#alas i am not so some more alone time it is

[whispering-kavka]

i need to be loved like, right now and for forever

[jojo-schmo]

Sworn Partners at their weekly Dreamland protection strategy meeting

[thebirdandhersong]

:'))))))

[cerealmonster15]

I’m watching a vid on how people run twitch streams bc A. I am curious about The Magic and B. I love deluding myself

[unfo11owmelol]

Kero Tumblr and Pixiv are either getting boring or straight up unusable. And it feels like twitter is slowly going down too. 💀 Komatta na...

[despacito-uwu16]

PRETTY PLEASE

(Pining! Kenji Sato x Reader)

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

"pretty please come on over and ruin my life" - Pretty Please by Dutch Melrose

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

Kenji woke up in his room with a pounding headache and a wave of nausea hitting him like a ton of bricks. Mina held the trashcan as Kenji threw up the contents from last night’s party. After he was done, Mina set down a sandwich, along with some water and painkillers. “Thanks, Mina”. He said as he took a bite of the sandwich. Before she left his bedroom, she closed the curtains, making the room dark again. Kenji put the sandwich back on the plate and lied back down on the bed. He closed his eyes again, and the events of last night came flooding back. The techno music blasting, the alcohol, the girl…

The girl… she was all alone at the after party so Kenji approached her. It went from small talk and flirting to long, deep conversations. The next thing he knew, they were dancing on the dance floor. He remembers her angelic laugh, her strong lavender perfume, the way she would look at him while he held her as they danced. They were perfect for each other.

“She was so pretty”…

“Fuck what was her name again”?

Kenji looked through his contacts, trying to see if there was a name or a phone number he wasn’t familiar with. But alas, nothing. As he sinks further down into the soft pillows, his hands fell onto his face. Of all the things he didn’t do, he didn’t think to ask for her phone number.

He couldn’t stop daydreaming about the girl. Everywhere he went, he thought he saw her. But he always ends up mistaking her for another random lady. 

His pining got to the point where it annoyed his baseball team. Every time Kenji would bring up the mystery girl, his teammates would groan, yelling at him to shut the fuck up.  Even his coach had enough of the mystery girl nonsense.

“If you don’t get your head out of the gutter, i’m trading you to the tigers. That’s a promise”. His coach threatened.

Even Mina noticed how distracted Kenji was. Every time Kenji came back from battle, he would show up with more bruises and injuries. 

“Kenji, what’s going on with you? You keep loosing your focus”. Mina asked. 

“I’m fine Mina, really I am”. Kenji puts an ice pack on his shoulder, the cold stinging his skin. 

“This is about the girl from your dreams, isn’t it”? Mina pressed on.

Kenji sighs. “She isn’t some girl I made up! She’s real Mina, and the thought of her is driving me crazy. What’s even worse is I never got her phone number”. 

“I’m sure you’ll see her again”. Mina reassures him. 

“In a city like Tokyo? I doubt it”. He pouts. 

Everyone around him is well aware of how down bad he is for the girl. The thought of her is ruining him, but he didn’t care. He wants to see her again. Scratch that, he NEEDS to see her again. 

But a few weeks go by, an the thought of the mystery girl eventually died down. His focus came back and Kenji can properly function again. 

He was filling up the water coolers for his team, minding his own business when all of a sudden, he heard a familiar laugh. He turned around and saw a (hair color) haired girl talking on the phone while filling up her water bottle at the same water station. 

“It’s you”. He muttered out loud.

The girl turned around and looked at him. Kenji panicked, he finally found the mystery girl that had been plaguing his mind for weeks, and now he couldn’t form a single sentence.

“Hey, can I call you back? Okay bye”. The girl hung up her phone and approached Kenji. 

“Well, if it isn’t Ken Sato”. She smirked

“I can’t believe it’s you”. Said Kenji.

“In the flesh. I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried when you blacked out”. She said.

Kenji looks at her in confusion. “I blacked out? But Ken Sato never passes out”. 

“Well, you did. It was during our dance. My guess is the soju finally caught up to you”. She chuckled. 

He finally remembered now. He had two soju bottles and the next thing he knew, he saw stars. Talk about embarrassment.

“Anyways, my brother and I took you home”. She added. 

“Damn… I’m sorry, I really wanted to see you again, but I never got your number”. He said.

“I slipped my phone number in your jacket, hoping you would find it. But then I waited and then realized you probably didn’t want to talk to me”. She looked down at the ground. 

Kenji’s mentally face palmed himself. He didn’t think to look through his clothes before laundering them.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it! God I’m such an idiot”. He scratched his head. 

“It’s okay Ken. Here, give me your phone”. She gestured for it. 

He gave her his phone and she added her number on his notes app. 

“Text me and we can get dinner sometime”. She hands his phone back.

“I would like that”. He smiled at her. 

Suddenly, they hear the crowds cheering loudly from the stadium

“I guess that’s my cue to head back in. Can’t wait to see you play Ken”. She winks and turns to leave. 

He walked away, feeling incredibly lucky and lovestruck. But he snapped out of it when he realized…

“WAIT I DIDN’T GET YOUR”- 

But as he turned around, she was gone again. Lost in the crowd full of people.

“Name”…

“Well, at least I got your number”. Kenji thought

He looked down at his phone and saw the number she just put in, along with her name: 

“Y/N”

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated!!

FYI: Requests are open so feel free to send me some ideas for future one shots!

[thought--bubble]

Things We Cannot Change

Dark Aemond X (Strong Niece Reader)

Warnings Below

Word Count: 1,938

Aemond (Canon Era) Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners & Dividers by @arcielee

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Reader's hair is brown. That's the only descriptor due to the request received, Breeding kink, Targcest, Virginity Loss. Mental abuse, mentions of character deaths.

On your knees.

A place you thought you would never be, but alas here you are. On your knees looking up at the cold, cruel face of your uncle.

Once a boy you played with, read with, considered a friend. Now, he holds the life of your youngest brother in his hands. The only member of your family you have left.

"I ask you, Aemond-" He interrupts you with a cruel chuckle.

"King Aemond, my dear"

You cringe at the title. The war that ravaged both of your families put him on that throne. The thought of all you had lost made you sick.

"I ask you, your grace, to please spare my brother and I. There are so few of valyrian blood left." You keep your head bowed, your knees aching against the cold stone beneath them.

The both of you go quiet, you could still smell your mothers burning flesh, hear her screams as she was scorched and eaten alive in front of your very eyes. All for nothing, you thought. Your entire family is dead for Aemond to be the one to ascend the throne.

Your mother had been executed immediately, no court, no trial, just a woman and a dragon. Aegon II had demanded that you be executed as well, but luckily for you, he did not survive the trip back to the capital. Thus, your younger brother and you had been delivered to Aemond as traitors.

Followers of the false queen is what Aegon II had called you. Worthy of a public execution.

"On that front, we can agree bastard" He places his fingers delicately under your chin and tilts your face up towards him.

"I fear that dragon riders may become a thing that history boasts about if we are not careful in our decisions." He rubs his thumb gently across your bottom lip.

"So you and I shall marry, to preserve the bloodline," you audibly gasp at the absurd statement. You were now a mere strong bastard not fit to be queen.

"B-but your grace, I have been stripped of all royal titles. Surely I am not worthy to marry the King"

"You are not." he says curtly."But, preserving our dragon blood is of higher importance than that of courtly titles." He removes his hand from your chin and steps back, clasping his hands behind his back.

"The choice is yours, dear niece. Marry me or face the blade. If not to breed you, I have no further use of you."

You gulp audibly as your eyes begin to well. "I shall serve my duty to the realm your grace."

The betrothal was announced to the realm with mixed reactions. Some houses understand the reasoning others are very upset that a bastard would be queen and not one of their highborn daughters.

All concerns fell upon deaf ears because Aemond knew what he wanted, and he wanted you. As king, he would have exactly what he wanted.

Your life changed very little after the announcement of the betrothal. You were given chambers instead of being in the dungeons, but you were not trusted.

You were escorted everywhere you went, and the incoming title of Queen did little to garner you any respect.

Everyone knew what you were. A vessel to breed valyrian blooded babies and nothing more.

What was worse was the embarrassment.

Aemond made sure to embarrass you at any opportunity. He would have you serve him at meal times instead of servants. Pull his bath for him. Even perform his ridiculous hair care routine. All of it meant to demean you.

You had hoped that after the wedding, he would stop this disgusting showcase and allow you at least a modicum of comfort, but even in that thought, you were mistaken.

After the two of you had been escorted to your marriage chambers and left alone, Aemond ordered you to pour his wine and stand in the corner. Once again, as if you were a servant and the treatment had finally become too much for you to bare.

"I'll take the sword," you say after moments of silence have fallen between you.

"Pardon?" Aemond lifts an eyebrow and looks up at you.

"I will take the sword, i do not wish to live this way for years and years." You stand with conviction. "I ask only that you spare Aegon so that he might have children in the future."

Aemond chuckles and sips his wine. "The offer has expired, dear wife. You are mine now, to toy with as I please."

"I was kind to you!" The words almost echo throughout the room. The connotation is clear.

"You were." He simply nods and continues to look into your eyes, no clear expression on his face.

"Then why do you treat me like this? Like a-" You search your mind for the words but come up empty.

"Like a traitor? Because you are a traitor. You knew the laws of the world in which you live. You did not at any time attempt to talk my dear sister out of war, did you?" He stands up from his chair and stalks towards you.

"My sister Helaena took her own life, my nephews murdered in the cruelest of fashions." His breath is heavy as he glares at you with his one eye. "You were complicit in their deaths. How should i treat you?"

"As if I lost nothing? You killed Luke. You weren't complicit in it. You did it with your own hand!" You can feel your rage bubbling up in your chest and try to suppress it to no avail.

"You killed Rhaenys and Daemon. There is far more dragon blood on your hands than mine. " You regret the words as soon as you say them, expecting his wrath to be swift and harsh.

He clicks his tongue and looks away from you. "That may be true, but there will not be anymore dragon blood spilled by me. Least of all yours."

He walks toward you but stops when he sees you backing away from him and sighs. "There are things we can not change. The war. The losses we suffered." He continues to advance on you but moves much more slowly.

"Although I believe I can change this, your fear of me."

"I am not afraid." You attempt to sound convincing, yet the shake to your voice gives you away.

"Let me try," He says gently as he gets close enough to cup your face. "This needn't be a marriage filled with fear and hate. We are all that is left of the house of the dragon. Let us rebuild, together"

Your heart cramps in your chest at his words and soft demeanor. This is the Aemond you remember. The boy who was always gentle with you, kind. Not the monster who murdered your brother and countless others in a ruthless pursuit for the throne.

"I have known fear. I do not wish to spend the remainder of my days being the cause of yours." He presses his forehead to yours and kisses the tip of your nose.

"Will you stop? The public shaming?" A tear trickles down your cheek at the thought of continuing to live in this manner. The abuses mounting, the shame unbearable.

"Yes. twill not happen again." He takes your face in his hands and lifts until your eyes meet. "This i swear."

He gently kisses your cheek where the tears have started to fall.

"We have all shed enough tears for a thousand lifetimes." He wipes a tear from your other cheek with his thumbs. "No more."

He pulls you close to his chest, gently swaying from side to side. "Shhh." He tries to comfort you as he strokes your hair.

He very softly brings his lips to yours and whispers. "Let me be more than the monster, I implore you."

You press your lips to him in desperation. Do you love him? No.

Will you ever truly trust or forgive him? Most likely not, but you want to feel something. Anything other than the dull ache that you have carried in your chest since the day Luke died.

If Aemond was aware of your true feelings, he did not let on. He reciprocated your neediness with hungry kisses of his own before lifting you and carrying you over to the bed chamber.

"I always wanted you to be my wife," He admits between kisses. "Always"

You choose not to respond, instead pulling at his clothes. He drops you down onto the bed and rucks up your skirts. Pulling your small clothes down quickly.

"Close your eyes," He whispers huskily, kissing up your inner thigh. You comply with his demands, closing your eyes and turning your mind off. Surrendering entirely to the physical sensations you are experiencing.

He brings his hand to your heat, pushing you open before bringing his tongue down upon you. The feeling is overwhelming at first, and you can't help but cry out.

He tightly grips your thigh as he nudges his nose against your clit, running his tongue along your tight entrance. Never before have you felt something like this and as if your body is controlled by an invisible force your hips buck up towards his face.

He chuckles and grips your hips, holding you in place. "Patience my love, patience" He circles your clit with his tongue, the gentle flicking driving you to near madness.

"Oh gods," you bite your bottom lip as an unfamiliar pressure builds up in your lower stomach. "Aemond!" You clench at the bedsheets beneath you, the breath tight in your lungs as a searing fire moves throughout your entire being.

"Gods!" You arch your back as the feeling hits a peak before dropping back on the bed, your breath coming out in short huffs.

Aemond chuckles as he removes his breeches his hard cock slapping against his stomach. "Im going to fill you with my babes and everything will be better."

He moves on top of you prodding your entrance with the tip of his cock. "Hold onto me, this may hurt for just a moment" He warns, gentleness in his voice.

You head his warning, wrapping your hands around his back, as he begins to push into you, the stretch painful, not excruciatingly so but shocking nonetheless.

"eeeek," you can't help the slight screech that escapes your throat.

"Shhhh, it is alright." He comforts while he continues pushing into you until his hips meet yours.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his breathing labored.

You are ok. The pain, the fullness. It is something, and after so long of feeling nothing, the something, even if it is pain, is relieving.

He thrusts his hips against you, steadily increasing his pace. "You will be with child soon. We will be happy then, " He huffs.

You close your eyes and hold his head to you as he buries his face in your neck gently kissing at the sensitive skin there, and for the first time since the war began you feel calm.

His grip on you tightens as he buries himself to the hilt in you again. "We will be happy. we will" he grunts into your ear as the pressure once again builds up in your lower stomach.

As the two of you reach your peaks together, trembling and smiling you allow yourself to believe.

Even if just for a moment. That he is right. He is telling the truth.

That even after so much death and loss, the house of the dragon can stand tall and be happy once again.

To be added to taglists click HERE

[mandarinmoons]

ONE HUG is all i ask for 😭

i am incoherent when i cry. i need him to hold me in his arms while i sob just hold me close and listen to me tell him all my troubles and worries

can this count as a request? like they’re coworkers and something idk what happened on a case that triggered reader to just completely breakdown

hate to be dramatic (ha actually it’s my favorite thing to be) but i’d trust later seasons Spencer with my whole life and i’d be the most grateful girl in the world if you wrote this i swear i’d never take anything for granted again

no pressure though my ketty kat

thank you bbygirl 😔🙏

A suspect in your latest case had been arrested and you were the one asked to question him. During the interview the suspect managed to flip the script and started asking questions from you. You tried your best to keep a straight face and lead the conversation back to the interview, but some of the things he said struck a nerve with you and you excused yourself.

You walked out of the room, took a deep breath and quickly walked to a vacant office so that no one could see the tears pooling in your eyes.

Reaching an empty office you grabbed the handle with your shaky hands to open it, but alas it was locked. You kept trying to budge to see if it was possibly stuck, but it wasn’t. 

A moment later you heard your name being called and you quickly wiped the tears from your eyes. Turning around you saw Spencer jog up to you and look at you worryingly.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah I just needed a minute alone.”

“Your eyes are red.”

You looked down to hide your face, but that didn’t work with Spencer. He took your hand and guided you back to an empty office.

“What’s really going on?”

Knowing Spencer, he wouldn’t let you be until you told him what was wrong. It wasn’t the first time he pulled you aside when he noticed you looked a bit out of it and every time he was very sweet and understanding, so why hide it?

“Well the unsub, or well the guy we think is the unsub, he ended up turning the questions I asked him on me and um…” the tears gathered around your eyes again and your voice turned shaky.

Spencer’s protective instincts kicked in and immediately pulled you against his chest, one hand on the small of your back while the other one held your head.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

The tears rolled down your cheeks and sobs racked through your body as Spencer held you and comforted you, his hold on you getting stronger as your hands gripped his shirt.

Slowly but surely your cries calmed down but Spencer’s hold on you was still as firm as before, he wasn’t going to let you go until he knew you were alright.

As you rested your head on Spencer’s chest his hand ran through your hair, his touches feeling so feather light that you felt like you could fall asleep at any moment.

You looked up at him through your lashes and saw his eyes shining down on you, this man was always going to be concerned about you.

“Thanks Spence.”

Spencer smiled and brushed his thumb over your cheek, “Feeling any better?”

“A lot better yeah,” you nodded and lifted your head. Spencer’s hand still rested on your back, his thumb caressing it slightly making you feel goosebumps go up your arms.

“I’m going to take over the questioning. I don’t want you to get upset again.”

“Spencer, it's fine. I was just being emotional, I’ve-,”

“I do not want you to cry again,” Spencer’s jaw seemed tense and it looked like he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, all you could do was nod and accept it.

Spencer brought you close again for a hug and this time it seemed more personal, his lips rested against your forehead and your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your chest when you felt him press a light kiss to it.

“Go rest at your desk now, I’ve got this.”

Both of you walked out of the office and Spencer took you to your desk, making sure that you were sitting and not going back to do the interview. He looked back at you while walking away and you felt your heart stop again.

Half an hour later Spencer walked out of the interrogation room and announced that the man had confessed and he’d been arrested. His first thought was to come over and check up on you so he strode through the halls to find you still sat at your desk.

“How’d it go?”

“He confessed.”

“That’s good,” Spencer nodded and walked over to you.

“Your cheeks are still a bit red.”

“Yeah, they’ll go away soon don’t worry,” you chuckled and seeing you smile made Spencer smile as well. 

Your eyes met for a moment but it was cut short by Spencer clearing his throat.

“I should go, I have some paperwork to finish up,” Spencer was about to turn around, but you took a hold of his hand before he had a chance to.

“Thanks again, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

You both shared a smile and Spencer moved on to his work, unbeknownst to you that he was hiding a smile and slightly flushed cheeks on the walk back to his desk.

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @kimm4710 @niktwazny303 @reidsdaisies @mindfullycriminal @cumulo-stratus @themarauderseraslut @gayfor-rosadiaz @gubsbuubs

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[kkuzushi]

“ 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 ”

✦ 𝗰haracters: sub!albedo x dom!reader

✦ 𝗰w: handjob, sensory deprivation; blindfolding & bondage, sensitive birthmark, fingering (giving), overstimulation, (sort of) public ‘sex’, no pronouns for reader

✦ 𝘄ord count: 1.10k

✦ 𝗻otes: I’ve been missing this pretty boy so much, I just wanna turn him into a moaning mess. TT

Snowflakes fall gently to the ground, slowly covering the mountain with soft snow. The chilly atmosphere was more bearable now, mixed with the crackling sound of the bonfire behind you. The warmth of the fire relaxed your being, exhaustion wearing off from your body.

The stillness of the moment is accompanied with the heavy breathing of a blonde alchemist. The elegant heaving sparked your thoughts, how could someone be so beautiful just by the way their body shudders with every stroke of your hand?

“a-ah..! not so fastm-ngH! ♡” Albedo whimpered, voice cracking slightly as the speed of your hand on his cock surprised him. Despite his pleas of slowing down, his hips bucks onto your palm, wanting to receive more contact.

His head tilts back, if it wasn’t for the blindfold, you’d see the expression he has right now. The delicate appearance of his face mixed with his eyes rolling, oh it was arousing just to think about.

Alas, you have to control the temptation—depriving Albedo of sight to surprise him with every touch you give him. To add to his platter, his wrists are tied behind his back with red ropes, restricting him from breaking free of your grasp.

With his head tilted back, his pale neck was exposed, showing the four pointed star birthmark embedded to his skin. It was a wonderful sight; an eye-catching one at that.

Your head leaned down, lips making contact with his neck, directly on his birthmark. "guhAh~?!" a surprised moan left the chemist’s mouth, losing his sense of sight really leveled up the thrill of your actions.

His neck was showered with kisses, some bites here and there to mark his skin—all of it made Albedo squirm and whimper, his fingers curling inwards till his knuckles turned white.

"If you c-continue.. I'll– mmHNGH! ♡ ♡" His words were cut off as soon as he came on his work desk, making a mess on your palm. Albedo's body trembled with every cum that spilled out of him, whimpering as he tried to suppress his noises.

As he takes his time to calm down, you wipe your hand with a nearby towel before continuing with what you had in mind.

"Let's move on to phase two, shall we?" You asked rhetorically, pushing him down to the table gently, his back arching as if on command. Your hands reached down, caressing the supple skin of his ass.

Albedo laid half his body on the work desk, still breathing quite heavily after his release. The caresses on his rear was comforting to say the least, despite the fact that he can't really know your intentions for the next phase of the experiment.

"‘bedo," you cooed his name, "how many fingers am I holding?" a smile on your lips, it was unseeable but he could hear it directly from your tone.

The question confused him though, he was wearing a blindfold, how would he know?

"What exactly do you mean? I can't se– nghAH–!"

"How many fingers?"

"T-two.."

Two fingers were inserted in his puffy hole, it was tight and wet. You took your time playing around him, eliciting gasps out of his pretty mouth. His ass stays up in the air, slowly going back and forth into your fingers, squelching sounds coming out of it.

Your fingers reach deeper within his walls, causing a breathy whine out of him. A sudden thrust, hitting his prostate, the whine turns to a louder moan. His back arching as your finger curls inwards, his mouth hangs open as you continue ramming the squishy spot.

The alchemist's head throws back as he starts salivating on his desk, legs trembling as he tries to stay sane from the amount of sheer pleasure he's getting from your fingers alone.

Another finger was added, abusing his wet hole before he let out a soft cry, "I'm.. mngh–! gonna cum..! ♡" Cock twitching while ropes of cum shoots out, back arching sharply with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His entire body flinched as his orgasm lasted for a minute or two, finding the trouble of calming down.

A mere touch on his body causes him to flinch, he’s so sensitive that a slight brush of your fingertips could make him whimper. You grab his left thigh, lifting it up and placing it on the desk, “We’re getting to the end of this experiment,” you hummed.

The anticipation makes him weak, with one leg lifted up, you can see his cock. He was still hard, despite cumming twice already. He feels your hand once more, stroking his tip, emitting a surprised “gAH–!” out of him. As if that wasn’t enough, your fingers entered his hole again.

“W-Wait..! mmNgh hA-Ahh..! Too shenshitiveee!! ♡ ♡” Albedo bites his lower lip, trying to bottle up his moans yet it was futile. Everything felt too good, the stroking on his tip mixed with his hole getting fingered? It was all too much. The alchemist could barely contain himself, his mind was through overdrive with the pleasure you’re giving him.

He was no longer being quiet, his body was almost thrashing as he couldn’t restrain himself. If he wasn’t tied up right now, he’d be clawing the table. hard.

“a-ah! ah! t-too muchhhffghh–it’s too muchggAhH! ♡” The alchemist continued to babble until it turned into incoherent noises along with moans he can’t suppress any longer. His thoughts were fogged up, only thinking about how you’re stroking him with greater pace, three fingers hitting his prostate. He was being overstimulated to his core.

There was no surprise if his voice turned hoarse the next morning, all that matters is he’s enjoying his time, not that he could think of anything else anyway. “ohmmm– can’t anymorhgg..! chuminggghh–!! ♡ ♡ ♡”

The sluttiest moan came out of Albedo, his cock releasing again on your palm, slowly dripping down the floor. You took your fingers out of his hole to hold his waist, supporting his trembling body from falling down the desk. His back stayed arched, mouth hanging open as he continued to voice out his release. Loud pants came out of the alchemist, feeling the exhaustion hitting his body after three orgasms.

Once his noise dies down, you slowly remove the blindfold on his eyes, revealing the stream of tears now spilling to his cheeks. His eyes were glossy, daze and exhaustion mixed in his expression. “Did you enjoy that experiment?” you murmured yet he gave no reply.

His breath hitched as he gave a slight nod, unable to move too much. The way Albedo acts during his afterglow was amusing, you giggled and kissed his cheek, “Then we can conclude this experiment a success.”

[b1ravenclaw]

Azriel has a mate and when he starts spending time with Elain. She becomes distant.

She sees the almost kiss with Rhys and she leaves and Rhys doesn’t say anything for her.

She eventually comes back and is in “fuck him. I’m a bad bitch” era and Azriel has to grovel hard cause she isn’t taking any shit.

You can end it however you want.

Relief

note: I hope I did it justice :)

warnings: unedited, angst

The almost kiss was just the cherry on top of the fucking cake. 

It started slow, of course, but it went at a slow steady pace. Always there to nag at my insides, something so silly and small I could not complain, really. So what if he was befriending the High Lady’s sister, it was expected she made some friends considering her abrupt start at fae life. What was not expected was Azriel would altogether stop making time for you. His mate. His fucking mate.

The lingering glances he once shared with you were now hers, his attention once solely yours was now solely hers. And you did not want to believe, when you clinged to hope on those cold nights alone that he may only be distracted because of his harsh work. You supposed he avoided your touch because his insecurities of not being enough may have crawled and found its way inside him again. 

But, alas, it was not it. It was just her. Fucking Elain, and she was not to blame. He was. How could he neglect his mate? His other half. How could he be so vile and cruel, not only to you, but to himself as well. He did not expect you to forgive him, did he? Or to never find out? 

You did not know what was worse. That, until you saw the look on Rhysand’s face, when his violet eyes left anger daggers at Azriel, to you they only emanated pity. Pure pathetic pity. His mouth opened and closed a few times, the High Lord of Night at a loss of words, congratu-fucking-lations Azriel. 

The walk to your room was shameful, glamouring yourself as to not be seen by no one, not wanting to wait for him, to hear what Rhys had in store for him. You just wanted to go away, your things were quick to be packed, and Kallias and Vivienne were not alarmed to see you at their palace doors unannounced. However they were alarmed by the sad glimmer in your eyes, tears refusing to be dropped and, instead, freezing. Your lashes starting to become white with the cold.

“Oh Dear.” Was all Vivienne, your cousin, said. Your only family member alive. The family you would have now that Azriel fucked everything up. Your hopes of having a family crushed right before you, and you let it happen. Had you fighted him would it have changed anything? Would his interest in Elain have died down or grown further more? You felt your heart growing colder. Vivienne had asked if you wanted company sleeping tonight, but you refused. You did not want her to see how much you could cry about it, and when you thought it was over you felt it. Over the bond you felt it, his feelings, and it wasn’t remorse, it wasn’t sadness or even anger. He felt nothing, almost as if he was feeling contemptment. As if he was fucking relieved you left. 

You cried until sunrise, shame sent you to sleep and hunger woke you up the next morning.

Your stomach was empty and growling, and you were in desperate need of a shower. But the first thing you did that morning was neither bathe or eat. You looked in the mirror at your disheveled image, at your red puffy eyes you focused on your feeling of emptiness and hopelessness and sent that perfectly destroyed image down the golden thread connecting you to the winged male, and closed it. You looked your heart and mind at seven keys, never to be opened again, never to be toyed with. 

That morning after bathing and brushing your long hair you cut it at shoulder length, you found your best dress, one that had a high detailed neckline and went past your feet. 

“Y/n.” Said Kallias, surprised, “Good morrow.”

“Good morrow, my lord.” You said with a courtesy. “My lady.”

“Y/n, your hair… it’s different.”

“And so am I, I thought it would be fitting. Don’t you?”

“Of course.”  Her voice was soft, as if she was scared if she spoke too strongly you would break. But you could not be broken, not anymore. 

“I was…”

“You don’t need to say what happened if you do not wish to y/n, you are always welcome at our home. Your home.” Kallias said, ever the High Lord. 

“Thank you, Kallias. But I wish to, just to clear things up. As I suppose they will want to contact me.”

“Rhysand may have sent word, as well as your mate.”

“I would appreciate it if you called him by his name, as he is no longer my mate.” They both inhaled sharply, the food at the table left untouched. “I supposed I saw it coming, he… Well, he took interest in another female. It has been quite sometime. The final straw was, well, his lack of respect for me and self control.” 

“Oh, y/n.” Vivienne was at my side, but it was Kallias voice that made my heart warm.

“Do you want me to end him?”

“As much as I would appreciate it, I know it would not be good, politically speaking.” 

“We can find our way around it.” “I’m sure you can. But… part of me wants him to live with it, see if he will suffer even if it’s a little.” 

“Your call, Vivienne’ family is my family. You know it.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

It was a week later the day you left, that Rhysand’s letter arrived. It was sealed and it smelled of the home you once cared for, one you did not wish to be in anymore. 

Dear y/n, 

I can not begin to imagine how you are feeling, I am writing to you to make sure you are safe  and well, as well as one can be in your situation. Kallias sent word you are with him and Vivienne, but alas please tell me if you need anything I can help with.  

We all miss you dearly, unfortunately word got out faster than  I could contain, we are all mad at him, and I forbade him to contact you. 

He would like to speak to you, but you owe him nothing. 

I hope to see you soon.

Your dear friend, High Lord of Night, Rhysand.

You answered the letter a few days later, letting him know Azriel was not to contact you, or else he would die. You didn’t think they believed it, you could never kill Azriel, even now. It was a month after that you saw Feyre and Rhysand, and how you missed them. All of them, they were your family once too and as if sensing your insecurity Feyre whispered in your ear as she left that you were still family, and as much as you would like to believe it, you knew they  would never turn on Azriel. 

Eight months later you felt strong enough to return to the night court, Vivienne and Kallias held you as much as possible, but when you were strongly inclined to retrieve the rest of your belongings yourself they hugged you goodbye. And when the inevitable happened, when you crossed his path despite Rhysand telling you he made sure Azriel had left before you arrived. When you looked into his almond eyes, that once gave you immense joy, you felt nothing, almost contempt. You felt relieved, that he could not affect you anymore, would not affect you anymore.

“My love…” “Azriel, it’s Y/n to you. Or Winter Court emissary.” 

“Y/n, please, don’t do this, let’s talk.”

“I will do as I please, Spymaster. Just like you did all those months ago.”

“I made a mistake.”

“And I hope it was worth, I hope you at least got to fuck her.”

“I didn’t. I lo-”

“Oh, that’s a shame. So you did really throw it all away, over what? A silly kiss? It truly is pathetic, Azriel.”

“Y/n, I should never have allowed myself to be lured away from my mate, I see that now.” “Lured away?” You scoffed, you could hear heavy footsteps approaching the room, probably Cassian’s. But you did not care for it. “Is that what you call it? Did she poison you?” “No?”

“Did she give you a love potion?”

“No, she didn’t.” “Did she enchant you with a spell?”

“No, and it does not matter, I shouldn’t-” “Then you were not lured Spymaster, maybe by your own lust and desire, but it was nothing you were physically weak against. She did not force you. You chose to betray me the moment you chose to spend time with her over me. “

“And I am so sorry.” His voice was broken, but you couldn't care less. You wished for him to hurt. “As you should be, and I hope Elain ends up being happier with Lucien than I ever was with you.” And as he tried to call you, tried to tug at the bond you once cherished with all your heart, it was much too easy to drown it all out, to distract yourself catching up with his family, your friends. You slept peacefully, the weight lifted off of your shoulders. The next morning it was much easier to put on the Winter Court colors and behold the tasks ahead of you, to serve your new High Lord. Your new court.

[freyito]

hiii first of all i just love your drabbles 🫶🫶🫶 Can i request mk1 characters reactions when their partner is hurt? yk when they found out that their s/o is in the hospital or sth. You can write for whoever you want but I would love if you include Raiden, Johnny Cage, Kenshi and Syzoth in this ❤️❤️

✭ pairing(s): liu kang, bi-han [sub zero], kuai liang [scorpion], johnny cage, kenshi takahashi, kung lao, raiden, zeffeero [rain], tomas vrbada [smoke], baraka, syztoh [reptile], havik, general shao, shang tsung, reiko (seperate) x gn reader

✧ a/n: thank u smmmmmm anon!!! i hope this doesnt sound egotistical or anything, but i really cant get enough of people telling me they love my writing, it's really affirming and i will always appreciate it ! it's always like... woah.... really......

this is the perfect request, but i am gonna put my own little spin on this and make it pretty angsty, whoops :P super sorry this one took so long too.... ough i put my heart and soul into it. i hope i am not only tumblr user freyito to you, but an angst writer too... well most of these are angst. some are a little more fluffy and less dire... also just could not for the life of me figure out what to write for geras' so no geras in this one :(

🗒 cw: gn reader, certain character's deaths, gore/blood, depiction of death, angst, in some you are close to death, stitching without painkillers in havik's, kidnapping in shang tsung's/mention of kidnapping in rain's, not proofread

✎ wc: 6.3k

ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏꜱ + ᴀ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⎯Liu Kang

Not much evokes emotion in him. He is a god, he must been even with his feelings, and any shift in the balance could set so many things wrong. On the battlefield, there is no room for failure. With you, he's always been relatively neutral, he makes sure you know he loves you, and he's gentle with you. Yet, he keeps a distance. Liu Kang harbors a fear deep down, that his actions, his status, will bring you to your end. He's a sought out target, after all.

So, when those fears come true, Liu Kang can't help but feel his rage consume him. To watch Shang Tsung's claws dig deep into you, festering, plaguing your own strength. Ripping into you, decorating his hands in your warm blood. Shang Tsung had done this because of Liu Kang, he was so sure. Flames engulfed him, near incinerating the foot soldier he had been fighting. He approaches Shang Tsung, as you lay at his feet, struggling to breathe. Unforgivable. To do this to his starlight, Liu Kang will not make this mans death slow and savory, no. Within an instant, he pushes Shang Tsung's head through his own body, splitting the man in half, as well. Death is too merciful, but alas, that is not important, now.

Once the initial wave of anger washes off, adrenaline and logic set in. Liu Kang picks you up, he treats you as if you're porcelain. Just barely, as you struggle to stay conscious, you can hear him assuring you it's okay. That nothing else will happen. It is unclear whether he is saying this to you, or himself. Regardless, he leaves the battlefield quickly. He knows his comrades can handle the rest. But knowing that he is so close to losing you, as you bleed out within his arms, it is haunting. Every second counts, and he knows it. He entrusts your care to the medics at the Wu Shi academy, as much as he trusts them, he cannot bring himself to leave your side. For hours, he is still covered in your blood. His eyes do not leave your face, resting and peaceful, even with death knocking on your door.

Liu Kang is there every step of the way. When you are in recovery, he makes sure to attend every session. He brings you books, something to keep you occupied on the days where you are stuck in bed. Regrettably, he can't enjoy a lot of alone time with you, because duty calls. He'd love nothing more than to spend every waking moment with you, but he still has stuff to attend to. However, when you are cleared to leave the academy, he keeps you close. Liu Kang is afraid it will happen, the image of you bloodied and ripped up still fresh in his mind. He's only a little protective, the thought of you going back into Kombat a little rattling. But he does not stop you. Because it makes him feel better knowing that you are back on your feet.

⎯ Bi-Han

As the grandmaster's partner, Bi-Han knows that you could be caught in danger. But he does not lament this. He does not celebrate it, either. He admires that you can fight, and he loves fighting by your side. He always looks out for you, of course he does. But he cannot be by your side in a large fight, he knows you can hold your own.

It is a sharp cry that draws his attention towards you. That is all he needs. Bi-Han prides himself on being an even and logical man, but the minute he sees A Tengu assassin's knife dug deep into your ribs, he snaps. Within an instant the battlefield grows colder, and the second you blink, the assassin already has his spine ripped out and shattered. A little bit of a flashy display for a man like him, but he wastes no time in bathing in the glory of his kill. He was lucky enough that the fight was nearing an end, the last of the Tengu clan that was sent out were either retreating or being taken care of.

Off you go to the medics of the Lin Kuei, and he insists you are priority. The one thing Bi-Han was unfair with was you, near fighting with the medics to tend to your wounds. Your blood paints his hands and upper torso, and he refuses to wash it off. Not until he knows that you have priority. When the medics relent, he finally disappears to wash off. He cannot stay by your side as much as he'd like, but he's not only restricted by his title, but his emotions. He takes a couple minutes outside, to calm down his own nerves. Bi-Han does not cry, but a few shaky breaths escape him as he tries to calm himself down. His mind races with every possible outcome, ultimately landing on the worst.

But, Bi-Han's thoughts do not come to fruition. The medics have worked their magic, and you are on the path to recovery. As much as he'd love to be with you, he cannot. But, he does send you a bunch of gifts. Letters, mainly. Small incentives for you to recover quickly, but he sends in flowers frequently, as well. The days he does visit you, he is a softer man. He's especially gentle with you around your ribs. He keeps a very close eye on you during missions once you are out of recovery. He doesn't mean to seem overbearing, but his position alone paints a big ol' target on your head. This attack was the first that brought that to his attention.

⎯ Kuai Liang

Fighting alongside a pyromancer is tricky, to say the least. There's a lot of variables to account for, and aside from that, Kuai Liang can't really keep an eye on you in certain instances. This was one of them, a rather messy battle, one where he couldn't keep track of you. Not that it mattered, he knew you were strong enough to hold your own.

However, it is a stray spark that leads you to stumble back. You flinch, which drives you back into the sword of the enemy.  When Kuai sees this… the world goes silent. Water stills, flame fizzle out, swords clash and the dull clang of steel against steel quiets. Only for the water to suddenly form a raging tide, the flames to burn brighter, and the steel fades against the sound of a brilliant flame. In your fading vision, you see your partner's kusarigama impale your attacker's jaw, and pull it clean off. It is a sight he will regret later.

When the battle is over and the medics have taken you away, all Kuai Liang finds himself doing is worry. Pacing constantly, he messes up the mission report and has to have Tomas or someone else from the Shirai Ryu. He can recount things normally without a hitch, but knowing that it was him and his own ‘reckless’ use of his pyromancy with you in such close proximity makes him trip over his words, and even his thoughts. With what little free time he has, he’s pacing outside your cot, frequently checking in on the medics and the progress, until they ultimately have to push him away. Which calms him down, somewhat.

When the medics assure him that everything is fine, and that you are on the path to recovery, he’s much more relieved. He’s a lot less tense, and he’s a lot more coherent. He’s able to compose himself. Granted, he tends to sneak off (when appropriate) to check on you. He really just loves talking with you afterwards, he doesn’t want to bring up any unpleasant memories or thoughts (particularly what you saw before you blacked out), but there will always be a point where you have to talk about it. He’ll also ramp up his affection. The entire ordeal (while he knew what would come with forming the Shirai Ryu) made him realize that maybe he takes you for granted. Kuai Liang has been surrounded by death, sure, but for some reason, when it comes to those he loves… it is hard to understand that life is fleeting.

⎯ Johnny Cage

Johnny is used to deaths and his partner being hurt… on screen. He’s so used to the dramatized version, where his stage partner dies in his arms, and he wails real loud. He’s blissfully unaware that it could, in fact, happen to you in real life. He likes to think of himself as a great source of protection, believes no harm will come your way, not when you’ve got just a big, strong, handsome hunk around. And one of Earthrealm’s Defenders. As much as he’s grown, he still needs to learn a few lessons from the world.

And he’s in for a reality check. There are some unsavory characters out there, ones that aren’t too happy about his status as a whole. All he gets is a call from the hospital and a nice little greeting from officers. The only things he can make out in his newfound panic is ‘attempted murder’, and he’s REELING. He wasn’t there, he reminds himself. He doesn’t know what went down. Officers are still trying to figure it out. In his hazy and reckless state, he goes to his best friend.

Kenshi helps ease his nerves, and gives him a couple of LOGICAL ideas. Considering Shang Tsung had wormed his way into Kenshi’s life to steal Sento (and ultimately got his ass beat), he brings it up. Which leads to a whole meeting with Liu Kang, Raiden, and Kung Lao. To discuss the possible threats, and the future. Johnny cannot sit still that meeting, he’s practically bouncing off the walls, asking what this means for you. Every single question is about you, and you alone. Liu Kang dismisses him, and he practically speeds off to the hospital.

Johnny relaxes when he’s able to finally enter your room,– after a lot of arguing with the doctors about visiting hours– but his mind still spins. How could he let this slide? He should’ve been there, right? Regardless of how much blame he puts on himself, (which it was never his fault to begin with) he’s sat by your bed, sulking. From the police report, it’s clear that it was AT LEAST linked to Shang Tsung, but that’s no longer his problem. He gets you anything from the cafeteria if you ask, and he brings you flowers every. damn. day. He’s got so many gifts coming your way, that when you get discharged, you’re practically smothered by all the gifts he got you as an ‘apology’. When you ask him what he means by an apology, he doesn’t say a single word. Johnny’s very on top of your medication, he’s soooo very delicate with you, he almost condemns you to bedrest. But with enough pushback, you’re able to be up and about; but that doesn’t mean he won’t be worrying over you for quite a while. Even if Liu Kang assures him that it won’t happen again.

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

Kenshi is aware of the danger that surrounds him and his existence in general. He’s protective of you, of course. And he knows full well that you could be swept up into the mix of the Yakuza, and his work with Liu Kang and the OIA. But, you yourself had fought hard for the relationship and made it clear that you could care less about the potential dangers; even if he felt a little frazzled at all the dangers out there. All the hands that could be grabbing at you, the guns, the knives, the weapons that would be pointed at you the minute you were spotted next to him. You didn’t care.

Yet, when he gets the call that you were involved in some crime, landing you in the hospital, his mind omits all the other details. Aside from the hospital you’re at. He even skips over the fact that it was Jax calling him. Part of him wants to cry. And he probably would, if he could. But he tries to keep himself composed. Whatever he’s been occupied with is now a distant memory, other agents can take over. As calm as he looks on the outside, there’s a war raging within him. He knew this would happen. Ever since he felt feelings for you, he knew.

When he finds you at the hospital, Sento left behind, he’s scared. He doesn’t know if he should be grateful that he can’t see you, or if he should lament over it. While the doctors had described your injuries as non-fatal, and that you’d recover in no time, Kenshi’s mind has already spun a horrifying image, but once the doctors have left, he can hear your soft breathing underneath all the bustle of the machines. And it soothes him. Only then does he find some peace of mind, you are safe, and the danger has passed. Somewhat. When his worry starts to dissipate, he remembers that Jax had actually called him first, not the hospital. When he calls Jax back, the first thing he says is that he’s taking time off, and Jax doesn’t protest. They discuss what happened and that it is now a government matter, and something that expands past OIA boundaries. The short version of the conversation is that someone from a different timeline had managed to worm their way into this one, and harm you. Someone with striking similarity to himself. 

Now that Kenshi has calmed down and knows you’re safe, he understands why the nurses and the law enforcement seemed tense around him. It unnerves him, to say the least. That another version of himself would hurt you. His heart, his guiding light. It’s also an entirely new threat that he hadn’t accounted for. Once discharged from the hospital, you have all of his attention. He’s oh so gentle with you, like any little touch and you’ll crack. He does every chore around the house for weeks, until you’ve fully healed. He cooks a lot (with the help of Sento), even bathes you (despite your protests). It’s his way of an apology for what happened, and not just that, but an apology for being with him. He holds immense regret over this, knowing that– even if it was another him from another timeline– he did this.

⎯ Kung Lao

Kung Lao is… protective, alright. And that often gets swept up within his cockiness. Of course, you do feel pretty safe with him. Maybe not around the hat, but you do feel safe around him. Aside from his interesting choice of weapon, he’s a great martial artist. And also just someone who’s really nice to cuddle with. He’s a Shaolin Master, of course he’s going to be a horrifying opponent.

And, there would be hell to pay if anyone hurt his love. He isn’t just all bark. Even the thought of you being hurt has him seething, he tends to overthink. There’s a lot of things that have made him realize that he may be a high value target– even if he can’t help but think he’s done nothing to get to that point. But, under Liu Kang, and just the title ‘Defender of Earthrealm’, there’s some sort of pride that lingers. Something that makes him want to challenge anyone and everyone he can, tell them to ‘bring it on’.

But not at the expense of you. The one thing bigger than his ego? His heart. So, when you stride into Wu Shi Academy,– though, limp is the better term– all cut up and bruised, barely able to speak or see, there’s a rage that burns within Lao. One that even Raiden hasn’t seen. He can’t help but run his mouth about how he’ll teach whoever the hell got to you a lesson. But he’s also despondent, he barely touches his food, he barely shows up to Madame Bo’s… and that makes her worried, until she learns about what happened to you from Raiden. Now not only does the culprit have a bastard with a really sharp hat after them, but the most badass little old lady after them, too. Madame Bo loves you like one of her own, really. She dotes on you, where she’ll normally scold the boys. You are her golden child.

Ultimately, their shared hunt leads to a dead end. Your mind is too hazy to remember anything aside from a silhouette, before getting beaten senseless. As much as Lao seems hellbent on tracking the culprit down, he ultimately gives up when you ask him. But, as you recover, he seems to be in much better spirits. He likes to curl up next to you at night (despite the monks telling him not to), just to reassure him that you’re safe. And Madame Bo arguably puts on more of a show than Lao does. She treats you with free food every day of your recovery, and when you’ve got clearance to be walking around without supervision again, she’s made a FEAST for you. While it feels all sunshine and rainbows once you’ve recovered, Kung Lao works tirelessly to get better. He blames himself, mainly for the fact that no matter what he did, he couldn’t find the one who did this to you. Even if you tell him outright that it is okay. It’s another mark on his list of failures, to him.

⎯ Raiden

When he got the amulet, Raiden didn’t exactly have it down. It took a great deal of focus and strength to hone it, more than he’s known. Sure, there have been some points where it feels like he’s got it down, like he can actually control the lightning. But before the tournament, he had a hard time controlling it, and spent many days doing his best to hone this new power. It was exhausting, and took a toll on him, both physically and mentally. He might have been trained nearly his whole life in martial arts, but that doesn’t necessarily correlate to any sort of magic.

However, it is his connections that ground him. Kung Lao, yes. But you, mainly. Normally, his training sessions with the amulet consist of him trying not to fry Lao, while you sit by and encourage him. A positive environment encourages progress, right? That’s what Raiden thinks, anyway. And all things considered, he’s doing well today. The lightning had been easily tamed, Lao hadn’t been zapped, and all was well.

While training with a staff, however, one wrong move sends a strike horrifyingly close to you. You barely register what happened, the loud bang by your right is followed by a popping feeling, like you’ve been in high altitude, a sharp pain through your eardrum, and then a dull ringing in your right ear. Raiden comes running up to you near immediately, checking over you. Your mind spins at how fast things happened, so you can’t necessarily explain clearly to him what you felt. Before you can collect yourself, Raiden is suddenly set on high-alert, and hauling you away to the medics at Wu Shi. Even Lao is a little confused as he follows after the two of you.

At the medics, you’re able to piece everything together. Ruptured eardrum, and Raiden can’t help but blame himself for it. When you’re getting checked over, Raiden is pacing outside, and Lao is trying desperately to calm him down. It had been a fear of his since the very start of his training. But as time went on and you went unharmed… it started to slip into the back of his mind. He feels horrible for letting go of that worry, for letting it happen. And when the medics let you go and tell you that it’ll heal in a couple weeks, you do your best to comfort him next to Lao. When it’s just you two, however, Raiden is a lot more calm. The adrenaline of the moment got to him earlier. Still, all he feels he can do is apologize, as much as you assure him it’s fine. Over the next couple of weeks, he’s very, very mindful of himself. He’s practically banned you from his training sessions, he makes sure to approach you from your left side or make his presence known if he’s coming up from behind you.

⎯ Zeffeero

There’s not much Rain has to worry about in his day-to-day life, even with his status as High Mage. He knows his title holds weight, but he believes that if he spends all his time worrying, something will happen sooner or later, and he’ll be more of a mess if it comes true. He’s more worried about his actual duties, coming home to you (almost) every night, and what books he will read on his days off.

That being said, he isn’t able to spend all his time with you. Which is a bummer, really. His job isn’t necessarily ‘remote’. He doesn’t worry over you too much, he knows you’re strong enough to cover for yourself. And those who are against him and the royalty should be smarter and focus their attention towards him and Sindel. Keyword, should.

So, when Zeffeero is met by the couriers during his duties, he’s confused. The only words he can make out in their frantic speech is your name, and hostage. Which snaps him out of his normally calm demeanor. But, regardless, he does his best to stay collected. He gets the couriers to explain the situation clearly, that Sindel’s detractors had chosen you out of all people to make an example. The good news is that it was dealt with just as quickly as you had been taken away, criminals don’t really get their way so easily in Sun Do, especially.

But that doesn’t mean they didn’t do a number on you. Rain immediately puts his work to the side and meets you at the infirmary. You’re pretty beat up, a couple bruises on your arms and a gash on your forehead, and the medics inform him that you’ll need to stay here for at least another week, you’ve gotten a couple of bruised ribs, as well. For the next couple of days, he is by your bedside, perfectly on time when the medics open up visiting hours. He’ll even do his work by your side, filling countless journals and going through way too many reports as he does.

⎯ Tomas Vrbada

Stealth missions require the utmost focus, especially ones of this caliber. Tomas is confident in your ability, so he doesn’t worry unnecessarily over you. But his mind can tend to wander sometimes. Still, he does his best to remain on track, stalking through the rampart. It was a simple recon mission, keep an eye on the territory. It had been left abandoned after the events of Armageddon, but there had been indications that Bi-Han was looking to start something there again. Considering the cyberization of the Lin Kuei, Kuai Liang and Tomas agreed to simply check it out, make sure nothing was being done.

And they were right to be suspicious. Either out of paranoia, or a hunch, Bi-Han had sent scouts as well. This makes the operation a lot more high-risk, both parties may be aware of each other, but have no idea where the other is. It looks as if there’s a rather hefty amount of spies in the rampart as well. As Tomas stalks through the tops of the wall, searching for anything slightly out of place, he gets the sudden feeling that he’s being watched.

Just as he raises his head, he hears the thwip of a bow string, causing him to jerk away from his position. An arrow flies past his head, a few centimeters from it, and as he follows it’s trajectory, he sees you, across the rampart. Fighting with two ninjas, doing your best to, well, stay alive. Realizing that you two are horribly outnumbered, he completely ignores the archer behind him. Utilizing his practical magic, he wastes no time disappearing and taking off. It’s not as easy as it sounds, practically throwing himself off the wall and doing what he can to make it across the rampart. As adrenaline rushes through him, his actions are near mindless, reckless, jumping over stray ballistas and rubble.  Does he know that this could put his life at risk? That it puts the mission at risk? Yes. But there’s a tiny voice inside of him that screams at him, tells him you are much more important than the mission. He got the intel anyways.

Things blur together for Tomas after that. He can’t remember exactly how he reached you, he can’t remember what he did with the two ninjas, the only thing that brings him back to the present moment is the pained breaths of yours and heaved gasps. He’d been singing some lullaby that he couldn’t remember the name of, his voice cracking here and there. His throat is raw, blood pouring from a head wound, and he can’t tell if the blood coating his arms is from you, who lay motionless (but thankfully breathing) in his arms, the ninjas, or his own. He’s barely noticed that he’s made his way to Harumi’s house. Not to Kuai Liang– to Harumi. Which, eventually, the knowledge that you’ve been hurt and that the Lin Kuei are pushing to claim territory over the Rampart. When Harumi guides the two of you to a room while she calls for the medics, all Tomas can do is blame himself. He’s spaced out the entire time, the only thing that snaps him out of his catatonic state is when they try to separate the two of you. He doesn’t let them. He doesn’t let anyone separate you from him. He’s too scared that he will lose you.

⎯ Baraka

While the restrictions on those inflicted with Tarkat have been lifted slightly, there is still some public animosity towards Tarkattens. And some of those people tend to direct their anger at those who support this decision, or those close to those afflicted with Tarkat. And unfortunately, you just so happen to be one of those people.

You aren’t entirely vocal about your relationship with Baraka, but you aren’t entirely quiet about it, either. The only reason Baraka doesn’t talk about you two is because he is afraid of what could happen to you. It doesn’t matter if the public’s opinion will turn, if there will ever be a cure, he has always been distant. He loves you, and good god, he’d do anything to even hold your hand. But he is afraid. He can’t help but be afraid of what will happen to you.

And rightfully so, when you are visiting Sun Do with Baraka. It’s a routine visit, to talk about how to integrate precautions for those with Tarkat, and how the vaccine progress is coming along. It feels like hours in a stuffy room, talking with Mileena. Eventually, you step out for a moment, to get some fresh air, and to clear your head. Unfortunately, one of the people against the aid for Tarkattens takes this as an opportunity to attack you in broad daylight.

Luckily, you don’t have to suffer much. A couple of kicks and hits that have left a couple of bruises, but the Constabulary was able to pull them off you quickly. The commotion brings Mileena and Baraka out, which leaves you feeling a little flustered. Needless to say, the talks for that day are cut short, and Baraka spends his time worrying about you. He asks you to stay in Sun Do for a while, that he can handle the talks himself now.

⎯ Syzoth

Syzoth’s biggest fear is Shang Tsung. Even after all is said and done, the fear still lingers. With his past, he can’t help but worry, especially about you. He wants to imagine a future with you, and he’s more than content with the days you two spend together, but he will never be able to shake the idea of his happiness being ripped from him again. While he is still all cuddly with you, there is something always gnawing at him. An eternal dread.

And his fears come true, in some way. He had to leave home for a couple of days, out on official business. It was nothing major, nothing that would pull him from you for longer than a week. Integrating yourself along with Zatterans was a challenge alright, something you didn’t mind facing. Syzoth had said it was a good way to get them used to humans, to earthrealmers.

However, when he comes back home, he is greeted by you, with a black eye, and multiple, bandaged, gashes down your arms. You smile at him warmly, despite your injuries, which have had at least two days to heal. He’s stunned, and after a moment of silence, he’s all over you, asking question after question. Despite what he asks, he knows what the Zatterans have done to you.

He tells himself he should’ve known, as they had killed those with his mutation, he should’ve known that they would’ve treated you the same. You can’t give him exact details, you can’t even give him a description. It happened all too fast, and you were helpless in the moment. He spends the next week by your side, never leaving, unless it was for food, or necessities. When you two are out, he’s very diligent about his surroundings, and those around them. Most of the Zaterrans express their apologies to you, even if it wasn’t them, which makes Syzoth even more wary about who he should be keeping an eye on.  

⎯ Havik

Danger comes with the territory of dating Havik. Yeah, he keeps you close, but he’s wanted. And he’s well aware, he tends to get himself in fights quite often. If you wanna participate? Hells yeah, he’s all in. But if you’d rather sit back, hide away, anything like that, he doesn’t mind. Even if he prefers a more active partner on the battlefield. Just because he’s got his anarchic ways and enjoys a little bloodbath every now and then, doesn’t mean he’s thrown care and (at least) sympathy into the wind. Granted, it’s hard to coax that reaction out of him.

But, it’s different with you. His heart; quite literally. He’d do anything for you, he’s (almost) as obedient as a dog. But when he gets to watch you in kombat… it’s a treat. He’s like actually drooling. He’s got a twisted sort of smile on his face when you slash through enemies. Sometimes just the thought of it makes him blush. He’s a little fucked up, actually! But for a being who thrives on chaos, that’s the norm.

When it comes to you being injured, if it’s just a little nick, (which is categorized very loosely; can be deep cuts, slashes, not just a scrape) he doesn’t find any reason to retaliate against your assailant. Havik is proud to have a lover that can take care of things themselves, but that doesn’t mean he won’t leap at the chance to tear someone limb from limb. Especially if you’re wounded near fatally. That’s when any semblance of humanity leaves him. He’s brutal, horribly so, and for once, you have to turn your head away.

When the fight’s done, Havik returns to you, covered in blood and viscera. He made it quick, as much as he would’ve enjoyed making it slow and painful, he knows that time is of the essence. Given his situation, he can’t really take you anywhere. So a little impromptu ‘healing’ session is underway. Some alcohol (that’s 100% not stolen) and some pressure to make sure the bleeding stops and that you don’t get an infection. After, he’s got to stitch up the wound. As he does so, he’s murmuring praises,– a rare thing from him, really– doing his best to make this as painless as possible.

⎯ General Shao

There is no greater place than the battlefield to Shao. It is something he grew up on, and to be fighting side by side with his beloved, it fills him with pride. Of course, he knows the dangers, he knows there’s a target on his back, but he could care less. He almost revels in it. Yes, he’ll worry about you, but he also knows that you can handle yourself.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t above teaching those who choose to hurt you a lesson. He’s sensible, he’s strong, and he’s just a little, teensy weensy bit protective of you. Of course, you can handle fights on your own. But it’s when the enemies got you in a tough spot, managed to daze you, anything like that. That’s when Shao lets hell break loose.

A sword pierces through your arm, and while it’s not fatal, the minute Shao sees it, he’s raging. A bloody warpath follows him as he marches towards the assailant, the opponent he had been fighting long forgotten. He can’t gloss over an injury like that, he is unsure if they had cut through the brachial artery. So he makes it quick, practically splitting them in two as you watch. The battle continues to rage on, but all Shao can do is huff and encourage you to make an escape,– mainly because he’s afraid you might bleed to death– even if you don’t want to.

At the end of it all, you oblige, retreating and making it to the field medics. You are glad to hear that they did not cut through your brachial artery, and that you won’t bleed to death. But the gash in your arm still needs treatment. You’re stuck in that tent for quite a bit, mourning the loss of a good fight. That is, until Shao interrupts. He’s barely pulled back the tarp of the entrance, and he’s already looking for you. And when he spots you, lying down with a defeated look, bored as hell, he’s at your side within an instant. He needs to know the damage, if it’ll take you out of combat, etc etc. He quietly worries over you, which is quite charming in its own way.

⎯ Shang Tsung

Shang Tsung is no pushover. He may be despised, he may have been outcast, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stand there and take it. Especially when it comes to you. He’s a bit of a drama queen, sure, but he’s charming. Even after everything, it seems like people won’t forgive him. They aren’t wrong to leave him unforgiven, either.

But, their anger should be pointed towards him. So when he receives a letter for ransom via courier, he’s rightfully pissed. How dare they take his sunshine away from him, all because of what he’s done. What he’s done. And to try and rip him off, as well. You aren’t worth a mere 50,000 koins! You’re worth at least 5mil! Needless to say, he’s fuming.

What’s he going to do? Ask the Constabulary to help? No! He’s more than capable of handling it himself. A little dirt on his hands never hurt anybody. Time is short, so he rushes over the details. A couple sleepless nights spent scouting, collecting any sort of information, and he’s off to a shabby little shack in the wastes. The audacity of these people to not only take you from him, demand 50k koins, but also keep you in some run-down place! As much as he’s nitpicking what they’ve done to you, he’s doing it to calm himself down. Yeah, he’s got this in the bag, but any one taking his love from him, especially with malicious intent, makes him scarier than his most evil counterparts.

It is there where Shang Tsung finds out the kidnappers haven’t necessarily… prepared. Only two captors, and they’re dealt with easily. Torn into like meat, left to rot. He disregards their state, food for the vultures and whichever desperate soul wanders past. You’re a mess, head down, mind hazy, legs weak. He treats you like a knight saving his darling, picking you up bridal style. He coos at you, whispering things like ‘you’re alright’, and ‘I’m here now’ as he takes you away.

⎯ Reiko

It’s a calm evening, paired with a little sparring. As Reiko watches you train an over-ambitious rookie, he seems lost in thought. Why? It’s unsure. It feels like he’s simply lost his grip lately, he feels that he hasn’t been doing well in combat, and has actually regressed with his progress. Seeing you humble the soldier over and over again somehow reminds him of this, telling himself he needs to catch up on his training, build on his weaknesses.

It’s a subtle snap that brings him back to reality. It seems the trainee had enough of your teaching, and didn’t quite enjoy the lessons you were drilling– punching– into them. They’ve managed to pin you down, thanks to a very direct, very heated punch to the face. They’ve got you in a headlock, spouting nonsense at you like you’ve greatly offended them. You groan, so close to yelling out uncle. But, you’ve gotta admit, you like their fire. Even if it severely clouds their judgment.

Reiko is quick to pull them off of you, grabbing them by the nape as if they were a dog. It’s a little bit of a struggle, mainly the trainee squirming and protesting like a child who’s been denied candy. It’s shameful for him, but the very thought of the runt taking advantage of the moment to hurt you makes him believe they are unbefitting of a soldier. And it makes him a little pissed. He’s lecturing them, doing his best to hold back some very choice words. All the while you’re nursing your possibly broken nose, trying to get Reiko to let up on them. Eventually, you just shoo them away, and then give Reiko his own lecture. They’re your student, so they’ll get your discipline.

He’s not the best at consoling you, especially over something that he’s deemed ‘minor’. A quick ‘are you okay?’ and a nod is all he really gives you. But, after you’ve ended the training session early, and confirmed that your nose isn’t broken, Reiko picks up the opportunity to hone in his skills. Given the fact that you still had time left in your schedule, you take up his offer.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices

DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[sh1-n0bu]

dan heng, Dan heng IL (hsr, romantic)

Dan heng received a mysterious mail. The letter was cased in a beautiful elegant white and gold envelope. The envelope is decorated with small real golden roses and gold stripes decorating the sides of the envelope. The effort can be seen on the envelope alone about how.. How much emotion is put into this letter.

The letter itself is nothing short of elegance, the hand writing is.. Uniquely familiar to dan heng for some reason. But he couldn't tell why. The letter was unsigned and it is fully unknown who the sender is and how it arrived here.

My dearest dragon,

I wish to be able to stand by your side.. Though you may not remember me, no, i know that you don't remember be, but alas i am indeed was once, and is still, you, your past self's, imbibitor lunae's husband. His "mate" If you will.

My heart broke when i heard the news that he was sent to the shackling prison for a forced rebirth. And it broke even more when i heard that he, well, you, will be banished from the luofu. It has been decades, yet i still wish to be able to see you again. To be able to hold my, was once, lover again.

You don't know how happy- no, ecstatic i was when i accidentally saw you in the devine commission. You looked different, but also the same at the same time. I know it's you, dan feng. We were once, and is still bonded. I wanted to approach you, to hug you, to hold you again. But i hesitated, fearing that i might just be hallucinating. Or that you might no even remember me.

The latter was confirmed when you just asked me for directions, seemingly not recognizing who i am. It broke me deeply, but i do not wish to bring my burdens of the past over to you.

Therefore with this letter, this will be my final and last words dedicated to you. Dedicated to my, was once, lover.

my most beautiful sun.. I wish to be able to hold you again.

𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜! 𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙪’𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙚!

to: dan heng from honkai star rail

the events at the xianzhou luofu was certainly draining to the astral express crew. if not, more so to certain someone of the crew than the rest simply because it brought back so many old and unfamiliar memories to him. unfamiliar memories, feelings and emotions rushing through him with so much vigor, ones that doesn’t even belonged to him but to someone else entirely. so it would be safe to say that dan heng wanted nothing to do with his past reincarnation and his feelings and memories.

but you can’t just get what you wish for, right?

even after coming back to the familiar warmth of the express and its surroundings, accompanied by the feeling of safety his companions bring, dan heng was still restless. there was this… odd feeling inside him. as if something had been awakened and was begging to be let out for an inkling of a moment ever since he asked a stranger with an eerily familiar face about directions on the xianzhou.

he tried to escape the weird feeling of deja vu by sleeping yet it only served to bring more torment rather than rest that he so desperately seek. in his dreams, he would see his past self — dan feng, with the old familiar faces that he always sees.

there’s the foxian woman — bright, cheerful and full of life — jumping around, giggling at things and bringing forth joy to the group of five. there’s the light blue haired woman, whom he later on recognized as jingliu — cold as the element she wields and yet with a certain hint of warmth alongside it, sipping on wine from the small jade cup. there’s the arrogant blacksmith, yingxing and the former self of blade before he was tainted by mara — laughing along with his friends, pointing a few fingers and saying a joke. there’s jing yuan — younger, more wild, rebellious and with a certain hints of cockiness that his current jaded self lacked.

and then there’s dan feng, his past reincarnation, the one who brought this suffering and pain onto him, the one who is refusing to let him live on, the one who is so cold and cruel and… huh? was he mistaken when counting? why had this group went from 5 to 6? who was this new face amongst the group?

this new face that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere in his dreams, or was it memories?, was kind and gentle yet carrying a hint of strength under it. seemingly a simple man at first glance but proving himself to be more with the way he carried himself. elegant, regal yet so humane. this new man approached dan feng, greeting his fellow friends and comrades with a few jokes and podding here and there as he reaches the former high elder. but when reaching the high elder, the two shared a kiss. the vidyadhara visibly softening, teal eyes staring at the man with hearts in his eyes as his tail wraps around the man’s ankle possessively.

ah, that explains it. they were lovers. or in vidyadhara terms, in dan feng’s eyes, his mate. his other half. the one he promised himself and his life to for the rest of his life. the soft teal colored mark of a dragon on the back of the man’s neck proved it.

seeing them, dan heng felt an odd emotion swirling in his chest. was he… jealous? but how could be jealous when he was dan heng and not his past self? he was dan heng, not dan feng and that man was not his mate. yet he still felt it. that annoying green monster swirling in his chest and refusing to leave. but his jealousy was at least slightly explained when he woke up that morning, with the strange letter on top of his currently reading book.

teal eyes skimming through the letter, taking in every word and syllable, rereading it over and over again, did he come to a conclusion. sudden and unexpected but the astral expressers accepted and supported his decision nonetheless.

“himeko, i need to visit the luofu for… a reason. there’s someone i would like to meet. again”

with that, the dragon set out to reunite with his husband. with his mate. just a single moment to clarify the person’s words on the letter — was what he was lying to himself about. when in truth, he knew that there was more to it. the dragon wanted to meet his husband again. the dragon wished to hold his mate again. dan heng, wanted to reunite with his lover again.

“and this time, nothing will tear us apart”

[writersblockedx]

Something Inappropriate: Chapter Two

Read Chapter One here

Pairing - Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary - When Y/n's becomes endangered and has nowhere else to go, Spencer is the only one who can offer her the security she needs. Warnings - Panic attack, mentions of a past toxic relationship, stalking, some violence words - 2.3K

A/n - If you have any requests please put some in my ask box, I'm running out of ideas but I am obsessed with this man.

Masterlist

The morning after was one brought with embarrassment and regret. Y/n hadn't expected to get so drunk that her behavioural analysis professor was the one taking her back home, his hand at her waist, guiding her from his own car almost to her room. It was a memory she wished she could choose to forget. Alas, Monday morning rolled around quicker than she wanted.

Her first lecture was on victimology with the one and only Doctor Spencer Reid. And that morning was the first morning she didn't take one of the seats in the front row. Rather, she hid herself between fellow students and kept her head down. What she hadn't been aware of however, was the fact Spencer had been watching her from the moment she wandered into the lecture hall.

The truth was, the man had grown worrisome once he left the girl. She was an intoxicated young woman - there was a scary amount of danger which came with that. He knew so, he had seen it, he had seen so many bodies that were exactly like Y/n.

When an hour passed and students began filtering out of the lecture hall, Y/n found that the time to give the man an explanation - along with an array of apologises. Having her professor walk her home drunk certainly wasn't her finest moment.

The girl drew towards the desk where he was seated at the front, watching carefully at the other students who were paying no attention as they left. "Hi," Her voice was barely even a whisper.

But Spencer had offered her a smile which assured her that he hadn't any negative feelings from Friday night. He stood from his desk, "How are you feeling? I hope you had gotten enough sleep Friday."

She returned the smile. But her's was weak in comparison, "I certainly didn't wake up early Saturday." A moment passed and the man clocked the way she was checking the people around her as the very last students dawdled out the lecture hall. "I erm- thank you for what you did, you didn't have to but well, I'm glad you did."

"Any of your professors have a responsibility for your well-being and care, I'm sure any one of them would have done the same." But that was just it - they wouldn't have.

This was more than that. "It's not just that," She swallowed and double-checked they were alone. "I erm- I have this ex-boyfriend you see...scary, aggressive." Y/n's voice was beginning to shake; this wasn't a topic on which she was keen to speak about. "Even still, I mean it's been almost six months. He's determined to get to me, anyway he can. Friday night was my first night out since I left him. It's why I didn't go with the others to the club. He's well, risky and I have to be careful." Spencer had been listening ever so intently, his eyes pooling with sympathy from the moment she started opening up.

And then she shrugged as if what she had just said was nothing, "I guess what I'm trying to say is, had I walked home alone last night and he- he knew, well..." She didn't want to finish her sentence, nor did she have to.

Spencer understood. In the sense that he had hunted stalkers and resentful exes. He knew how they thought and more importantly, he knew how the victims felt. He knew exactly what she was going through. Now more than ever, he was relieved that he had taken her home. Before now, he wondered whether it had been inappropriate. But now he had reason for his actions.

"If anything ever happens, with him or anyone, anything, I'm always here." He assured with the tug of a grin.

She nodded, "Thank you, sir." She awkwardly crossed her arms over her stomach, barely able to meet the man's eyes. "You truly don't know the help you gave me that night."

"Always."

And them words echoed throughout her mind.

The professor was not only smart but kind. Far too kind. The way he spoke to her, the offer of support, it had made her heart weak. And for the rest of that month, she had spent it at the front row, asking for extra help on her essay, anything she could do. And maybe it wasn't just about needing support with her academics, but also finding security in someone. Something of which she had never really had. Especially after him.

It was just expected something was going to kick off. A week prior to the incident, Y/n had several facebook messages all from different accounts from her dreaded ex-boyfriend. All of which she had blocked. But they kept coming. Every morning she would grasp her phone, finding another request, another thread of messages. All of which were blocked, ignored, and tried to erase from her memory.

And then, on what seemed like the first day of Summer, it happened.

She was sat outside a bar with a couple of friends, drink in hand, giggling at something her male friend, Zack, had said. Everything was bliss. Drinks, conversation, friends. It was almost too perfect.

And then the ex-boyfriend wandered over. He had noticed Y/n from afar, storming over, yelling and anger forced from his lips. It had all happened in a flash. Zack stood to Y/n's defence. The next thing that happened, he had a bruised eye. Everyone was yelling. But he, the ex, he was yelling at her.

A punch.

A slap.

A scream.

It was all to quick for Y/n to keep up with. Things escalated and actions were chased. Not one of them were thinking things through. And when everything was all over, when one of the bartenders at the venue dragged the man away, Y/n could barely move. Tears were spilling from her eye line, pooling down her face. And when the chorus of 'are you okays' followed, she couldn't move her lips.

"I should walk you home," Offered one of close friends.

But even after the girl had registered her words, her head shook, "No, no I can't." One thing about this certain ex-boyfriend was that he hadn't never gone quietly. Too many times than she could keep count of, the man knocked on her door, found her in college, even a couple of times went knocking at her friend's houses and accommodation.

She couldn't go home - she couldn't go anywhere.

And then, her mind ran back to the most recent place in which she had felt safe: Doctor Spencer Reid. She swallowed and sniffled at her fallen tears, "I'll message you later," She told her group.

Zack, who had been nursing an early bruised eye, spoke first, "Where are you going to go?" He questioned as the concern for his friend was written over his tone.

"To get some help," She replied with the weakest smile she could muster. "I'll see you guys tomorrow," She gave them each a glance before turning her back. She didn't dare stay at that bar, she didn't dare go home, but she wanted somewhere safe. And that some place just happened to be a certain professor.

Y/n weaved through the college. Though with the time and the weather, it was practically empty. A few faculty members whom gave her a second glance when they caught the sight of her tears. And when she finally reached Doctor Spencer Reid's office, she didn't even bother knocking. Luckily, he was alone, grading papers and creating lesson plans. But at the sound of his door clicking open, his head lifted. Within a millisecond, his expression moulded into one of utter distress and worry.

He stood from his chair, watching as the flood gates opened from her pupils. "Y/n," He spoke her name like it was a prayer. "What- what happened?"A gentle hand reached out to her shoulder before he gestured for the girl to take a seat at the leather couch which faced his desk.

The girl followed him, not yet able to get breath out - never mind words. Her tears trailed down her cheeks as Spencer returned to the couch with her, a tissue in his hand, "Here," He gazed over her, attempting to try and find any suggestion to what might have happened. "Hey, you need to try slow down your breathing, in for four, out for six, okay?" He soothed, "I'll do it with you."

Y/n watched Spencer's chest a he gulped in a breath, holding it and then letting the air slowly exit his lungs. She followed along. And while it was a struggle at first, slowly, her breathing calmed and her tears dried. "That feel better?" The man questioned.

She nodded, "Yeah, yeah," The girl could only mumble. "Thank you."

"Of course, I used to have panic attacks at work sometimes," He admitted before standing, grasping a bottle of water from his wooden desk and handing it over to her. "You don't have to tell me, but if something happened, I'd like to know."

For a moment, her eyes fluttered away, finding the floor more interesting than he. She at least needed to explain to him why she had turned up at his office in such a state - it wasn't as if he didn't know the background anyway. "You remember that ex boyfriend I told you about?" Spencer nodded in understanding; it was almost like that was all he needed to know. "He spotted me in a beer garden with some friends and well...he snapped. I couldn't- I didn't-"

The man watched as her breath itched like she was unable to catch up with it once again, "It's okay," He calmed as his hand fell atop of her's. The girl's eyes shot up at the movement, to his skin falling over her own. It was supportive, she told herself. "Take your time."

And she did. A minute or so had passed and, when she felt ready, she continued to explain: "It happened so quick, I couldn't do anything but watch." She swallowed the lump which had grown harsh in her throat. "He knows where I live, he knows my friends, he knows everything." She wanted to point out how he didn't know Spencer but chose not to. "That's why I came here...I didn't have anywhere else." She explained.

Spencer was taking it all in. He glanced at her and he realised this sudden need to keep her safe, to protect her. The man tried to excuse that as his teaching duty, but this was more. She was more. "You know you can always come to me when you ever have any concerns." He reassured. "It's what I'm here for, and, personally, I believe you should talk to the student wellbeing team, they have the connections that will keep you safe." That's who should protect her - not him.

But Y/n's response suggested that wasn't an option, "Trust me I tried last year, they tried too, went to the police and anything - ironically enough." She scoffed ever so slightly as she leant back onto Spencer's couch, "They had a 'stern talking' to him, but it only made things stop for month." She went over, the memory of which still agitated her. And Spencer could tell such with the way her eyes were fighting to roll. "I don't know what to do now, I mean, I can't go home." If history had taught the girl anything, her ex-boyfriend would already be waiting for her at the accommodation hall.

"Y/n, I do hope you understand the severity of this," Spencer started, "This is text-book stalking. If the wellbeing team talking to the police didn't do anything, than maybe an FBI agent talking to them might." He offered.

Her brows raised, "You'd do that?"

"Only if you wanted me to."

Y/n thought it over but it was an easy answer; anything to get this to stop. "Please."

"Okay then, tomorrow, I'll go with you to the police station, we'll talk to them together and this time, i swear to you, they will put a stop to this." He seemed to promise. But this was no promise he should be making to a student - this sense of protection was one of which was questionable.

She offered him a smile and a, "Thank you." But a question still nagged at the both of them.

It was that desire to protect the girl which urged Spencer to speak, "Do you have somewhere safe you can stay tonight?"

Not her flat that was certain. Even a friend's house was out of the question. A motel...maybe. Y/n sound herself shrugging, "Not at mine no, he's been known to go to my friend's places too and my parents, they're travelling." They were always travelling - spending her inheritance money you see. "I've got some cash, I'll probably go stay at a motel for the night."

The thought of Y/n tossing and turning in a scratchy, stone-like mattress only made Spencer's heart ache. He didn't dare to let them thoughts consume him. So, instead, he offered an alternative solution. "I understand if you're not comfortable, but I have spare room, you're more than welcome if you need."

Her eyes shot up to his, almost like she didn't believe him, "Are you- are you sure?" Surely that wasn't allowed. Though, Y/n (and Spencer too), decided to tell themselves this was different. This situation was well...it had room for things that would otherwise seem inappropriate.

"Of course, you need to be safe and I won't let you sleep in a motel room." Spencer doubted she would even get any sleep at all.

And in that moment, in the aftermath of her panic attack, she accepted, "Okay then."

-

Taglist - @tonystankhere Let me know if you would like to be added for this little series / any future spencer fics :)

[cevherien]

Abby Anderson.

Fucking you on her motorcycle ☺️

tags: no need to sugarcoat anything she eats you out on her motorbike, semi public sex, she's kinda rough with it, dom/sub undertones.

You were riding on Abby's motorbike, been so needy lately but she was a busy woman, so you weren't able to play around as you'd like. You had missed her touch, the way her muscles would flex when she had her strong hold on your flesh. But now you were alone, well on the road, no less. Your tits behind the flimsy material of the shirt you were wearing pressed against her back as you hold onto her.

Arms wrapped around her lower belly, playing dangerous but it was worth it, traffic safety be damned you were fucking dripping for this woman, head too fuzzy for consequences.

She was taking you to a friends house or whatever, you weren't listening when she told you that, instead you were busy grinding yourself on the seat of the bike like a pathetic little slut, but you pay no mind to such labels anymore. I mean if the shoe fits.

But you weren't completely stupid, obviously, so you wait like a good girl for a red light to strike, your hand drawing closer to her parted thighs once she stops the ride you are onto her.

"Abby-" delicate fingers playing with the material of her pants, near her inner thighs earning a surprised gasp from her. And as if taking that as your cue you press against her further and cup her clothed pussy.

She involuntarily drops her head back, with a heavy whine she spells out "What are you doing-?"

"You know exactly what," you apply pressure with two fingers on where you know her clit to be under those layers.

"Are you out of your mind-" her hips rise a little to gain more friction from your palm involuntarily, you take your hand away just to be a little shit. Making her groan at the lost.

"Maybe i am," but before you can do much else the green light is on and your time is up. She pushes on the engine and you almost fall back with the momentum, barely finding the time to hold back to her. "Whoa- hey- hey" maybe she was the crazy one.

Now you weren't the only one playing said dangerous game, her's were deadly though, nowhere near close to your little teases of cat and mouse. You realize she's changed routes, and her grasp on the handlebar lever a little too strong for the speed limit.

"Wait where are we even-" she cuts you before you can finish.

"We will play what you want, how you want bunny."

Abby pulls near a back alley, without telling you anything she spins you around and you brace yourself against the stone wall of the shady corner, only support being her motorcycle.

"Acting like a cheap whore will only get you so far you know," she gives a little slap at your butt, so rudely "Good thing i'm here, yeah?"

Goddamn, seeing her mean like this was something new, but fuck was it a welcome surprise. You whine then, she presses you further into the wall with your cheeks squashed and her hand on your ass.

Abby's next move was simple, pulling your pants down together with your underwear, bunching at your bent knees, leaving you open on display. The cold air of both the alley and reality of being bare in public, well, semi public but still, was making you drip down hard.

Abby kneels down, presses her face to your cunt, laps at your slick as if honey, only getting you wetter. Eating pussy from behind felt dirtier, cheap.

She spreads your lips to lick deeper into your wet hole, teething on your slick pearly clit. Kissing your puffy lips and playing on your rim, she knew how you liked it best.

Well she also knew she had to keep it short, unfortunately. If it was up to her she'd keep you open on display like this and lick you clean until you were out of it and spent, but alas, you were getting your ass ate in a back alley for fucks sake.

Her tongue continue it's magic for some more, enough to get you off for two times, your hole leaking down like some fountain of youth.

But before giving you the pleasure of a third orgasm she pulls back, slaps your pussy from the back and pulls your pants back up. A needy whine slips your lips while you move your hips together to feel better. That was not enough.

As if reading your mind, "Look at the mess," trust she was no different under those clothes, "We'll continue later baby, when we get back."

Yeah and when you do get back, she'd split you apart with her eight inch strap, well lubed up and well pampered until you can't remember ever feeling so needy.

[lullaebies]

Aegon III and Jaehaera had known from the night they should've consumated their marriage, that they never will — their one agreement had always been to reach an age they can petition for annulment.

When the time comes, it is harder to come to terms with it than expected. read on ao3. 💚

Annulment.

It is all Jaehaera ever wanted, as far as she remembers. The moment her grandmother died, she had been struck with how helpless she was in this Red Keep of terrors. Attempts on her life were made, more than once. Her Father may have once begrudgingly agreed to her betrothal, but he had not once thought it would come to fruition.

Made Queen at a young age, to a boy who shares her father’s namesake but could never share affection with her, she had always figured it would be easier to leave. To Oldtown, the home her grandmother always praised, or anywhere else, far, far away.

Her husband, surprisingly, never disagreed with this idea. She had been twelve, when they first had this conversation. She just had her first moonblood, and had been truly ready to pull a knife on her King if he tried to touch her in any capacity. 

Yet Aegon the Third reached for nobody, and the same night he stood by her and disavowed any vow their marriage had been founded on. He had been fifteen, the age her father already held her and her late twin in his arms, but he had no thirst for flesh of anybody — and most exceptionally, not of her.

That night had been the first time he made her cry. Cry of joy, that is; he told her he will not take her, and instead, that he is willing to listen and help her to where she may wish to take herself. That it may take time, but they could annul the marriage on grounds of it providing no children, given she is willing to wait and accept infertility as a guise.

Jaehaera was not stupid then nor now. She knows that he could kick her or axe her for false treasons if he wanted. He had given her a fair choice, for a respectful setting aside. Grandmother may have been disappointed in her, for not carving his heart out his chest and fighting for the crown, but he offered her easy freedom. And she wanted it so badly.

“You’ll be allowed to leave wherever you want. I swear you this on my mother’s memory.”

She cared none for his mother nor her memory, but she had known this opportunity is all she could ask for. She accepted it when she was twelve, not knowing if he would be true to his word, but alas, the time came.

Dressed in the darkest of colors in broad daylight, he comes to her rooms one day with an enchanting, rare smile on his pallored face. 

“The Small Council had brought up the issue of an heir,” he tells her. “I believe it is time for our ploy.”

Jaehaera inhales deeply, before rising from her seat. She smiles at him back.

—

Aegon is rather content with himself as he walks about the Keep.

He is twenty years of age, and his councilmen are livid with him. He had been recluse from holding courts, and hearing petitions; Viserys had to drag him by the ear to the ugly chair of swords. ‘ You do not appear enough in public, they are berating you in the streets!’ is a common complaint he hears, ever so directly only from Viserys, but in softer words from the councilmen at all times. 

Well, the councilmen can go piss on another tree, as do the common folk. He will grant Viserys some leverage alone, he does truly care, but gods, his chastising can be irritating .

He does not count more than three of his steps before he hears his brother rushing beside him.

“Aegon,” he rushes after him. “Are you listening to me? It’s preposterous!”

“What is?” he asks. The part where I told the Council I am to request annulment from the High Septon, or the part I named you heir for the while?

“You know damn well what is,” he says. “You just sent these schemers into a frenzy. They’ll pull women out of the depths of their grimy castle and blasted families to toss at you.”

“They would’ve done so anyways,” Aegon answers plainly. “Our lords of the Small Council are not men of great beauty. I cannot imagine any runs in their family lines. I only hope they’re reasonable to understand any rejection to come.” 

They enter his solar, and Viserys closes the door before giving him the most pronounced frown he can muster.

“I did not agree to being heir,” he says.

“Troublesome,” Aegon answers, sitting down on a chair. “To you, that is.”

“No, it is troublesome that you refuse to do your own duties,” Viserys says. “I think I do enough for you to not treat me like this.”

“You do enough to take over,” Aegon answers. “Why are you this contentious? You’ll do well with that. Little Aegon would be King.”

“Little Aegon spat on me today in order to escape his reading lessons. That is a grim future,” he says. “And you spit on me and your wife of nine years in the process of doing this.”  

“I didn’t know you as a fan of Jaehaera,” Aegon raises his brow. “Nine years with no heir are enough to know one is not likely to come.”

“Our cousin has lesser qualities, but none of those influence the fact you don’t know where to put it in,” Viserys answers back. Aegon glares at him; he may have never truly touched Jaehaera, but he shared her bed enough for it to be convincing that they tried. His brother is just being a prick — or alternately simply sees through him. Aegon is appreciative of neither option. Viserys glares back. “There was a purpose to your marriage. And there will be consequences to future generations of our family if we dangle that throne in front of our children. Stability, is what matters to this realm. Not your damn whims.”

Aegon bites his lips. He hates it when his brother makes his points. More than often he is correct. However, Aegon had done all he could to find a solution that would allow him and Jaehaera the freedom they promised one another. I swore.

“I have no children, Viserys,” Aegon answers.

Viserys scoffs. “Because you wish to live as if you are dead, and you wish me complicit in letting you do so,” he spits back at him. “I’m not your heir. If you want to set our cousin aside, find a wife of good repute and family to replace her.”

Viserys walks out of the room in stomps mightier than stallions at stampedes, and Aegon rubs his temples. 

Seven hells.

—

Aegon finds Jaehaera in his rooms later that day, waiting by the fireplace. He cannot say he had expected her; she doesn’t come here if she doesn’t need to. The creak of the door makes her turn to him, her nightdress and robe swiping against the floor. Almost immediately she rushes up to him.

“I am getting pitying looks,” she tells him, and her eyes are bright with curiosity of all things. He had allowed her a prior warning that he is setting things to motion for this reason exactly. She may not resent it, but others would take offense for her. That being said, she is mighty jolly for a woman talking of being looked down on. “Did you tell them?”

“I have declared intentions,” he answers her. “Some are unhappy, and some are most happy, but regardless they are stewing over it and will accept it soon enough.” 

Jaehaera nods, breathing in some disbelief. “Is it that easy?” she asks. “Do I need to do something?” The jitter in her limbs is noticeable, she fiddles with her hands in some liveliness. 

“Nothing in particular,” he says, moving past her to sit by his desk. “I need to petition the High Septon, and quarrel some more with Viserys, but you only need wait,” he says. “Though it may be counterproductive for you to be here. That does not give the impression of giving up on a marriage.”

Jaehaera huffs at that, walking over to him. “Why should you mind? They’ll be thinking I am begging you to decide differently,” she says. “I will be the one to suffer their prying eyes, as it is.” 

“Anyone who thinks you’d beg a thing of me is denser than a rock,” Aegon shoots back at her. He will not have her self-pitying over their shared agreement, he has had enough complaints over this. “And you have agreed to it, so don’t you start.”

“I’m not starting a thing,” Jaehaera says, holding her hands together. “I only wish to know what is to happen to me.”

Aegon’s muscles tense. They’ve both spent days on end wondering what will come their way. To sit and wait watching bloody walls while their guards and guardians know not how to shield them from what’s impending. It makes him sick only thinking about it.

He breathes deeply, and takes up one of the parchment papers and his ink. He wanted to write this petition later, but if she’s already here, he might as well. “If you’d like to watch me declare you impotent to the High Septon, be my guest.”

Jaehaera huffs as she walks behind him to see. “Last I heard a husband requested annulment from his wife for impotence, he remained childless despite having three wives, and the lady had become with child within a year of her second marriage.” 

Aegon raises an eyebrow. “That’s your wish for me?” Perhaps a hex brought to word. A tsk leaves his lips— she wouldn’t know he would not mind it at all—

“No, that’s your wish for yourself,” she says plainly, and a dose of faux innocence creeps upon her words. “I’d never.”

Aegon's mouth scrunches to an annoyed pout. At times her intuition seems heightened and she simply knows what she shouldn’t. And of course, she must employ similar words to Viserys. He draws his chair closer to the table. Breathe, and distance yourself. 

He focuses on his lettering instead. A formal request is not so hard to write, but he is unequivocally aware of her behind him. I hereby request your permission to relieve me and Queen Jaehaera of our…

“Relieve? Are we pissing, Aegon?” she chuckles by his ear. He turns his face to glare at her, but he nearly slams his face to her cheek. She pushes her face lightly against his as if to shove him away, and straightens herself to proper posture. 

He could choose to be flabbergasted. He sighs out. No. This is not the way with her.

“Do you want this written?” he asks her sternly. Staring her down is difficult when he must stare her up from his seat, but he will not let her lose his mind so easily.

She has the mind to not be entirely shameless. “Yes.”

“Then go sit on the bed and wait.”

Jaehaera most certainly has some quip trying to escape her lips, but she holds it in well. Eyebrows are raised and eyes are widened with a stifled grin, but she does not continue. Certainly an effort on her side.

“I shall let you read after I finish writing,” he tells her. “I promise.”

Every agreement with her is kept in their silences. Flinging hands in the hair, she steps and sits on the edge of the bed, resting her figure against the post of it. She is still watching, but he is able to finish the letter with this safe distance. 

When he rises from his seat, her gaze lifts with his figure. She looks at him expectedly, like one of her kittens waiting for food to be graced upon them. He blows on the letter once or twice for the ink to set and brings it forward to her for the taking. 

Jaehaera’s eyes scan the paper slowly. Every time she reads she has the most focused look on her face. He never knows if she takes in her texts at such leisure because she needs further focus or because she chooses to ignore him, but he allows her the moment she needs, slipping to the side of the bed opposed to her. If she has any complaints, he can fix them on the morrow; he has had enough of a long day.

When she lets the letter fall to her lap, she turns to him with eyes brightened with some emotion as they seem slightly frightened. 

“Do you think the High Septon will think me lesser for this reputation?” she asks him. “His opinion may matter if I’d like to stay in Oldtown...”

Aegon hasn’t ever thought he’d see his wife quite so nervous. She hadn’t allowed fear on her hardened face since the death of her grandmother. Certainly not to him, at the very least. He himself can’t truly ever relieve himself of his own fears, but he does know he has more control in relieving hers.

“You know very well Lord Lyonel nor Lady Samantha care for the opinion of any septon,” he answers softly. “You are a Targaryen. You will be a respectable ward to any host, and if they do not see you as such, we will sober said hosts to the truth.”

Never again could House Targaryen be seen as weak. He will never allow such insult or audacity again, nor hurt. It is why she must live on; why he must live on. Feelings of shame overcome him, all he has already lost for being a weak child.

“I will not allow any disrespect towards you,” he says ever seriously. Jaehaera’s mouth is in a thin gap she quickly shuts close, and he finds that if he does not speak now, his lifespan might thin out in a way even he isn’t prepared to. “So you’ve decided on Oldtown?”

No surprise, really. She may find herself belonging around those kin better. He wonders if she would; since Rhaena remarried to Garmund Hightower, that place is of no less Targaryen presence than here. 

“Well, if they’d sober to my respectable self, I’d be most glad,” she returns to her jests. “I’d rather like to see the Citadel’s Sphinxes. ”Did you know they have the bodies of cats?” 

“I believe it’s lions,” Aegon replies. “Or so Lord Tyland Lannister once told me. Though perhaps he saw himself in it.” 

Jaehaera nods. “Overgrown, smart cats, who speak in elevated riddles,” she laments, and then a grin returns to her face. “Perhaps he was right to see himself in it.”

Aegon feels the corners of his lips upturn as well. “Perhaps he was.” 

—

Jaehaera puts her mother’s pearls upon her for the night’s ball. Every ball has its purpose, and this one had several. Aegon needs to look at prospective alternatives to her, as well as apparently needs to calm his sister’s and council’s beating hearts to allow them to put forward their own girls first. Jaehaera laughed at how exasperated her husband had been as he told her. The muscles of his face have been in a perpetual scowl since forever, but it somehow managed to deepen.

She stretched her thumb and index over the skin of his lips, forcing him to wear a smile again. “You should smile if you’d like to charm anybody,” she told him. “Councilmen and women alike.” 

He shoved her hand away, pouting. Perhaps it doesn’t matter; he needn’t do much. He is handsome enough, and eyes will be on him regardless, as well on the crown on his head. It is a risk, to force him to smile. He is no good at such; when it does not reach his eyes it looks a crooked grimace. She finds it amusing in some measure, but he may scare someone else.

Regardless, she had been excited for the evening. Aegon told her he invited the Hightowers for her, to see if Oldtown’s folk truly suit her.

“My Queen,” her handmaiden calls her, showing her headpiece intricate with pearls scattered across green fabric. It is very extravagant for this evening. “What about this headdress?”

“Isn’t it much for the evening, Leila?” she asks the woman with a grin. She quite loves Leila; she had been with her for quite a while. She used to be a cook, kind enough to make Jaehaera all the sweets she needed between cravings and tears. Jaehaera took her as handmaiden right away, when she found out she could.

Leila licks her lips, tentative in what she says next. “My Queen, I have wanted to tell you… there are rumors—” she looks down, truthfully saddened. Still, she dares. “That the King wishes to replace you.”

Jaehaera hums at her, lips unsure of what shape to make. “You needn’t be concerned, really.”

“But it is of concern, Your Grace,” Leila says. “I couldn’t bear some Westerland witch taking your place.”

Jaehaera’s blinks at the sudden confession, but tries to conceal it with a jest. “That is all well then. If Aegon wishes for another, he has plenty more regions to choose from.”

“Your maids count to three and ten in number, Your Grace. You’ll find each of us refusing them all,” she tells her. “His Grace should see the good in his hands.”

Jaehaera is surprised. She hadn’t ever truly thought any of the Keep cares for her presence much. Many other staffs she had thought she could rely on turned on her and let her almost fall to the hands of those who wish her ill will. It is hard to believe in anyone, in truth.

Her one assumption had been that she’d only miss the cats of the Keep —  Gon and Lena are quite old now, but their kittens grew up so well. Ron, Mond, and Rys often played together. She thought she might take Lor with her, if she left; he is a wee bit of runt, just like her. Her husband had fed the cats himself rather often, but he wouldn’t mind her keeping one, she thinks. He likes them better than some of his councilmen, but he would.

In fact, she can’t see him denying her them all, should she have asked. 

She swallows, and smiles at Leila, holding her hands. “I see good in these hands,” she says. “Do put the headdress on me. Even if Aegon cares little, I trust your sense of dress more than anyone else.”

“If he cares little, he’s the most foolish king that could be,” Leila says, pouting, but tending to her hair nonetheless.

Jaehaera laughs.

—

Aegon sees Jaehaera come into the ballroom when he is dealing with a flock of hens. Hens, being the court’s daughters (and at times, mothers), and the lot of them were sent to him by his councilmen, and most of all, his devious siblings. Viserys, Rhaena, Baela, the lot of them proving to be from the seven hells.

She enters with a soft green dress befitting an age-old dispute. Should he be angry? Probably; he can see Baela is quite upset, but he is first taken aback by the form of Jaehaera. His wife scarcely took to dressing grandiosely, always rather conservative with her hair up in plain braided buns, and her dresses styled more for girls than women. It is different today, with her lowered neckline and hair cascading down with only half an updo and a tiara-like headdress.

He knows not if the red of her cheeks is powder or shyness as she wades through the room. She had been most excited at the news of her kinsmen coming, but now she looks rather tentative at the stares, despite her eye-catching choice of garb.

It does suddenly dawn on him that she may like to look appealing in order to perhaps find a second life by finding a second husband. That is fair, he rationalizes to himself. He himself is deep in the clutches of all the women that could be her replacements even if he had no wish to remarry after. But I must, and she could choose.

Jaehaera looks for something in the crowd and he does not notice he is staring until what she looks for is revealed to be him , and a relieved, crinkling violet stare holds him in place. 

“Your Grace,” Lady Corinna Tarbeck wakes him from his sudden halt. “What are you smiling at so…” the blond Lady begins to ask. He quickly removes any trace of a smile from his face, swallowing. Corinna is one of Rhaena’s friends, similar in ladylike demeanour, but even her impeccably held shy smile fades rather quickly at his wife’s approach. Regardless, she greets her first as Jaehaera rushes forward towards her. “My Queen.”

“I do beg your pardon for the interruption,” Jaehaera says, and chews the inside of his cheek when she sounds rather sincere. “If I may have my King for a moment,” she asks. Lady Corinna does not stay beyond her welcome, and Aegon is left with his wife rather stone-like. He sets his eyes on the pearls on her neck, which leads to nothing good. He ends up looking at her collarbone, and his eyes only keep straying further than he’d like them to. 

“Who’s that? A Westerland witch?” she whispers with a grin. Aegon is astounded to a snort at her knowing; she wasn’t even wearing her houses’ colors. But a witch may be an accurate descriptor. She had appeared by his side as if by magic’s way. His dearest sisters never hold back.

“Frankly, yes,” he says. “Rhaena has brought a delegation of those. They move their face as much as dolls do.” 

“Well, I rather like dolls. They make great company to the lonely,” she says. Aegon purses his lips. He has felt loneliness in his miserly life, but he hasn’t a need to alleviate any as of late. He doubts these dolls’ company would be any more than hindrance; all Lady Tarbeck had the will to talk about is the beauty of his jewelled crown. “Have you seen the Hightowers? I shan’t like to stifle you in your endeavors, but…”

Yet she does, coming in and demanding the eyes of all. Aegon huffs, but takes her arm in his. Even if she will be free to leave the Keep too, they need to maintain stability and amiability to the crowd. To let her go should be nothing but the last resort in the eyes of their warring lords. 

“I saw Lady Samantha with her children, I’ll take you to them,” her teeth flash in at him in a grin, and he tries to ignore how she holds his arm to her side. It is easier when she starts to whisper to him about some of the ladies he should avoid as they go about the room.

“Lady Farring is pretty, but quite the leech. I’ve spoken to her over tea a few times, and she means it not, but she’s a drainer of energy. I have felt the years pass by me in an hour,” she says.

“You mean she will deny me a long life?” he asks. “You may have just fully endeared me to her.”

Jaehaera rolls her eyes with a repressed smile. “They’d think I poisoned you if I let you die so soon after my leave,” she complains. “There are finer ladies around. Lady Thorne and Lady Harte had always been sweeter souls. You’ll find them amiable, though delegating you to them might be unfair to them.”

“Am I not amiable now? I thought I was rather fair with you,” he answers, scrunching his nose. Was he not fair with her? He would not say he had been the best of husbands, but he did his best to keep her in her thoughts. Even when it was hard, when he didn’t want to at all. Viserys thinks he knows not the importance of stability of the realm, but he does. He worked hard to make sure they are all stable and well. So much so now thinking of her and her consequences are second nature. 

Jaehaera squeezes his arms, looking up at him, pouting with lips he just noticed had been tinted further red. “It was a jest,” she says, sullen. “I can’t deny you are fairer than I expected you to be. I haven’t thought this promise will come to fruition; I couldn’t know if it was all empty words. But I see you have chosen a kinder, loyal hand than many would, it is not lost on me.”

Aegon breathes in. What is this sudden confession? On other days she would have sufficed to have thrown a shoe at him if he had said something she misliked. He can’t remember when her eyes had last been such a clear shade of violet rather than melancholic orchids. “I am not sure if I should be offended if you trust me only now.” 

Then again, how many attempts on her life she can live through and believe trust’s a true thing? He hardly trusted anyone at all. Viserys, he did, and his sisters, sometimes— and–

Jaehaera flattens her lips against one another. “I am simply saying I chose to believe in what my husband tells me, as he proved he does not lie,” she says softly, and he thinks it another cynical joke, until she continues. “That is not meaningless to me. That is all.” 

“Jaehaera…” he starts to say, but he scarcely knows what to speak next. He is vexed to dry lips as he stares at her own. His word must be written in stone, as King, but he holds her arm tighter. Firm in decisions and firm in their enforcement. When he passes on, he wishes no decision to keep him haunting this red brick castle, nor the land it presides over. He means to do well with his own stubbornness, yet he feels some turmoil in his gut. 

Viserys says he wishes to live as if he is dead, but he still finds himself so easily stirred. He gulps it down, wills it all away. Calm down.

“Your Grace,” Samantha Tarly suddenly appears beside, her brood of children behind her. Her eyes crinkle at his wife. “And our royal kin,” she says, reaching to hug his wife. “I have not seen you for so long. You are radiant today.” 

Jaehaera allows her a hug, though it is quite the overstep; Lady Sam does not really know her, and they are kin by her marriage to a Hightower Jaehaera hardly knew as well. Their arms unlock from one another, and Jaehaera rushes to the point of it all. “May I walk about the room with Lady Sam, husband?”

And yes, Aegon knows why she is so persuasive of the idea. Life at Oldtown would be easier for her, he knows. He’d assume life anywhere but here would be easier. He could not bear to stay long in Dragonstone, where his mother’s death had taken place, but she had managed to survive nine years in the place that hunted her family. Though perhaps it is their family as a whole .

And how long will I have to wait to leave here? He suddenly wants to reach for her arm again. He shifts on his feet, unnerved. 

This was always the plan. 

There is turmoil in his gut, but he soon nods. “As you wish, wife.”

—

Samantha’s six children waddle after them like ducklings. Every few moments, Jaehaera looks behind her step to see the little towers not tripping on either of their skirts. There is true fear there; there is no need to add blood to the snot that already decorated their noses.

“Attentive, are you?” Lady Samantha says. “You have grown so much since I’ve last seen you. You used to be such a shy thing, hiding behind anyone you could find, but now you seem to have a place to hide your own littles.” 

“A most profound way to say I am no longer eight, Lady Sam,” Jaehaera tells her, maintaining an even smile. Lady Samantha is a cattier girl, more outspoken than most. She tries to blend into her image; she would very much like to be as brave. For years Lady Sam had stood by her decisions and rebelled High Septon to approve them as true. While not being complacent, she still forged her own life. 

“I am trying to say you have much grace and wits about you, Your Grace,” Lady Sam huffs. “The King too had quite grown. You look like a dashing unit. Dare I hope there is a purpose to this ball? A declaration for a happier realm?”

Jaehaera bites her lips. She had been thoroughly glad Lady Sam found her when she did. She never denied her husband was comely, but she did not expect any of her words to come as a surprise nor lead him to his intent gaze. She never wished it to be upon her before, and she had felt bare to his eyes under the loom of his broad figure. 

She had never been scared of him, including now but perhaps it is herself that she should’ve minded more. She liked that gaze, and the tightening hold of his arm. All her life she rather wanted to flee, but despite expectations, she did not feel trapped.

Jaehaera had simply meant to express gratefulness, how did she end up so chilled to her core?

“I, well…” she looks down at the floor. She oft refused to allow her and Aegon’s circumstances to chain her into reaching for him for any carnal comfort, but Lady Sam inserted that thought into her mind as brazenly as she inserted herself into Lord Lyonel’s bed. She can’t avoid the flush on her face, but she also knows this is her time to act in their plan. “I fear that is not in my cards, Lady Sam.”

The words feel rather uncomfortable on her lips, and Lady Samantha Hightower is nothing if not sharp to note as much. Immediately, she switches her demeanour to a more tentative one. “You believe there is no… fruit to be had?” 

Jaehaera clears her throat. “No,” she says, voice small. “And the realm is tired of waiting.” 

“I like fruit,” Samantha’s youngest child suddenly notes, holding his mother’s skirts, sniffling back snot. “I want a pango.”

Samantha rolls her eyes. “You mean mango, Arthur,” she says, and turns to the other kids. “Go look for some, all of you. Together. The first to find one will ride around the city with me.” 

The children are spurred into action, and they watch them rush away. One of them faceplants onto the floor midway, but luckily their father, Lord Lyonel helps him up, and soon is dragged to help the children on their quest. 

“Children are a workload at times,” Samantha says quietly. “The King seems content still, and you are still young.”

“He is pressured by his court, and I’ve never been his court’s favourite.”

“If my Lord Hightower had managed to resist pressure from the Starry Sept, so can the King from his court.”

“We’re not you and Lord Lyonel, Lady Sam,” she says tentatively, her eyes finding Aegon’s tall figure all too easily - he is with his sister, Baela, and one of her Celtigar companions. Jaehaera looks away quickly, suddenly feeling an illness in her gut. Samantha scoffs.

“If men aren’t as fickle as leaves. To think only moments ago his eyes latched upon you so..” she inhales. “His brother is a widower, is he not? With three children to boot. I would’ve gone to his bed, if I were you.”

“Lady Sam!” Jaehaera’s eyes become saucers. If she had been sick at her unforeseen possessiveness on her husband, thinking of Viserys in his stead — she could barf . “Do not even suggest it!”

“Well, I would… but in your case. Garmund and Rhaena may toil to compete with us to fill the Hightower, but should you ever need to come to Oldtown, you will have a place. Between ten children, what is one more aunt?”

Ruckus comes from behind, and they see Lyonel attempting to settle a dispute between the children over who found the mango first. Jaehaera is quite appalled at the display. Her kittens are wild animals and they never fought so hard over a thing. 

Lady Sam excuses herself to go help, and Lord Lyonel looks at her as if she is a godsent angel coming to his rescue. The children do look rough to sort out; but that familial moment does look rather sweet. And it should be, this family would be nothing but teeth rotting to live with, but Jaehaera can’t help but feel incredibly sour.

—

A few days pass, and Aegon is walking through the gardens with a Velaryon girl that Baela and Alyn seemingly manifested from thin air. She is a pretty one, but he can’t quite focus on what she is saying at all. 

In all honesty, he finds his mind rather preoccupied. After the ball he has seen Jaehaera only once, when going back to Maegor’s Holdfast. She had been all smiles early into the evening, but at evening’s end she had been abnormally quiet. Before they parted in the hallway separating their rooms, she quickly told him Lady Sam seemingly welcomed her to her home should she wish for a place in it… and escaped to her private quarters in a rush.

He does not know how to feel about it. They could’ve talked some more, could they not? She should’ve told him more, anything. He accepted it all already, but it felt all too sudden. He thought of going after her, but when he tried to think of what to say further, he couldn’t come up with a thing. She had made her choice, what more could he say?

I swore to her she could choose.

Aegon had penned the letter to the High Septon. The request of annulment has been stamped with his own seal, and is waiting to be sent by raven to the city his wife wishes to escape to. The Small Council had told him to do so when he had his assured pick of a wife — they never intended to let him off the hook, nor stall for even a moment’s time.

The day is a fine, sunny day, and the birds are chirping gleefully from the trees planted between the flowerbeds, but he feels properly forsaken.

“Your Grace, are you well?” Lady Daenaera asks him kindly. She is properly perceptive despite being on the younger side. Ugh. He had given Baela a truly dirty look when she presented her, for she had been three and ten… but then his sister whispered to his ears her own ploy. If you wish not for a wife, perhaps you’d  be better off starting with a companion. Daenaera spots a stone bench not far away from them, and flutters gracefully to it. “Let us sit. It is rather hot today.” 

She takes her place, poised in her seat, and taps the stone surface for him to join. I should at least be mannerly.

“Fret not,” he says as he joins her. Perhaps he ought to at least entertain her some. “The sun has yet to have found the way to strike me down, unfortunately.”

Daenaera blinks at him. “Unfortunately…?” she asks, and he sees the contemplation of her mind through her eyes. He feels the deepest shiver of embarrassment coursing through his spine. Seven fucking hells. Daenaera clears her throat. “You mustn’t say that, your Grace. I’d rather believe the sun a form of sustenance, if already,” the girl recovers faster than he does.

If he wished to disappear beforehand, he most certainly wishes he could disappear now.

“Yes, most certainly,” he answers stoically. “Baela does say there is nothing quite like feeling the sun upon you as you sail.”

Now, that is. Riding her dragon had been her love when they were children, but Moondancer is long gone. He feels an awful man, knowing it makes him feel safer, and it makes him feel worse, knowing he should be ashamed of it. Morning still frightens him; he is often nervous at the thought of visiting Rhaena knowing it waits at Oldtown too. Gods, Jaehaera is going to live with the pink beast as well.

Daenaera nods. “I would daresay it is like a hug. The scent of the salt sea is carried by the cold wind, but the sun keeps you warm with its embrace… Oh!” she suddenly exclaims, and for a moment he is confused, but then he feels a scratch by his pants. Looking down, he sees a pale young cat meowing at him. He quickly climbs on his lap. “How cute. Who’s this?”

“Ah, my wi—” he catches himself before he says it, though his tone falters henceforth. “One of the courtyard’s cats. This is Rys. He’s very good at catching mice, and very good at asking for meals.”

The little thing likes to persters him, less recluse than its parents watching from the green hedges. Jaehaera had been deeply connected to it, letting it into her rooms when she had been younger. The servants hadn’t been pleased with the tears he had brought to the furniture, but he had told them to let her be. Cats of all things they can manage in their keep.

He had not been dense enough to not realize that his name had been homage to her fallen twin. All her kittens' names implied her lost family members. When he had been younger, he had swallowed down anger, but he soon grew out of it when Rys had started following him around. Before Viserys had been returned alive to Westeros, that kitten had been representative of two deceased brothers.

Aegon pats the cat’s head gently. She may want to take him with her. The little thing nuzzles against his hand.

“Such a sweet thing. He loves you so,” she remarks fondly. Aegon finds himself withering only more and more. You have offered this annulment. 

“Would you like to pet him?” he forces himself to ask. It is at that exact moment that he notices Daenaera has distanced herself to the very edge of the stone bench away from him. She smiles at him awkwardly.

“I wished I could, but you see…” she scrunches her nose as if to hold back a sneeze. “Cat’s hair is something I’m rather sensitive to.”

He holds himself from cussing. There is cat hair, noticeable, white cat hair, all over his black clothes. He can’t believe this. Even my most mundane of days are fucking miserable.

Aegon holds onto Rys and stands up. “You should’ve said so, my lady,” he sighs out. “I do apologize then, I didn’t mean you discomfort… we may be better off continuing this meeting another time,” he looks down at himself; he isn’t sure if the servants would be able to get the fur out. “In different clothes, certainly.”

“No, no, you have caused me no discomfort, Your Grace,” she is hasty to reply. “Thank you for your time, and introducing me to the kitten as well. He is a part of the Keep, regardless of if I stay or…” Daenaera fiddles with her hands nervously. He wonders how much she is trying to force herself to fit. Baela and Alyn surely goaded her to do her best, and had not been an unkind companion, but he needs not a child to validate him. 

A rustle comes from the hedges, and he sees Gon and Lena weasling out of the bushes. Rys too jumps from his hands, to poor Daenaera’s fright and sneezes alike. He looks to where they are going — and clearly, it is for food brought by maidservants, and maidservants brought by…

Jaehaera.

Aegon meets his wife’s eyes, and halts. They are clear violets, nor melancholic orchids, but furious mauves. She is glaring daggers at him. 

At first he is taken by surprise. Then, he is angry. After all he had done for her? After all he is doing for her? You plague me for days on end and you think you get to scorn me?

Daenaera lowers her head to Jaehaera, trying to sniffle back the snot from her sneezes. “Your Grace!”

Jaehaera looks the girl up and down once, and storms away with tight fists. 

Daenaera seems at a loss of words, frozen in place — and he may have properly lost his mind. His legs start to stride after his wife on their own. 

—

Jaehaera is reeling from head to toe from what she has seen. 

It is one thing for him to look for a second bride. She knows he has little option in doing so. Despite her ladies-in-waiting’s staunch refusal to be possible alternatives to her, she had been willing to help him find a woman trustworthy and capable enough to be his new Queen, but this?

Little Daenaera Velaryon had been just that; little. A child. And an orphaned child, on top of all. She had raised her eyebrows when Alyn and Baela had brought her with them, but she pushed it aside, knowing the girl had been a companion to their daughter. 

She had talked to her before. She knows the sweet girl’s exact life story; mother dead to Winter Fever, and father who had felled while waging war. Baela and Alyn fostered her henceforth, and Daenaera had held them both in the highest esteem for it. 

Jaehaera couldn’t blame them if they saw her as a Queen in the making. The girl is beautiful, well-mannered, and charming to boot, but that does not change the fact she is three and ten, and most undoubtedly pushed to the role.

Jaehaera’s mother had been pushed to marriage at three and ten, and then pushed to her death as queen at no less than three and twenty. She is walking the bridge above the moat where her queenly mother has perished years before just now — how could he? He knows how hard it is to bear the crown. He hates it more than anything, how could he?

“Jaehaera!” she hears Aegon’s voice and stomps following her. She hastens her pace. She doesn’t want to talk to him; if she does she may just cry to his face, may just push him down the moat too. Of all people, how could you do this?

Aegon’s legs are longer than hers. She is barely within the confines of the Holdfast when he reaches and grabs her arm. 

“What is the matter with you?!” he has the gall to yell to her face. “You frightened your own maids and servants, not to mention Lady Daenaera.”

Do not speak to me about my maids nor my cats! As if he hadn’t held her kitten in his ploy. “For the while I am still here, they will bear my bursts, as they always have,” she snarls at him back. “Lady Daenaera is not yet their lady.”

It is hard for her as it is. Her maids and ladies-in-waiting had been so solemn after she had told them she’d likely leave. It had been so clear she could barely bring herself to leave her rooms and face them without her lash lines prickling with tears. And her cats, she thought to take them, but then again — she couldn’t take them all, and she sees all too well that this is their home, that they are used to. Aegon’s hands were safe for Rys.

Aegon’s hands are safe. They had been safe and they had been hers. She can’t look at him. If she does…

“Anyone who thinks you’d beg a thing of me is denser than a rock.”

You’re going to make me beg. Beg that he won’t betray her own belief in him doing this, if not beg him to let her stay. She can’t beg, she can’t be this weak. She is almost on her way away from here, why must she keep looking back ? It hurts. 

She tears herself away from him and tries to run towards her apartments in the Holdfast, but Viserys and his children are blocking the way. Naerys wakes in the hands of her nursemaid and Aemon seems to grow alert. Little Aegon says something, but she can't even comprehend it. Their father, Viserys only sports some confusion on his face seeing her, but she hears his voice when he calls out to his brother. 

She runs to the opposing hallway, until that hallway ends, and she’s by the King’s quarters.

Jaehaera hears her husband’s steps from behind her coming to a halt.

“Will you stop running away from me?” he asks. She is reticent to answer, there is a bile in her throat. He steps one step forward. “Jaehaera, please .”

“She is a child,” she finally says, voice a moment from breaking. “It will hurt her.”

Aegon is silent for a moment. “She wouldn’t be my first choice either, but Viserys married her age. Younger, even.”

She turns to him in fury, coming up to his face. She will not dare speak it above a whisper, Viserys’s children are not far away, but he should know better. “And Lady Rogare could not stand this court any more than any of us, and left him more than hurt. You know this.”

Jaehaera finally meets his dark purple gaze again. It is glassy.

He nods in melancholy. “Perhaps so. But we married younger,” he says shakily. He is holding her hands; his hands are warm. They are gentle; they are safe. “And now you are leaving me.” 

I am. She can’t tear away her eyes from him. I am leaving. His face is getting closer. I am leaving and never looking back. His forehead is pressed against hers. I will be happy in Oldtown. I will be happy anywhere else but…

Aegon’s lips are pressed against hers. 

Here.

She takes his face in her hands, and kisses him back.

—

He isn’t sure how they danced their way into his quarters. They have stumbled with each other within. Aegon is half bent for their kiss, one hand on the arm holding his face and the other on the small of her back, trying to hold against her leading, pushing small frame.

Aegon has gotten tastes of her touch before, but he had never realized before how she speaks through it. She had never not been honest, even if lying would have benefited her, but her hands and holds are a burst of anything he couldn’t expect. He falls back on his bed as his shins meet with its frame and she sits his lap before he could even think to contest it.

Her hands do not leave his face for more than a moment, and she is in such a frenzy she seems to forgo breathing. It makes his head spin, as if his heart does not already beat out of his chest. He never before minded the thought of his own heart failing him, cutting his days short, but now he only wants this moment longer.

“Jaehaera,” he breathes in between her pecks. She is scarcely listening, leaning more and more of her weight on him as she demands their lips’ touch. It is so brand new he can’t comprehend it, and it dawns on him that she can’t, either; she does not clutch him so for no reason. “Jaehaera, wait…”

“Kiss me,” her plea is frustrated. “Ple—”

He takes a hold of her face and stamps a hard, prolonged kiss onto her lips. I will not have you begging.

She stops, takes it in, and undeniably melts in his hands. Her hands fall and she holds onto the fabric of his doublet. She sighs sweetly when he caresses her hair. He pecks her more gently, listening attentively to her soft breaths. 

When he leaves her lips to take her in, she speaks straight to his soul.

“I will not leave you,” she tells him, so seriously it makes his heart ache. “I refuse to go.”

It hits Aegon somewhere too tender. He has no trust to lend to almost anyone. People come and go. They slip away to happier places; they disappear, they die, and he is left behind here. 

Even those he loves, he fears he only deigns to wither with him. He hurts even Viserys in his own incapabilities of carrying these burdens. But he could help Jaehaera escape it, he swore it to her ages ago, yet he can’t let her go. You are the only one who understands…

His own incapabilities have him failing at every turn, but he can’t do anything about it. He loves her. Aegon smiles up at her.

“You can go, lady wife, when I fade to ash on my pyre.”

Jaehaera’s face brightens up. The smile stretches across her face wide with a chuckle, and she brings her fingers to the buttons of his doublet. Each one she undoes strikes lightning onto him, and eventually, her hand lands on his chest, only the thin, flimsy shirt underneath protecting him as she pushes his back down the mattress. 

“As long as you know you will not do so any time soon,” she says, lowering her face against his for their noses to just touch. “You are mine while you are still warm.”

Aegon beams at her, and takes her kisses with stride and joy. He minds not a long life, if he has her to lean on.

—

When the time for the next Small Council arrives, Jaehaera enters it with Aegon, a piece of sealed, parchment paper in her hands. 

The lords come up from their seats in some haste. They are all confused at her appearance; she had never been a part of the councils, even if as Queen she had a right to request a seat. The only one that remains at his seat in the Hand of the King, Viserys—

While the rest of the lot are very much at a loss, he takes one look at his brother, and understands. 

“His Grace, Her Grace,” The Master of Coin, Lord Isembard Arryn, looks up to the two of them as Aegon takes his seat at the head of the table. “Is there a reason the both of you are here..?”

“The Queen requested her place,” Aegon answers plainly. He looks at the Kingsguards, rather annoyed. “Would anyone fetch her a chair?”

Jaehaera looks down, stifling a chuckle. Ser Raynard Ruskin quickly rushes to find her the seat. Grand Maester Munkun looks between her, Aegon and Viserys, while Lord Thaddeus Rowan is the one that asks of the elephant in the room.

“Her Grace is of course welcome. Yet, it seems to me something has shifted without us knowing?” 

Aegon hums, and turns his gaze to her. “Would you like to tell them, wife?”

Jaehaera takes center stage, at the same time Ser Raynard brings her chair to the table. She smiles at her husband. Gladly. She shows the councilmen the paper in her hands.

“This has been the petition for annulment we had planned to send to the High Septon, you see,” she presents it for all of them to see — only to soon take it in both hands, and rips it apart, letting the pieces of it fall on the table. “His Grace and I believe it had been a hasty decision yet still. As far as we are concerned it is null itself.” 

“Forgive me, your Grace, but the matter of an heir…?” Lord Arryn asks, almost rudely — but neither her nor Aegon are the one to answer him.

“Will surely sort itself out soon enough, if your royal lieges believe it well enough to renounce this decision,” Viserys says, cutthroat. His eyes fall back on her, reliable but challenging. “You better sit, Your Grace. It is an arduous path to care for a King and a Kingdom, and far more so with children to come.” 

Jaehaera sits down opposing him. Aegon sends his brother a quick glare, but it soon dissipates to a smile when Jaehaera takes a hold of Aegon’s hand.

“That is a path I’m willing to walk.” 

tag list: @boohoneyy, @serymn31, @dreams-cynicism, @shslkokoro, @sanbond, @tremendouswolfsaladranch dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive

[demonicbaby666]

Territorial

One shot | Supergirl Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Kara Danvers x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 2.9k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, jealousy, fingering, semi-public sex

Summary: Attending an event with Kara seemed a good idea. It had never been an issue in the past, but when she returns from mingling to find you enjoying the company of another guest, things take an interesting turn.

A/n: I want to say that I've thoroughly proofread this, but I cannot because I am lazy and also not motivated enough to do that :)

Kara didn't want to leave you. On the drive over to the reporter's gala, you'd heard her say just that, even if you were the slightest bit distracted by how her muscles bulged under the sleeves of her blazer. 

She knew you were no social butterfly and had sworn to stay by your side when you needed a breather from small talk and scheming questions—a hero even when she shed her cape. You'd tried to reason with her, explain you were not a child, that you'd be fine alone. Alas, it proved useless. She wasn't having it. 

However, that was the drive over when Kara had yet to be faced with renowned reporters, endless opportunities for stories and the chance to fill a whole page, front and back, with media contacts. So, when the time came, you were proud to admit you succeeded in swaying your girlfriend to do all the things you knew she was most looking forward to with a "Please don't let me stop you. I had been wanting to check out the bar anyway." 

You did receive a dejected look from Kara as she was dragged away, one that reminded you of a little lost pup. That wasn't entirely a pleasant sight, but when you arrived at a too-tall bar stool and peeked over your shoulder, you were happy to note Kara was lost in conversation. The twinkle in her eyes she only got when intrigue grew and questions were formed was bright as ever. She was utterly consumed. It was a happy sight. A sight that, mixed with alcohol, made your chest flush a little too hot for liking. 

Time ticked by, and for a while, it was okay. You watched Kara move around, go from person to person, nursing your drink between glances and taking in the room decor. The thought of joining her did cross your mind but was quickly stored away when you realised how hard it would be to reach the blonde across the ocean of bodies. Better to sit tight and save yourself the trouble. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the event hall grew too loud. Not loud from rowdy patrons or blasting music. The accumulation of too many polite voices and clattering sounds combined to form a monotonous hum was what was beginning to drive you crazy. You waited. And you waited. And you waited some more. You waited for as long as you could, feeling more and more how your cheeks began to burn until it got a little too much, and you found your way outside to the stone stairs of the grand entrance, heart beating a little too fast for your liking.

That was where Kara found you. She'd wrapped up her conversations as fast as possible, asking and answering rapid-fire questions, absorbing every bit of knowledge offered while keeping track of the time. It couldn't be helped that now and again, she lost herself in stories that she imagined would one day be hers. She knew you'd understand. But then, too much time had passed, and she knew it as she hurried over to the bar, already panicked about how best to apologise for leaving you alone for so long. 

By the time she did find you, after discovering the bar vacant, her worries were gone, and Kara was joyous to finally be so close to you again that she could smell your perfume. The stories she'd heard were waiting on the tip of her tongue to be regurgitated, along with an apology kiss, which she had decided was the foolproof option on the walk over. However, when she turned a corner and finally saw your unmistakable figure, she did not expect to find you with company. More so, she did not expect a pristine blazer that was not hers to be wrapped around you, keeping you warm from the evening's light breeze. 

Watching from a close distance, Kara could see it. She could hear it pierce her ears—the bitter sound of laughter. You were smiling, listening attentively to what this random woman spewed at you, and it drove Kara crazy, filled her veins with fire, and turned her knuckles white. She hated this part of herself, the wiry-clawed green-eyed monster that came out so often around you. She'd been pushing it down all evening, all week, hell, your whole relationship, whenever she saw someone's eyes linger on your figure too long. But this, whatever was happening between you and this woman, was, for some reason, Kara's last straw. 

"It's freezing." She strode over, steps heavy, tone sharp as she announced her presence.

It was, in fact, not freezing, and you were about to mention that as you turned to greet Kara, but the second you saw her stony expression, you decided otherwise. 

"Kara, it's so nice to finally meet you," the woman beside you said, extending her arm to the blonde with a warm, charismatic smile. "Andrea." 

The reporter outright ignored the greeting, stared at Andrea with flared nostrils and then back to you, her eyes softening only a smidge. You hated to say it, even if it was just to yourself, but something about seeing Kara this way deeply affected you. Of course, you loved sweet Kara, the Kara that would never be able not to help, the Kara that left a trail of sunshine behind her as she walked, the Kara that giggled at double entendres, and that's what she said jokes. But this Kara, fierce, protective and territorial Kara, the Kara that would crack someone's neck if they looked at you the wrong way, throw them over the side of a building if they even thought to touch you, drove you mad with undying lust. 

"Why are you out here?" your girlfriend asked, snapping you out of your daze. Her eyes grew smaller, and her lips thinned as she stared at the blazer still around your shoulders. 

Sensing her hostility and heavy eyes, you got the hint. Well, it was less of a hint than a blaring alarm. Nonetheless, you understood. "I got a bit hot inside, that's all," you calmly answered, beginning to shrug off the satin jacket that seemed to be Kara's new adversary lest she burn a hole right through it. 

"Nice seeing you, Andrea," Kara said dryly, sporting a sarky smile as she took the blazer off your shoulder and handed it back. "I'll be taking my girlfriend inside now."

With an arm hooked around your waist, you were ushered inside, unsure what the hell had just happened until it was too late to turn around and apologise for Kara's out-of-character behaviour. 

"Did you have to be so rude?" you whispered. "She was only being nice." 

Kara was indifferent, her face expressionless. "I thought you didn't want to socialise," she finally said, manoeuvring past groups of chattering clusters. 

"She approached me. It would have been rude to ignore her," you tried to reason.

"The blazer?" Kara countered, nails digging into you so hard you felt them pierce the silk material of your dress, forcing you to choke down a whimper. 

There were so many things you could have said, so many things you should have said. You could have given Kara one of the many valid reasons you had at your disposal. But no, you did nothing of the sort. Seeing Kara this pissed off, even if she was trying to hide the true extent of it, was absolutely divine, and you wanted it to last. 

Leaning over to her ear, keeping up with her quick pace on your tippy toes, you sultrily whispered, "I was chilly, and she offered to keep warm." 

Kara halted, standing stark still in the middle of a desolate hallway. You saw her jaw lock, the way her veins in her neck bulged. Her eyes, shining a scorching shade of blue, looked off into the distance, and that was when Kara truly lost herself to silent rage. 

When her feet started moving again, no words were spoken. She only pushed you down the corridor and then to the left, each step growing more daunting as the woman beside you remained stoic. You started to consider that perhaps you had gone too far. 

"Kara, I-" you tried but were cut off by the force of Kara roughly shoving you inside a side room. With no warning, your body was slammed against the back of the door, forcing it shut with a bang that echoed in your ears, its remnants reduced to a faint buzz. 

Kara had kept her hands on your waist, body a safe distance away as her azure eyes roamed your face in rapid intervals, eventually landing on your lips. 

"Do you need a reminder?" she snapped. 

Fidgeting and momentarily adverse to maintaining eye contact, you looked around at the collection of coats, studying all the colours, all the various items poking out of pockets, and the occasional umbrella brought in by the wary, inherently failing to answer Kara's vague question. 

The quiet grew to be biting; its teeth gnawed away at your confidence until breathing became almost impossible. Thankfully, the room itself was chilled, air circulating well enough to ensure that dust particles and the distinct smell of dampness would not stick to the fabric. Only two windows painted the room, both of which were located to your right, one jammed shut with rust and debris, the other slightly ajar. And as grating seconds passed like hours, and eyes locked onto you, hot breath rained down on you, the timid breeze that began to sweep in through the small crack of that old window became your new best friend. 

You focused on it as you looked to the floor and watched your toes curl. You heard its high-pitched whistles alongside the squeaking leather of your shoes, and you felt its light fingers caress your flushed cheeks just enough to dull your panic to a manageable seven. 

Of course, this did not last long. Your senses eventually found you, and you remembered the lingering question dancing in the air and the unhappy blonde who deserved an apology. But it was too late. For the second time that evening, you concluded that you'd pushed your girlfriend too far. 

Your punishment was a hand coiling around your throat, calloused fingers threatening to mark you with blotchy bruises but not daring to squeeze hard enough to hurt. Beneath the firm grip, you closed your eyes, frustrated with how painstakingly annoying it was to have something so wrong feel so good. So fucking good you were struggling to hold in a moan. 

"Do you need a reminder that you're mine?" Kara calmly asked, fractionally squeezing just that little bit tighter to force out a strained whimper. Her pupils were blown wide, dark whirls of something foreign polluting the bright shine of her irises. 

Distant music seeped in, filling the silence between rapid breaths. Eyes sharpened their focus on one another, studying the new hues of lust, committing the new palettes to memory for lonely nights. Then came the slip—your submission offered with one last shuddering breath and the slow close of your eyelids, and Kara, sharp as a whistle, acted accordingly. Her lips, soft yet bruising, devoured you at a moment's notice, pulling you in with deceiving memories and false promises, only to demolish them with biting nips and trailing scratches. She tasted of pure possession, each slide of her tongue more demanding than the last. 

She wanted control, and you happily gave it over. 

Kara pulled back, beginning to plant kisses from your mouth down to your neck. She drew you into her mouth, sucking hard enough to have surely left a mark, and you'd have cared if it weren't for the svelte fingers shamelessly working under your dress, rising to the juncture between your thighs to tease your clothed cunt with light touches. 

There was no remorse when your shivers were felt, when your pitiful rendition of a beg was heard or when your hips started to grind down in desperation. The reporter was hell-bent on prolonging the torture. 

Hand on the underside of your knee, Kara encouraged you to wrap a leg around her waist. She hauled it up as if it weighed nothing and held it in place, momentarily allowing you to find some needed friction along the column of her toned stomach. It was then you realised why Kara wanted you to have some leverage. Savagely, your underwear was torn, fabric protesting louder than you did in fear you'd anger your tyrant and be deemed unworthy of her illustrious treatment.

"I want them to hear you," Kara drawled, dipping the tip of her finger inside you. "Hear that you belong to me." 

Instructions clear, she thrust three fingers into your welcoming pussy and began fucking into you at an unforgiving pace. There were no words to describe the ecstasy that was being stretched so abruptly it almost hurt, so you settled for a silent cry instead, gripping onto muscled shoulders for leverage. 

It stung when Kara pushed harder and moved faster, but the tendrils of pleasure did not lessen, circulating through your body and bubbling in your stomach, so you endured. 

Your moans were carrying, spilling out of the room to ricochet and bounce around the high-panelled ceiling and walls of the corridor. The occasional gasp that did reach your ears left you desperately wanting to be ashamed, to do the sensible thing and tell Kara to stop. The embarrassment of exiting the cloakroom and coming face-to-face with the many people who knew exactly what had happened was enough for you to listen to your rational mind. But what remained stronger was the need to chase your impending orgasm. 

That's what made forgetting so easy—the vehement need for ownership being met, even if it was being done in such a precarious place. It's probably why you didn't stop the following words from coming out of your mouth.

"Yours." You wanted her to know. Hell, you wanted everyone to know. So you kept saying it, over and over, louder and louder. "Yours yours, yours, only yours." 

All you could do was continue to pull Kara in, clenching around her fingers, and beg her to go impossibly deeper with the firm grip of your leg and crackling cries. Soon enough, there was no need for Kara to hold you close; you were stuck to her like glue, and the blonde chose to take full advantage.

Her hand lay flat on the wall to gain some leverage, her fingers starting to move so fast they felt like they were vibrating. Soft kisses along your throat became harsh, teeth latching onto skin repeatedly, mercy momentarily shown with soothing slides of a slickened tongue. In the back of your mind, you knew what was happening. The reporter was marking you as hers, and when you left that tiny room, there would be no mistaking it. In the upcoming days, she wanted you to see the bruises staring back at you in the mirror, a warning for you never to forget. Hers. 

"Mine," Kara growled, her voice raspy. 

Your chest was rising and falling alarmingly, your breath short, and your lungs exerted. Everything was moving so fast you scarcely noticed Kara place her thumb over your clit till it was too late, and all that was left to do was gasp so heavily your lungs felt like they may burst. 

With the duel stimulation came the lack of awareness, and it seemed, even for Kara, your volume was rising to a level that would amass too much attention. Her lips found yours, and muffling your cries, she drove her tongue into your mouth.

Her thumb continually ran in circles, each drawing you closer. Your stomach was so tense it felt painful. Still, the persistent waves of satisfaction were worth the strain, and unsurprisingly, in little to no time, you felt the inevitable crest of your orgasm, releasing an open-mouthed gasp against velvet lips. 

You came with a silent cry, your head thrown back and slamming against the wall, forcing Kara to separate her lips from yours. She watched you fall apart in awe, milking you for you had till you were shaking so badly you could scarcely hold yourself up. 

"Keep holding onto me," she whispered, and you obeyed, wrapping your hands around her neck, breathing heavily and dropping your head to her shoulder. With a delicate kiss on your temple, Kara slowed her fingers down to languish thrusts and placed her hand over your ass, taking the majority of your weight. "I've got you." 

Assured there was no chance you would collapse, Kara kept going, continually pulling meek whimpers from you with every curl of her fingers. It felt like your orgasm was never-ending, waves of full-bodied pleasure rippling through your system over and over, burrowing into your skin till it felt like you were on fire. Finally, when a grimace replaced the gratified smile you wore and your moans began to sound more wounded, she stilled, slowly withdrawing from you. 

Weakly looking up, you watched Kara bring her fingers into her mouth and sample your unique taste. Her eyes fluttered shut as the familiar tangy nectar coated her tongue, and a satisfied hum vibrated in her throat. 

Head falling forward, knees still shaky, mind certain, you whispered the only thing that seemed to be running through your head, "Yours." 

Lips to your temple, Kara happily muffled her confirmation, "Mine."

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