive." He started to explain.

"It's okay, Az. Really, don't worry about it." She shrugged, but he only shook his head.

"No, I want you to know that if we did have sex, it would not be that short. As long as you avoided the wings." He was so serious about it that a thrill shot through Gwyn. He wanted to have sex with her. Might even be planning to have sex with her.

A mischievous smile crossed her face.

"How does it work exactly? I just touch the right spot and you finish?" She was walking two fingers up his arm when his hand clamped down on her wrist and put it back at her side. A slightly annoyed expression crossed his face.

"I'm not telling you." His bottom lip jutted out in a pout that Gwyn had never seen before. It would be very effective in persuading her to do just about anything.

Gwyn climbed off Azriel and started heading for the exit once she had smoothed down her clothes and hair.

"That's fine. I will just have to figure it out on my own, I suppose." She tossed him one more flirty smile and headed towards the dining room.

She bumped into Cass on the way, who she thought was in windhaven. She felt nervous that perhaps he heard the two of them, but Azriel would have known he was here and stopped anything from progressing.

"Hey Cass." She kept walking, hoping to avoid any conversation.

"Hey Gwyn," a small smirk pulled up the corner of his lips. "Have you seen Az? I need his help." Gwyn stopped and turned back to quickly finish the conversation with Cassian. She barely contained the blush she wanted to give.

"I think he might be in the library? Could also check his room." She shrugged as if she did not just exit the library after sucking the soul out of the Shadowsinger.

"Alrighty." He turned to leave. Gwyn thought she was in the clear until he turned back once more. "I'll let him know he should be more careful with his placement next time." And then he tapped his neck. Right where Gwyn remember Azriel devoting quite a decent amount of time to biting. Gwyn shrieked, slapped her hand over her neck, and ran all the way to her room. She was going to kill the Shadowsinger.

[the-modernmary]

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (prologue)

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner ended your affair with him, saying that a serial killer was going after him and his family, you were content with the idea that you'd probably never see him again. Two years have come and gone since then, but when you get dragged into an FBI investigation as a key witness, you and Hotch are forced to come face to face with all the things left unsaid.

Warnings: Age gap (15-ish years), smut, degradation, unprotected sex. This story is 18+ older. This is not a story for minors.

A/N: Hello, hello!! I figured that since I've made a writing tumblr, I should post my story on here!! This is a multichapter story, so I am very excited to go on this journey with y'all!! I already have multiple chapters written and published, so these should be coming out VERY quickly. If you don't want to wait to catch up, you can read everything I have on ao3! This chapter starts as a flashback, and then the next chapter and the rest from here on out will be actual plot!

masterlist || read on ao3

“If you were waitin’ on the sunshine, blue sky

Cheap high, lullaby

Then my best habit’s letting you down”

- The Maine, “My Best Habit”

Two years earlier

Your eyes scanned the University Ballroom, your champagne glass practically ignored in your hand. You hated all these alumni networking galas and avoided going to them as much as possible. Old, sleazy lawyers with much younger women on their arm reliving their best cases with each other and expecting all the new law students to laugh when they were able to get their defendant acquitted because of some dumb technicality. It made you sick.

It didn’t help that you were already going in with a bad attitude. Your ex-boyfriend had dropped by your apartment that morning to pick up the rest of his stuff, and he decided that the best person to help him with that was the girl he had been cheating on you with. You caught them together three weeks ago, and you had been so stressed from midterms that you hadn’t even had the chance to go out, get drunk, and have wildly irresponsible rebound sex.

But you had to suck it up for the night, at least until you were able to get the answer you came for. After that, you could go back to your apartment, replace your too tight and too short dress with some nice pajamas, and watch trashy reality TV until you passed out on your couch.

You scanned the room a few more times until you caught sight of a tall man in a dark suit leaning against the bar. Bingo. You set your champagne flute down and ran over to him as fast as your heels could take you. Once you were just a few steps away, you quickly composed yourself and walked straight into his line of sight.

SSA Aaron Hotchner rarely came to alumni events here at George Washington Law School, citing that he wasn’t even a prosecutor anymore and had much more important work to do back at the BAU, but he was going as favor to his old law school buddy. Plus, it was either coming to this or going out to the bar with the team, and seeing as he had just signed the divorce papers with Haley, he wanted to be somewhere he wasn’t going to be profiled all night. The free champagne was also a bonus.

When you saw that his name was on the RSVP list, you knew that you had to go.

“Agent Hotchner?” you asked, giving him your best straight A student smile.

He refused to look up right away, not giving you the chance to charm him. “I’m not currently on duty. If there is a case you would like the BAU to look over, that’s handled by our media liaison,” he said absently, taking another sip of champagne.

You frowned but kept your hand out for him to shake. “That’s not what I’m here for, I-” You took a breath to compose yourself. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a first year here- getting a joint JD and masters in forensic psychology. My goal is to become a prosecutor,” you pressed, and you were rewarded when he perked up in interest. He slid his drink on the table.

“Most law firms don’t usually want a prosecutor who’s going to empathize with the person you’re prosecuting,” he mused, and shook your hand, his grip just tight enough to pass as faux politeness.

You shook your head and clasped your hands behind your back, trying to ignore how warm his hands were. “I think the best prosecutors empathize with the defendants,” you admitted. “Isn’t that how you succeeded as both a prosecutor and as a federal agent? That’s actually why I came to you, I wanted to ask you a question... about my thesis,” you added quickly, figuring that the best way to get him to talk to you.

Aaron’s posture changed from half asleep to maybe listening, and your face went red. Sure, you only came to the event to talk to him, but you never thought that you’d actually get Aaron Hotchner to pay attention to you. “I didn’t empathize with the people I was putting in jail,” he told you, his voice ice cold. “That didn’t come until I worked in the BAU, and even now, I wouldn’t call it empathy. Just understanding of how they became the type of person they are.” He leaned sideways on the bar counter and you felt yourself shrink under his gaze. You shifted slightly and felt the hem of your dress move up your thighs ever so slightly. Aaron noticed too, if the lick of his lips was anything to go by.

You took his silence as your signal to ask your question. “You offered Jessica Michaelson a lesser sentence that had her released in just three years despite the fact that she murdered her brother in cold blood in his sleep. You had the evidence, why didn’t you push for premeditation?” you asked, and his eyebrow quirked upwards. “In the case The People vs. Michaelson,” you added unnecessarily, trying to break the silence.

“I know the case you’re referring to. I was the lead on it,” he reminded you, his voice edging on dangerous. “You know, most people aren’t interested in my days as a lawyer.”

You shrugged, hoping to appear more confident than you felt. “I’m not most people,” you agreed, biting down on your lower lip. His gaze was so intense, and it was affecting you in ways you couldn’t have imagined. It was turning you on, you realized with a start. It had been a while since you had last had sex, and it was driving you only slightly crazy. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Aaron grabbed a champagne flute from a server walking by, and shoved it in your direction. You grabbed it cautiously. “Did you read the police report on the case?” he asked, and you nodded wordlessly, taking a sip of the champagne. The alcohol was making you bolder, and you stepped towards him. “Then you’ll know that there was very little physical evidence tying her to the muder. We chose to offer the charge that would have stuck instead of risking her being found not guilty.”

You gritted your teeth together in an effort to calm yourself down. “She murdered four people within the six months after she was released from prison,” you reminded him.

That seemed to have struck a chord with Aaron, and his steely persona seemed to fade ever so slightly. He sighed exasperatedly; you were obviously getting on his nerves. “The prints and DNA that were collected and put into VICAP when she was in prison are what got her caught in the end, and that was the evidence needed to lock her away for life. We wouldn’t have gotten those prints without her original charge. It all worked out.”

You groaned and threw your hands in the air. “You couldn’t have predicted that, though,” you argued. “And people have been found guilty with way less evidence than you had in the original case. I think you just felt bad for her, considering her brother was a real piece of shit.” You were being difficult now, you knew that. But there was something about Aaron Hotcher that was pulling you in, and you wanted to see how far you could push him.

Aaron gave you a predatory grin and he stepped towards you ever so slightly, finishing his drink. He must have had multiple drinks too, judging by the soft flush on his face. “Oh, you do?” He seemed amused now. He slowly raked his eyes from your face, down your neck, and down the rest of your body, and you forgot how to breath. You knew that it was inappropriate and that he was a highly respected FBI agent, even if he was kind of an asshole at the moment. You also knew that the two of you were crossing lines that neither of you should have even been close to, but you shivered under the weight of his gaze all the same.

You shifted back and forth, your brain trying to process what was happening. “Yeah, I do. And I know that you transferred to the FBI after Michaelson was arrested again, which makes me think that this case was your breaking point,” you ranted, your hands becoming more and more animated.

Aaron chuckled, but there was very little amusement behind it. “Are you sure you want to be a lawyer?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “Because you’re starting to talk like a profiler.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “No thanks,” you said firmly, and he just shrugged before making a move to walk past you. You sidestepped in front of him, effectively blocking him from going anywhere. But it was obvious that he was done talking about this.

In your mind, you had two options now. You could keep pushing him about a case that he obviously didn’t want to talk to you about, or you could switch gears in your brain and have him help you solve your... other problem. Aaron was attractive, and you were getting tired of guys your age. You noticed the distinct lack of a wedding ring on his finger, but there was still a tan to show that it had been there. So either he was recently separated or just trying to cheat on his wife. You wanted to not care whichever it was, but a pang in your heart told you to be considerate. Besides, you did not want to get involved with another cheater.

“Must be hard to be at these events without your wife here to scare off all the lonely female law students,” you mused cautiously. You didn’t want to come on too strong, but the alcohol in your system was slowly clouding your ability to be subtle.

Aaron cleared his throat, obviously taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. “I’m not married,” he said, too quickly and too defensively. So he’s separated, you thought, and you stepped closer to him.

His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out your endgame. “Well, I would love to discuss your work as a prosecutor more when there are less… distractions around,” you whispered, your words breathy. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, do I make you nervous?” You sounded a lot more confident than you felt.

Aaron just smirked and grabbed your free hand, covering it in both of his, and the action was surprisingly soft, even if it was way too late for him to try acting suave. His eyes, on the other hand, told a whole other story. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes were practically black. “I face the worst people in society on a daily basis. Desperate law students don’t make me nervous. In fact…” He stepped towards you, looking around to make sure nobody else was looking. Aaron leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with every word. “I think that I make you nervous. And more than nervous, I make you very excited.”

Your breath hitched as he pulled back, a smug smile gracing his lips. You yanked your hand back to preserve what little dignity you had left, but it was too late. “Now, if you would like to discuss my prosecuting career more in depth, then you can set up a formal meeting with me at the BAU,” he continued, obviously proud of himself and the effect he was having on you. He pulled out a business card and upon further instruction, you realized that it wasn’t even his. Jennifer Jareu the name read. “Our media liaison will be able to help you organize that. Now if you don’t mind, I am going to retire for the night.”

Aaron finished the rest of his drink and brushed past you while you were still trying to get your thoughts under control. “Oh, and you’ll make a wonderful lawyer someday, I’m sure of it,” he called over his shoulder, and that snapped you back into action.

You followed, running around him and cutting him off. “And if I don’t want to discuss your prosecuting career?” you asked, batting your eyelashes at him. “What if I was interested in a… less formal meeting?”

That was all the permission he needed. Aaron grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the ballroom, the two of you moving so fast that nobody in the room even had a chance to put two and two together. There was an empty hallway just next to the entrance of the room and Aaron pulled you in that direction, pressing you against the wall and kissing you fiercely the second the two of you were alone.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss, but in a strange role reversal, he let you take the lead. It’s certainly not what you expected from Aaron Hotchner who, until now, had been controlling every aspect of your meeting. You realized then that this was his way of making sure you were okay with what was happening- giving you a chance to back out and change your mind. You just answered by tangling your hands in his hair, pulling so that he was at just the right angle to kiss you.

Aaron dug his fingers into your hips, hard enough to make you gasp out. You were definitely going to have bruises the next day, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. He shoved his leg in between yours and tugged on your lip with his teeth, which made you whimper involuntarily. He smirked against your lips, obviously proud of the noises he was drawing from you. You pulled on his hair harder as a sign of irritation, but that seemed to only make him more amused as he pulled away to laugh into your neck.

“Are we just going to make out against a wall like we’re back in high school, or are you going to actually do something worth my time?” you breathe, fighting to keep your voice even and light. It only halfway worked as he dragged his tongue up your neck to your pulse point. And then he bit down, hard.

It took everything in your power to stay quiet, especially as he softly kissed the newly forming bruise. His attack on your neck was relentless as he pulled your hips and back forth against his thigh. You whimpered as you desperately tried to get any friction from the simple movement. Your skirt was now dangerously close to being pushed so far up your legs that you would be completely exposed.

You pulled away first- you had to or your legs were going to completely give out from under you. You desperately tried to get your breathing under control and, to your annoyance, he looked perfectly composed. The only thing giving him away was his slightly swollen lips.

His fingers trailed up your thigh, getting so close to where you want him. “What would you like me to do then?” he asked easily, his voice almost sounding bored. You were speechless, like your brain had just short circuited. There were a lot of things you wanted him to do, but the words were lost on the tip of your tongue. “If you want something, you have to ask for it.” That was a demand, and he punctuated it by pressing his thigh further into you. You were sure he was going to have a wet spot on his slacks. He took the hand not in between your legs and grabbed your jaw forcefully, his thumb resting on your bottom lip. “Use your words, little girl.”

You realize that the two of you were standing on the edge of a cliff, and you had the power to decide whether or not to jump over. It gave you a strange sense of power. Logically, you knew it was a bad idea. He was too old for you, obviously going through some sort of relationship trauma, and wasn’t somebody you could talk to your friends and family about. But the less rational side wanted him so badly it hurt. You wanted him more than you’ve wanted anything or anyone in a long time.

You noticed your strawberry colored lipstick was smudged ever so slightly on the corner of his mouth, and that’s all it took for you to jump off the side of the cliff. “I want you to drag me into the empty classroom just down the hall and fuck me senseless. I want you to use me,” you moan before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking.

The look on his face is something you’ll never forget. There was a mix of shock and arousal, but also something primitive; His eyes darkened when you told him to use you, and there was a fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or dread. Maybe even both.

He removed his hands from your mouth and legs, only to place his hand on the small of your back. He began walking towards the classroom you had pointed out, much too slow for your liking, but he knew exactly what he was doing. “You’re going to regret asking me to use you,” he practically growls in your ear, each word increasing your arousal. “Are you one of those lonely female law students you warned me about? So desperate and needy for a real man to bend you over a table and fuck you until you can’t walk straight? Ready and willing to whore yourself out for the first man who gives you a second glance?”

Your breath hitched as you stuttered out your answer. “Y-yes, Agent Hotchner,” you whispered as he opened the classroom door and guided you in.

As soon as the door was shut and locked, he was back on your lips again, lifting you so that you were sitting on one of the desks with your legs wrapped around his waist. “Call me Aaron,” he mumbled in between kisses, and you were all too happy to oblige.

You were a moaning mess at this point as his hands pushed your dress up to your waist. His hands and lips were somehow everywhere at once and you were so hot and all you could think about was getting your damn dress off, but Aaron seemed to have other plans.

He ran his fingers up your lace covered slit and he just chuckled into your lips. “You’re so wet for me, already,” he groaned and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. “And I’ve barely touched you. Do my words really have that much effect on you? Do you like it when I call you a whore?”

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and quickly pulled them down. You could feel his bulge pressing against you and all you could think about was how badly you wanted it. How badly you wanted him. Your hands moved down his chest to make quick work of his belt, and his pants followed after.

“Please, please Aaron,” you begged, desperately trying to create some friction against him. His fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled your head back so that you were looking at him.

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” His fingers slowly ran up your slit, not enough to give you any pleasure. He was teasing you and enjoying every second of it. “And I wish I could take my time with you. The things I want to do to you…” Two of his fingers entered you and you cried out loudly. “But somebody could walk in on us at any second. I’m sure they can all hear you moaning like a dirty whore, all for me. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? So desperate for my attention and approval.”

His words turned you on more than you would have liked to admit. “Yes, Aaron yes. Please-” you were cut off by Aaron curling his fingers, hitting that spot that made you want to scream out in pleasure. But all too soon, they were gone.

He inspected his fingers, which were now covered in your juices, before bringing them to your mouth. “Suck,” he ordered, and you eagerly complied, wrapping your lips around his fingers and moaning at the taste of yourself. “I’ll just have to fuck you quickly here, and then you’ll be begging for more next time,” he groaned and finally- finally- entered you.

He didn’t give you time to adjust to him, thrusting roughly into you. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brought his hand to your neck. He didn’t put any pressure, but he wanted you to know that he could and would if you decided to get mouthy with him.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk you were sitting on, your knuckles turning white. Your eyes started to close in pleasure as his hips slammed into yours, but they shot open as he tightened his grip on your throat. “Look at me. I want to see you when you cum,” he ordered, and you nodded the best you could.

“Yes sir!” you cried out, unsure of what else to say.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Aaron released your throat and moved his hand down so that he was stimulating your clit. You could feel the coil in your stomach tighten as your legs started to twitch. Aaron took this as motivation to slam into you even harder, relishing each time you gasped out his name.

His pace was unforgiving, leaving you gasping for air. Keeping your eyes open was a challenge, but you were able to do it with his soft mutters of praise. “Even brats like you can be good girls,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic. “You just need somebody to fuck it into you.”

You were unable to respond coherently, so you just settled on begging even more, although you weren’t sure what you were begging for exactly. Aaron seemed to know, and he sped up his fingers against your clit. You wanted to scream out for him, but your voice wasn’t working. “What did I say before?” he asks roughly. “If you want something, ask for it.”

“Please… please can I cum?” you cried out, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. “Please let me cum around your cock!”

He nodded in approval and you had to muffle yourself in his neck to keep quiet. He fucked you through your orgasm, the overstimulation almost too much, but it wasn’t long before he was moaning your name, and you felt him fill you.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, both breathing heavily as the situation started to sink in. You just let a guy almost 15 years older than you that you just met fuck you in an empty classroom, and you really enjoyed it. Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he was going through a full crisis.

He pulled out of you slowly, and you winced at the feeling. He pulled up his pants quickly. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, looking around the empty classroom. “I don’t have anything good to clean you up with.” A box of kleenex caught his eye and he grabbed a few tissues. It was better than nothing.

You chuckled nervously and waved it off. “It’s fine,” you promised, your voice coming out shakier than you expected, but he ignored you. He wiped the mess dripping down your thighs. You were cold. He must have noticed, because he took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked softly, and it was a full 180 from the way he had just been talking to you.

“I’m great,” you admitted honestly. “Seriously, that was… great.”

Aaron smiled at you- the first real smile he had given you all night. “It wasn’t too much?” he confirmed, and you suddenly remembered what he had said to you earlier. ...then you’ll be begging for more next time. Was he planning on a next time? You wouldn’t have minded it.

You shook your head and slowly slid off the table. You took one of the tissues and wiped up the mess that was left on the table. “Not at all. In fact, I could take more. Next time.” Your voice was light and airy. Aaron watched as you picked your underwear off the floor. There was no way you were putting those back on, not when you had no idea when the floor was last cleaned.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he teased, eyeing you carefully.

“Well I can’t keep it if I only have your media liaison’s number,” you reminded him, your eyebrow raised. Aaron chuckled and pulled out another business card, except this time it was his. You plucked the card out of his hands and inspected it carefully. “I’ll call you sometime. You can do all those other things we didn’t have time to do.” You were on your tiptoes now, whispering in his ear. “You know… my mouth can do a lot more than just ask for things.” As you spoke, you slipped your panties into his back pocket. You just laughed as you heard a soft gasp escape his lips.

You made your way towards the door, your legs wobbling dangerously underneath you. You were sure that you looked like a mess, but you didn’t care. All that mattered to you was Aaron Hotchner’s eyes glued to your ass. “Get home safe,” he told you and you let yourself smile. Maybe it was a bad idea to start sleeping with a recent divorcee, but the sex was great and you both knew where you stood with the other person. No feelings, just fucking out your frustrations and stress.

Oh yeah, coming to this event was definitely a good call on your part.

[pascalpanic]

“You can call me whenever you want… Even if you don’t have a reason to.” with Javi 😩 OR marcus moreno bc I think it fits him too

Personal Number (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: You’re lonely working as the American ambassador’s secretary. You miss the days of being down with the agents as a receptionist. At least you get to talk with Javier Peña on the phone somewhat often.

W/C: 1.5k

Warnings: language, brief mentions of sexual content. this is pretty tame.

A/N: I LOVE JAVIER. can you tell?? thank you for this idea Thea!!! I love it so much and I hope you like it too. Also, can you tell I like writing phone calls? I just think it’s so fun and a medium that isn’t covered super often.

it’s definitely not because I like not having to write about body language or action.

Javier Peña was a flirt. You knew that from the start, from the stories you’d heard from the other women around the embassy. He was cute, you admitted. Tight shirts and equally slim-fitting jeans, dark hair, lean and strong. He walked with power in his stance.

You liked him. He was a nice man, respectful. He flirted with everyone, but he never went too far. Sure, he’d slept with a solid chunk of the women who worked here, but he was supposedly a wonderful lover. His methods were unorthodox in the field, but he got what he needed. He was incredibly clever, setting up traps and getting information by any means necessary. You talked occasionally, when he’d stop by because you had a message for him at the receptionist desk. He was good for conversation. He liked the cinnamon candies you kept on your desk.

The other women talked with you more than he did. You and the other women chatted, ate lunch together. The rare female presence was much appreciated in such a testosterone-laden environment. You all got along well. Even compared stories of sleeping with certain agents, how their skills at finding the clit ranked, how snuggly they were after, how receptive they were to certain acts. It was fun.

Javier was a busy man. The phone on his desk rarely rang. If someone needed someone around the embassy, they went and talked to them in person. It was an excuse to get away from your desk, people figured. You rarely used the phone too, even as a receptionist. You’d answer calls when they came, but they were usually directed other places, with specific extensions. People here were more direct.

That was before you’d been appointed as the ambassador’s secretary. It was an honor. It meant you were good at your job. You’d taken it, bragging to the other girls over lunch. Everyone was excited for you.

The job, you found out, was dry. It consists most days of making phone calls. Stechner, Ambassador wants you. Ambassador? Stechner’s here. Yep. I’ll let him in. Hi, we’ll take three orders of arepas- sorry, yes sir? Scratch that, he wants four. And can you throw in a coffee- one second, yes sir? Got it- with four creams and two sugars.

You doodle on a notepad many days. You read newspapers or reports. You proofread memos for the ambassador before he sends them off to someone important. It’s draining and dry and you have to admit you hate it.

“Peña,” a voice answers the phone.

“Hi Javier. Are you busy?” You ask.

He smiles a little as he hears your voice, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “When am I ever around here?” He asks, and you chuckle.

“I know the feeling.”

The two of you had talked a few times before. He was nice enough, if curt. Usually, he was busy. People only came to you when they needed something as a receptionist, and now even more so as a private secretary.

“How’s the promotion treating you?” He asks. He’d heard word as he talked with others. Noticed your spot was empty for a day or two before being replaced by another woman. He missed the little candies you kept on your desk. You always kept cinnamon disks stocked in a separate jar from the seasonal candies for him.

“It’s… good,” you nod, drawing a little fish on your notepad. “Kind of feels like a demotion sometimes. It’s boring up here. And lonely. I miss being around to talk with people.”

“We miss you,” he admits with a smile. “You still keep those cinnamon candies on your desk up there?”

You shake your head, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder. “No. Ambassador doesn’t like them, so I switched over. I did get some new fun caramel flavored stuff though.”

“Damn,” he chuckles.

“Would it make you come up here if I had them?”

“I may have to visit the ambassador more often if you did,” he teases, and you chuckle softly. “Poor little social butterfly, cooped up on the highest floor, away from humanity.”

“I do feel like Rapunzel some days,” you sigh, still smiling. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I was supposed to ask if you were busy for the ambassador, not for myself. He wants to see you if you have a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Right now?”

“Right now.”

You can hear shuffling on the other end. “Let me put my signature on one more paper and I’ll be up.” He hangs up and you sigh. There was the most interaction you’ll get for the day.

-

It seems that the closer the men get to Escobar, the more the ambassador needs to see Murphy and Peña. You don’t mind. The two men are funny, and the way they interact makes you smile.

Peña talks to you more than Murphy. Steve is more likely to go outside to smoke, while Javier smokes at his desk. That means you dial him more often simply because there’s a higher probability he’s at his desk. Not because you enjoy talking with him more.

The two men had picked up on calling you Rapunzel. Your energy and excitement was draining day by day, and they compared your new position outside of the ambassador’s office, high on the top floor of the embassy, to Rapunzel’s tower.

You playfully called them Javi and Stephen in return to annoy both of them. It didn’t work on Javier. It turned out he liked that, and you could tell by the way his voice softened. So you kept that.

“Peña.”

“Guess who?” you ask dryly, tapping your pen against your notepad.

The man chuckles. “You must be having an exciting day up there. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Ha.” The word is humorless and flat. “Ambassador wants to see you two.”

Javier groans. “Kind of busy.”

“Well, I’ll tell him that,” you nod and write down on a legal pad- separate from your doodling pad- Peña busy. 11:30. “How are things going down there today?”

“Annoying. Steve is a pain in my ass- hey, shut the fuck up,” you can hear him say even as he removes the receiver away from his phone. You giggle at that, smiling as he speaks again. “Sorry. Can you guess who that was?”

“What was he saying this time?” You ask, twirling the cord to the phone around your finger.

“Nothing,” he insists, but you can hear Murphy shouting. Some message he’s trying to get to you.

“Well, alright. Call up when you’re less busy,” you ask him and hang up.

You really want to know what Murphy was going on about. You dial his desk and he picks up. “S’this Rapunzel?” A southern accent twangs.

“Of course,” you chuckle. “What were you shouting into Javi’s phone?”

“Oh, nothing. Oh, hey, wait,” he says, pulling the phone down and pressing it to his chest. You can hear the muffled voices of the two men, but not what they’re saying. He puts it back to his ear quickly after. “Anyway, it’s nothing. We’ll call you back when we’ve got a minute to come up.”

Odd, you think, before going back to your work on your desk.

-

The phone rings again an hour later. “Ambassador’s office,” you say with a gentle lilt to your voice.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” a kind but rough voice speaks through the phone. Javi.

“Hey,” you chuckle a little. “You guys ready to come up?”

“Uh, no, not yet. But I do want you to write something down for me.”

“Anything,” you nod, priming your pen above the piece of paper.

Javier rattles off ten numbers, and you diligently write them down on the paper. You repeat it back and he affirms that it’s correct. “Got it. What is it?”

“It’s my personal phone number.”

“Javi, the ambassador already has your phone number.”

“No, I know. It’s for you.”

Oh. Your heart flutters excitedly in your chest, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

“I like talking with you. Our phone calls are the highlight of my day. You can call me whenever you want… even if you don’t have a reason to. I just… like hearing your voice. I like you.”

You clutch the paper, grinning ear to ear. “Well, I like you too, Javi. I’ll be using this,” you assure him, looking down at it and beaming. “Now, you said you’re busy. Get back to work.”

“Yes ma’am. See you in a bit.”

Click. Dial tone. Your heart fills with sparks and little fireworks, sending you into a loud laugh of excitement.

The thick oak doors swing open. The ambassador looks at you with concern. “Everything alright out here?” He asks you.

You nod, biting your lip and looking down to hide your grin. “Yeah, yeah. Great, sir. Peña and Murphy aren’t ready yet. They’ll be up later.”

The man gives you a nod and closes the door behind him.

The grin returns. You trace the freshly-dried ink, the nine numbers that will connect you directly to Javier at any time you want. You pull your contact book from your purse, sitting beneath your desk, flipping to a clean page.

Javier Peña, you write.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

personal number

You go back and draw a small heart next to his name.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Words: 3800+

Rating: M

Pairing: Benimaru (TSSK) x Reader

Summary:  Rimuru-sama had told Benimaru about a tradition from his world called a 'honeymoon'. He thought it was a great idea.

AO3

It had been several months since the night you and Benimaru had become true husband & wife.

After the envoy left, you talked more about things. As expected, there were still a bit of growing pains in forming your relationship from what it once was into what it was now. However, you were making it work.

Benimaru was patient and kind as ever, but unexpectedly different when you were alone together. You hadn’t thought he would be like this. You had only seen him in a ‘formal’ capacity most times, the job of the Commander in Chief of the Jura forces was one that never really rested, or appropriately close when with the rest of your friends. Now though, you got to see another side of him.

He was funny. Playful. Once he let his guard down, he wasn’t nearly as intimidating as you’d originally thought. Actually, he could be quite goofy. His devotion was not only to Rimuru-sama and your people, but also devoted to you. He was always asking how your day was and if things were alright. Making sure you were provided for. Passionate.

You blush as you put away the linens you had folded up from outside. Benimaru had apparently not been kidding when he declared he’d claim your body everyday if he had to to prove it was his. Not that he needed to prove it. You had openly and willingly accepted yourself as his, and he yours. Still, almost every night, he came to you when you laid in bed together to physically profess his love. The man seemed insatiable. Though you weren’t exactly complaining.

You look up from your chores as the devil himself appeared. Coming through the door as if your thoughts had conjured him.

“Benimaru-kun! You’re back early. Did the meeting go well?” The kijin nodded as he removed his sword and sat it in it’s usually place next to the door. “I’m glad to hear it. I didn’t expect you home so soon, so I haven’t started dinner. I’ll get started now, but it will be a little bit.”

“In a moment [Y/N]. I need to talk to you.”

You pause on your way out the door and back track back over to the table to sit across from your husband. “Rimuru-sama has asked me to go on an ambassador mission in the mountains. To seek an alliance with the Yuki-Oni there.” You blink a little in surprise at the news. Though you were sure Benimaru could handle this, and seemed very pleased at being selected by your lord, you have to wonder about the forethought he put into it. Sending a fire oni to speak with a village of snow oni seemed uncharacteristically irresponsible of your lord.

“Well, I’m happy for you dear. I’m sure your trip will be successful.” Benimaru seemed to beam brighter at being complimented by you. “So I’ll see you in, what, a few days?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with me.” You were taken by surprise again. Had Rimuru-sama asked you to come? “I asked Rimuru-sama about it, and he said he could spare you for the few days.” Benimaru added, as if reading your mind. “It would be a nice chance for you to see places outside of Rimuru City. And Rimuru-sama told me about a tradition in his former world called a ‘honeymoon’. It’s when two newly wedded people go on a trip together shortly after their married to spend time together.”

“But, Benimaru, we’ve been married for more than a short while now?” True, your real married life had only begun a few months ago, but you had been married for over a year now.

“I know. But we didn’t go on one or do anything when we got married. I thought it would be nice.” The usually proud warrior looked down at the hardwood of your table, blushing and rubbing the back of his head in a shy manner. “Plus, I don’t want to go if I have to leave you here. I was serious when I said I never want to be without you by my side.” A declaration he had also made more than once since that night. “I’ll…be lonely without you.”

You put your hand against your mouth, pretending to be in thought. In reality you were trying to hide the goofy grin spreading across your face. How could someone so fierce and intimidating also be so adorable?

“Ok, I’ll go with you.” You finally announce, as if you had thought it over and come to a decision. “It would be nice to see the world a little. And, if Rimuru-sama can spare both of us, I see no reason not to go.”

The red head beamed ecstatically at your reply, then leaned over the table to give you a peck on the cheek. “Excellent! I’ll let Rimuru-sama know and tell Shuna to finish making your cold weather wardrobe!”

“Shuna? Hey wait.” Benimaru stopped in the doorway. “You asked Shuna to make me a cold weather wardrobe before you even asked me? What if I had said no?”

The oni looked at you like the thought had never crossed his mind. Then he grinned again and said ‘well, it all worked out’ in a rush before he left again. Alone, you shook your head. Honestly. What was your husband thinking sometimes?

*****

It took some time to get the preparations set, but soon enough you were ready to travel to the mountains to visit the Yuki-Oni.

“Safe travels, onee-san!” Shuna told you in parting with her usual bright smile.

She had called you that before, but in recent months it sounded more like she meant it. Thinking of you more now as a true ‘big sister’, married to her brother, than an older woman she could depend and rely on. The former was still true, but it was clear in her tone she thought of you more as family.

You depart Rimuru City with everyone’s blessing. Coming to see you off until you were out in the country side and off on your journey.

It took a few days to make it to the Yuki-Oni village. Between the distance and intentionally treacherous path up the mountain, it had taken a bit of time. It hadn’t been all bad. While still down in the valley you had stopped for a picnic once or twice, and laid in a field of flowers you had come upon for a bit to soak up the sun and sweet smell. Benimaru said that this was one of the things that Rimuru-sama told him people did on their ‘honeymoon’. You weren’t sure about that, but it was a much-needed respite from your travels.

Arriving at the village, you were greeted warmly by the ice monsters. They all seemed very demure and polite. A cool sort of air about them that really fit with the cold aesthetic of their homeland. The men were all tall and hard looking, while the women were all beautiful and waif like. Pale alabaster skin, long white hair, piercing blue eyes. You were glad you came with Benimaru now. Not that you thought for a moment he would be unfaithful to you, but you still didn’t like the idea of those beautiful creatures lingering around him.

You were shown to your quarters in the elder’s home before you were to meet with the council of elders. The idea of having to convince a council concerned you. It was harder to persuade a group than one. And the Yuki-jiji all looked like they were a group of men not to be easily swayed. “Maybe I should stay here?” You question as you unpacked your things.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t think the Yuki-jiji appreciate women in their council meeting.” They didn’t even let their own women in. Let alone a human one. The last thing you wanted to do was insult these people, and their traditions, by forcing yourself in to the situation. “It might be best if you just go.”

“Ridiculous.” Benimaru said with a sneer. “We didn’t come all this way for you to sit in a room and be cast out.”

“I thought we came for our ‘honeymoon’?” You said as a joke. Trying to break this awkward tension.

“We came for two things.” He quipped back at you. “I want you to come with me. I want us to go together. I’m…not good at this sort of thing on my own. Rimuru-sama put his faith in me, and I’m grateful for this opportunity, but I think it’s misplaced. I’m much better at forcing an agreement at sword point, not conversation.” The kijin looked away, clearly irritated at himself for not being better at it no matter how hard he tried, before looking back at you. “If you’re there though, you’ll keep me grounded. I find your presence calming. So I’ll be less likely to make a fool of myself.”

“You won’t make a fool of yourself, whether I’m there or not.” You assure him while placing your hand against his cheek. It hurt your heart to hear him berate himself like this. Rimuru-sama picked him because he was more than just a strong arm at the end of a sword. Why couldn’t he see that? “Alright. I’ll go. I don’t know if it will really help but I’ll try to be supportive. To you and our cause.”

Benimaru smiled. Then tilted his hand to kiss your palm before squeezing it in his hand. “Let’s go then.”

*********

The meeting lasted most of the day, and well into the evening. By the time you both return to your provided quarters, you were both exhausted.

“Rimuru-sama will be happy to hear of our success.”

“I’m sure he will be. Jura seems to be growing by leaps and bounds.” Who would have thought?

“It’s all thanks to you.” Benimaru said as he came up to sit on your right.

“Me?” You remark in surprise. “I didn’t do much of anything?”

“That’s not true.” The oni said with a soft smile, shaking his head. “The way you talk to people. The way you talk about our home, and the virtue it brings. Not just it’s strength. How it’s a place for all. They could see that’s something they want to be apart of. Rimuru-sama was very wise to have you come along. As he always is.”

Your cheeks tint at Benimaru’s words. Such high praise something you never seemed to get used to. No matter how much he or the others lavished you with it, you always felt so awkward to be complimented by people.

“So, the evening is ours now. What shall we do?”

“Well, I was going to take a bath, buuut….” You look over at the provided tub. Not looking warm & inviting like a bath should, but cold & dark like a vat of despair. “I guess the Yuki-Oni aren’t a fan of hot baths.”

“I can heat it up for you.” Benimaru declared. Already activating his powers to do so. “A thing like this is not so hard. I’ll have it warmed up for you in a moment.”

“That’s amazing Benimaru!” You gush at your husband’s resourcefulness. Who knew he could be so handy?

The oni grinned wide. Briming with pride at the praise. He went over to the tub and slipped his hand into it. The water almost instantly steaming at the contact. “There! That should do it.”

“Ahhh…warm bath…” You sigh happily. Moved nearly to the point of tears at the idea of being warm for the first time since you got here.

You move to discretely remove your clothes and get in the bath, when you notice movement out of the corner of your eye from Benimaru. The man not moving to leave as you’d anticipated, but undress as well. “What are you doing?”

The red head stopped in removing his undercoat and looked at your curiously. “Taking a bath?” The expression on his face saying ‘didn’t we just have this conversation’.

“Wait a minute! This is my bath! Did you really heat this up to steal my bath from me??”

“What? No! Of course not! I thought we could share.” He looked back to the tub, completely missing the blush and sudden halt in all function from you, as he examined it. “It’s big enough.”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate to do that here.” You reply nervously. Cheeks still pink as you had a pretty good idea where this would lead.

“Come on. It’s just a bath.” Bemimaru insisted. “Besides, my powers for this work best when I’m in close proximity. If I’m not touching it, the water will just grow cold again.”

You have the sinking suspicion that he was lying to you. But it was a very convincing lie, and one you couldn’t really argue with. “Alright. But behave! We’re here as Rimuru-sama’s ambassadors. We shouldn’t be fooling around while guests in another person’s home.” A person whom you were trying to sway to your cause.

The red head nodded and assured you he meant no funny business. Again, you had the sinking suspicion he was lying to you, but couldn’t actually prove it, so you went along. You both stripped down and get in the tub. The only way you would both fit was if you practically sat in Benimaru’s lap. His back resting against the side of the tub while your back rested against his chest.

“Aaaahhh…” Your ‘chair’ sighed loudly. Feeling his sigh vibrate through your back as he relaxed. “This is great. We should have done this sooner.”

“Agreed.” You reply as you relax too against him. The warm water soaking out all the tired muscles from your journey and tension you had felt before the meeting. Making you complacent.

You both stay like that for a little while. Relaxing in the warm water in complete silence. Until you feel Benimaru’s hand brush against your arm. “What are you doing?” You asked in a drowsy, but mildly suspicious, tone.

“I was going to wash your back for you.” He replied against your ear. Making you shiver. “Can you lean forward for me?”

That nagging suspicion of his intent still clung to the back of your mind, but it was getting pushed further and further back by the warm water and his soft words. Having your back washed did sound nice.

The water slouched around a little as you moved to sit up and lean over the other side of the tub. “Is this ok?” You ask. Looking back over your shoulder from where you had cradled your head in your arms on the rim.

“Yeah….” Benimaru replied in a low voice. Looking at you. “That’s perfect.”

Your husband shifted around carefully, both to not hit you or splash the water out of the tub, as he came up on his knees behind you. The soft, wet sponge touched your back tentatively at first. But once you relaxed and even let out a soft sigh it became more diligent. His hands pressing a little harder with the sponge to give you a dual back wash & massage. It was extremely pleasant. The warm water and his warm hands on your body. So much so that you might moan a little when he came to your lower back.

“Ah…don’t do that to me…” Benimaru said. His voice sounding odd. Pained. It sounded so strange that you opened your eyes a little. You hadn’t realized you closed them. “I’m trying to be good and honorable. But if you moan like that, it gets very hard.” You’re not sure if he meant ‘it’ by the situation in question or the erection you were now feeling brush against your leg. When had that gotten there? You gasp at the feel of him against your thigh, but also the sponge and his hand shifting to your front; just at the top of your breast. “Please [Y/N]. Let me be with you. I can’t stand being without you anymore. It’s been so long.” You want to tell him that it’s only been a few days. But apparently, in ogre time, that was an eternity. He genuinely sounded like he was in agony right now. Not to mention that his hands wouldn’t stop touching you.

You’ll blame the warm water, and being so relaxed, and his damned skillful hands later, but your resolve broke quite easily. “Yes. Yes, I want you too Benimaru.”

You think you hear a happy rush of air level his lips before he moved forward and enveloped you. His broad chest encasing your back as he laid against it. His hands dropping the sponge to make direct, intentional touches with your body. His cock slipping between your legs to brush against your apex in pseudo-love making. You both moan.

He rutted against you like that for a moment. Thrusting against the outside of your opening. The hard lines of his cock brushing against the bundle of nerves at the top, making your insides quake and spasm greedily around nothing. “B-Benimaru….” You whine as you pressed back against him. His torturous touch driving you mad. “Please.”

Your husband groaned a little, low in his throat, before he kissed his mark behind your ear, where he had bitten you that first time, before lifting off to enter you. Being relaxed and the warm water made it easy, but he was as gentle as ever with putting it inside you. There was still a slight stretch with his size, but it’s a feeling you grown not only accustom to but relish. Just having him inside you made you moan wantonly.

“Ah…I keep telling you. Don’t do that to me.” Benimaru replied to your moan. You couldn’t see it with him behind you, but you could hear the hint of a smile in his voice. He pulled back and began to thrust, low and slow, into you. “I can’t control myself when you moan like that for me. How am I supposed to keep calm, and quiet, when you make my blood boil like that?”

“I’m…sorry…” You stutter out. Your voice staggered from his deep thrusts and your own labored breath of pleasure. “It just….feels…so good…..!” You moan again when his thrust went deeper this time. Hitting that place inside you that made you see stars.

He couldn’t control himself? What did he expect you to do when he was making love to you like this?

If anything, this was his fault

“Hmmm…this is no good…” You let out a surprised noise as Benimaru pulled out. You look over your shoulder. A little wounded at the comment. Not good? But before you could ask, or get more upset about the comment, Benimaru turned you around so you were facing him. Thrusting back into you in one swift move of your back hitting the tub and knocking all words out of your mouth. “I wanna see your face. It’s no good if I can’t see you and kiss you any time I want.” Then he did just that.

His tongue thrust into your mouth like his cock into your lower half. Swallowing your moans now that were flowing out unabashed. Doing it the other way had been nice, but you have to agree. This way was much better. Being able to kiss him. See his amazing body. Look into his beautiful eyes burning with such passion & love for you was bringing you closer to the edge than ever before.

“B-Beniamru! I…I’m close!”

“Me too.” The oni grunted out. Kissing your ear when you wrap your arms around his neck. “Cum for me my love. Let’s go together.” He always seemed to have a way with words with you, because you did as you were told and came around his cock.

His thrusts continue for a few moments longer, pounding through your orgasm, before they stop and Benimaru shuttered in your arms. A sign that he had finished too. You stay there for a moment. Holding each other loosely in the tub, before the kijin pulled back and looked around you like he just remembered where you were.

“I think we fucked all the water out of the tub.”

Your mouth scrunched up and you pinched Benimaru’s shoulder. “Don’t be vulgar.” He was right though. Now that your brain had resumed function again, you could see that half the water in the tub was gone. The floor soaking wet to the point you had to groan. No way you were going to be able to clean this up or explain this away without attracting attention.

The oni yipped at your pinch before he chuckled, then kissed you softly. He then stood from the tub, wet and naked and proud, before lifting you up out of it as well like a princess and carrying you over to the bed.

“We’ll clean it up later.” He stated, seeming to read your mind once again, as he laid you on the soft futon. “It’ll be alright.

“I still can’t believe you talked me into it.” You grumble. Pretending that you had been seduced, rather than whole heartedly accepting your husband in all aspects, as you dried yourself off. “What will the Yuki-Oni think.”

“That we are too people in love.” He replied quickly and with a smile. “The elders are all men. I’m sure they remember what it’s like to be young and in love, and unable to keep your hands off their young, beautiful wife.”

You blush a little at his words, but don’t really want to think about those old men being happy with their wives. “I suppose it’s a natural thing, but it’s still very rude to have sex in someone else’s house.”

“Maybe for humans. But we oni don’t see it that way.” Benimaru replied. Tossing his towel away. “Besides, Rimuru-sama said that this is something that most newlyweds do on their honeymoon.”

You shook your head as he pulled back the covers to let you both get under them. The room growing cold again now that you weren’t in the warm water, or doing other warm, pleasurable activities.

You snuggle together under the blankets. Watching the fresh snow flutter down outside the window. “Did you really need to be touching the water for your powers to work?” You finally ask.

You don’t know what his answer was going to be. But judging by the way your husband stiffened and balked at the question, you know now that he had been lying to you. “Well….it does work best that way. In theory. But….no….”

He turned away to not look at you. Or the steely stare you leveled at him. “Benimaru. I can’t believe you lied to me.” Sweat drops seemed to start pooling at his forehead as in flinched at your harsh words. Then he let out a startled sound as you flipped over on top of him, forcing him to look up at you with a confused expression. “You’ll have to be punished.”

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

mix up

Summary: A mix up with the buildings laundry was all it took to get what you always secretly wanted.

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (can be read as reader insert)

Wordcount: 4k+

Warnings: lots of cursing, smut (Oral; female receiving; sex), sex toys, also fluff, bad flirting as ususal

A/N: In my mind, this was a drabble. Apparently my brain had other ideas. The biggest thank you to @f0rever15elf​ for being my beta on this <3

Masterlist

Taglist in reblog

Pushing the laundry bin with your dirty laundry out of your apartment, you checked if you had  everything before you locked the door of your apartment behind you. It was laundry day. Thankfully the apartment in Bogata came with a laundry service. Not that you were not able to do your own laundry, you simply didn’t have time for it. The last thing on your mind while chasing down Escobar was doing your laundry. The job took every single second of your life, even in the few times you were off from work, even in your sleep. Walking down the long hallway, the last door you passed was Javier’s. You heard him curse something in spanish before the door opened and a similar laundry bin was placed in front of his door. You tilted your head as you looked at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, a little grin on your lips.

“What?” He asked looking down at himself. 

“Nothing.” You hummed. “I love that color on you.” You winked before you walked out.

“Fuck you too.” He chuckled as he followed you.

“What? I do love it. As a matter of fact I own some pink stuff I wear occasionally.” You unlocked the car and he jumped into the passenger's seat.

Javier and you were co-workers. He had joined you in the hunt for Escobar only shortly after you arrived here from DC. You would say you even became friends. As possible as it was to become friends with him. There were only a handful of people who knew the lengths you had to go through at this job. Of course, he had tried to get into your pants first but the both of you decided it would be for the better to keep this strictly non physical. At least that’s what you told yourself. 

Though secretly you felt yourself wishing it was you on the receiving end of his “affection” as you lay in bed alone at night, while he was fucking some prostitute on the other side of the building.

“I’ve never seen you wearing anything pink, Guapa.” He pushed his yellow aviators up as he reached for the pack of cigarettes. You started the engine and looked at him.

“Oh Javier… There are many things you haven’t seen me wear.” You winked. You could see when the penny dropped and he shook his head, with a small grin. 

“Fuck. I didn’t even have my coffee yet and you put pictures of you in underwear inside my head?”

“I never said it was my underwear. But… That’s payback for making me listen to the moaning from your apartment last night.” You finally got the car on the road.

“Jealous?” He asked, holding his cigarette by the window. You mentioned once that you weren’t a big fan of smoke but didn’t mind it. He had made the effort to turn himself away from you from that day on when he smoked.

“More curious.” You said honestly.

“How so?” You stopped at a red light, turning your head to look at him. 

“We both know you are paying most of those women, so how real is their… valuation with you if you know what I mean?” You were genuinely curious. You had two relationships before and both of them didn’t really care for your pleasure. You had been responsible for your own orgasms all your life and you were wondering…

“Oh they aren’t acting Guapa. I know what I’m doing.” He winked at you and threw his cigarette out.

“Every man says that.” You shrugged, rolling your eyes.

“Well… You’ll have to trust my word. The only way you could be sure was if I showed you, and we both agreed that nothing will ever happen between us, right?” He asked. You nodded and looked away from him, starting the car again, when the light switched to green. You didn’t notice him looking at you as you continued to drive.

“If we wouldn’t be working together, would you?” He asked as you parked the car in front of the embassy and killed the engine. The car ride had been silent since the red light.

“Would I what?” You asked pulling your purse out from the backseat.

“Let me show you that I definitely know what I’m doing?” He asked, his voice deeper as he looked into your eyes. You looked back into his and wondered if anyone had ever noticed the small caramel like spot in this right eye.

“I guess that’s another thing you will never find out, Peña.” You had a small smile on your lips, hoping to cover up your nervousness. He looked at you knowingly before he let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. You swallowed, your eyes flying to his lips before you looked up and he bit his lip.

“Shame,” he whispered before he opened the car door and got out of the car. You closed your eyes, ignoring the throbbing between your legs as you watched him go into the building.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered, shaking your head to follow him inside.

Weeks went by without either of you mentioning the conversation between you. At some point, you thought you imagined the whole thing. You continued to work together. You both took care of Steve when Connie left to go back to the states unannounced. You couldn’t blame her. You’ve been wondering yourself if what you were doing would end in catching Escobar in the end. 

Javi and you were a pretty damn good team at work. He always had your back which was a gift you truly cherished. When you had first met him and Steve, you would have bet a lot of money that they would be just like the other assholes you had worked with before. But they weren’t. Of course Javier continued to flirt with you. That’s just who he was. But he also did acknowledge your intelligence and knew when he had to shut up and actually listen. You grew so comfortable with each other that just one look from the other would tell if it was a good day, or a bad day. 

Today had been a bad day for you. 

Not only was the lead you had chased the day before a dead end, but you just felt exhausted. Like the last weeks of working constantly came crashing down at you all at once. So you called in sick. For the first time… ever. You ignored that one of the reasons you felt so shitty was the fact that Steve and Javier had been gone for 3 days now. 

A knock on your door made you groan but you made your way to open up anyway, thanking the lady with your clean laundry with a smile before you closed the door and brought it into your bedroom. Deciding to put the clothes away right now instead of letting them stay on your bed as you usually did, you frowned when you saw a very pink shirt on the bottom. You let your fingers run over the fabric. It was Javi’s shirt. The one you teased him about.

Biting your lip, you looked down at it. You should give it back to him. You knew that. But he would be gone for at least another two days and you felt lonely. You opened the buttons, pulling the shirt you were wearing off and got his shirt on. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You had never worn a shirt of a man before, and when you pictured it before you weren’t thinking about a pink shirt, or Javi’s, but somehow you liked the way it looked on you. Smiling to yourself you pulled the fabric closer and you could swear you smelled his aftershave even though it was freshly cleaned. You did spend more time than you would ever admit to anyone thinking about him. The way he walked. The way he ran his hands through his hair when he was frustrated. How you could see his chest hair when he was wearing his poorly buttoned shirts. Closing your eyes you shook your head.

Coworker. He was your Coworker. 

Your very attractive Coworker who you caught undressing you with his own eyes more than once. In the quiet of your apartment you often dreamed what it would be like. Him touching you. You knew he could have anyone, yet he chose to pay for sex. He didn’t seem like he was looking to have any relationship, and you couldn’t blame him. But what if he chose you? What if he wasn’t your Coworker? What if he was just Javi? Your neighbor. What if you weren’t in Colombia chasing down drug lords? 

You pictured him coming home to you and taking you on the kitchen table. Would he go down on you? You bet he would. He seemed like he enjoyed pleasuring his woman. His woman. You wanted to be his woman. Even though you knew he wasn’t looking for someone. He told you before on a very drunken night out that he sucked at relationships. He just needed someone to make him forget, someone…

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts again. Looking at yourself you considered answering whoever was at the door dressed in this shirt but decided against it and put on your bathrobe. There was another knock at your door.

“One second!” You called pulling the bathrobe closer around your body as you unlocked your door.

“Javi?” You asked, surprised. “I thought you’d be back on Saturday.” You pulled the bathrobe around you closer, suddenly feeling too naked to be standing in front of him, even though your whole body was covered.

“You’re okay. Thank.. Fuck. You’re okay.” He sighed relieved looking at you.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” You frowned, a little confused. 

“I went to the embassy and no one knew where you were and…” He closed his eyes.

“I called in sick. I’m okay. I promise.” You said quietly. He ran his hand over his mouth, his other hand on his hip as he looked at you, his eyes tired.

“Are you okay Javier?” You asked a little confused at him just showing up like that. “Why are you back already?”

“Dead end. Didn’t see the point of staying there.” He shrugged.

“Okay. Then you should go to..”

“What are you wearing there?” he asked and nodded towards you.

“Uhm…” You looked down at yourself and tried to hide your surprise at seeing a bit of the pink shirt out. You looked up at him again, and you could see his grin.

“Is that pink I see?” His grin got wider. You sucked your bottom lip in.

“I told you I wear pink. Occasionally.” You shrugged. He nodded and continued to look at you before he stepped a little closer. You could see in his eyes that he was trying to work out what was going on and you noticed the moment he made the connection. His eyes darkened and you cursed yourself for not changing out of his shirt before you answered the door. 

“Is that… my shirt?” He whispered deeply. A shudder ran over your body. His hand came up, reaching for the collar that you apparently hadn’t tucked in as well as you thought you had. His finger brushed over your throat as his other hand slowly opened your bathrobe. One of your hands held your shirt together that you didn’t bother to button up. You shouldn’t have put it on in the first place. 

“Fuck, you’re wearing my shirt,” he cursed. You looked up at him, breathing deeply. You weren’t wearing anything but some panties beneath it. He looked down your body before he looked up at you again, his hand running up your neck to the back of your head.

You should take a step back, turn around and get away from him. Cause the way he was looking at you made your knees weak. 

“Javi, I can explain…” You mumbled, but he only shook his head slowly. The look he gave you made your poor explanation die on your lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered as he stepped even closer. You felt the coldness of his leather jacket as he pushed your bathrobe from your shoulders and you shivered.

“Close the door, Javier,” you whispered. He looked at you, taking you in before he turned around and closed and locked the door. Pulling off his leather jacket he let it fall to the floor as he stalked towards you.

“I will never be able to get this picture out of my head.” He said as he walked you backwards until your back hit a wall behind you.

“You… You don’t have to get this picture out of your head.” You whispered.

“No?” He asked. One of his hands coming down on your hip as his other hand brushed some of your hair away that had fallen in your face. You shook your head at him.

“If you want to see me in your shirts, make sure to leave them with me after…” You bit your lip.

“After?” He leaned down and you felt his breath on your face.

“After you’ve fucked me.” You whispered and sighed when his lips crashed down on yours. You grabbed onto his back, pulling him closer as he licked into your mouth. Parting your lips without resistance you moaned when you felt one of his hands slip down your back.

“Been dreaming about this for years.” He groaned against your lips as he kissed down your neck, pushing the shirt you were still wearing open and you saw his little smile when he saw your boobs.

“Me too.” You whimpered as his teeth scratched over your neck. 

“Tell me.” He whispered, softly sucking on your pulse point on your neck before he kissed down your collarbone.

“Wanted you to feel against me. Wanted to… Ahh..” You cried out when his lips closed around one of your nipples.

“Tell me.” He groaned and looked up at you, not releasing the bud and sucked. You wouldn’t be able to continue to stand on your own feet if he kept that up.

“Wanted to taste you. Wanted you to taste me. Wanted you to…”

“Fuck you?” He asked, releasing your nipple with an obscene sound. You just nodded.

“Been wondering if you taste as good as you smell.” He whispered and kissed down your stomach.

“May I?” He knelt in front of you, his dark eyes wild as he looked up at you. You hesitated.

“I… No one ever….” You sucked your bottom lip in, shy all of the sudden. He seemed to understand immediately, cursing under his breath.

“You should be worshipped. Fucking losers. All of them.” He shook his head and got up from the ground.

“Will you let me?” He asked softly. There was nothing but affection in his eyes and you felt yourself nodding. You shrieked when he picked you up in his arms, moaning when he kissed you as he carried you to your bedroom. Carefully he set you down and you looked up at him. You wondered what this would change between you. Because you wouldn’t be able to go back to being just friends after this. 

“You’re not just a fuck, hermosa.” He seemed to answer your thoughts. 

“Let me feel you.” You said as you got up to stand in front of him. He didn’t stop you as you pulled his shirt out of his jeans and began to unbutton it, kissing his chest before you pulled it off. He groaned as you teased his nipple.

“Lay down on your back and let me take care of you.” He kissed you quickly and you complied, wanting to take the pink shirt off when he stopped you.

“No. Keep that on.” He smirked and you giggled.

“Whatever you want,” you hummed.

“Be careful what you wish for.” He said quietly as he looked down at you. A shiver ran over your body at the look he gave you and you could feel just how wet you were.

“What if I like playing with danger?” you asked. He furrowed his eyebrows before his hands opened the fly of his jeans. You swallowed, your eyes not leaving his as he pushed his jeans down. It was like he was challenging you to look and when you did you released a breath you couldn’t remember holding in. Of course he wasn’t wearing anything beneath his tight jeans.

When he was standing completely naked in front of you, he leaned down to slowly peel your embarrassingly damp panties down. He kissed up your leg, his mustache rubbing over the skin and you giggled when he kissed the skin behind your knees.

“Someone’s ticklish.” He mumbled against your skin.

“Maybe.” You smiled. He kissed up your inner thigh and unintentionally you wanted to close your legs but he didn’t let you.

“Let me look at you hermosa,” he whispered, looking up at you. You were only able to nod slowly. 

“If this is how I die I won't complain.” He murmured before his tongue darted out to taste you. You wanted to look at him but the way he nibbled, licked, and sucked made you throw your head back, moaning loudly. You grabbed the bedsheets, trying to ground yourself as he sucked at you clit.

“So fucking good,” he groaned against you and you cried out. 

“Fuck, keep going…,” you moaned. One of his hands on your stomach held you down while his other hand grabbed one of your boobs, kneading them, pulling at your nipple.

“Cum for me baby.” He whispered, his tongue dipping inside of you.

“Fuck….” You arched your back, heat rushing through your body as you almost blacked out when your orgasm washed over you.

This was unlike anything you ever felt before. You were so out of it you didn’t notice Javi stopped until his mouth was on your neck before he made you look at him. You felt his cock between your legs and you shakily breathed out, a blissful smile on your face as he leaned down to kiss you softly. You didn’t know nor did you care how long he kissed you, you just knew you never wanted to stop.

“You did enjoy that, right?” He asked and you punched against his chest, making him laugh.

“You’re awfully full of yourself, Agent Peña.” You shook your head and he cocked an eyebrow. 

“What if I want you to be awfully full of myself?” He smirked.

“You did not just say that.” You snorted, shaking with  laughter beneath him.

“Sorry,” he laughed with you, looking down at you.

“No you’re not.” You grinned and he chuckled. 

“Do you though?” He asked, quieter now as his laughter subsided. You arched your eyebrow in question. “Want me to fuck you?” He kissed down your jaw, as he rolled his hips against yours.

“Is me naked beneath you not clue enough? I thought you knew that you were a good Agent and knew what you’re doing...” You teased, your hands wandering down his back, pulling him against you. He bit into your shoulder and you moaned.

“Oh I’m gonna show you that I know exactly…” He kissed you. You groaned as you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance. “How to make you cum.”

“Condoms... “ You gestured to your bedside drawer. He nodded, disappearing from your point of view before he was back, a dirty grin on his face.

“This is gonna be fun.” He whispered, holding a condom and your vibrator up. You blushed looking away from him.

“No need to be shy, hermosa.” He ripped the condom package open and pulled it over his hard cock. You felt his hand between your legs and you looked up at him, before two of his fingers entered you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“So If nobody ever made you cum by going down at you…” He kept fingering you slowly, adding another finger and you moaned quietly, feeling so full already.

“Did anyone ever make you cum?” He asked, his thumb slowly circling your clit and you were about to cum again when he stopped. You pouted.

“Huh?” He asked. 

“Yes Javi. I made myself cum.” You groaned and he shook his head.

“Not anymore.” He hummed before you slowly felt himself push into you. You stopped breathing, looking up at him, embracing the delicious burn you felt as he split you in half. The sounds he was making would haunt you in the best way possible.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned and you released a breath when he was fully inside of you. He stilled, probably wanting you to get used to the stretch but all you wanted was..

“Move. Javi.” You pleaded and that was all he needed to hear.

“Feels better than I imagined.” He pressed, slowly fucking into you. He put your legs around his waist as he leaned down to kiss you. Holding him close, you let him fuck you, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. Never in your life did you feel that full. He kissed every piece of skin his lips came in contact with and you grabbed onto his back, surely leaving marks as he moved faster. 

“Please…,” you moaned.

“Please what Hermosa?” he rasped, sucking on your shoulder.

“Harder.” You whimpered.

“You want it harder my needy girl?” he asked. You were only able to nod as he pushed away from you, pulling your legs over his shoulders. He held on to your legs before he began to ram into you.

“You want it harder. You get it harder. You get everything you fucking want.” He groaned.

“Fuck yes.” You moaned, holding onto the mattress beneath you. Closing your eyes you just let him do whatever the fuck he wanted. Never in your life had you been fucked like that. The familiar buzzing of your toy let you snap your attention back to the man curently fucking the life out of you and you almost jumped when the vibe made contact with your clit.

“Shit…,” you cried out, surprised when your orgasm washed over you within seconds.

“Fuck fuck….” Javie groaned, fucking you through your orgasm, throwing the vibe away.

“Can you give me one more?” He asked. You shook your head, still trying to breath properly, when he pulled out of you and turned you so you were straddling him.

“Ride me baby.” He smiled up at you. You leaned down, kissing him longingly before you carefully sat down on his cock.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said in awe, looking up at you as you slowly rolled your hips, still oversensensetive from your orgasm. Both of his hands sneaked under his shirt you were still wearing, massaging your boobs.

“You gonna give me one more, hermosa?” He moaned quietly, pushing himself up, his arms coming around you, his chest against you as he moved his hips against yours.

“Javi…” You whimpered, holding on to his shoulders.

“Tell me what you need…” 

“Kiss me,” you whispered. His lips were on you in the next moment and you shook as you felt your third orgasm approaching.

“Cum for me, Javi,” you whispered, clenching your walls, one of your hands pulling at his hair. He moaned against your chest as you felt him swell before he twitched and that was all it took for you to cum again. 

Out of breath you held on to each other, your head on top of his, his lips still attached to your boob.

“We should have done this sooner,” he chuckled and you smiled as you looked at him.

“We should have,” you agreed. You felt him soften inside of you but not you nor him were ready to let go of one another. You kissed him softly.

“We could do this again, you know?” You said carefully. You knew you wouldn’t be able to share him with anyone, he had to know. He looked at you.“But I’m not sharing what’s mine,” you added. 

“Yours, huh?” He asked, a little smile on his face. You nodded.

“I like the sound of that.” He said before he kissed you deeply. 

[afictionalwhore]

Light as a Feather (Oh Baby pt 2)

A/N: There’s been a lot going on, but I finally got it! This was the original plot of “Oh Baby!”, that cuteness that was inspired by my little ones at the daycare, but I got sidetracked by smut. Alas, no smut in this one today, but you can find smut here in pt 1!

Pairing: Hawks x fem Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

TW: yandere Hawks, a bit of angst with a happy (?) ending

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

It was a clear night, where despite the hazy glow of the street lamps, Keigo could still make out the stars above. The full moon shone down on him, glimmering against his brilliant red wings. It was the perfect temperature: cool, but just warm enough that if Keigo were home with you, he’d have insisted you leave the window open for the crisp night air to breeze. 

As he made his way down the empty street, Keigo pouted. He didn’t understand why he had to be out on night patrol. Hawks can’t see at night. His avian eyes were useless at night. His mind wandered to you and your son at home, where he’s much rather be.

Keigo was determined to be the best father for his son (he just knew you would give him a son as soon as you told him you were expecting). He took a whole week off to spend time with you. Of course, the rumors flew about where the great Hawks was during this time, the most popular of them being that he was off having a secret love affair. The commission was able to shut them down almost as fast as they appeared. Hawks had a reputation as Japan's most eligible bachelor to uphold. If only they knew. 

When he begrudgingly returned to work, Keigo had grown paranoid about your safety. He knew, rationally, that no one would be able to find you. The most skilled hikers of Everest wouldn't be able to find their way to and from your secluded haven. He knew, rationally, that you would never leave him. You loved him too much for that, and now with your son on the way, you didn't just love Keigo, you needed him. 

Prior to his return from his "staycation", as he told the commision, Keigo had plucked a feather from his wings and fashioned it into a necklace. 

"Here," Keigo said as he sat you in front of your vanity mirror. He stood behind you to clasp the necklace around the back of your neck. The soft red feather lay tenderly on your collarbone. "I'll be able to sense where you are with this feather. Keep it on at all times. If you need anything, just squeeze it, and I'll drop whatever I'm doing for you."

To test his theory, you carefully ran your fingers over the feather, feeling every babule that made up the vane. Keigo shivered, and stretched out his wings. 

"That feels really nice, baby," he said, a pleasant smile stretching across his face. "Like you’re petting my wings. Do it again."

You caught a glimpse of him behind you in the mirror. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and he reminded you of an overgrown puppy. For a second, you could forget he ever kidnapped you in the first place.

Despite the lightness and softness of the feather, it felt heavy, like one more thing to chain you to Keigo, as though a baby weren't enough. For Keigo, however, not only did the feather help set his mind at ease (he didn't tell you he could sense vibrations and know when you were moving), filled him with a sense of pride to see you wearing his feather, as though it were a collar that declared him as your owner. You really were his, and nothing brought him more joy.

The sound of sirens blaring brought Keigo out of his reminiscing. Fire engines and an ambulance whizzed by. Hawks opened his wings, briefly stretching them out before flying after them.

He didn't have to follow for long when they came to an apartment complex on fire. Perhaps a small kitchen fire got out of hand. Smoke poured out the windows of the upper floors, some ten stories above. Firemen and ambulances lined up, and Hawks got to work scouring the apartment for trapped citizens.

Naturally, reporters were drawn to site. As the realization that Hawks was on the scene grew so did the amount of reports. The presence of Japan's Number Two bringing in all the news crews, both local and national. 

As Hawks carried out an elderly woman, he was overcome with pain. A pain so sharp, he thought he was dying. He felt as though something was squeezing his chest. A heart attack, maybe? He had never felt such pain in his life. A haunting revelation crossed his mind: the squeeze wasn't just coming from him, it was from you and your feather. There was only one other time you had squeezed the feather Keigo gave you, and that was when baby Takami was on the way.

You weren't exactly sure how you survived the birth. There was no way Keigo would allow a doctor, or even the old village midwife, to come up the mountain to visit you, much less allow you to go down yourself. 

It was the longest day of Keigo's life, an excruciating 20 hours as he watched you bring his child into the world. It was all worth it, as he gazed down at the tiny copy of him crying in his arms. Kiego turned to look down at you, your sweat sticking your hair to your face, chest heaving to gather air. Your voice, hoarse from the screaming, whispered the gentle command for Keigo to hand you your baby. Silently, he obeyed. Who was he to deny you the right to hold the child you gave him? 

Keigo's heart seized. He didn't think he could be any more in love with you as he was as he watched you with his son, brilliant red wings, a miniature version of Keigo’s own red wings, folded against your baby’s tiny back to fit in the crook of your arm and nuzzle against you. His feathers shifted and shook as he snuggled into you, gazing up at you with honey eyes full of awe. 

With all your screaming the excruciating labor, you were for sure your fate as Keigo's wife locked up was sealed. There was no way anyone would come to your rescue, as your cries only served to further prove the local myths of the haunted forest. This, of course, brought Keigo a sense of ease, despite the agony he was in watching you writhe in pain. 

"Are you okay, young man?" the elderly woman Hawks was still holding asked. Keigo realized he must look as bad as felt. He smiled his signature Hawks smile and shook his head.

"I'm alright, ma'am," Hawks said. "Just some bad chicken for lunch. Are you okay?" Hawks set the woman down and flew off before giving her a chance to answer his question. He had to get to you. He had to get to his son. This pain was nothing like he'd felt before. Everything else could wait.

He heard the distant voices of reporters behind him.

“Where is Hawks going?”

“Why is Hawks leaving the scene?”

“That isn’t very hero-like of Hawks.”

Keigo was grateful for the woman asking how he felt. She would be a handy alibi in case the reporters asked around the scene before the commision was able to speak up about Hawk's sudden disappearance from the scene. 

"It wasn't like there were any villains around," they would say, "Just a small apartment fire and he happened to be in the neighborhood. Heroes are just like the rest of us. They can eat bad chicken too."

Keigo flew through the forest, branches brushing harshly against his face. Every possibility ran through his mind. The “what if”s assaulted him as he raced to reach you. 

What if there was an accident?

What if you fell and hurt yourself?

Hurt the baby?

What if someone found you?

Keigo’s heart froze. Your disappearance was gaining some fame on the news once again. It had been nearly a year ago that Keigo plucked you out of your dirty apartment in the dangerous part of town. You had no way of knowing the date, thanks to Keigo’s lack of calendars, and lived telling time passed solely based on the growth of your baby.

What if you left? 

Keigo shook his head. You didn’t really want to be rescued anymore, did you? Keigo didn’t think that was the case at all as he recalled the way you stare in wonder at your son, his son, the son that he gave you. You loved your baby, and you loved Keigo.

Keigo slowed as he approached your front yard, a small clearing, fenced in with thin logs that appealed to Keigo’s nesting aesthetic. Inside the fence, your garden proudly stood.

As time passed, Keigo noticed you grew restless. Keigo almost felt bad, grooming you into craving his affection. You didn't get much company outside the cardinals outside the window and the deer that roamed your forested backyard. You must have been so lonely during his long work hours. 

Keigo thought that coming home to a nice meal cooked by you, his beautiful, doting wife, was all a man could ask for. That was until he got the bright idea of giving you a garden to grow the food you cooked for him. Keigo battled with the garden, he saw how some of the women at his agency fawned over their plants, and while he wanted nothing less than your constant affection and couldn't stand the possibility that your garden would also earn your care. But he also thought you could use the company during his long and irregular work hours. His rationale was that the more of the groceries you grew the less time he would have to spend away from you at the store getting your weekly groceries. 

Keigo slowly made his way through your yard. On closer inspection, there was nothing amiss in your garden, save for the usual deer damage. He couldn’t relax yet. 

He walked through the front door, which was closed, he made note of, and was met with unnerving silence. Tucked away in the corner of your living room was the small, upright piano, a chip on the top corner from when Keigo hit the doorway while maneuvering the piano into your living room. The piano was closed, keys covered. Your sheet music was laying on the floor. A sign of struggle?

A vegetable garden wasn't going to last the winter, so Keigo decided to find other hobbies for you to take on while he was gone for an agonizing eight hours minimum. You sleepily waddled into your living room one morning on one of Hawk's rare days off to find him dragging a piano through your front door. 

"Do you like it?" Keigo beamed the moment he saw you and your round form from around the piano. "Your garden won't last the winter up here. So I thought you could pick up a few more hobbies indoors." Of course the fact that if you had things to do to keep you indoors and safe while Hawks was out at work would help ease his pain of having to leave you on your own remained unspoken. You knew, but you couldn't be mad. Music would be good for the baby.

Keigo cried out at the thought of never hearing you play again, never coming home to the sounds of your choppy notes as you learned new pieces. The window was open and a slight breeze blew through, billowing your curtains and ruffling your papers on the floor. Ah, just the wind. This revelation did nothing calm Keigo. Why was the window open on a night he had patrol?

He ran to the kitchen. Empty. A plate of food and a small rice bowl sat on the table, all wrapped in foil. A pair of chopsticks laying neatly beside them. Keigo’s heart fluttered. You had set a place for him. Dishes from dinner were stacked in the sink, waiting to be washed as you always stayed up for Keigo to finish with his before setting to washing. The faucet dripped slowly. Plink. Plink. Plink. The sound grew louder, ringing in Keigo’s ears until he screamed. The painful squeezing still holding on to him.

Keigo flew about your house, banging against the walls. He checked every room.The bathroom? Nothing. The bedroom? Nothing. Keigo groaned as he made his way to your neatly made, shared bed, falling on to it. Keigo wept. His head fell into his hands, and his wings trembled with every sob that wracked his body. 

After a few minutes, he realized there was only one place left to check. The throbbing pain had never subsided but was only overshadowed by his fear. Keigo felt his heart beat against his chest as he turned slowly to look at the one room he avoided searching out of fear: the nursery. The nursery was directly across from your bedroom. The door was cracked slightly, just enough to let the light inside filter into the hallway. 

 Keigo was afraid his heartbeat was too loud, that whatever was potentially in the room waiting for him would hear it. His muscles ached as he made his way to the door. As he approached the nursery, his heart grew louder until he was right outside the door. He held the knob in his grasp, clammy and slightly trembling, before giving a push. Keigo wasn’t ready for the sight that greeted him.

There you sat in the rocker with your baby in your arms, his chubby cheek pressed up against your breast. Both of you were fast asleep, the light rise and fall of your chests in sync. Milk dribbled off your baby’s chin like he had just finished drinking. In one pudgy hand, he held a vise grip on your finger. In his other hand, he held Keigo’s feather, as tight as he could as though it was just as much his lifeline as your milk.

Keigo ran to you and dropped to the floor, sobbing into your knees as he clung to your legs. You jumped awake at the weight of Keigo nearly collapsing on you, startling your baby.

You gently shushed your baby, holding him against you to calm him while running your hands through Keigo’s hair to soothe him. 

“Keigo, honey,” your crystalline voice rang. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought you were gone. I thought—” Keigo’s cries cut him off. He clutched at his chest, your baby still squeezing his feather hanging from your neck.

“Oh. Oh, Keigo. I’m so sorry,” you said as you realized what had happened. “Here.”

You pried your infant’s fingers off Keigo’s feather. The little red plumage slightly ruffled from being bent into the shape of the baby’s fist. You shook Keigo off you and stood up, adjusting your baby in your arms and turning to the door.

“Let’s go get you something to eat, okay?” You looked back at Keigo and smiled before turning back and walking out the door towards the kitchen. He hurriedly wiped his tears, in a fashion similar to a small child who had scraped their knee, and followed you.

Unseen by Keigo was the glow in your eyes. The first time you used his feather you were too distraught by labor to realize the power you held over Keigo. Rather than heavy chains binding you to Keigo, the feather acted more like a leash tied around his neck. The originally weight lifted, and the red feather hanging gracefully from around your neck finally felt as light as a feather.