#and just drawing the same things over and over

[brenwritesss]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

⋆˚࿔Paige Bueckers x reader ❀˖°

Summary: You and Paige keep your promise to Azzi, steering clear of each other. What happens when you both fuck up?

Warnings: semi-sexual content ahead.

part 1

Your heavy breathing could be heard from miles outside your dorm while your hands rubbed down your forehead, clearing off the sweat. Your chest heaved and your legs flexed, spreading open the slightest bit as the girl beneath you rolled upwards, taking her own gasp of air and resting her hand on your thighs.

Things hadn’t been the same since that day in the locker room since you and Paige got caught by Azzi. You had spent the last month trying to make it up to the curly-haired girl as you kept your promise that you wouldn’t hang out with Paige alone. And fuck, it was harder than you thought it would be. And it seemed like to Paige, it was natural and the easiest thing she could ever do. She took ignoring you to a whole other level. First, she would only talk to you when Azzi or someone else was in the room. Then it progressed to fewer words exchanged between the two of you to her ignoring you completely. Always leaving the room when you entered, turning around and walking in the other direction when you passed in the halls. She even went so far as to block you on social media which in your opinion, was completely unnecessary.

“Same time tomorrow?” The girl in front of you asked, drawing you out from your thoughts. You met her in your communications class, bonding over your favorite shoe brands which ended up turning into a heated make out session in your dorm room. 

You take your hands off your face, leaning up to meet her eyes. “Yeah, yeah same time tomorrow.”

She flashed you a smirk, standing up and putting her jeans on. You watched her as she slipped her shirt on after, covering the exposed skin that you marked up just minutes before and the thought of Paige shot through your mind. 

You turn your head away. No. Stop thinking about her.

 After getting dressed, the girl picks up her phone and heads for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you…” you barely mutter out, to distracted to even try and remember her name.

Not even remembering to put your clothes back on, you pick up your phone from your nightstand, checking to see what the time was. 10:20 p.m. 

Against your best judgement, you open up Paige’s text thread, practically a ghost town now that she wasn’t making an effort to talk to you anymore. But who were you kidding, the text thread had always been a ghost town since senior year. Releasing a sigh, you hit her contact photo, pulling up her contact information. You scroll all the way to the bottom until your thumb hovers over the block button.

God, this is so pathetic, you think to yourself. I’m over here doing this shit everyday just to get over my ex who probably hasn’t given me a single thought for over a month.

And that’s all it takes for you to hit the block button. Because you’d be damned if you let someone like Paige Bueckers get you in your feels, thinking about wanting her back in your bed. You’re not going to give her that satisfaction.

You text Azzi right after. I’m coming over, that ok?

You get a response in less than thirty seconds. Yeah, I’ll leave my door unlocked.

Since you and Paige got caught, things between you and Azzi were…not as good as it was before. But Azzi being Azzi, she was able to get mostly over it and things were mostly back to normal. Sleepovers every few days, always going out to eat when she wasn’t away for a game, random Target runs, and lots of tiktok drafts being made. The only times when things didn’t feel normal between you and Azzi were when Paige would walk into the room. Azzi would go from being the loudest in the room to being the most quiet. Not because she was uncomfortable but because she was watching the two of you, trying to see if there were any longing glances, or words mouthed between you. And she was definitely checking to see if either of you were on your phones for a bit too long at the same time. Obviously with Paige ignoring you, she didn’t have to worry about that.

You get up from bed, grabbing a fresh new pair of sweatpants and some other clothes to change into before you leave. You head into your bathroom, taking a quick shower before changing into the outfit you picked out. You opted for some sweats and an oversized shirt that you found at the bottom of your closet. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you fix your hair and brush your teeth before walking out of your bathroom to grab your phone and wallet.

When you walked out of your dorm, you were half expecting Paige to meet you on the other side as she would walk out from her own hook up. But that hasn’t happened at all since she stopped talking to you. It was better this way, anyway, because the last thing you wanted to see was her all disheveled and her hair a mess just like how yours was a few minutes ago, looking at you like she just got fucked. By someone else.

You make it to Azzi’s place in ten minutes, opening the door to see the curly-haired girl packing her bag for another away game.

“Where you going to this time?” you ask her as you plop down on her bed, messing up the organized pile of clothes she had sitting there.

Azzi shoots you a glare, swatting at your leg as she moves the now messy pile away from you. “Indiana to play Notre Dame.”

You scrunch your face. “Ew.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” Azzi tells you as she continues to pack.

You lean back on her bed, wrapping yourself up in her fuzzy pink blanket. The same blanket that Paige had a matching one in purple. “Right, sorry.”

Azzi holds one of her shirts in her hands when she looks up at you, tilting her head. “Hey, you still seeing that one girl?”

“Which one?”

Azzi pauses, looking at you with disbelief. “That’s actually nasty.”

“Hey, everyone deserves to have a little fun.”

Azzi laughs. “So, I was talking about the one I accidentally walked in on. The blonde one,” she pauses, “which by the way, I’m still traumatized.”

“The blonde one…” you trail off. Paige was the first blonde to pop into your head even though the only blonde girl that you have been hooking up with regularly was no where close to Paige. “Uh, Rachel?”

Azzi rolls her eyes at you. “Her name is Kathrine, dumbass. She’s in my accounting class.”

“Damn, I could have sworn it was Rachel.” You don’t dare to make eye contact with her because you knew she was giving you a look of disappointment, which from Azzi Fudd, was not a look anyone wanted to receive.

“Well for future reference,” she says, “it’s Kathrine.”

You don’t say anything for a couple minutes after that, debating on asking Azzi a very specific question. Curiosity got the better of you on this one. “Azzi, can I ask how Paige is doing?”

Azzi stops folding her clothes, turning to look at you and letting her shoulders relax. “Yeah,” she pauses. “She’s okay, Y/n. She’s in the gym a lot preparing for March.”

“That’s good.”

“Look,” Azzi sits down on the bed. “I appreciate you both keeping your promises and not seeing each other. It’s not that I don’t want you guys to interact at all, it’s just that I know you both. And I know how you both get with this stuff.”

“Ri–” you say as she cuts you off.

“And seeing you in the locker room…I could just tell that it was going to end badly. I mean, I love you both so much and I would hate to see either of you get hurt. Besides, with Paige being in her weird situation thing with that one girl she’s into, I don’t want to see you get caught up in that.” 

The look that Azzi gave you was so sincere that you could tell she meant every word she said. Azzi wasn’t in the wrong for keeping you both apart. She just wanted the best for both of you. You look up at Azzi, “I know. And I don’t blame you for anything at all. I agree, it would have ended badly.” As much as you wanted to disagree.

“Why did you break up with her in the first place?” The question shouldn’t have caught you as off guard as it did.

You shrug. “At the time, I thought it was the best decision considering we were both going to different schools. Long distance in high school is already hard enough. Long distance with a college basketball player would be even harder.”

“That’s understandable.” Azzi had to have been the most understanding person you have ever met. And you loved her for it. “Well when I said I hated the girl who broke her heart, I didn’t mean it.”

You tirelessly laugh. “I know Azzi.”

You wake up the next morning, still tired and craving coffee. After putting your shoes, you grab your phone and head for the door. The girl whose name Azzi reminded you was Kathrine, had left about a few hours prior, allowing you to get a few extra hours of sleep in. You open the door, not looking in front of you as you close it behind you. You walk into a tall body, making you stumble backwards.

“Paige,” you whisper, eyes wide as you flash her a shocked expression. Paige is standing in front you, walking out of the dorm that you haven’t seen her walk out of in over a month. She looked the same as she always did, blonde hair a mess, and the UConn patch over her clothing. She looks down at you, making eye contact for the first time in what felt like a decade. 

She didn’t say anything because she too was frozen in her place. You didn’t know what to say either because not only would you be breaking Azzi’s promise, but Paige was a stranger to you just like she had been for the past four years.

“Hi.” Was the only thing you could say because in a situation like this, what could you even say?

Paige eyes you up and down, drawing your body with her eyes until she met yours again. It didn’t even look like she was admiring you or missing you. Just complete shock. If you could even call whatever her expression is shocked. 

It felt like a matter of fours years had gone by between the two of you, either one not wanting to say anything. That was when you had to remind yourself that you’re both seniors in college not high school. “How are you?” you asked her, waiting to be met with no response yet again.

“Do I know you?” Her words shocked you more than seeing her out here in the hallway. And that is when you realized that you knew exactly how Paige felt that one time you had said the same words to her in the same spot. Paige shoves her hand in her pockets, turning to walk away.

You couldn’t even say anything as you watched her get further away and that’s when she turned back towards you, “you smell like sex by the way, I suggest you shower that off.”

Your dropped jaw turns into a grimace as you silently her off in your head. Paige Bueckers isn’t allowed to be pissed at you, not after she turned you into a memory and forgot you. And you were going to make her remember that.

Four days later and the team is back from Indiana as you find yourself standing in front of the door across the hall, preparing yourself to make what could quite possibly be the dumbest decision you have ever made. You sigh, knocking three times as you take a step back, part of you hoping she won’t answer the door.

About ten seconds later, a slightly shorter, brunette girl with brown eyes opens the door. “Hello?”

There was a part of you that flared with anger as you remember that this was the girl Paige had been seeing, sleeping with while you were right across the hall.

You fake a smile. “Hi, is Paige here?”

The girl in front of you raises her eyebrows, cocking her head to the side. “No, she’s not,” she pauses, “sorry, who are you?”

“Oh, sorry I’m Y/n. I’m supposed to be meeting Paige here? God, I hope I didn’t get the dorm number wrong,” you say as you fish your phone out of your pocket, pretending to look confused as you scroll on it.

“What? Why did Paige tell you to meet her here?”

By the look on her face, you could tell you were getting to her and that was exactly what you needed. “Paige and I have been…that’s not important. But she said that I should meet her here.”

She was sending you daggers with her eyes now. “What the fuck do you mean? Are you hooking up with Paige?”

You look at her, slightly shifting your footing. “Yeah���yeah we have.”

“How fucking long?”

“I mean I’m not counting but if I had to guess,” you say, making your voice a bit higher. “I’d say about a month maybe?”

“That fucking liar,” she whispers, rubbing a hand on her forehead. She looks at you again. “Well she’s not here and you can fuck off.” She slams the door in your face.

You turn back around and walk into your own dorm, the biggest fucking smile on your face.

It was another night out that Azzi had forced you to go to, although this time you had opted to meet her at Ted’s, needing to finish the last bit of your homework for the week. You didn’t know if Azzi had told Paige you were going, but if she did, then you needed to look your absolute best. The thought that ran through your head was if Paige found out you had ruined her relationship with whoever the bitch was across the hall, she’d say something about it. And that meant you needed to look drop dead fucking gorgeous because she couldn’t stay that mad at you and ignore you anymore, right?

Even with Azzi not letting you both speak to each other alone, she never said anything about in a group setting and you were determined to get more words out of Paige that weren’t ‘who are you?’.

You walked into Ted’s wearing a short black dress with your favorite sneakers because you never learned how to walk in heels and today did not feel like the day to start trying. Azzi glanced up from the group, eyeing you and waving you over. “Y/n, over here,” she said and waited for you to approach. “Wow, you look so hot.”

You laugh as she eyes you up and down, giving you an encouraging smile. “Not so bad yourself, Azzi Fudd.”

“Damn girl, who you tryna look this good for? It ain’t me right?” Aubrey joked, appearing beside you and handing you a drink. You gladly took it and downed about half of it right then and there. “Woah, easy you just got here.”

You turn to Aubrey, “I’m okay, trust.”

“Alright then,” Aubrey says, going back to converse with Ice and KK who waved at you before turning back to their TikTok live.

Azzi nudges you, eyeing the two girls on their phones. “You should go tell KK to do karaoke on live.”

“Is she any good?” you ask, turning to her.

“It’s definitely something,” she whispers, making sure that KK didn’t hear. Although that didn’t really work when you both heard a “girl boo, like you can do any better Miss Fudd.”

You let out a laugh as Azzi glared at KK. “I can be a professional singer if I wanted to. Can you say the same?”

Before they argued anymore, you hold up your glass. “I’m going to get another drink. Anyone want anything?”

Aubrey and Azzi both shake their heads, already having drinks in their hands as you nod and walk over to the bar. The bartender meets you at the counter, taking your order while you sit on one of the barstools, waiting. Someone sits next you although you don’t really pay attention because you’re too focused on Paige. Too focused on Paige to realize that she had come to sit right next to you.

“Tell me, do you usually get this jealous over someone? Or is it because I’m your ex?” Paige asks beside you, making you almost jump out of your seat. You turn to her, seeing her stool already swiveled towards you and she’s leaning her hand on her palm that rested on the bar counter.

Damn, did she look good.

You turn your own stool towards her, realizing that your plan had worked and you got her right where you wanted her. “I’m not jealous.”

Paige raises her eyebrow. “Really? So you just told the girl I’m seeing that we have been hooking up because what? Because you’re bored?”

You shrug. “Oh don’t worry, I’m sure you can find another girl.” The bartender hands you your drink which you gladly take a sip of, not looking away from her eyes once. “Maybe text one of the girls you fucked freshman year. From what I heard, you got around quite a bit didn’t you?”

“So you’re concerned about my sex life now? Do you–” she paused, looking over at the group to see if Azzi was looking, which she wasn’t. “Do you not remember that you broke up with me?”

You lean closer to her. “And did that kiss in the locker room not tell you that I made a mistake?”

Paige scoffs. “What changed your mind? Because senior year, I’m not good enough for you to stay, and now I’m good enough to fuck around with. What changed, huh?”

Your slight smirks drops when you realize that the look on her face wasn’t amusement, it was pain that she was trying to hide. That maybe she had been thinking about you this past month. Missing you like she had been the past four years. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I’m not talking about this anymore,” she said. “We made a promise to Azzi and we damn well are going to keep it. So stay out of my fucking love life Y/n because for once, it doesn’t revolve around you.”

And then she stands up swiftly, leaving you at the bar as she walks over to the team. You contemplated going back over to the group but didn’t want to raise any suspicion with Azzi. What were you doing? Were you wasting your time trying to get her attention? Probably. And what did this say about you? That you crave attention? That you want what you can’t have? Maybe it was all true.

How do you fix this? How do you make it right so that you both aren’t hurting anymore? 

You slowly walk back over to the group, forgetting your drink at the bar but nobody even noticed as you approached. Paige looked up at you, sitting beside Azzi and turning her head, not trying to make eye contact.

Azzi notices you, waving you over to her. “Come sit between Paige and I.”

Both you and Paige widen your eyes. Azzi wanting you to sit next to Paige. That’s…odd. Paige looks from Azzi to you and slightly shifts over, allowing you space to sit between them, which you reluctantly do.

Your right leg immediately presses up against Paige’s and even more memories flood back to you. All those times your body slumped against hers, when she’d spoon you in your bed; it was all coming back. You try to move more towards Azzi, not wanting to relive those moments all over again. But Paige, she knew you. Even after all these years, she still knew you.

So you weren’t as surprised as you should have been when she let her pinky finger graze your knee, rubbing it as a source of comfort because she knew you were in your head. You try not to look at her but even at that you fail and it makes you feel stupid. It makes you feel even more stupid when she doesn’t even turn her head your way, pretending you’re not even there yet her finger was still on your knee. And it was comforting for a while because it reminded you of the old Paige. The one you fell in love with in high school. It also reminded you of her and that girl across the hall. Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?

You use your hand to shove her finger off of you, causing Paige to look at you for the first time since she touched you. You were over doing this to yourself. You were better than this. Nobody else noticed the movement you just made besides Paige and that was all that really mattered, right?

“I’m getting a drink,” Paige muttered to the rest of the group before getting up abruptly from the table and walking over to the bar. It was clear you had struck a nerve but had she not been doing that since the first time you saw her outside the bar?

It made you sick to your stomach, thinking about this whole situation over and over in your head for the past month. And ten minutes later, Paige wasn’t back from the bar and damn did you really need to take a piss. So you excused yourself, getting up and trying to find your way to the bathroom.

You turn down a hallway, the loud music growing quieter as you pushed the door open. Your breathing stopped and you felt your heart physically drop when you saw Paige pushing a girl against the bathroom wall by the sink, shoving her tongue down her throat. And it wasn’t just any girl. It was Kathrine, the girl who was just in your bed that morning.

���Leave me the fuck alone, Paige,” you say as she follows you out of the bar and into the street. And of course to your luck, it was raining. Hard. The sudden cold droplets against your skin made you shiver. But not nearly as bad as you felt when you saw Paige and Kathrine in that bathroom.

“Can you give me a damn second please?” Paige shouts after you. She catches up to you and grabs your arm, yanking you back around to face her. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Let me go.” You said sternly, trying to loosen yourself from her grip but it was no use.

Paige shook her head. “You fuck up my relationship, you shove my hand away, you won’t leave me alone, and now you get mad because I was making out with someone else? When will you realize that I’m not the problem here?”

“I’ve been hooking up with that girl for the past month, dumbass.”

Paige’s jaw drops slightly and her grip on you slowly loosens. “First, I didn’t know. Second, why are you so pissed about it?”

“You just go and fuck anything with a heartbeat, don’t you?” You ask her, wiggling your arm free from her hand.

“Fuck you,” she grits through her teeth. “This would have never happened if you didn’t do what you did senior year.”

“Why did it hurt you that fucking badly? We were kids, Paige.”

Paige glared at you, reaching for your waist to steady you. “Because I was fucking in love with you, Y/n.”

You stop, the only movement coming from the shivers as a result of the rain. She was in love with you and she never told you. And you never told her. “What the fuck.”

“So yes, I hooked up with girls to get over you. And now that I finally am, you come walking back into my life for no goddamn reason and it makes me feel like shit. And I’m done trying to tiptoe around you like your some fragile thing that can’t be broken because the truth is, you’re a fucking bitch. You’re rude and you’re selfish and you’re ignorant.”

You couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. Did she really think all those things about you? “Do you really think that?”

“Yes,” she said with no hesitation and that hurt you anymore. “And I’m sorry to myself that I let myself fall in love with you. Because that was a form of torture on myself.”

And what could you even say to that? Paige Bueckers just admitted that she regretted falling in love with you. What more was there to that?

“You want me out of your life? Fine.” You turn around and begin walking in the opposite direction of the bar, just wanting nothing more than to go home. “For the record, I never regretted falling in love with you.”

You didn’t wait to see her reaction and she never called out to say anything else. You were done.

[loveletterlore]

favourite day of the week ♡ e.m. x reader

pairing: eddie munson x fem!cheerleader!reader

summary: Eddie forgets which day of the week it is, leading the reader to come looking for him. Eddie quickly remembers it's his favourite day of the week...

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI smut, established relationship, use of pet names [princess, angel, baby], kissing, grinding, fingering, choking, Eddie fuckin loves a cheerleader skirt

word count: 2k

authors note: okay so i've never written smut but this basically wrote itself, open for a part 2 if desired...

You knew from experience that Hellfire club could run on for hours, and hours, and hours. When the boys got super into it, they could campaign for days without even realising time was passing. As Dungeon Master, Eddie loved getting completely lost in these worlds and exploring, thinking on his feet to find surprises and plot twists to catch the others off-guard. 

Hellfire wasn’t totally your thing, as much as you loved to watch Eddie perform, and there was no denying that you certainly loved the deep voice he used when things got serious. It worked out anyways as Hellfire usually took place at the same time as your cheer practice, both on opposite sides of the school.

You and Eddie had settled into a nice routine where he would finish Hellfire, pull his van around and pick you up from practice before heading back to his place. Today, however, Eddie was nowhere to be seen as your practice finished. This wasn’t a very common occurrence - especially on a practice day - and you’d usually just go back home, knowing Eddie would come and see you whenever he was done; normally with a dopey, apologetic look on his face. 

A wicked plan danced through your mind, sending a smirk to your lips and a bolt of electricity through your body. You pulled your bag over your shoulder, spinning on your heels to head back into the school and down the hallway. As you drew nearer, you could hear familiar shouts and laughs, one voice in particular turning your cheeks rosy. 

The door was open slightly and peering in, you could see Eddie standing on his chair, arms flung open as he delivered his script to the group. The corners of your mouth tugged upwards, watching his curls bounce and his growing grin as he jumped off the chair, throwing himself down, eyes roaming the group. As the boys quietened, trying to plan their next move, you knocked gently on the door.

Eddie glanced up quickly, doing a double take when he realised it was you. Still in your cheer uniform. A breath caught in his throat as he realised the time.

“Hey baby,” you smiled. “I’m just gonna head home, do you wanna come get me later?” You batted your eyelashes, receiving the exact response you intended. Eddie’s face flushed and he took a deep breath.

“Bye guys,” Eddie’s voice was deep and gravelly. The group looked at eachother, confused.

“But Eddie, we were…”

“I strongly suggest we pause here,” Eddie almost groaned as you swung your hips to lean against the doorframe. “And you should probably head out.”

The boys' heads flicked from Eddie, to you, and back to Eddie. A sense of awkwardness draped over the room as they understood the scenario and scrambled to grab their things. Shouting ‘goodbye’ to Eddie over their shoulders, the boys snuck past you in the doorframe and you slinked into the room, closing the door behind you. 

Eddie leaned back in his chair, knees spreading. You loved seeing him like this, in his throne, ruling over his kingdom. He rubbed his hand over his face before drawing his eyes back to yours.

“I forgot what day it was, I’m sorry princess,” he groaned, dropping his head backward. “How was practice?”

“It was fine,” you spoke softly, sweetly. You moved across the room, dropping your bag onto one of the chairs. As you approached, Eddie’s hands raised to your hips, guiding you to sit on his lap. “How did they get on?” You indicated to the set-up that remained on the table.

“Fell into the trap, as usual,” he smirked, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other fiddled with the hem of your skirt. “Can’t believe I forgot my favourite day of the week.”

Your eyebrows creased together, “Favourite?”

Eddie’s hand slipped under your skirt, resting on the crease between your hip and thigh. “Best day of the week, when I get to see you in this lil’ get-up.” His eyes sparkled as he forced them away from your body and up to your face.

“Hmm,” you tucked your head into the crook of his neck and hummed. Eddie gave your thigh a small squeeze, relishing the feeling of your flesh in his hands. “I’m all gross and sweaty from practice.”

The hand that had been wrapped around your back reached up, lightly cupping the back of your neck and guiding your lips to Eddie’s. You smiled into the kiss, light and gentle as a few of Eddie’s curls tickled your face and neck. 

“I don’t care,” Eddie murmured, his eyes darkening as he looked up into yours. “Even better.” His lips quirked into an awkward smile as he shifted you in his lap, straddling his legs and leaned you back to rest against the table. You rested your elbows on the table, accidentally knocking over one of Eddie’s Hellfire figurines and sending a couple of pages gliding onto the floor. You grimaced slightly, making to lean down and grab them but strong hands on your waist kept you firmly planted where you were. “‘S fine, leave it. Or-”

Eddie stands, wrapping an arm around your back to keep you pressed against him. Haphazardly he plants your ass on the table, using his other hand to sweep all of his materials off of the table. Eddie claps his hands on his cheeks in fake shock, looking back and forward from your confused face to the paper and minifigures now on the floor. “Oh no. Could you be a doll and pick those up for me?”

You raised an eyebrow, studying the adorable face in front of you before it clicked into place. So, he wanted a show…

You jumped down from the table, giving Eddie a quick peck to the lips before turning away from him. “These ones down here?” You raised your pitch an octave or two, playing into the situation before giving your hips a quick wiggle and hinging at the waist. As your body bent over, revealing exactly what he had been leveraging for, you heard a gasp escape Eddie’s lips, followed swiftly by a little giggle. That idiot had got exactly what he wanted.

Eddie’s eyes trailed up one leg, along your ass and down the other leg, savouring the sight before him. You picked up the items from the floor slowly, torturing Eddie with each shift of balance, each wiggle, each movement that you made. You heard a groan, followed by the rustling of fabric and chains as Eddie shifted in his stance. 

“Favourite day of the week,” he muttered to himself before reaching for your hips, pulling them to his. 

You swayed slightly, pressing your bodies together and feeling his obvious arousal. You let out a soft chuckle as you straightened, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder, curls landing across your face. 

Eddie nuzzled his nose into your cheek, rolling his hips against yours and tightening his grip on your hips. You hummed in response, reaching a hand up to tangle in his hair and tugged lightly, receiving a groan from deep in his throat. One of the hands on your hips trailed a line down your thigh, slipping under your skirt and ghosting over the cotton covering your crotch. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth before Eddie’s other hand reached up to turn your chin towards him. Eddie’s lips captured yours, sucking at your lip and drawing his tongue across it.

The tip of Eddie’s finger dragged under the hem of your underwear, teasing the delicate skin hidden beneath. You pressed your hips backwards against his strong frame, eliciting an exhale from his lips. His fingertips across your folds as your hips stuttered, craving closeness with him.

Eddie drew his lips from yours, trailing light, feathery kisses down your neck as his hand moved back to your hips, pressing your thighs against the table.

“You gotta hold on baby,”  his voice was barely above a whisper. You immediately gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white from your tight grip.

Finally he was there, his fingers grazed your clit, sending a wave of cold across your body. The table creaked as your grip tightened, eyes fluttering closed as all of your attention was focused on the feeling of him. His face tucked into the crook of your neck, you could feel his hot breath on your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

His fingers glided over your clit, small circles that were so powerful they could cause a tornado. He knew your body so perfectly, not just from the months of physical intimacy, but from the way he studied your face, your reactions, your entire being. Seeing the way you crumbled beneath him was his only source of life force.

You turned your head, placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek. He responded by lifting his head, colliding your lips together as his hand moved further. You felt a finger tracing your heat, exactly where you needed him.

All of a sudden, you realised exactly where you were. Forcing your lips from his, “Eddie, we should go-”

“Shhh,” he squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers not slowing for a second as he glided them into you. Your eyes rolled backwards, your head flopping to the side from pleasure. “I’ll be quick, just need you to cum for me.”

Any further protest was forgotten as his skilled fingers curled, knowing exactly what he was doing to you. Eddie nipped at your ear with his teeth, using his tongue to soothe the abused skin as he left marks down your neck. 

One of your hands lifted from the table to tangle back in his hair, catching curls in your grip. You grinded your hips back against his, searching for friction and finding it in his hard arousal, covered in rough denim. You groaned at the feeling as his fingers began to pump in and out, finding that spot over and over again. 

Your legs began to shake, causing you to nearly lose balance. Eddie pushed his hips against yours, forcing your thighs against the table harshly, a moan falling from your lips.

“Shit,” he muttered at the sound. “Let me hear you princess.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, angling so that your mouth lined up with his ear. You let out a breathy moan at the feeling as you felt the heat growing between your thighs.

A door slammed down the corridor, sending a dual shock of pain and pleasure up from your toes to your eyelids. Inadvertently, you tightened around Eddie’s fingers, a low chuckle ruminating from his chest in response.

“So, she wants to get caught,” Eddie whispered in your ear, biting at the lobe for good measure. “Let them hear you. Tell them exactly how I’m making you feel.”

Eddie’s words go straight to your thighs, squeezing together as your stomach tightened. 

“Fuck,” another groan. “Cum for me.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, tight enough that you began seeing colourful shapes dancing in your eyelids. Your breath caught in your throat, as Eddie’s hand wrapped lightly around your throat, pinning your lips to his ear. You let out a final gasp as your body crumbled, legs giving out. A guttural sound escaped you, straight into Eddie’s ear as his fingers hit that spot one last time.

“Good girl,” Eddie eased his grip on you, allowing you to rest your weight back on the table. “My angel, so good for me.”

You hummed, your body still feeling like it was floating and your eyes still closed. Kisses trailed along your cheek until your lips met with a slow, loving kiss. 

A popping sound led you to open your eyes and your legs nearly gave out again at the sight of Eddie, his tongue gliding along his fingers as he cleaned himself off. 

You took a step towards him, reaching your hands for the waistband of his jeans. He grabbed your hands before you could reach it.

“Princess, what I plan to do next definitely cannot happen in this room. Van. Now.”

[christinescupofcoffee]

Multis. Although… I do enjoy the stray one shot every now and again.

A bit of both, and i’ve found that I’m most relaxed when I write without a plan (or at the very least having an idea as to where it’s going but not really having a destination. All my fics the last couple of years have been like this).

I take my time with chapters now—last few times I’ve gone on ao3 for any reason, the damned thing crashes (really, I’m worried about that place. I can’t expect it to last for the next four years the way it freaks out every couple of days). I worry about things like censorship, too: so getting my fics saved onto my laptop, I’m free to write and continue these stories at my own pace. My laptop is offline, too, i.e., no distractions. Sure, I can’t share anything, it’s a hassle, but… I kind of like it. It’s giving me all the 2016-2018 vibes when I was in the dark, away from the world, living in my own world alone. Everyone was screaming and yelling and carrying on about the political landscape and I just tucked myself away into my own imagination. I kind of want to do it again, if I’m honest.

I feel so raw saying this, raw and vulnerable, but… I have always been in love. I have always found myself crushing on someone. I have always written from the heart.

Honestly? *looks around* not really. It can be very useful, helpful, inspiring even. But… I approach this the same way I approach the culinary world and art: I bake a cake or make a drawing the same way I write a long fic, and I simply cannot divorce my heart from my work. People like to gripe about this sort of thing until the cows come home… no one has no idea how it makes me feel. Yes, I know my grammar can be complete shit at times, and yes, I am very verbose, but that’s how I roll. No need to shame me and make it seem like I just committed a mortal sin by accidentally omitting a word.

Nope. No beta, we die like Titans of Creation.

It has to “speak to me”, if you will. Seasons Grey works with third-person perspective because you don’t know everything about Christine and Alex is a mystery. Blood & Chocolate and After the Gold Rush work with first-person perspective because it’s intimate. Xenon Dreams works with the alternating first-person because all five men have different experiences, and it’s intimate; conversely, All That Glitters has the alternating third-person because it’s more adventurous. Now it’s Dark and Dark Months of April and May use first-person because it’s unreliable. Quarter After Twelve has the what I call “2 whole eggs, 3 yolks” perspective (Andy and Zero’s arcs are first-person; Richie, Tina, and Allison are third-person), as Andy is traumatized, Zero is stuck in one place, Richie and Tina are both still waters, and Allison is a broken man and therefore detached.

Beginning (what I get for being an Aries 😅)

I try to—and you know, I would be a lot more adept at it if people didn’t bitch about it ad infinitum. I was thinking about this the other night when SNL50 was going, too: fandom has changed drastically just in the last few years alone, in a sense that fans not only treat it like it’s business but they spend more time whining about the most trivial things (lack of comments, getting criticism, this weird unhinged approach to fandom as a whole) than doing anything useful or creative, god forbid.

“Meanwhile, once she had come downstairs, Alex had already showed up outside of her apartment in a snug dark gray shirt and low-slung black long shorts. His shoulder-length black hair was almost smooth and nicely combed back: there was a slight curl right over his shoulders, and his skin looked as smooth as porcelain. He looked a bit fuller, rounder, and softer right then, especially with the shade cast down from the building upon the crown of his head and his shoulders. He lifted his sunglasses up from his face to show her his eyes.” (latest chapter of Dark Roots of Earth, book two of Seasons Grey)

Genuinely don’t want to do that because… you know. ao3 is more mental than me the week before my period starts. But… With Strings Attached, the Beatles fic that inspired pretty much everything long from me. There’s a Light, the Pearl Jam/grunge fic that I still think about even 8 years after its completion. My friend Amanda wrote a two-parter that inspired Midnight Oil (drawing a blank on the title). You Know Your Rights on Wattpad (can’t remember the author’s name), probably the best “Hole-vana” fic I can think of. The entire Gojira tag on ao3. There’s a couple of Alan Partridge fics on ao3 that got a good laugh out of me. Love in Exile and a couple of Alice In Chains fics that wake up the kinkster in me. FOOLS GOLD (from Cazio).

I have a complicated relationship with feedback. I welcome it forever, but because I had to go through English and writing classes, peer reviews, teachers who ran on assumption that I knew what I was doing, the whole thing about me writing from the heart, and the fact that I tend to attract negative attention (I’ve often felt that people have an inexplicable pathological hatred of me), I never expect accolades. In fact, I fully expect everyone to hate it.

Be descriptive. I like bending this one and injecting poetry into things, even if it doesn’t seem to make sense.

This has been a learned skill on my part because when I first got into fiction writing, it was hard to not get melodramatic with things. I’m an emotional person and the other thing that’s worked for me is a cause and effect situation as well as pulling from my own scars: in Seasons Grey, Christine lost her best friend at a young age and sort of buried it. I wonder how everyone is going to react to this tidbit of her life, especially Alex—especially since he reminds her of Chris. In stories like All That Glitters and After the Gold Rush, I just sit and think of angst. What would happen if Jed and Octavius suffered an irreversible falling out. Where would Phileas go if he just started thinking and realized what was happening, both with Monique and Passepartout and back home in England. I feel like I made those three more human with this, too.

My smut is so wordy that even I can’t believe it. I have to set the mood as well as be spontaneous with it. It’s genuinely isolating when I look at smut in other places, too, like I can’t just do 1200 words, I have to lead into things and I have to be real with it all, too.

A bunch 😅 As the Seasons Grey. I started writing it in early 2023 after doing kinkmas during a blizzard: it basically just grew out of this fantasy I have about being a source of comfort for the man.

Exercise. Draw. Read. Garden. Bake and/or cook. Watch a movie or TV.

I think there was a couple where I came up with the title after I started writing simply because anything else I came up with sucked (fever in, fever out was an example of this; so was Have Your Cake and Eat It). Like with perspectives, titles usually speak to me, and they’ll come in song form or in sayings. “xenon dreams” is a weird one, though: xenon is a byproduct of radioactive iodine, which is found in fallout. That whole fic had this dreamy, blue color scheme whenever I thought about it; xenon is blue/indigo when electrolyzed.

“Alternate Universe”

A love of food. A feeling of heart throughout. This overreaching feeling of vulnerability within, a tenderness. Writing because I have a crush and no one knows how to react to it. Lately, I’ve been throwing in little call backs to my other wips in my wips, like it’s a spiderweb.

Yes, but I don’t see it happening any time soon, though.

Second-person perspective. Done to fucking death at this point and something about it just irritates me to no end, like it ruins my immersion right from the beginning.

Write when you can (instead of “write every day”, because sometimes you just can’t write every day, damn it).

“Avoid overused words” (look no further than “said”. Why. Why would I avoid “said”.) “Use active voice” (I’ve found a lot of power in being a little passive or submissive, if you can believe it. Conversely, I have had the most complaints from my active voice).

now it’s dark. My last adventure before the pandemic. Joey himself even loved it!

fever. Homeboy was 1.1 million words!

Most favorite: just seeing my internal worlds come to life. Least favorite: sharing it with everyone.

2-3k is considered a good day to me. 4-5k is “I got snowed in/it’s too fucking hot out to do anything” word lengths.

Ha, you really don’t want to know.

Yes.

Characters. Maybe that’s another reason why my fics tend to be entrenched in heart?

Amanda. Aviva Rothschild (author of With Strings Attached, i had to look her up really quick). Drawing a blank on the name of the person who wrote Love in Exile.

Of course!

Hopefully not like my homeskillet Oscar Wilde.

Their darkness exists in all of us to some degree.

Nervously with a pit in my stomach, a devastating feeling of existentialism, and a side of ginger ale.

Yet another thing that speaks to me.

Yes… but I don’t have the best experience with them, though. I tried to get commissions with my art years ago, and… there’s a reason why you aren’t seeing them.

(see above)

bro, if you make fanart of Alex and Eric on the lawn outside the apartment complex at sunrise, of Erik and Dragon talking, of Isaac flipping out on Richie, of James and Richard at breakfast, of Phileas napping, of Octavius and Ahkmenrah getting slack jawed drunk, of Jane and Vanessa with their braids… I’ll be happy.

If I really like something, I’ll read it several times.

The last fic I left kudos on ao3 was a compilation of Strawberry Shortcake one shots: underrated fandom and it was snowing outside, so I was in a cozy mood. The last fic I bookmarked was a one shot from Ideal Home: it was erotic and very tender.

The latter. I really only put them through pain to ground them.

I have no beta but I omit words all the time.

I want to make you laugh then break your heart, and then vice versa—such is the Steve Coogan school of writing.

Emotionally charged idyllic action

2. Any more than that and I’ll drive myself crazy.

🤷🏻‍♀️

All the time and I don’t deal with them.

1.1 million, AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

4.9 million, I think?

I want to. Believe me, I want to. I’m way more responsive on instagram, though, mainly because I can see you on my lockscreen. There’s none of that nerve-racking “oh, shit, what is it now” that comes with getting an inbox notification.

Definitely a writer. When I read, I go way outside of the fandom (like Strawberry Shortcake, old Top Gear, lesser known literature and theater, anything Steve touches). I’m not afraid to go into unknown territory, too, like Around the World in 80 Days with Steve and Skinwalker Ranch. Maybe that’s why Bandom writers can’t stand me?

Really, just writing the thing.

Hands down, Alex. He’s the love of my life. I just found him on a whim, in a bad part of history, and I was drawn to his plume of silver and his intellect. He brings out the sensuality in me, too, more than Joey or Lars.

🤷🏻‍♀️

Wait until it’s finished. Again, I’ll drive myself crazy.

Writing without question.

No, and yes, I would. My mom wrote fics way back in the era of message boards and mailing lists, back in 2001-2002, so she gets it.

Can’t say I have.

I like doing it and… referring back to fandom changing for the worse, is it just me or do fics, especially rpf fics, seem kind of mean-spirited now. Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I read some rpf where it felt like the author actually likes the guy involved, aside from the thing Amanda wrote. There has to be some heart here.

Painful but my god, do they keep you engaged.

“Coming inside” someone. Screaming. “Good girl.” Tight pussies—bitch, no one’s pussy is that tight. Weird euphemisms for body parts, too. When you’re reading about your kink and something happens that turns off the whole mood or doesn’t gel with your approach. The author claims to be sex-positive but there’s something off about the whole thing, like there’s no way that they are. Goes without saying I don’t like a ton of smut.

“Good boy.” Foreplay. Tension, like… you’re anticipating it and you don’t know if it’s going to happen or not.

Bringing it to life. Cozying up all snug next to Alex, Eric, Joey, Lars, Krist, Richard, James, Steve, all my boys under the warm sun away from the world…

I don’t think about it anymore.

Independent ideas. I guess this is the other reason why I hate kinktober other than feeling rawer than a frozen chicken?

Everything.

Black Diamonds. I got called “disgusting” for that, if you can believe it.

Totally embarrassed. I’m enthusiastic but every time, I’m faced with stupid reactions that it makes me uncomfortable.

…I’m not sure?

Chronological. I kinda have to.

It’s just weird.

probably the writing style.

Get to know your fic writer!

Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Do you like constructive criticism?

Do you have your work beta'd? How important is this to your process?

How do you choose which POV to write from?

Do you prefer the beginning, middle, or end of a story?

Do you comment on stories you read?

Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

Link your three favorite fics right now

how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

How do you write smut scenes? Do you get very visual or detailed? How important is it to be realistic?

How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

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Best writing advice for other writers?

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What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

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Name three of your favorite fanfic writers.

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Five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer?

What is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain? 

How do you write kissing scenes?

How do you choose where to end a chapter?

Would you ever write commissions?

Share a snippet from a WIP

If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

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Do you want to break your readers‘ heart or make them laugh?

How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

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What do you look for in a beta?

Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

How long is your longest fic?

What’s your total AO3 word count?

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Do you prefer editing as you write, or waiting until it’s finished? 

What part of the writing process do you enjoy the most? (Brainstorming, outlining, writing, editing, etc) 

Does anyone in your personal life know you write fic? if not, would you tell anyone?

Have you had a writer you admire comment on your fic? What was that like?

Why do you continue writing fics?

Thoughts on cliffhangers?

Something you hate to see in smut.

Something you love to see in smut.

Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

How do you deal with writing pressure (ie. pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc.)?

Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

What, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

What work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

When asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

What order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

What scene in [Fanfic Name] took the longest to write? What was difficult about it? 

Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of [Fanfic Name]? 

Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from [Fanfic Name] story/chapter? 

[hyunjiiza]

hint: lover with a dollar sign | . ᯓ 🍵 ݁‧ ᵔ

➜ he’s a loser ! ୨୧ skz members and what type of cute loner they’d be . | contents : drug use , fem reader implied ᰋ wc ; 1633 . ꉂ ot8 .ᐟ

｡ ᰋ 𓂃 | i’m not pushing any of these narratives onto them, it’s just dif scenarios i wanted to write them in ! this is a bit of an older work from my other account but i’m moving here so hi

chan as the 𐔌 stoner loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

shows up to school smelling like weed but no one cares because he does all his work and never causes trouble

you make eye contact with him for the first time in the parking lot while he’s smoking, he falls in love when you smile and wave

turns down everyone that hits on him after that

when he finally musters up the courage to talk to you all he can do is tap your shoulder in the same parking lot he first saw you and ask if you smoke

no matter your answer, he asks to get to know you better

follows you around like a bodyguard after that

never ever lets you carry your own bag and always makes sure you have something to eat for lunch whether he has to pay for you or not

pretty smart in most subjects so you have study dates often because he just likes your presence

won’t smoke around you if you don’t like it

never posts anything besides you and aesthetic pictures he takes

isn’t the type to fight but he will if someone disrespects you, but they back off because of his size before it gets to that point

hyunjin as the 𐔌 artsy loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

has one black pen and one red pen that he abuses every day

pays attention for the most part but occasionally gets distracted doodling in his notebooks

def has drawings all over his hands

the first time he noticed you was in art class and he thought you were so pretty he started drawing you

you glance over and he’s mortified when he realizes he probably looks like a creep

too nervous to go up to you and explain so he leaves you a note with little drawings all over (plus the drawing of you) and a replacement of the pink gel pen he notices you using all the time

gets super nervous when he sees you walking up to him the next day

you ask him to partner up for a project and thank him for the drawing

ends up kissing you at your last project session

asks you out with the most thoughtful basket filled with things you like and a letter with another drawing of you and almost cries when you don’t answer right away

does everything for you after you get together

the art teacher is yalls biggest fan

has no one else to cling to so he’s all over you 24/7

gives nasty glares to men who simply look at you

felix as the 𐔌 fashion design loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

like hyunjin, spends most of his time sketching out designs in his scrap book where he keeps all his miniature fabric samples in

sulks because there’s no fashion club for him to join

is initially drawn to you because of an outfit you wore that he loves

eventually asks where you got your top when you wear it again and his heartstrings pull at the way you answer so sweetly and compliment his hair

after that the two of you gradually got closer and closer

you help him learn to sew and he starts planning marriage then and there (he wants to help design your wedding dress)

sews matching patches on your backpacks

you catch him texting his best friend that lives abroad about you

gets so nervous he cries

you tell him you feel the same way and he cries even harder

just gets even clingier once you end up together

loves kissing you and laying together while he sketches

takes you out whenever you want and spoils you rotten because he has rich parents

matching outfits = fire insta pics

jeongin as the 𐔌 sour patch loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

never talks to anyone so everyone thinks he’s mean but he’s really an angel

your elective teacher makes your class do a secret santa and he gets you

he gives you oddly specific gifts (he has a massive crush on you and overhears you telling your friends your wishlist) and includes a note sweet talking you

you go up to him and thank him with a kiss on the cheek and he turns red

he asks you to hang out and pays for brunch and the cutest pottery painting date

gets the teacher to move you two to sit next to each other

everyone’s a little surprised when they see how he’s so gentle with you

decides he needs to get over himself and ask you out and gets you a pandora charm bracelet and a pretty bouquet of flowers

pampers you with your favorite snacks or meals randomly, refills of makeup you use, randomly does your homework for you

flips off ur exes and flexes on them when you aren’t looking then turns around to kiss you

is at your house 24/7 because he can’t breathe without you but is supportive when you go out with your friends or need a solo day

loves going to the beach with you and carrying you so your feet don’t get sandy

jisung as the 𐔌 nerdy loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

has good grades and the teachers remember his name because his work is always on time

eats alone in the library because he has no one to sit with

you walk in on him while picking up a book you need and he’s super embarrassed (he’s had a crush on you since middle school)

you ask to sit with him because you think he’s cute and he trips over his words answering you

you spend lunch with him every day after that and he starts packing a lunch for you too

accidentally confesses he has a fat crush on you when you ask if he has a girlfriend

he starts rambling after and shuts up when he notices you’re giggling at him

you kiss him and he swears his lifelong dream has come true

is the sweetest boyfriend ever

does all your homework for you and insists it’s really no problem

drives you to and from school every day because “that’s what boyfriends are for”

never looks at anyone but you and writes down threats and shoves them in guys lockers when they hit on you

minho as the 𐔌 gym loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

purposefully gets his free period after his weightlifting class so he can spend two periods working out

isn’t really shy, just doesn’t like anyone enough to have friends

girls check him out occasionally but he always ignores them

catches you freaking out when you have no clothes to change in and offers you his shirt because he thinks you’re cute

uses that as an excuse to mess with you

“if i can bench your weight you owe me a date”

spoiler, he can.

makes sure to tell you you don’t really owe him anything and he’s just messing with you

you agree to the date and he picks you up and takes you on a surprisingly thoughtful date

drive around town, food and watching the sunset, takes your pictures next to pretty flowers and keeps his arm around you the whole time

asks you if you really have to go when he’s dropping you off

walks you to your door and gives you a hug (he’s never dated anyone and too scared to kiss you)

texts you that he had a really good time and he would “work to make you his”

it doesn’t take much work and he kisses you right after he asks you to be his

is way too proud of his build and wears sleeveless shirts just to scare anyone that looks at you

carries you around any chance he gets

seungmin as the 𐔌 music lover loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

walks around with his headphones in 24/7

hums to himself quietly while he studies

you ask him about a song he was humming and he’s surprised you were talking to him

you think he hates you till he smiles at you when you walk into class

makes you a playlist to make his move on you

doesn’t know how to tell you he likes you at all so he just kinda teases you to flirt with you

takes you to a record store at lunch because he wanted to show you the spot

stares at you a little too hard so you ask him if he wants a kiss as a joke

says yes and moves your hair out of your face, you guys have a make out sesh and only stop when the owner clears his throat awkwardly at the both of you

you make him go back inside alone and buy you the vinyl you want

he comes back out with it and 5 more that you didn’t wanna ask for but knows you wanted anyway

you skip the rest of the day and go to his house and use his record player

you fall asleep on him and he takes 0.5s of you

shares his headphones with you, but doesn’t share his food (until you make a sad face at him and he gives in instantly. works every time.)

changbin as the 𐔌 sweetheart loner .ᐟ ˚ ੭

all of his professors adore him, all the school staff does at this point

has the maximum hours of community service that he can have but won’t stop helping around where he can

notices you from the start because he thinks you’re pretty, but really starts liking you when he sees you volunteer at an elementary school

accidentally scares you coming up behind you when you’re hanging a banner

you guys start helping at the same places and make a tradition of hanging up banners together

after a while he figures he might as well just tell you how he feels, is elated when you hug him and tell him the feelings mutual

confesses that he was actually really nervous and gets flustered when you tease him about it because he thinks you’re the prettiest

when you ask why he never hangs out with anyone he says he doesn’t like people with unpure hearts and that’s why he loves you so much

definitely takes you out and buys you guys matching stuff

married couple

. ᯓ 🍵 ݁‧ ᵔ | @0sunshinecryptid0 @jinnieboosworld @lixies-favorite-cookie @zelinkcrossing @hwanqluvs @hyunjiiza @hyunnisa @eastjonowhere @nxtt2-u @pixie-felix @smlbch @tricky-ritz @yaniluvs @pigeonseatmayo @transparentheartcollection | [༝༚] @hyunjiiza 1:37 am

[aspenmissing]

hiiiii hii hi hi ummm could you do jinx (anyone, but mainly jinx pls) with a reader just as clingy as her? not so much chaotic as her but they both always share that “pls don’t leave me” energy and bond over it, idk do whatever u want ofc, thank you !!

ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ? || 5226 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ? ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ (ᴏɴ ʏ/ɴ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ, ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JINX

The moment Jinx first laid eyes on you, something shifted inside her—a subtle spark that said you were different. Not in the “I can fix you” kind of way—she never wanted to be fixed—but in a way that quietly filled the emptiness, like discovering a mirror that reflected more than just her own loneliness.

It wasn’t long before you realized that the connection was mutual. You found yourself drawn to her erratic energy and vulnerability, clinging to her as fiercely as she clung to you. In your shared silences, in the unspoken assurances between hesitant touches, you both found a solace that the chaotic world around you never provided.

One chilly evening atop a worn rooftop in Zaun—where the city’s harsh neon glow danced against the dark sky—Jinx broke the silence. With her legs dangling over the edge, she mused, “Y’know, most people get all weird about this whole attachment thing.” Her eyes, alight with mischief and a hint of fear, searched yours for understanding.

You settled beside her on the crumbling ledge, drawing your knees close and resting your head lightly against her shoulder. “Like we care what most people think,” you replied, your voice soft but resolute.

A crooked smile spread across her face as she nudged your forehead with hers. “Exactly! That’s what I like about ya.” There was a quiet intimacy in that moment—a shared defiance against a world that always seemed intent on leaving you both behind.

For both of you, the bond was born of the same desperate energy: the need for someone to anchor you when everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. You never thought she was too much, even on nights when she clung to you after a terror-filled dream, or when she demanded you stay close while she lost herself tinkering with unpredictable explosives. And in return, she never questioned the way you’d reach for her hand when the uncertainty of life in Zaun grew overwhelming, or how you always made sure to be by her side when the world fell into a heavy, uneasy quiet.

Some might call this attachment unhealthy, but you both knew it was more—a lifeline amid chaos. Because in a city where every moment was a struggle to hold on, you only ever wanted one thing: to never be alone.

=

Then, one night as rain slicked the metal and concrete around you, she asked, almost in a whisper, “Where are you gonna go?” Her fingers toyed with one of her cherished bullets—a ritual of sorts whenever fear crept in.

“What do you mean?” you asked, genuine curiosity mingling with concern.

She paused, her eyes reflecting the harsh blue lights of Zaun. “Y’know… if everything goes to shit. If Zaun burns, if Piltover clamps down even harder, if—if everything falls apart.” The words hung in the air like a question with no easy answer.

A small frown creased your brow. “That’s a dumb question,” you said, though your tone betrayed the worry beneath your words.

Jinx’s fingers froze on the cold metal. “Oh?” she challenged softly, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

Slowly, you turned your head, allowing the scattered light of Zaun to dance in your eyes as you gave her a look that said, without words, you idiot—I've got you. “If everything falls apart,” you murmured, “I’ll still be here.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady patter of rain against the metal. Then, almost imperceptibly, Jinx extended her pinky toward you. Before she could even fully process it, you responded in kind, interlocking your pinky with hers in a timeless gesture of promise. She stared at that small, tangible commitment—afraid, hopeful—and then gripped your hand a little tighter, as if anchoring herself to a lifeline.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper yet filled with unwavering certainty, “I promise.”

In that simple act, the weight of a thousand unspoken fears eased just a little. It was a fragile promise in a world where nothing was certain, but it was enough. Because even if the streets of Zaun burned and the chaos of Piltover seeped into every corner of your lives, you knew that as long as you had each other, there was a chance to weather the storm.

JAYCE

The warm glow of Piltover’s streetlights bathed the city in a golden hue as you walked side by side with Jayce, your fingers loosely hooked around his arm. The night carried the scent of metal and oil from the nearby workshops, mixed with the faint aroma of fresh bread from a late-night bakery down the road. Despite the cool breeze brushing against your skin, the warmth radiating from Jayce’s body kept you comfortably snug, and as always, you couldn’t help but press yourself just a little closer.

Jayce let out a soft chuckle, his deep voice laced with amusement as he glanced down at you. “Y/N, you’re practically glued to me.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, nuzzling your head against his shoulder as your grip tightened around his bicep. “That’s because I missed you today.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “We were only apart for a few hours.”

You pouted up at him, exaggerating the expression just to see if it would get a reaction. “That’s a few hours too long.”

Jayce smirked, shaking his head again, though the fondness in his chocolate-brown eyes was unmistakable. He pulled his arm free for a second—just enough to sling it around your shoulders and tug you even closer against him. “You really are something else, you know that?” His voice was full of mirth, but there was an undeniable tenderness beneath it.

You grinned up at him, taking the opportunity to slip your arms around his waist as you both continued walking. The streets of Piltover were mostly quiet now, the usual bustle of inventors and enforcers settling down for the night. The two of you strolled along at a leisurely pace, Jayce’s thumb rubbing gentle circles against your shoulder.

“Do you ever get tired of this?” you mused, your cheek pressed against his chest as you matched his steps.

He arched a brow. “Of what?”

“Me clinging to you all the time.”

Jayce let out a low chuckle and pressed a kiss against the top of your head. “Not even for a second.” His voice was sincere, steady, like he meant every word. “If anything, I’d say I’m the lucky one.”

You felt your heart do a little flip at that, your arms tightening slightly around him. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

=

After a while, the two of you made it to his workshop, the familiar scent of parchment, oil, and metal filling the air as you stepped inside. The space was cluttered in a way that was undeniably Jayce—blueprints scattered across his desk, half-built contraptions lying around, and his signature hammer propped against the wall.

As soon as he sat down at his workbench, you wasted no time climbing onto his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jayce didn’t even flinch. If anything, he welcomed it, one of his hands automatically settling on your lower back as he reached for a pencil with the other.

“You know,” he murmured as he sketched, “if anyone else saw us like this, they’d probably think I’m completely whipped.”

“You are,” you teased, leaning in to nuzzle his cheek. “And you love it.”

Jayce exhaled a soft laugh, his free hand slipping up your spine to tangle in your hair. “Can’t even deny it,” he admitted, turning his head just enough to brush his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss.

You smiled triumphantly, feeling warm and utterly content. “Good answer.”

For a while, he actually tried to focus on his work, his pencil scratching against the paper as he murmured calculations under his breath. But every so often, you would shift in his lap, pressing a kiss to his jaw, tracing patterns along the back of his neck with your fingertips—little distractions that made him exhale in amusement, though he never once asked you to move.

“You’re gonna get distracted,” you murmured eventually, brushing your nose against his.

Jayce hummed, setting his pencil down and finally giving in, both of his arms wrapping tightly around you. “I already am,” he admitted, his voice softer this time. “But I don’t mind. Not when it’s you.”

A pleased hum left your lips as you melted into his embrace, pressing your forehead against his. His warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it was all so perfectly Jayce, and you never wanted to be anywhere else.

Jayce tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured, “I really do love how clingy you are, you know.”

“I know,” you whispered, grinning as you buried your face against his neck. “And you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured back, his arms tightening just a little more around you.

And just like that, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the warmth of his workshop.

VIKTOR

The familiar creak of the apartment door opening was nearly drowned out by the howling wind outside. The bitter chill of the night air followed Viktor as he stepped inside, his cane tapping softly against the wooden floor. He exhaled, his breath slow and measured, exhaustion seeping into his very bones. Another late night. Another long evening lost to the glow of blueprints, the sharp scent of metal, and the endless calculations that cluttered his mind.

As much as he was devoted to his work, as much as his mind thrived in the pursuit of progress, there was only one thing—one person—who could make him feel like all of it was worth it. The thought of her waiting at home, the warmth of her presence lingering even when she wasn’t beside him, was what had kept him going through the hours of grueling research.

He leaned his cane against the wall and sighed, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension settled deep in his muscles. The fatigue wasn’t just physical; it was mental, emotional—a weight that only lightened when he was home.

The apartment was quiet, bathed in the dim glow of candlelight from the bedroom, casting soft golden hues against the walls. His heart softened. She must have left it burning for him, just as she always did, a silent yet ever-present reminder that she was waiting.

He stepped forward, moving toward their shared bedroom, and the moment he pushed the door open, the sight before him made his tired heart ache.

She was curled up on his side of the bed, her small frame tucked beneath the thick blankets, her arms wrapped so tightly around his pillow that it might as well have been a lifeline. Her soft face was buried into the fabric, her lips slightly parted as she breathed steadily, the faintest trace of warmth lingering on the pillowcase where her breath had melted into it.

She looked so peaceful. So delicate in sleep, like a dream that would slip away if he made too much noise.

Viktor’s lips curled into a small, weary smile. He knew how much she craved his presence, how she always sought the warmth of his touch, the security of his embrace. She was clingy, some might say—always reaching for him, always resting her head against his shoulder, always finding little ways to touch him, whether it was intertwining her fingers with his or pressing herself into his side absentmindedly.

And he loved it.

It was grounding. She was grounding.

He had spent most of his life feeling distant—too absorbed in his work, too separated from those around him, too accustomed to being left behind. But not with her. No, never with her.

With her, he was not just Viktor the scientist, Viktor the co-creator of Hextech—he was simply Viktor. The man she loved. The man she waited for.

Carefully, he slipped out of his vest, letting the fabric fall away before loosening his tie and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. The night had been long, but this… this was what made it worth it.

Moving slowly, he approached the bed, sitting on the edge with careful precision, not wanting to disturb her. His fingers reached out, brushing against a few strands of her hair, gently tucking them behind her ear. The warmth of her skin lingered beneath his touch, and his chest tightened at the way she instinctively leaned into it, even in sleep.

She mumbled something incoherent, shifting slightly before clutching his pillow even tighter, her brows furrowing as though she felt the emptiness of the bed beside her.

Viktor let out a soft chuckle, quiet but full of warmth. Even in sleep, she missed him.

His body was heavy with exhaustion, but he wanted to be close to her. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the bed, moving slowly so as not to wake her too suddenly. The mattress dipped under his weight, the familiar creak of the frame filling the silence.

And then, as soon as his warmth settled next to hers—she stirred.

“…Vik?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, barely above a whisper.

“I am here, lásko,” he murmured, his accent soft, his voice full of quiet reassurance as his fingers ghosted over her cheek. (Love)

She hummed, barely opening her eyes before she let out a slow, sleepy sigh. Without hesitation, she released the pillow from her grasp—only to immediately replace it with him.

Her arms wrapped around him with surprising strength, her body shifting so she could mold herself against his. Her face pressed into his chest, nuzzling against the fabric of his half-unbuttoned shirt, her warmth sinking into him in a way that made the weight of exhaustion disappear, if only for a moment.

He let out a slow breath, a quiet chuckle humming against the top of her head. “You are clingy, even in your sleep, moje láska” (My love)

She only hummed, her fingers grasping at the fabric of his shirt as if making sure he stayed this time.

“I missed you…” she murmured, her words muffled against his chest, tinged with drowsiness.

His heart clenched at the softness of her voice. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, his lips warm against her skin.

“I am here now,” he whispered. “Sleep, moje láska.”

She exhaled slowly, her entire body melting into his like she had been waiting for this moment all night. Her breathing evened out again, her grip on him not loosening in the slightest.

And for the first time that day, Viktor felt at peace.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax, to breathe in the comfort that was her.

She was always within reach

JAYVIK

The lab was warm, filled with the gentle hum of Hextech cores and the rhythmic scratching of Viktor’s pen against parchment. The soft glow from various devices cast long shadows against the walls, flickering slightly as if alive. The faint scent of oil, parchment, and a lingering trace of Jayce’s cologne mixed in the air, comforting in its familiarity.

Jayce, sleeves rolled up and brow furrowed in concentration, leaned heavily over a blueprint sprawled across the worktable. His muscles tensed as he studied the schematics, fingers twitching slightly as if he were already assembling the mechanism in his mind. Every so often, he would mutter something under his breath, adjusting a measurement or making quick annotations.

Viktor, on the other hand, sat poised, a stark contrast to Jayce’s fidgeting. His pen danced effortlessly across the page, notes forming in neat, efficient strokes. His golden eyes flickered toward Jayce now and then, a quiet amusement lingering in them at his partner’s obvious frustration.

And then there was you—nestled between them, wrapped up comfortably in one of Jayce’s coats with Viktor’s scarf draped over your shoulders. The coat smelled like him, like home—an earthy warmth mixed with hints of metal and the faint traces of whatever cologne he had dabbed on that morning. Viktor’s scarf was softer than expected, well-worn and slightly frayed at the edges, but you liked it that way. It smelled like ink and faintly of copper, a reminder of just how much time he spent in the lab.

You always needed to be touching one of them. It wasn’t even a conscious thought—just an instinct, a tether grounding you to them. Whether it was the warmth of Jayce’s arm beneath your fingertips or the way Viktor’s knee occasionally bumped against yours as he shifted in his seat, the contact soothed you. It was as if their presence alone wasn’t enough; you needed to feel it, to confirm that they were real, that they were here.

At that moment, one hand rested lightly on Viktor’s arm, feeling the warmth beneath his sleeve, while the other absentmindedly played with the hem of Jayce’s shirt. The soft fabric slipped between your fingers, an idle motion, but it kept you connected to him.

Jayce let out a deep sigh and leaned back, dragging a hand through his already tousled hair. “I think I’ve been staring at this too long,” he grumbled, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“You have,” Viktor replied without looking up, adjusting his notes with careful precision. “Your handwriting is suffering.”

You giggled softly, shifting slightly to lean into Viktor’s side, careful of his cane propped against the table. “Told you so,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

Jayce cracked one eye open and shot you a playful glare. “Oh, so now you’re ganging up on me?”

You hummed in amusement, resting your head against Viktor’s shoulder. “Mhm. That’s what you get for not taking breaks.”

Viktor, ever the enabler of your clinginess, smirked and gave your knee a light pat. “She does have a point,” he mused.

Jayce groaned dramatically, stretching his arms above his head before reaching for you. Before you could react, he grabbed your waist and effortlessly pulled you onto his lap, securing you in place with a strong arm around your middle. You let out a small squeak of surprise, squirming slightly as he held you there.

“If you’re going to be so cuddly,” he murmured, voice deep and teasing against your ear, “at least distribute the affection evenly.”

You huffed but didn’t resist, letting yourself sink into his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. Even still, you stretched your arm out, fingers searching for Viktor’s. He didn’t hesitate, intertwining his fingers with yours in a quiet show of acceptance.

“Better?” you asked, peeking up at Viktor with a playful glint in your eyes.

He let out a soft, long-suffering sigh but squeezed your hand lightly. “You are insatiable,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, though the fondness in his expression betrayed him.

You grinned unabashedly, nuzzling against Jayce’s chest while still holding onto Viktor’s hand. “You love it,” you said, your voice muffled against the fabric of Jayce’s shirt.

Jayce chuckled, his free hand stroking lazily up and down your back. “We do,” he admitted, pressing a warm kiss to your temple.

Viktor hummed in agreement, though he shifted slightly, as if debating whether to pull away from the moment to return to his work. You weren’t about to let him. With an exaggerated sigh, you tugged at his hand, keeping him anchored to you.

“No more work,” you insisted, peeking up at him. “Just for a little while.”

He looked at you, eyes scanning your expression as if trying to argue, but in the end, he relented. With another shake of his head, he exhaled and leaned back slightly.

“You are a terrible influence,” he murmured, though he made no move to pull away.

You beamed at him, victorious, and snuggled further into Jayce’s embrace, feeling the comforting weight of Viktor’s hand still holding yours.

The work would still be there in an hour. But right now? Right now, none of you were in any hurry to move.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quiet tonight. A rare thing, considering the usual hustle and bustle of Zaun’s infamous bar. Normally, the air would be filled with the sounds of laughter, the clinking of glasses, the occasional scuffle breaking out in the corner. But tonight, it was different. The usual patrons had either stumbled home early or were deep in quiet conversations at their tables, leaving the bar unusually subdued. The dim lanterns above flickered, casting long, warm shadows across the wooden walls.

But none of that mattered to you.

Because he was here.

Vander.

Your Vander.

The sight of him alone was enough to pull you in. He sat at the counter, broad and sturdy as ever, nursing a tankard of ale in one hand while his other absentmindedly rested against the wood. His expression was unreadable, but you could tell—he was thinking about something. He always did that when things got too quiet. His brows would furrow just the slightest, his jaw would tense, and his fingers would flex as if grasping at something unseen.

You hated seeing that look on him. It wasn’t that you didn’t respect the weight he carried—how much he took on for everyone, how much he sacrificed—but you wished he didn’t feel like he had to do it alone.

So, naturally, you did what you always did.

With a soft sigh, you draped yourself over his shoulders from behind, arms winding around his thick frame, pressing your cheek against the worn fabric of his coat. He was solid and warm, the scent of smoke, leather, and a faint trace of ale filling your senses.

Vander let out a gruff chuckle, setting his drink down as he tilted his head just enough to acknowledge you. His thick, calloused fingers reached up, lazily brushing against your arm.

“Again, love?” His voice was low, rough in a way that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. But it was warm too, like embers glowing beneath the ash.

“Mhm.” You hummed, nuzzling into his shoulder, arms tightening around him like a lifeline. “You’re so comfy.”

He let out a deep sigh, one that might’ve sounded exasperated if not for the undeniable fondness laced through it. His broad chest rose and fell beneath you, steady and sure.

“Y’know, people are watchin’.” His voice held a teasing edge, but beneath it, there was something else. An unspoken question.

Are you sure you wanna be this close to me in front of everyone?

You barely hesitated.

“So?” you murmured, pressing a kiss against the rough stubble along his jaw. The scratchy texture made you smile. “They already know you’re mine.”

That got him.

Vander let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, the sound reverberating through his chest and into you. His shoulders shook slightly with it, the tension he’d been holding onto melting away like ice meeting warmth. He shook his head, but you could see it—the way his lips twitched, fighting a smile.

His hands, strong and scarred, slid up your wrists, prying you away just enough so he could turn on the barstool to face you. The moment he did, you climbed into his lap without hesitation, making yourself comfortable as if you belonged there. Because you did.

He let you settle, his large hands bracketing your waist, holding you against him like you might slip away if he let go. You could feel the heat of him through your clothes, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he murmured, his gaze flickering over your face like he was memorizing every inch of it.

You grinned, poking a finger against his chest. “Something you love.”

A beat passed. His expression softened, something unspoken lingering in his stormy blue eyes.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice lower now, rougher in a way that made your heart stutter. His grip on you tightened slightly, fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt as if anchoring himself. “Something I love.”

That was all you needed to hear.

You melted into him, resting your head against his broad chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He smelled like home—like smoke and steel, but beneath that, something distinctly him. Safe. Familiar. Yours.

His fingers moved, slow and absentminded, tracing circles against your lower back. The touch was warm, soothing, like he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding you.

“Y’know,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “you could just carry me everywhere. I wouldn’t mind.”

Vander let out another deep chuckle, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Mhm.”

He shook his head, but his arms didn’t move from around you. Instead, they tightened just a little, as if silently agreeing with your request.

“Spoiled little thing,” he muttered, though there was no bite to it—just adoration.

And, well—if he held you just a little tighter after that, neither of you mentioned it.

SILCO

The atmosphere in The Last Drop was thick with smoke and the murmurs of business, as always. Silco held his usual commanding presence, sharp-eyed and unreadable, every movement deliberate. He stood at the center of the room, a sharp contrast to the chaos surrounding him—where others drank, gambled, or plotted, he remained poised, a force of control amid the unpredictability of Zaun.

You stood beside him, posture composed, expression neutral, as though the act of restraint didn’t tear at you from the inside out. It was a battle you fought every time you were by his side in public. You knew better than to cling to him, knew that in the eyes of others, Silco was a man who demanded power, respect, and unwavering loyalty. He had cultivated an image, one that didn’t allow for softness, for indulgence, for anything that could be perceived as weakness.

But it was so hard.

Your fingers twitched at your side, aching to reach for him, to feel his warmth, to remind yourself that he was there, close enough to touch. But you held yourself back, forcing your hands to remain still, curling them into small fists to resist the urge. It was second nature to want to be near him—to press yourself against him, to let his presence ground you, to absorb his very essence. But out here, in front of everyone, that wasn’t allowed.

Still, he noticed.

While he discussed dealings with Finn, while Sevika hovered nearby with a drink in hand, his sharp gaze flicked toward you—once, twice—brief, calculating glances that told you he saw everything. The way your body tensed with effort, the way you stood rigidly in place, the way your lips pressed together in frustration.

And then, without a word, his gloved fingers brushed against yours.

It was so subtle, so fleeting, that you might have thought it accidental. But before you could dwell on it, his fingers deliberately laced with yours, pressing firm, solid, real.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding against your ribs.

It was small, barely noticeable, but to you, it was everything.

You held onto that touch for the rest of the evening, even after he withdrew his hand to return to business. It was enough to get you through, enough to keep you from crumbling beneath your own restraint. But every second that passed, every deal he struck, every hushed conversation he had, you counted down to the moment you could finally have him to yourself.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the two of you returned to the privacy of his office.

=

The second the door clicked shut, it was as though an invisible chain snapped. You surged forward, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing yourself into him as though you might melt into his very being. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his vest, clutching it like a lifeline as you buried your face into his chest. He smelled of cigars and expensive cologne, a familiar scent that wrapped around you like a blanket.

Silco let out a soft huff of amusement, though his arms came around you easily, pulling you flush against him. His grip was firm, his touch practiced, as though he expected this from you the moment the door closed.

"You," he murmured, voice tinged with amusement, "must you always act like you’ve been starved of affection?"

You nodded without hesitation, your cheek pressed against the warmth of his chest. "Yes."

He let out a low chuckle, his fingers stroking absentmindedly down your back, tracing small, slow circles. "You held back admirably."

"I hated it," you admitted, your voice muffled against his vest. "I just want to hold you all the time."

Silco sighed, tilting your chin up with a gentle touch, forcing you to meet his mismatched eyes. The red one gleamed in the dim light, sharp yet softened by something unreadable. "You do realize I am not going anywhere?"

"Don’t care," you muttered, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him. "Let me be clingy now."

His lips brushed over your temple, and this time, there was no teasing, no sharp amusement—only quiet understanding.

"Very well," he murmured, then took your hand and led you toward the worn leather couch near the fireplace.

He sat first, sinking into the cushions with the ease of a man who had lived a thousand battles, and you wasted no time following. You practically threw yourself onto him, arms winding around his torso as you half-climbed into his lap, tucking yourself against him like a puzzle piece meant to fit. Silco exhaled softly, one arm draping over your shoulders, the other hand resting idly against your hip as he leaned back into the couch.

For a man so guarded, so sharp and calculating, he had a way of holding you that made you feel like the most precious thing in the world. His touch was firm, grounding, as though even in these rare moments of stillness, he was unwilling to let you slip away.

You let out a deep, content sigh, shifting slightly to get even closer. "This is better."

Silco hummed in agreement, fingers threading lazily through your hair. "I imagine you'd suffocate me if given the chance."

"Probably," you admitted, voice drowsy with comfort. "Wouldn't even regret it."

His chest rumbled with amusement, but he didn't move away, didn't push you off. If anything, his arm tightened around you just slightly, just enough for you to feel it.

You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in the warmth of each other, away from the prying eyes of the world. Here, there was no restraint, no expectations—just the quiet understanding between two people who knew how cruel the world could be, but had found solace in one another.

And Silco, despite all his carefully cultivated power and distance, let you cling to him for as long as you needed.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 18

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17 18 19

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: im tryna finish this fic fr | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

Thunder and lightning conversed in the halls as another Targaryen is born. Alicent had started her labors at the hour of the owl and a servant came to rouse you. Daemon, barely meeting a deep sleep since his return, nearly smothered the girl who had come to alert you of your sister's condition.

Helaena was born amidst a storm. It was rather poetic, thinks Daemon; the child inflicted the same weather over his heart.

You loved her dearly. You loved her as much as you loved your beloved Aegon. Alicent was grateful for your presence. You were more than a welcome reprise and a steadfast support during this time. Still, she was careful not to burden you with too much, as the image of you holding your own babes flash behind her eyes each time she sees you hold her hers.

It tears at Alicent to see you with Aegon, and now Helaena. As much as she knows being with them heals you, she can't help but worry it also chips away at you in equal fervor.

It goes without saying this worry is tenfold to Daemon. As greatly agitated he is with how frequent and prolonged your visits to your sister and her children were, he choked it down and allowed you your space, your sacred privacy. He could not bear to see you behold the babe anyway.

Helaena, to you, was as much as a storm, your eyes were nary dry when you held her. Daemon had watched you once, you examined her fingertips and ears, smelled her feet and cheeks, traced her nose and brows. You laughed only to cry. Once was enough.

Viserys, in all his gladness to see his third born, tried to comfort him, but the you-will-have-this-joy-soon was not a welcome sentiment, nor was it comforting.

He only had ill-thoughts.

The gods supplied you your lost children through your younger sibling.

"How fares he?" Daemon asks, mostly himself as he walks towards the blood wyrm— he finds he could not lately call Caraxes that, as his scales were uncharacteristically blanch.

Daemon did much to drown out his melancholy, and yet it seemed to follow him wherever he treads. Even now, his mount was just as ill as he, if not worse.

"Ñuha dārilaros," a dragon keeper walks over to him, "Caraxes ēza daor ipradārin." My prince, Caraxes has not eaten.

The prince frowns as he brushes his hands on his mount's face. Caraxes, at least, acknowledges Daemon's presence with a huff, but it does not ease his worry, "kostagon ao sylugon naejot mazverdagon zirȳla ipradagon arlī?" Can you try to make him eat again?

The dragon keeper nods, "hen rhinka." Of course.

Daemon watches as three live goats are offered up to Caraxes. They bleat in front of the beast's face, unaware of their doom, and yet it seems there was no doom, as the creature turns away in disinterest.

Daemon huffs and pats his mount's cheek, "ao qopsa run," he walks into Caraxes's direct line of sight, "gaomagon jaelā nyke naejot kisikagon ao nykēla?" He stares at the dragon, who seemingly grumbles. The prince draws Dark Sister. You difficult thing. Do you want me to feed you myself?

With swift strokes, Daemon slays one, two, and three goats, their blood sputters on the ground, pooling by his shoes; he cares little for it. He sheathes his sword and grunts as he lifts a severed head to his dragon's maw.

"Ipradagon," the prince commands. Eat.

Caraxes turns to his master, sniffing the air.

"Ipradagon, valītsos," Daemon speaks like a father to his petulant son. His sigh of relief and irritation is of the same fashion as he watches Caraxes stretches his tongue towards his arm. Eat, boy.

The sound of the goat skull crunching between dragon teeth is, in truth, disturbingly loud, but to Daemon, it was a noise most welcomed. He raises a brow as Caraxes lifts his head a little, parting his large jaws in a rather submissive manner.

Daemon is unable to withhold his eyeroll, but the quickly picks up the two other heads on the floor, "fussy thing."

After Caraxes swallowed the crisp goat heads, he opened his mouth again and made a soft screech at Daemon.

The dragon keepers watch the prince and his ride, feeling relieved the creature is finally feeding, and of course, wholeheartedly enamoured by their dynamic.

Daemon was not having it, "gaomagon nyke jurnegon hae aōha urnerys?" He places his hands on his hips, which only made Caraxes whine more. Do I look like your keeper?

Caraxes grits his teeth and huffs, nudging his rider with his snout.

He makes a face at the screech, especially because the exhale was laced with foul dragon breath. With a poing to the felled goats the dragon keepers move forward and pick up the bodies, ready to throw it into the dragon's mouth. Except, before they could get close, Caraxes screeches, causing Daemon to flinch and scold his mount for his loudness. The dragon keepers immediately heed the warning, and drop the goat body, stepping back.

Daemon topples and pushes his dragon back in annoyance. Regardless, he bends down with a huff and picks up the largish goat with a grunt. Caraxes gratefully feasts on his meal once he's fed it.

Daemon grumbles and repeatedly swats Caraxes on the neck, "iksā hen qogron." You are out of line.

Caraxes responds only by opening his mouth again.

"Bah," the prince makes a face, "ao iēdrosa emagon hubre isse aōha relgos!" You still have goat in your mouth!

The dragon remains still, mouth agape.

As true as he could say his vexation was, there was truer affection in Daemon as he watched his dragon eat. He was glad to be needed by Caraxes. In fact, it fed an emptiness in him that was left gaping by his wife.

Daemon groans sharply and struggles to feed him the other two carcasses, but does manage it in the end, much to the satisfaction of his prissy dragon.

Through all this vexation and affection, there remained a worry within Daemon that only blossomed when Caraxes rolled over after swallowing his meal. Part of him wishes that it was all a ploy, and the astute creature wanted only to receive more attention, but he knew if that was the case, the blood wyrm would act more volatile rather than torpid.

He sighs.

His wife.

He strokes Caraxes's scaly cheek.

You would undoubtedly still be in Halaena's nursery, though you should really be having lunch. Daemon frowns as Caraxes leans into him. He sighs and wonders if he could ever merit such affections from you. He would feed you like Caraxes, if need be, without a single complaint.

The sun shines through the halls of the Keep, and yet he grows icier the closer he gets to Helaena's room.

Daemon instructs that if anything happened or if Caraxes refuses to eat again, he be alerted immediately. With that, the prince bids his dragon goodbye and cleans the goats’ blood off himself.

"Uncle."

He slows when Laenor approaches. Daemon silently nods in regard.

The young prince asks him if he's off to see you then adds, "she is presently in the solar with the Queen and her children. I've just come from there."

"Ah," Daemon nods slowly, "I see."

"They are having biscuits," Laenor offers, "you ought to join them for a snack."

The prince clears his throat, not necessarily liking that he was being told what to do. Still, Daemon nods, "ēza ñuha ābrazȳrys ipradārin? Iksis ziry sȳrī?" Has my wife eaten? Is she well?

"Se sikagon hen dārilaros ēza maghatan zirȳla rōvēgrie kirimves se teptan zirȳla kustikāne, nyke pendagon," Laenor's face softens. The birth of the princess has brought her great joy and given her strength, I think.

"Yes, but..." Daemon shakes his head, "it is not so simple as joy and strength."

Laenor nods, "you should go to her."

"Does she want me?"

He huffs and shrugs, "I do not know, uncle."

Daemon nods, neither do I.

It is quiet in the solar, save for the sound of your voice. It's a wonder no one heard the creaking of the door as Daemon entered, but then again, he too would be so deeply engrossed in your singing if you ever humbled with a song.

Still, as Laenor and he part, Daemon heads to the solar, wanting nothing more than to see you.

He already knew Helaena would be in your arms with Aegon nearby, but he did not know a Cargyll would be by your side instead of your sister. The brazen knight was not only carrying the prince in his arms, as if he was his father, he gazed upon you with such apparent warmth, as if he was your husband.

"— so come rest ye all safe and sound," you sing, stroking Helaena's forehead gently.

Aegon sleepily sighs. His back was pressed against the Kingsguard's chest plate and was sat on his forearm like a chair. He reaches out to your cheek, "again."

"Again?" you chuckle at the boy, "but I've sung it mayhap one hundred times over, my love."

Aegon whines, "again."

You sigh and brush his cheek, "oh, my sweet darling."

The boy leans into your touch and makes your heart melt.

"I will sing if Ser Erryk sings with us."

Daemon grips the doorknob tightly.

Erryk makes a sound, "I will wake the poor princess with my voice, and you know it."

"Tis only true because you are weak with numbers."

"Nonsense," you hum, "you've sung me to sleep more times than I can count."

Daemon gulps uncomfortably.

You chuckle.

Daemon feels like he's being ground alive.

"Again!" Aegon whines rather loudly.

As Aegon fusses, you're left with little choice but to give in to him, lest his sister begin to fuss with him. You softly begin to sing, rocking your darling niece in your arms as you did so, "the fishes swim in seas of blue-"

You and Erryk are quick to hush the boy.

"And dragons breathe fire so red," Erryk harmonizes with you, "all the birds sing sweetly for you, so come rest ye darling wee head."

Your separate melodies blended incredibly together; the richness of your voice seemed to belong with the richness of his. It was fucking unbareable.

"The apples grow up the trees, and flowers rise up from the ground. All the stars shine brightly for you—"

You, Erryk, and Aegon turn to Daemon when he shuts the door with rather excessive force. Daemon clenches his jaw and tries to control the trembling of his hand, "īlen ivestretan aōha hāedar iksin kesīr." I was told your (younger) sister was here.

You face him, still rocking Halaena, "īles... ziry sepār geptot naejot emagon iā kōdrion." She was... she just left to have a bath.

"Mmm," Daemon makes a noise as he slowly walks over to you, "emagon ēdā iā kōdrion tubī?" Have you had a bath today?

You slowly nod, "kessa." Yes.

Daemon grips his hand and nods, "emagon ao ipradārin?" Have you eaten?

"Kessa, lēda ñuha hāedar." Yes, with my younger sister.

"Se aōha mīsior?" he says, eyes trained on you. And your guard?

You take a moment to respond, "... kessa."

Daemon sucks a sharp breath, turning to the said man, "you may go, Cargyll. I will stand as ward for my wife."

"And what of later?"

You turn to Erryk. Daemon grinds his teeth, "what of later?"

"I understand that you do constant visits to the pit, my prince. If you are urgently needed to go there, then princess will be forced to go with you and-"

Aegon begins to wrangle out of Erryk's grasp. The knight promptly sets the boy down, "the only business I have as a knight is to safeguard your wife," he rises and nods, "your grace."

"My business is my own," the prince bristles, "do not speak to me of my dragon or my wife, as if it is your business."

The way he says your wife irks him to no end. Daemon draws in a deep breath in the hope it would calm him down.

"Anne!" a small voice calls. Horse.

Daemon looks down and finds Aegon raising a small wooden figurine of a horse, repeating in High Valyrian, "anne!"

Aegon seems to be handing the toy to Daemon. Daemon feels ill. He mutters softly, "iā sȳz anne, valītsos." A fine horse, boy.

Aegon beams and reaches out to his uncle, as if he wanted to be carried by him. Daemon feels sourness rise to his throat as he bends down to pick the boy up. His stomach rolls when he smells him; he smells faintly like you. Aegon pushes the toy gracelessly to Daemon's face, hitting his nose unintentionally on the way, "fast."

Daemon pulls his head back, "kessa. Anni issi adere." He bounces him slightly, "adere, hmm?" Yes. Horses are fast. Fast, hmm?

"Adere," Aegon mutters softly.

You watch your husband and nephew. Where Daemon once believed the boy to be his son and offered him warmth, he now offered him reluctant and half-hearted interactions.

Daemon nods, "sȳz." Good.

You could not blame him, in fact, your heart hurt for him. You oft wondered how Aegon was to him, perhaps a casual but flesh-grating reminder of what you've both lost, or maybe a physical manifeststion of the Lord Hand's schemes. You don't talk of such things, and you don't think you ever will. Helaena's birth has only wedged you further apart.

"We should bring them back to their nursery," you speak, making Daemon turn to you, but you turn to Erryk. His heart feels like it was being sawed in half. You shift Helaena in your arms, "Daemon and I can go by ourselves."

Erryk lifts his chin reluctantly before nodding, "shall I tell my brother to continue with his shift?"

You turn to Daemon, raising your brows.

Daemon turns from you to Erryk, "I will manage."

The walk to their nursery is filled with chatter, thanks to Aegon and his wooden horse. Daemon is amazed by how many words the child knew in both common tongue and High Valyrian. He evidently loved mixing both speeches together.

Erryk clenches his jaw and nods, "as you command."

"And princess with zaldrīzes—" Aegon babbles as his toy horse runs across Daemon's chest. Dragon.

"What did the princess do?" asks Daemon, eyes on the boy.

"Sōvegon!" Fly!

You chuckle and Aegon makes a roaring sound.

Daemon pulls a dubious expression, "se dārilaros kostagon sōvegon?" The princess can fly?

Aegon nods, "DRACARYS!"

You laugh a little louder. Daemon's breath hitches at the sound, his violet eyes immediately landing on you. You reach a hand to Aegon, brushing his chin, "Caraxes really left a mark on him."

Daemon watches you pull away. He longs to be touched similarly, "his soul nearly left his tiny body. His fearful screams nearly rendered us all deaf."

You snort, raising a brow, "he was overwhelmed, as would anyone be the first time they meet a dragon."

"I was not."

You huff and turn to Helaena, "rijes aōt." Congratulations.

Daemon smirks softly.

As you drew near to the nursery, you find that Alicent was on her way back to the solar. You smile at her and she smiles back at you, though her expression slightly dampens at the sight of Daemon.

"Sister," Alicent greets you, reaching out for Helaena. You gently hand over her daughter and she sighs, kissing her forehead. She gives you a look, "will you join me as I breastfeed?"

You shake your head, "I..." you motion to Daemon, turning to him as well. You don't know what to say though.

Daemon finally puts Aegon down and the boy gratefully goes up to his nursemaid by the door to his room, showing her his wooden horse. Your husband speaks, "I would like to have my turn with her."

You rub your hands together.

Alicent turns to him only to turn back to you to smile softly, "yes... I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course, my love," you rub Alicent's shoulder.

Daemon watches you pull away. He feels his own shoulder grow cold.

It remains silent until you break it, "where to?"

Alicent retreats into her children's nursery. You and Daemon walk off in silence.

Daemon turns to you, "hmm?"

"Where are we heading?"

He stares at you. He gulps at the sight of your skin, of the furrow of your brows, of the baby hairs framing your face. He knows that you smelled so good, that you were so warm, that you were so soft. What torment it was that he could not simply touch you.

Your brow raises, "Daemon?"

"Hmm?"

You stop in your tracks.

His heart stops. He begins to slightly panic, especially due to your expression.

"If you wish to visit Caraxes in the pit, I will not stop you."

He says nothing.

"It's just that if you must go there in haste, I will not be able to keep up," you rub your hands, "as Erryk menti-"

"Please," he raises a hand, "do not name him so cordially."

You press your lips together.

"Pray, do not mention him at all," he lowers his hand.

You raise your brows and slowly shrug, "as you wish..." you motion vaguely, "but are we to go to the pit?"

You turn to your hands as you think, "is he quite unwell?"

Daemon shakes his head, "if you wish it. I saw him just before coming to you."

He watches you fidget with your fingers.

"I do not know if my presence is welcome," you slowly look up at him, "perhaps I will make him more ill."

Daemon furrows his brows, "you would not."

"... what's more, perhaps I am the reason for his illness."

Daemon's brows tighten further. The sentiment gnaws at his rib. He tilts his head as he shakes it.

He crosses his arms instead and huffs, "you believe your tiny being is the cause of illness for a creature a hundred times your size?"

You watch him shuffle in his spot, and you realize rather quickly, he did not know whether or not to reach out for you. He doesn't.

"... one need only a few drops of poison to kill."

"You speak as though your blood is poison."

You look away, shrugging once more, "it might as well be."

"Yet it is not so," Daemon finds himself chuckling incredulously. The sound makes you turn back to him with a hardened expression; it softens his own. He gives into himself and takes your wrist, "I-"

The feeling of you flinching makes him tense.

He sighs and continues slowly, "I... highly doubt that if you were poisonous, your presence would cause people— Aegon, Helaena, Alicent... your damned wards, to bloom."

Daemon measures your reaction. He does so with such singlemindedness, he does not realize he was rubbing your pulse. It causes your skin to prick with gooseflesh.

"You've made even Laenor think so kindly of you," he slowly releases your hand, "why would he bother if you were so... perilous?"

He notices the way you rub the area he touched as though you had been burned. He tries not to take it to heart, but everything you do goes straight to it. You blink rapidly to avoid from tearing up, "pity."

"Pity?" Daemon repeats, jaw hardening at your rapidly increasing sorrow. He mutters softly, "you would paint the world so generously and believe so many souls sympathize with the sorrows of others than simply believe you are not poisonous?"

You chuckle dryly and turn away, rubbing your eyes, "I would-"

"You are lovely."

You turn back to him, wiping your face.

"I-" he starts, choking on his spit, "I love you."

Your lips wobble.

Daemon is winded when you reach for his cheek. A shiver runs down his spine as he immediately presses his hands atop yours. He leans into your touch, his eyes searching your own.

You frown and rub his chin, "apologies..." you sniffle, "I do not mean to cause you such misfortune."

Daemon stops your attempt to pull away, "a prince is nary misfortunate."

You pull away after a prolonged moment of staring.

You do not know why you both end up in dragon pit. You find it was a rather bad idea, as the sight of Caraxes sprawled on the floor like a soggy piece of parchment made your stomach curdle.

Daemon leads you towards him and Caraxes barely perks at the sight of you. He does huff though when Daemon presses your hand to his snout. You frown at him, "ñuha mijegindita valītsos." My poor boy.

Daemon turns to you and ponders if perhaps the gods made his mount this way so that he could have a reason to share such tender moments with you. The gods give as they take.

"Do the keepers know what is wrong with him?" you ask Daemon.

He merely shakes his head.

You sigh and rub Caraxes gently, "never mind it. I will keep you in my prayers."

All the prince wants to do in this moment is to embrace you, but all he does is wonder if he was in your prayers... and worry if you still prayed the same terrible one.

[omegaweiss01]

You're confused. A good demon?? How absurd. Yet, as the demon gently dusts you off and straightens your clothes, you get the impression that this demon was speaking the truth. Its large hand then pat you on the head, like you were some pet or child. You brush it away, and the demon laughs heartily at your rebellion. "I have a hunch," said the demon. "I fear the truth is closer than we think."

It takes you back down the mountain, into the woods, just outside the village. You see a large house in the distance, the estate of the lord of this territory. Your stomach drops. It was this very lord that hired you in the first place!

You stop, realizing what all of this was implying. "The lord of this land has been framing you," you murmur.

The demon nods grimly. "This lord and I have clashed in the past. The mountains are my territory, you see, but he wants to claim it for himself. He has sent many an assassin, but none have bested me yet. I have not killed any of them, as I know that would only anger the human population further at the foot of the mountain, and heavens above, I would rather not have their Holy Church on my tail," the demon chuckles. "Human, when we fought, I could see anger and hatred in your eyes. Has someone you know gone missing?"

You pause, remembering the innocent face of your younger sibling. They were only a child, no more than five or six. Your parents are distraught over their disappearance, and quite frankly, you are too. You had prayed to whatever god would listen that your sibling was still alive, yet as each day goes by without any sign of them, your hope dwindled more and more. The demon sees your silence as all the answer it needed. "I shall crush this lord under foot, but first..." with a wave of its hand, its body morphed and shrank until it reached human size. Its fur migrated to its head, becoming a messy mass of short hair, its ears pointed, and its skin smooth and tan. The thing that surprised you the most was the fact that this demon took on the form of a woman; a warrior elven woman, to be more specific. You remember a tale passed down by the villagers of a warrior who fought a demon in the past.

"Are you...the fabled warrior elf?" You ask curiously.

The demon's eyes shifted downcast, an expression of bitter sorrow appearing, but it forced a smile to shake away such emotions, and you get the impression that there was a story there. However, the two of you had just reached the gate of the estate, the story would have to wait. You and the demon are halted by the guard. "Who goes at this hour?"

You look to the demon for answers, and it draws its sword. "Your lord has crossed me far too many times. I've come to collect his head!"

The demon and the guard engage in combat, and you watch in awe as the demon easily bests the human man. The guard isn't killed but rendered unconscious. You're thankful that this demon was friendly to humans. You were worried that there would be bloodshed. As the guards came to investigate the sounds of fighting, they too, met the same fate as their brother by the gate; until there wasn't a single guard left.

You and the demon take this opportunity to start looking around for any clues regarding the missing people. It took a while, but eventually you uncover a cellar hidden by leaves and shrubbery, and beneath, you can hear voices. Shouting. Whimpers. *Slap!* Crying. *Slap* Deplorable demands being made. You heard enough. Your blood boiling, you struggle to get the latch open, but the demon gently pushes you aside. It crushes the lock and forces the doors open, allowing you to rush inside.

The sight you bear witness to is one that made your stomach churn. Every missing person was present in this cellar, and the lord, also present, was using them as his playthings. The demon, not far behind you, sees the sight you see and bellows in rage. "What filth! To indulge in your lust and violence, and then frame me for such a crime! Deplorable, disgusting human!" In the demon's rage, its body morphs back to its original form, and its large, clawed hands grab the lord, pinning him to the wall. The lord is too stunned, too scared to speak; he practically pisses himself in his silence. You attempt to quell the temper of the demon, but a small, familiar voice murmurs your name. You turn to see your sibling, unharmed but scared, traumatized. They were hiding behind one of the prisoners. You are, of course, overjoyed, but the last thing your sibling-or anyone present here- needed was to witness the demon's wrath made manifest. You turn to the demon and place a gentle hand on its large, furry shoulder. "No one here needs to bear witness to bloodshed. Quell your rage for now; we will put him on trial and put him to death for these crimes. This I swear to you."

The demon snorted. "I have lived long enough to know that nothing will come to harm him. Men with money and power can get away with anything they wish." The demon's grip tightens on the lord, who bellows out in pain.

"These people are witnesses; victims. Their account on the events that happened here tonight will make sure he doesn't get away with it."

Your words seemed to quell the demon's rage slightly, its grip loosened. It lets the lord drop to the ground, alive and terrified. The demon leaves out the cellar without a word, and you begin to free the prisoners from their shackles. You take some of the prisoners' chains and use them to subdue the lord. As you usher the prisoners out, you take the time to embrace your sibling, who hugs you tightly, grateful for your presence. Their light sobs on your shoulder tell a tale of woe you could hardly fathom, but you're grateful they're alive.

As you follow in behind the last prisoner out the cellar, you see the demon chatting with a young noblewoman. "Fear not, benevolent mountain lord. I will personally ensure father faces a just punishment for his crimes. You see, our family has our own way of dealing with such crimes. Father understood this better than anyone else, yet his arrogance overrode his reason," she sighs, bowing to the demon. "Do forgive me, and may I offer you my condolences on behalf of your wife?"

'Wife?' You remember the question you asked the demon earlier, and suddenly, it all came together. The demon and the warrior elf were married, a couple. It was likely the elven warrior took up a life of quiet obscurity with the demon she was supposed to have slayed, and the lord of this land threatened her quiet happiness. You wonder....did the elven warrior die? Your stomach twists in knots at the idea. With your sibling on your arms, you approach the demon and the noble lady. She turns to you and bows. "Father hired you to slay the mountain lord. I must apologize....did you happen to-"

You shake your head, picking up on what she was implying. Understanding, she nods and turns back to the demon. "The hunter who came before this one, what happened to them?"

Bitterly, the demon chuckles. "Dead. Killed them after they delivered the fatal blow to my valiant Meera. In her dying breath, she scolded me for using such force on a human." The demon laughs again. It turns to you. "Human, your sibling is safe, I see. When this is all done with, come back up the mountain, and bring your sibling in tow."

You nod, a silent promise to this newfound friend.

The days following erupted the town at the base of the mountain in an uproar. The elders summoned a judge from the Capitol, and with them, the disgraced lord was tried and found guilty of a slew of crimes. His punishment was death, to burn at the stake so that he too, will feel the suffering he inflicted on the people he imprisoned. His screams echoed throughout the village, and his remaining family could only hang their head in shame. You learn that burning at the stake was their idea; likely the punishment the noblewoman mentioned that night. The Capitol officials offer the lord's prisoners counseling for their trauma, and you gladly enroll your sibling in it.

The lord's family will still remain in power, much to some of the villagers' ire. You hear the noblewoman explain why she hadn't seen the signs sooner, that she had only just come back from a trip abroad. Her mother had died a long time ago, and the knights hired were not at liberty to disobey their lord, no matter how disgusting they found him. They too, were provided as witnesses to his crimes, sealing the final nail in the coffin on his fate.

The demon was apologized to for the misunderstanding and given offers as condolences for his wife's death. The village even held a funeral service, as the fabled elven warrior was still a hero in their eyes.

As things died down, you climb up the mountain as promised. There, at the peak where you fought the demon, was a small elven child playing with the demon. Your sibling, showing no fear, goes to greet the child and offers to play with them while you speak to the lord of the mountain. "Meera adored humans. I was indifferent to them. Though she was hired by them to dispatch me, she couldn’t bring herself to do so. She saw past my facade and took my heart for herself, and not long after, Kara was born. Meera defected from her elven clan, and I fear they will come some day and see Kara as an abomination and dispatch her. I fear I will not be able to quell my rage then....it took everything in me not to crush you that night," the demon explains solemnly.

You put your hand on the demon's shoulder. "I swear to you, friend. I will do everything in my power to make sure your child lives. If you sense their presence, come find me. I will rally the villagers and honor you and our fallen hero."

The demon is grateful for your generosity, and as a comfortable silence falls between you two, you watch as your sibling and Kara play joyfully.

Legends say that a powerful demon lives in the mountains. After a string of mysterious disappearances, you are hired as a hunter to confront the demon. The demon squarely defeats you, but then pulls you to your feet. "Let us find out who is behind these disappearances and ruining my good name."

[azsazz]

Destination Unknown (Part 2)

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: destination-unknown I still cannot let this one go, the best thing I’ve ever read on this app 😭 I wish he would choose us in another part // Writing this to notify you about the urgent need for pt2 of the following Rhys fics: waiting for the creation of Destination unknown

Warnings: N/A

Word Count:

(Part 1)

Notes: It's been over 2 years since part 1 😅 If any of the OG's are here, you're troopers! ily 💙 breaking my own heart with this one too

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“The girl that saved us. She’s my mate.” The words rattle in your head again and again and a-godsdamned-gain.

The crinkle of the paper in your hands draws your attention to the present. You sigh, dropping the paper to the familiar deep cherry desk. The one that you’ve been sitting at for the last fifty years while the man you loved was trapped by a vicious witch under the mountain.

This place—Rhysand’s office within the House of Wind—had once been your place of solace. Your beacon of hope. You and the High Lord of the Night Court had spent a healthy amount of time in this room of the house, first as his second in command, and then as his lover. It had been one of the places you swore you could still feel him when he was prisoner beneath her reign.

You had taken over like any second would, made sure that Velaris stayed hidden and safe. There weren’t many executive decisions to be made in the last fifty years, menial things like the agreement to build a new wing of the Rainbow, making sure that the city could still deal and trade without being snuffed out.

Now, this office serves as a reminder. A reminder of what you lost. The male that you gave your heart to, the same one who’d survived the horrors of Amarantha’s reign, made it back to the Night Court safely, with another woman’s name on his lips.

Feyre, he’d admitted, violet eyes wide and haunted with not only the horrors he so desperately tried to lock away, but with shock and surprise. He found his mate, the voice in your head rings again.

As much as it tears your heart to shreds, Rhysand deserves nothing more. You’ve always had an inkling that you weren’t his mate. He’d occasionally make offhanded comments about dreams he had, visions, he’d sometimes call them. Listening to the horrors he’d been through, surrounded by the rest of his Inner Circle, those sights had made sense.

It’s been two weeks since Rhysand has been back. Recovering. Mor had taken it upon herself as caregiver to her cousin. Cassian and Azriel visited the High Lord in his wing of the house often. Amren, too. The side you couldn’t bring yourself to pay visit to.

He’s asked for you. You can’t count the number of times Mor has barged into this very office—the one you rarely leave these days—and demanded that you come see him. That you’re hurting him worse by staying away. Now that Rhysand is back, that Amarantha is gone for good and the city no longer has to hide, there are things to do, cities to check in on, damage that needs to be assessed, and courts that need correspondence.

It's given you an escape. You can’t muster up the confidence to go visit Rhysand just as he can’t do the same to visit you. You’re terrified of what he’ll say, the very thing you’ve been trying to wrap your head around since the night of his return. To accept the inevitable.

That he’s no longer yours.

You smooth the wrinkled paper out on the desk, trying to refocus. It’s late. A gentle breeze sweeps in through the balcony doors, a chill that skitters down your back. The stars and moon shine brightly in the sky, and for a moment, you envy their light, their happiness. It seems that they’re even brighter since the return of the High Lord.

You can’t help that your mind wanders. To her. You wonder what she looks like, how she acts. She must be confident, strong-willed. She must be beautiful. You hope more than anything that she’s kind. She must be, for a human to give her life to save the Fae, the same ones that have abandoned the human-realm for their own selfish reasons.

In a way, it makes sense. Of course, the female who could take down someone as powerful as Amarantha would be Rhys’ mate.

There’s a soft knock on the study room door. One that makes you freeze. It’s not Mor, because she wouldn’t have knocked, she would have stormed into the room, he bouncy, blonde hair swishing behind her shoulders and a fire in her eyes. The both of you have leaned on each other for fifty years, you consider her one of your closest friends. But not even she could convince you to see Rhysand.

You’ve tried, too. Tried to make it to that side of the house, to where, admittedly, you’d slept in his bed the entirety of his time away. When you could sleep, that is. Surrounded by the night-chilled scent of him, lingering on the pillows.

The abrupt change from not sleeping there at all has been taxing.

You stand when the door cracks, busy yourself with the papers scattered around the desk. They’re organized perfectly, but you leaf through them again. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, not even when he enters the room fully and the doors snicks behind him.

Your name is a mummer. Relief? Maybe. Sorrow. Yes. The. Sound makes your throat tighten. You never thought you’d hear your name on his lips again.

The papers in your hands crinkle again.

You don’t know what to say. Your throat is clogged with emotion and your heartbeat is a racing mess. Your knees are seconds from giving out. Your fingers are trembling. You’re not ready for this, not ready to face him again.

You can feel those violet eyes on you like you have a thousand times before. Can feel the way he’s drinking you in. Or maybe he’s comparing you to how you looked the night he left, the same disheveled hair but for a much different reason. You’re sure you look worse with the dark circles under your eyes and the way your shoulders sag like there’s a hundred pounds draped across them.

Suddenly, you feel underdressed. You should have cleaned up your appearance, taken a shower, ran a brush through your hair.

Tears sting your eyes when your sabotaging mind tells you that it no longer matters.

You stack the papers together and tap them on the desk. “I’ve kept everything as much of the same as I could.” It’s difficult to admit, but talking about what’s been going on in the City of Starlight is a safe topic. Surely, he will want to know, will want to visit soon, show that he’s still the strong and in charge High Lord he was. “You’ll read about it in my reports.”

You say it like you’re ready to resign your position. You’d hate it if you could no longer help the city that you’ve loved and spent the last fifty years managing. Your heart breaks a little in your chest.

You’ve spent every moment since Rhysand’s come home writing the report. Spent every day of the last fifty years writing it, to be honest. In case there was a day that he’d come back. You haven’t left out a single detail.

The past two weeks have been spent refining it, removing some of the more inappropriate stories and comments now that he’s found his other half.

He says your name again, louder this time. You can hear the hurt in his tone, but he doesn’t move closer.

You continue to brush him off. Your head is spinning and you can barely breathe. You don’t know what to do. It feels as if the two of you are strangers. “Now that you’re back, I need to check on all of the other cities and camps within the Court,” your voice is tired. You don’t know what to think. He’s back, and he has a mate. Someone he’s destined to fall in love with. It hurts. “I’ve sent missives. I’m headed out in the morning.”

“Please,” he begs, and the emotion in his voice gives you pause. Makes your heart break. You know it isn’t easy, to be so vulnerable after having to be so strong for half a century. Tears sting your eyes. The tips of Rhysand’s shoes enter your line of vision. “Please, look at me.”

You shake your head and swallow thickly. If you look at him, see the devastation in his eyes, worse, the hope for his mate, it will destroy you. You know it will.

“Autumn has written, too,” you continue, but your voice trembles so much you’re not sure you can continue. You can gallivant all around the continent, but it won’t change the fact that the male you love is back, and has a mate. Eventually, you’ll come home, and when you do, maybe she’ll be here, maybe they’ll be joyous and in love and— “They’re asking for resources, to help rebuild.”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. An unknown force drives him around the edge of the desk, and before you know it the papers in your hands are hitting the wood and you’re facing him, your chin tilting up by his gentle hands.

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and you clamp them shut before they latch onto those violet pools you know so well. You don’t want to see the heartbreak in them. You don’t want to see the remorse. You can’t. You’re not ready to give him up, because he’s all that. You’ve ever loved and—

“Please,” he says brokenly, so helplessly that you can’t help yourself.

You peek open your eyes.

And Rhysand looks utterly crushed.

His own eyes are filled with tears. Fingers trembling as his thumbs stroke your cheeks, catching the unstoppable rivers.

He looks almost exactly like he had the night he left. Older, somehow. His violet eyes aren’t lit with excitement and arousal, but burnt out with the horrors of what he’s been through. You can’t even imagine what happened to him in those fifty years, but you know Rhysand well enough to know that he would have done anything to protect his people, to help in any way that he could.

There are no words to be exchanged. You and him have always been like this, on the same page. You know exactly what he’s thinking, and you know exactly what he is.

You sob into him as he presses his mouth against yours. You cling to his arms, digging your nails into his skin. It’s a desperate kiss, too harsh and your teeth clack together in a disjointed plea. It feels nothing like you know. It feels final.

Like this is the last taste of him you’re ever going to get.

“Darling,” his voice breaks when you part. In this moment, you know. That this is all real. Rhysand is back. He’s back and he has a mate.

“I know Rhys,” your words are a wet whisper, and the smile that you try to force onto your face wobbles and falls. You clutch his arms tightly. You don’t want to let go but you know that you have to. “I know.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Many knew you for the fact that you didn’t smile, weren’t exactly a warm personality and often preferred to be alone, but the moment Joaquin entered your life, you found yourself being drawn to his warmth and his ability to have the edges of your mouth twitch upwards.

Many didn’t think you would like Joaquin since you were both vastly different in a plethora of ways, that you wouldn’t meet eye to eye on certain things that would leads to you two inevitably clashing, but you would be found in the doorways as you watched Joaquin as he smiled and laughed with the rest of the team with a flickers of a smile upon your lips and warmth within your eyes.

Many couldn’t help but see the way you and Joaquin interact as interesting. He would always see that you were in the far comer by yourself and come over to join you, making sure that you weren’t missing out on what everyone else had found gossip worthy, watching your every expression as he talked about anything and everything with some hand gestures thrown in here and there. Whereas you would listen to him wholeheartedly, never once interrupting him as you took in anything he gave you with the attentive look you gave him, making him know that he has your undivided attention.

Joaquin would talk and you would listen and remember every last bit right down to the last detail, for everything he said was important to you and you didn’t want him to think anything else, and this was the same with Joaquin towards you as wanted to get to know the you beneath the grump that many people framed you as.

Many didn’t think you and Joaquin would work all that well for he was outgoing and had a way of drawing people in, whereas you had a way of drawing people away with the resting bitch face that you were born with. However you and Joaquin worked in such tandem it was hard to not see you part from one another given how seamless you worked together. Your personalities may differ but they balances the other out somehow, complete each other even.

Many didn’t think Joaquin could crack through your walls, but yet many would soon came to see how easy it was for Joaquin to make you smile, to make you laugh at his jokes and his stories that he had on his fellow teammates that he was dying to tell you about; he made you feel safe in resting your head against his shoulder as he filled you with warmth and a change of perspective on life. And he would do this all the while he kept you close to his side as his eyes twinkled in happiness and fondness that he did what many thought was impossible.

You could fall asleep within his presence and Joaquin would act as though he has just won at life, all the while trying not to move in hopes of not disturbing your sleep, but if someone were to make a comment on it you were wide open and with a sharp remark upon your tongue as your old them to mind their business. Joaquin would naturally take your side, rubbing your side as he ushered you into going back to sleep on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to your forehead while doing so.

You were once cold but now you were as warm as the man you were cuddled up with, happy to have found someone who has the patience of a saint to crack through your hard exterior, cradling the person behind it close to his heart and love them no matter what like you loved and cared for him in return.

You were once cold but with him, with Joaquin, you were warm and happy as could be and you had him to thank for the rest of your life.

[livelaughloveluffy]

love languages - trafalgar water d. law

a/n: i definitely needed this fic, i've been a bit sad today so writing this cheered me up a bit, hopefully it can do the same for you all as well!! i started a higher dose of sertraline today, so hopefully i level out and feel better soon.

nothing but fluff here 💗

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how he shows love:

acts of service - law is a silent lover. words have never really been his strong suit and he often has a hard time physically conveying his emotions. his silence, however, is not synonymous to lack of effort. law shows up for you physically. he does hundreds of menial little tasks for you (when he found the time to get them done, you'll never know). whether it's pre-packing your lunch, having your meds ready next to water and breakfast when you wake up, drawing you a warm bath, taking care of your laundry and other chores. and he'll never mention it at all, you'll just happen to find these things all done on your own. he'll constantly brush of your thanks and appreciation with a mumble of "it's nothing.. i was already doing it anyways..." but one restless night, you catch him in the act of secretly folding your laundry, a rare sight you savored and committed to memory.

quality time - it doesn't matter if the two of you are together but focused on your own tasks, attention divided from each other, or if you're wrapped up in each other's arms. law truly doesn't mind either way, just knowing that you're close by is more than enough for him. and while the captain of the heart pirates may do his best to act otherwise, he definitely prefers having you a minimum of an arm's length away. of course, law does enjoy actively finding activities for the two of you to partake in together or places to visit and explore, in his opinion, it's all worthless without you to do it with.

how he feels loved:

words of affirmation - as much as it flusters the captain, your small whispers of praise and affection mean the world to him. while law may have a hard time returning the gesture, the way his entire body seems to relax at your words doesn't go unnoticed by you. until finally just the melodious sound of your voice instantly brings him comfort, something that unconsciously conditioned him to unwind. law is the type of man to take every comment to heart, as if he's collecting and saving them in his very being. so your sincere admiration and words of encouragement hold much more power than you'll ever know, fueling him to keep going.

physical touch - despite the limited conversations the two of you have shared about the topic of his rough childhood, it is abundantly clear that law never fully got over a lot of his abandonment issues. he only truly feels safe when your arms are wrapped around him, lips pressing gentle kisses against his forehead as you softly stroke his raven locks. every kiss and hand hold is treasure in his eyes, and if he could freeze time, he'd live in those moments forever. while the crew of the heart pirates may roll their eyes and poke fun at your sickly sweet nothings and other expressions of pda, they will never comment on your physical closeness to the captain. your hands often resting on his thigh whenever the two of you are sitting down, or on the smalls of his back as you two stand together, are acknowledged but never discussed among the crew. though shachi and penguin can often be found with their faces almost turning blue trying to hold back addressing the amount of times you'll walk into meetings, just to stand behind law's chair, resting your chin of the top of his head while you rub his shoulders.

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tags ♡: @dindjarins1ut @twiishaa @chibinasuu @3v37773 @dreamcastgirl99 @acesdiary @suga-tofu @vamphoria @raddelusionaldive @sparkyvibes @chillerkiller @teewon @all-by-myself98 @moonpri @thissaintjessi @sunshineagony

want to join the taglist? click here!!

enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

#have mixed feelings bc think a lot of ppl are just letting off steam/not in convos where solidarity building is even possible#but overall yeah

Right but I'm not making this post to tone police people on what they say on their tumblr blogs I'm making this post to be very real about organizing. I have been interacting with a new friend group recently and its me, another person who's terminally online in the same way I am, a person who's raised by academics so they can easily slide into the marxist jargon and "all white people are racist" type takes that me and this other person speak in, and a self identified centrist who is a roblox and tiktok enjoying 18 year old. we know each other because we all do night club entertainment, and this kid is more established in this profession than the rest of us.

Anyway the point is that talking to this friend, who I want to say for our purposes is non white and grew up much poorer than I did, has low key shaken me when it comes to realizing that growing up on tumblr and reading marx and lenin as a 9th grader, and being raised by linguistics professors, has made me completely incapable of interacting with the average person in a way that makes me just... so bad at organizing. This whole website might as well be a psyop for the numbers its done on me being able to relate to people who I could theoretically win over if I was better at talking to people. This person has been a huge wakeup call. Like fuck me here I am talking to a relatively reasonable black lesbian who grew up in poverty and I cannot break through to them on economic or political issues, not because they're unreachable but because I'm so bogged down in jargon and tumblr hot takes that we the same words to mean completely different things and the way I phrase my opinions or react to certain things make them not want to talk politics with me.

so like, I'm going through my own political playbook and realizing quite a bit of it is completely alienating to people who I should be trying to win over. I cant even win over someone who runs in exclusively queer and mixed circles, because they were raised with what I can only describe as normal american politics. That should be low hanging fruit but here I am trying to talk about the means of production and I'm drawing a blank.

So anyway back to the point of the post. This sort of berating people for being too privileged is one of the things I'm becoming clear eyed about. like it's not a point of contention for me and this specific person or anything but you know, like, it's in the same family of online leftist habits that make us completely unaproachable. I don't engage with it very often but I do shut my mouth because part of me is like "well yeah that person is privilaged and it probably feels bad to hear someone complain about for the less privilaged." but then I actually get in a real life situation and I'm like wait I could win this person over if I just knew how. It's not about handing them a copy of Das Capital, it's not about beraiting them for being privilaged until they feel bad and take up a monk like oath to never step out of line or discuss their own suffering, it's about acknowledging what's wrong and pointing them in the right direction, and that goes for every single person not just those that are more privilaged than you complaining, even though that's what this post is about.

And online is like real life in many ways, If you come onto a person's post and make a snippy comment, you've alienated a potential ally, because theres someone on the other end of that keyboard.

tl;dr: This is just one of many post's I'm gonna be making or have made where I discuss the pitfalls of my own ability to talk to people and tumblrs general tendancy to treat people who could be won over like hot garbage. It's not about tone policing or venting it's about how I see a lot of you alienating potential allies because you're more invested in being leftier than thou, which is a tendancy I also see in myself.

I'm glad yall like this post just clarifying because I know deep in my soul that this post already has been screencapped and had the wavy filter put over it by someone who will go on to make at least on person who could have been down for the cause turn away from us by being completely unpleasant, and who does nothing for leftist organizing but is completely devoted to infighting on tumblr . gov

Saying that a certain group of people is too privileged to complain about the way that things are is its own sort of defense of the status quo

[hannieoftheyear]

drinks or coffee (c.vn)

the bad party takes a turn when you end up competing in a game with the friend you've been secretly hooking up with

✧˖* pairing: vernon x fem!reader

✧˖* w.c: 5k

✧˖* genre: friends with benefits, porn with plot. MINORS DON'T INTERACT.

✧˖* content warnings: one use of y/n, vernon's a waist grabber, pet names, alcohol consumption, teasing, car sex | smut warnings: softdom!vernon (but lowkey a switch), public and semi-public shenanigans (club bathroom, parking lot and inside the car), mutual masturbation, desperate dry humping, fingering, choking, unprotected penetration, cream pie.

🎧: drinks or coffee — rosé

"standing in the corner of a crowded place this is boring, till i heard your name and now i'm staying for you, we're just friends it's okay we don't have to talk, i know that you want me"

✧˖* note: the second half was not proofread. also, this was supposed to be done for his bday, but hey, a few days later is not that bad!

dividers used

don't be shy! share your thoughts!

“This party's ass." 

You side eye your friend before replying, “I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but…” 

“Fuck.” Chan sighs as he leaves his drink on a tiny table by his side. “I’m sorry I brought you here.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” You chuckle and put your hand on his shoulder, jokingly comforting him. “Wherever you go, I go. That’s our friend code.” 

When Chan asked you to be his plus one to his coworker’s birthday party so he wouldn’t be alone, you didn’t think twice about it. He’s done the same for you countless times. 

“Still, thank you. I wouldn’t have survived this long here without you.” He replies, defeated. 

“We’ve barely been here for over an hour.” You can’t help but chuckle at your tired friend. It seems even extroverted people have their limits. 

“What do you say if... in half an hour, nothing interesting happens. We’ll leave.” Chan pleads with his eyes that you agree with his escape plan, but someone gives you no time to. 

A shout from across the house draws both of your attention. 

“Who wants to play the jeopardy game Giselle made!? There’s a prize for the winner!” 

The interesting thing you were begging to happen calls you in the form of a deep-voiced frat boy, and you both lock eyes with raised brows, knowing how you’re going to spend the night from now on. 

Your competitive spirit takes over you as you walk towards where you think the game is being held. Passing between the sweaty bodies dancing to the terrible electronic music blasting from a speaker placed on the corner of the kitchen, you feel like the win's already yours, not even taking into consideration whoever you might be up against. 

It’s when you’re about to cross the door to the kitchen that you hear it. 

“C’mon, Vernon! Don’t be a chicken!” 

Your ears perk up at his name being called so close to you, there, at a random party. Neither he nor Chan had told you he was going to be there. 

A hand drags you away from the door you were obstructing and into the kitchen, where a cardboard box with blue pieces of paper sticking to it is clearly meant to be the game. 

“Are you okay?” Chan asks with a slightly concerned face. 

“Vernon’s here.” Whatever excitement you feel bubbling up inside you, you try to hide as to not be too obvious to your best friend.

Chan and you are concrete proof that friendship between a man and a woman can stay purely platonic. As cliché as it sounds, it’s closer to a sibling bond than anything else. You’d trust him with your life, and he’d also trust you with his. Being friends with him is a constant in your life. He’s present even in your earliest memories, and you can confidently say that being anything more than that has never crossed any of your minds. That's not the case with Vernon and you. 

College allowed you to broaden your circle of friends, from being just the two of you to a whopping 14 people. The synergy is top tier, and all the different types of friendships within the group coexist to find a perfect balance. 

With a group that big, it’s normal for you to form small groups when all of you hang out together. Most of the time, you sit completely opposite to Vernon. You barely even talk to each other on nights like those. It just looks like you choose to hang out with other people in the group before one another. Secretly, the stolen glances from across the room tell otherwise. 

It didn’t start that way, your bond with Vernon. You first started talking more after being paired up together for a project in one of the electives your entire group decided to take for fun. You didn’t have the chance to talk much before, and working together, even if neither of you cared much about that class, really cemented your friendship. 

You always thought he was hot. The way he went on with life, so calm and sure of himself, really attracted you to him, but you didn’t expect it to go beyond that. A group of friends so big, even after surviving a long time and managing to stay together, is still fragile. The last thing you wanted was to make everything weird. 

But months passed, and the tension you felt every time you’d end up alone with him finally reached a peak where it was unbearable. Vernon felt it as well, and he decided he couldn’t resist it any longer. 

You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t set any rules after the first time it happened. Neither of you told any of your friends, then it happened again, and again, and again, and it was clear neither of you wanted to stop it. He was irresistible, and you weren’t trying to find a cure for that growing addiction.

Vernon would be manspreading on a chair, paying attention to whatever anecdote is being told, so nonchalant one would think he doesn’t understand how hot he is. And from time to time, when no one was looking, he’d sneak a glance at you, catching you red handed with your eyes already on him –you’re sure you look at him more than he does. He’d raise one of his thick eyebrows ever so slightly, only for you to notice, and that feeling at the pit of your stomach would burst into flames. 

When the hang out stretched until it was too late in the night, he'd offer to take you to your place, using the late hour and your need to take the public transport as an excuse, you’d get on his car with no suspicions, and you’d always end up in the apartment that’s closer, ripping each other’s clothes off in between desperate kisses that you’d been suffering to hold out on.  

Other times, when instead of a chill hang out, the group decided to go out to the club, both of you would mysteriously disappear at the same time, hiding in any available toilet stall with no care in the world, moaning into each other’s ear hoping the music drowns out the sounds. 

Unless you’re just bad at disguising your meet-ups, Chan's the only one who knows of that other aspect of your friendship with Vernon. The only time he ever spent the night at your apartment, Chan showed up to your building unannounced and caught Vernon leaving in a hurry with the same clothes as the night before. 

“You asshole! You told me you had other plans tonight!” Chan sees him first, entering the very same room just behind you, and he goes for a man hug after raising his eyebrows at you. 

Chan had his concerns at first, same as you, about the wellness of the friend group, but he quickly realized nothing much had changed in the dynamics except your late night activities, so he just moved on to tease you about it any chance he got.

“Sorry, bro, I didn’t think it’d be the same party.” His low voice quickly stirs something inside you. The party’s not boring anymore and you’re staying until you get what you want.

“Good thing we know someone else here!” With your best friendly smile, you turn around to say hello. “Hi Vern.”

You’ve always greeted your friends with a kiss on the cheek, so it's not out of the ordinary to do it with him too. But when his hand tightens a little more than normal on your waist, and your lips remain a millisecond longer on his cheek, the temperature inside the room rises noticeably. 

“Are you guys playing?” Vernon asks after letting go of his grip on you. He looks at Chan to wait for his answer as well, but you want to believe the lingering of his stare on your form before turning to your friend means something.

“Of course.” The teasing roll of your eyes matches with the appearance of Giselle in the kitchen. “And I’m ready to beat whoever stands in my way.”

Noise erupts as Giselle begins drawing the names that’ll play against one another, and you and Vernon end up on opposite sides of the dashboard. 

“Sounds good.” The defying stares you share hold something behind them only you two, and Chan, know about. “Let’s meet in the final.”

Even Giselle, the birthday girl who planned the whole game, was impressed by the interest everyone showed in playing. After a while, even the people who refused at first started joining to watch the matches, whispering the correct answers to their friends and laughing at anyone who doesn’t know basic facts.

“What is the real identity of the Marvel character known as Deadpool?” Giselle reads the question under the last blue sticker.

“Shit, I don’t know! I don’t watch marvel movies!” The long-haired girl shouts, defeated as all of her friends boo her, losing at the last question.

“You can take it!” Giselle points to Vernon, who she was up against.

“It’s Wade Wilson.” Vernon answers with a smirk and nods while everyone claps at him, even the girl’s friends.

“That’s cheating! He didn’t say ‘what is’!” You’re pretty sure she’s Giselle’s girlfriend, judging by the way she grabs her hand and attacks her with puppy eyes.

“You didn’t say that for any of your questions, dummy.” Giselle kisses her on the cheek as she pouts. “Okay! Let’s see who’s the finalist against…”

“Vernon.” He chuckles, reminding her of his name.

“Vernon! Who’s going up against Vernon!” She reads her list, adding the points you hope she annotated correctly.

She looks around, drunk enough to have forgotten your face already. “Y/N?"

“Woohoo!” Chan shouts behind you, also too drunk. “Go crush him!”

Vernon throws Chan a look and he just shrugs, finishing the drink in his hand.

While Giselle tries to set up the last board on the counter, in between all the people doing tequila shots and others annoying her on purpose, Vernon rests his hips beside yours on the island, too close for it to be a coincidence.

“What do I get when I win?” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath tingling down your neck.

“You mean when I win? And she said there would be a prize.” It’s been at least an hour since your last drink, but turning your face and seeing his so close almost makes you pass out.

“If I win, you’ll spend the night at my place.” The corner of his mouth lifting just slightly has something of a mesmerizing effect, and you can’t take your eyes off his lips.

“That’s no punishment for the loser.” You only reply, trying to keep going with his game.

“I didn’t say it had to be a punishment for you, only what I want.” There’s no arguing that logic, and luckily, Giselle calls your names before you have to figure out what to answer.

“Fair game?” You stretch your hand forward, and he shakes it slowly, electricity flowing through your veins as your cold skin melts with his.

“You haven't said what you want if you win.” Giselle's voice trying to get your attention is barely a murmur in the background.

“I'll think about it.” Now it's your time to smirk, registering Giselle deciding to choose the questions herself and asking Vernon the first one. “You should focus on answering correctly.”

“Game on, princess.” When he turns to answer, so fast he had clearly heard the question before it was repeated, you can’t help but keep your eyes on the side of his face.

“What song has spent the most weeks at number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100?”

“Old Town Road!” You hear his answer before you’re even done registering the question yourself.

It's ruthless. You both fly through the questions as if your lives depended on it. Every correct question you answer, you cheer as if you just won a million dollars, and everyone celebrates with you.

“Which country won the 2022 FIFA World Cup?”

“Argentina?” Scratching the back of your brain trying to find any clues, you’re pretty sure you remember seeing too many tiktok edits of Messi that year.

“You have to be certain!” Giselle helps you, not wanting a man to win.

“Yes! Yes, Argentina.”

The game’s head to head, neither of you answering anything wrong, until…

“What is the highest-grossing film of all time?”

“Is it Endgame?” Vernon thinks out loud after a few seconds.

“Wrong!” Giselle doesn’t give him a second chance, and you just scream.

“It’s Avatar!” With your hands in the air, you jump excitedly with Chan as he mocks Vernon. “How does a self-proclaimed cinephile not know this?”

He looks too relaxed to be losing, hands in his pockets as he just watches you celebrating the steal.

Between the two of you, you’re definitely the more competitive one, but it’s a little too suspicious for him to not even argue with your taunting. He’s getting his points back, and you have to get your head on the game again.

“What is Eminem’s real name?”

The question takes you by surprise, and not even your extensive tiktok knowledge is helping you with this one. Your eyes drift to Chan, but he seems just as confused as you.

“Is that not his last name?” You ask, knowing you just lost that question. Giselle says nothing and just stares at Vernon.

“Marshall Mathers.” The male audience cheers for him, seemingly a boy versus girls game now.

A hand pats your shoulder, and Chan spawns to your right, sighing as if you already lost. “It was a good game.”

“There’s one more question left, asshole.”

“Yeah and it’s his.” He says, like it’s obvious. “There’s no way he won’t know it.” 

Giselle doesn’t help the situation as she reads the last question and exclaims, “fuck! I left the easiest for the end!”

A choir of drunk shouts telling her to change it and others telling her to just read it out loud fill the room. From the corner of your eye, you see Vernon raising an eyebrow at Chan, feeling like he’s already won.

“Which Jonas brother has Taylor Swift dated?” All the boys around you cheer, knowing the answer and trusting Vernon knows it too. The girls ‘boo’ him as he’s thinking. 

“Nick?” Vernon answers doubtfully, scratching his neck and furrowing his eyebrows.

“It was Joe!” You don’t even let Giselle speak, rejoicing in your win and jumping excitedly once again.

Some people clap, some people go back to wherever they were in the house before they got called in to watch the game. Behind you, Vernon claps slowly, watching Giselle trying to get your attention to give you the winner’s prize.

A white thong as wide as a thread. So small, you almost don't notice Justin Bieber's face in the center. The cackle that escapes out of you jolts your head down, your stomach contracting as tears begin forming at the corners of your eyes.

“I'll make good use of it.” You tell Giselle, who finds it even funnier than you, between laughs.

Now that the game, your main reason to stay at the party, is done, you should be getting ready to run off the house and get inside your bed as soon as possible. But a pair of eyes staring up and down your body keep you from finding Chan and force him to drive you home. It’s that kind of look that your legs can barely handle before turning into jelly. A kind of look that leaves only one thought on your mind.

The kitchen clears out intimidatingly quick, the empty bottles and cups on the counter being the only company to the silence between Vernon and you. The white fabric in your hand serves as a temporary stress ball, taking your mind off the hot body hovering too close.

“What goes on the winner’s mind?” He turns to the side, hip resting on the edge of the island.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know that last question.” A chuckle to hide the nervousness doesn’t really work with him.

A man of few words, but as observant as they can be, he realized your attraction to him before you could even think of the possibility that your anxiousness to sit beside him during class was because of something else than having a new friend. He reads your body language too well for your own good.

“Maybe, I just wanted to let you win.” He lies, the smile slowly forming at the sight of your frown telling you that much.

“If that’s what’ll help you sleep at night.” You feel his eyes on you even as you pretend to analyze the backsplash on the wall.

“Did you come here with Chan?” He doesn’t move from his spot, but you suddenly feel warmer, the kitchen too small and the air too thick.

“Maybe… Why?” The answer is obvious.

The answer materializes in the way he tilts his chin down so his eyes can rest on your parted lips, in the corner of his mouth lifting at your hitching breath, and in his hand scattering in his pocket to find his car keys.

“Just thinking he’s going to miss you when you leave with me.”

It’s always a different kind of anticipation when he talks about having you out loud. The little secret between the two of you being out in the open, even if it was only for you to hear, paints the whole of your cheeks a faint pink.

“This party sucks anyway.” You’ve started walking away from him, looking back to find him on the same spot behind you with a knowing smile. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll see you outside.” His free hand finds its way to the side of your waist, the flimsy fabric of your dress doing nothing to hide the heat emanating from you. “Let him know so he doesn’t worry.”

Vernon walks past your frozen body standing by the edge of the door, crossing the nearly empty living room, passing where Chan’s sitting with a couple of men you know you should know the names of, saying goodbye to him too.

“Should I ask?” Chan questions when he lays his eyes on you, with your jacket on and suspiciously ready to leave after Vernon.

“We're just getting more to drink! People drank everything already.” The dumb excuse gets past Chan’s friends, but he naturally doesn’t buy it.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive!” Chan shouts as you head to the entrance, mocking the blatant lie you told.

“We'll get some coffee then.” With your hands on the doorframe and half your body already out the house, you wink his way and he just rolls his eyes.

The parking lot beside Giselle’s house is full of her guests’ cars, but not a soul’s visible at this hour in the night. The music can still be heard even as you get further away from the source, searching for the familiar car and the all too familiar friend of yours.

“Lost?” Vernon’s voice reaches you from the side, and you turn to find him resting against his car, waiting for you like a gentleman.

“You should get a red car. That way, I can recognize it from further away.” The slow steps you take towards him cause no visible reaction. But when you’re within arms reach, he’s trapping you against the backseat door in no time.

“Duly noted.” Vernon’s hands wander inside your jacket, attempting to slip it off you without breaking eye contact.

“You really can’t resist me.” You wrap your arms around his neck, and he does his best to throw your jacket through the driver’s window and inside the car.

“I don’t try to.” His dark eyes hypnotize you into being unable to utter a witty reply, solely focused on his face so close to yours you could count his eyelashes.

But his lips go nowhere near yours, heading down your neck in a teasing trail of kisses leaving you gasping for air. You moan as his arms press your body further against his, as if leaving marks on your sensitive skin wasn't enough for him.

“You haven't told me what you want as your prize.”

His voice reverberates down your spine, followed by a groan as your fingers thread with the hair at the back of his head. You're a mess of tangled limbs against the cold metal of his car, his hands roaming your body in their quest to make you crave him even more.

“For you to stop teasing me.” At that, he halts his assault on your neck, raising his head to pierce through you with his fiery gaze.

“Oh,” he tilts his head to the side, one eyebrow raised as he taunts you, “but you like that, don't you?” One hand slips between your chests, finding its way inside your dress to let his fingers feel the wet patch on your panties. “You like how it feels when I tease you?”

The back of your head hits the car window just behind you at his touch, and his fingers slide over your covered core, making you gasp over essentially nothing.

His body’s still so close you barely have to move to finally connect his tempting lips with your needy ones. Your lips melt instantly with his, moving over yours the way he knows will have you sighing in his mouth. One swipe of his tongue on your lower lip and you're done for.

The sheer lack of shame he has as he presses his body harder against yours, moaning against your lips when you tug at his hair, only burns the fire inside you hotter. It's as if he wanted for every stranger that dared to wander around to know you're his.

Vernon’s hand between your legs plays with you like his favorite toy, knowing exactly where to press, graze, and circle, but stopping the second you grind on his digits, asking for more. He makes it easy to want him, to render to his touch as the world around you dissolves into a meaningless void.

How could you care about anything else when his fingers sneak into your bare core, your dress hoisted up your legs far more than what’s considered publicly decent, smearing your arousal in circles as his mouth does a lousy job at drowning your sounds.

But Vernon’s no innocent man. He pushes you to the edge while the grind of your hips against his hand breaks down his calmness. His legs slot between yours in a desperate attempt to hold you closer, for you to feel his growing hard on the crevice of your inner thigh. He’s as hungry for your touch as you are for his.

His coated fingers tease your opening, ready for him since you heard his name, and invite you to do the same.

Somehow, between the pressing of your chests against one another, the frenzy kiss sucking all the air from your lungs, and your leg wrapped around Vernon’s hips to try and impossibly push him closer to you, your hand sneaks under the layers of clothes hiding him. Your fingers grazing his hot skin contract the muscles in his abdomen, preparing himself to be touched where he needs it most.

When he finally slips two fingers inside you and you wrap your hand around his length, both of your mouths stop working, parted lips soft over the other, in awe at the other’s touch. The rush of adrenaline dies down, time stopping as you each savor the other’s strokes.

It’s not long before Vernon decides he needs to be inside you or he’ll explode.

“I want you to ride me, princess,” his breathless whisper brushes against your gasping lips, “can you do that?”

Your answer comes in both of your hands rushing to unbutton his goddamn shirt and trying to zip down his jeans in one movement. Vernon just chuckles at your eagerness, dreadly removing one of his arms from your body to unlock the car and open the door you’re standing against.

The leather seat caves under your weight, Vernon sitting under you, his both hands feeling your back as you try to close the door for a silver of privacy.

He can't get enough of you, his hand slotting on the side of your jaw to guide your face back to his. You chase after his bruised lips, melting on top of him with your hands on his bare chest, soft grinds on his growing hard, making him groan against you.

With your hair a mess because of him, he brushes it back, making you halt your movements to see what he does next. You swallow hard as his hands drift down your body until they reach where you’re almost connected, where your wet panties are beginning to stain his lap. But he doesn’t stop at your core. Instead, he unbuckles his belt in record time, lowering his jeans and boxers just enough for his hard to spring out.

“You look so good on top of me.” He dares to say, and you might argue he looks even better under you.

Bloodshot lips from your teeth giving into their desires, shirt half open down to the buttons you never reached, slightly scratched abs that welcome the slap of his angry red cock. A sight you'll never get tired of seeing.

“I think I know what I want as my prize.” You declare, getting a hold of his length and lifting your hips to line him up with your entrance.

“Whatever my girl wants.” He almost stutters at your doing, his nonchalant persona faltering with your touch.

You ignore the butterflies erupting at the pit of your stomach at his words, concentrating on sliding down his hard until you're sitting on him and his tip reaches the deepest parts inside you.

“I want you to cum inside me,” you whisper into his ear, the filthy words being a secret between you two, “fill me up.”

His hands squeeze your hips, urging you to move and get what you want, helping you bounce on him as hard as you can.

“How long do you think you can last?” You can feel the car jumping at your rhythm,  and Vernon fights to not let a loud moan get out as he asks. “Because I won’t last long if you keep going like that.”

The straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, hypnotizing the man below you and driving him to try and fix them, but he quickly finds his hand going up your neckline, wrapping his fingers around your neck as you moan at the stimulation.

“Shit.” He mutters under his breath as your walls clamp impossibly harder around him, and he has to thrust his hips up to match your pace.

When he realizes the pressure of his fingers on your neck, he mumbles a quick apology, but you stop his hand on its way down.

“Do that again.” You see his lust filled eyes turn into something more, darker, as he understands what you want.

The air going into your lungs is quickly restricted, Vernon’s hand below your jaw applying the pressure that has another wave of arousal flushing out of you. The grind of your hips restarts as best as you can, as he keeps thrusting up with more force each time.

Every thrust, every touch, and every sound  from him combine to accelerate your pending orgasm. Your legs quiver with tiredness, and he has to let go of his grip on your neck to wrap his arms around your waist and finish the job.

With your chests flushed, his unrestricted moans right against your ear, and his cock hitting relentlessly that exact spot that has you screaming, you cream on Vernon’s cock as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck, princess, you’re so fucking tight.” His hips stutter as you clamp around him purposely.

“I want to feel you, Nonie,” the nickname slips out of you, and judging by the guttural groan he lets out, he likes it. “Cum inside me.”

You always loved the feeling of him twitching inside of you, dizzying and addicting, and when he paints your insides with his cum at your request, you know you'll never want it any other way again.

There's a beat of silence after you get off of him and sit by his side, the ruffling of his jeans as he zips it back up, being the only sound filling the steamy car. And you can't help but chuckle.

“Are we always that desperate?” The casual talk comes out easy in the midst of your breaths regulating.

“I think we went all out tonight.” He turns his head to your side, and your laugh turns into a soft smile, replicating his.

It’s always a mess of different feelings running around your heart as your post-sex mind finally realizes what just happened. And you always hope that what you see behind his gaze is a similar thought process.

“Do you still want to get some coffee?” He asks, smile not leaving but definitely teasing you with an eyebrow raised.

“You heard that?” The pink blush comes back to your cheeks after being caught red-handed.

“I'm not the fastest walker, I was barely a few steps away from the door.” His admission is for sure turning your whole body red in embarrassment. “But I am down for a cup of coffee if you want.”

He shows that warm smile he knows can get him anything he wants, and you nod without even thinking.

“You can drop me off at my place after.”

He doesn't take you to your apartment after. His place is closer anyway.

thank you for reading! you can check out my masterlist for more of my works and my wips list to see what’s coming next!

and don't forget to leave your thoughts ♥︎

[mx-pastelwriting]

Kinktober Day 28: Whip Cream

Daryl Dixon x GN! Reader

Summary: Licking homemade whip cream off of Daryl's body, putting dollops of cream lower and lower on his body.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Smut, Whip cream, Licking, Eating off a body, Kitchen Sex, Blowjob, "Would you like some of this on your that?" kinda vibe here.

Kinktober Masterlist

Minors do not interact!

Shaking the metal can, cold against your palm, turning away from the fridge to be met again with Daryl's breathless state. Seconds ago, your lips intertwined, hands exploring familiar skin just for you to break the moment by turning to the fridge for a cold metal can.

Hearing as the cream inside thickens, finally opening your mouth, head leaning back as you dispense the sweet whipped cream. Humming at the flavor, looking back up to Daryl, who seemed to be watching intently.

Taking a few steps towards where you left him, backed into the counter, leaving you with the upper hand. Holding the can up, inviting him to do the same, as he did, head leaned back though with eyes still on you. Closing his mouth tasting it for himself, you notice a bit of cream that is left at the corner, causing you to reach up whipping it away. Daryl watching as you lick the cream from your finger.

Tilting your head to the side before taking the can's spout, adding the cold cream atop your neck, making Daryl look on with amusement. With no hesitation, he leans in, licking away the cream before kissing the skin that plated it.

Laughing as you feel him sneak a few bites in before pulling away, looking over his body for the next spot. Lifting his shirt, adding the cold cream to his abdomen, kneeling down, slowly licking up the cream, noticing his little shivers at the cream's cold temperature, though it wasn't the only thing you noticed.

Feeling the firm outline of Daryl's cock bumping into your chin, as quickly as it appeared, so did a smile stretch out onto your face. Mouth still open, warm tongue still licking up what cream was left, allowing Daryl to look down into your mouth knowing his cock would soon fill that space.

As if reading his mind, your hands snake to the hem of his pants, caring little for the existence of its button or zipper. Hearing Daryl hiss at the feeling of the tight denim fabric passing over his aching cock, giving a quick brush of pleasure mixed with pain.

Looking up into Daryl's eyes as you slowly pull down his underwear, finally allowing his cock to be freed. Seeing as his head tilts back as a sighed moan escapes his lips.

Satisfied with Daryl's reaction, you continue, wrapping your lips around the tip, tasting the pre-cum that oozed from it. Swirling the taste around your mouth while working his cock more into your mouth.

Lubing the skin of his cock before pulling away, letting it stand in the cold kitchen air as you give the can in your hand a shake. Drawing a line along his shaft, cock twitching in reaction to the cold cream with a rough hiss that breathed through his teeth, making your ears perk with delight.

Feeling Daryl's rough hands grab a hold of your head as you take his cock into your warm mouth, tasting the cream and his cock all at once. The sweetness of the cream and saltiness of his pre-cum mix together as you swallow it all down, digging his fingers into your head as the tip of his cock is engulfed with the soft tissue of your throat.

The sound of Daryl’s rough groans and the slurping of his cock fill the kitchen. Tempted to grab the can once again, but Daryl's grip stopped you. Wanting nothing but the warmth of your mouth around his cock, tongue swirling around his shaft, making him shiver against the kitchen counter, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

Kinktober Taglist: @walkingdead120 @walker-bait-1973 @sophieissleepy @reidsbookcase @writtenbyhollywood @bfintaks @lokis-right-femur @nct38 @callsignwidow @girlyteengirl18 @m-281 @themoonwithprophets @wh0re4-alexademi @lightupsketchersperson @hotchners-wifey @raajali3 @crustyowos @fly-on-the-wall @www-interludeshadow-com @carolb111 @thays0 @madeleinerg @lokiiified @asmalls0723 @wonderlandofsilence

[premiumbitch]

S/O SCENARIOS TO SCRIPT ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

scenario ideas to script/manifest with your s/o !

— Watching a scary movie together, and they pretend to be brave but keep jumping at every jump scare, clutching onto you.

— Making a wish at 11:11 together, then turning to each other and realizing you both wished for the same thing.

— Visiting a museum or art gallery and whispering flirty comments about the paintings to each other.

— Them lifting you onto the kitchen counter while cooking so they can kiss you between stirring the food.

— Secretly drawing small doodles or writing little love notes on each other’s hands during class.

— Getting caught in a surprise thunderstorm and ending up dancing in the rain together before running for cover.

— Them fixing your necklace clasp, only to sneakily kiss your shoulder before they finish.

— Playing an arcade claw machine, and after many failed attempts, they finally win you a stuffed animal and act like it was easy all along.

— Bumping foreheads while trying to reach for the same snack and bursting into laughter.

— Stargazing on the roof, wrapped up in a shared blanket, pointing out constellations to each other.

— You dozing off on their lap, and they gently trace circles on your back while admiring your sleeping face.

— Them sending you random "thinking about you" texts throughout the day, even when you're right next to them.

— Competing in a silly mini-golf game, and every time one of you wins a round, they demand a “victory kiss.”

— Playing a video game together, and they purposely let you win because they love seeing you happy.

— Accidentally matching outfits and pretending it wasn’t planned, but secretly loving it.

— Running through a field of fireflies at dusk and watching the little lights dance around you.

— Holding pinkies instead of hands when walking together because it’s “your thing.”

— Scribbling inside jokes or little doodles on their arm with a pen, and them refusing to wash it off.

— Baking a cake together but getting more flour on each other than in the bowl.

— Stopping mid-walk to help tie your shoe and looking up at you with a teasing smile.

— Them learning a song on an instrument just so they can play it for you.

— Crashing on the couch together after a long day and mindlessly playing with each other’s fingers.

— Wearing their hoodie, and them pulling the hood over your head just to kiss you on the forehead.

— Finding an old photo booth and impulsively taking pictures together, ending up with goofy, adorable shots.

— Making flower crowns out of wildflowers and placing them on each other’s heads.

— Going grocery shopping together and them sneaking all your favorite snacks into the cart.

— Road-tripping together and singing along (badly) to your favorite songs with the windows down.

— Taking turns reading to each other before bed, voices growing softer as one of you starts to fall asleep.

— Them softly humming a song while absentmindedly tracing patterns on your skin.

— You both seeing a street performer and dancing together in the middle of the sidewalk without a care in the world.

[slowburningechoes]

on my mind

Ah!! Here it is, I hope you all love it. Pls keep in mind an exhausted doctoral student wrote this with little reviews/edits hehe

Summary: After months of secretly pining over Wilson, you find something suggesting he might feel the same way. Despite it all, curiosity gets the best of you and what you get is far beyond anything you ever fantasized about.

Pairing: James Wilson (House, MD) x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: very self-indulgent smut, 18+ content (NSFW/NSFM) / brief mention of past infidelity, mutual pining, sexual fantasization, slight age gap, fingering, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, office sex, desk sex, threat of exhibition, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), body worship, breeding, soul connection, porn WITH plot and feelings

Word Count: 7.8k

here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred site

Wilson didn’t have the best romantic track record when you reflected on it, standing outside his office, debating whether or not to knock.

That was what Cameron had told you on the first day consulting the team as a new psychologist at PPTH, when she caught you trying not to stare.

You had been so engaged in observing how the diagnostic team battled through a differential before he arrived. The quick exchange of wits and sly remarks was so enthralling, you couldn’t look away. Until something else distracted you…

The door swung open, and in walked a man who carried himself with an effortless kind of charm. His brown hair appeared perfectly tousled, but still neat enough to be professional, like he had absentmindedly run a hand through it just before coming in. His white coat, crisp and clean, hung open just enough to reveal a comfortably fitting dress shirt and a tie that was loosened ever-so-slightly.

As he stepped into the conference room, he seemed to be already three steps ahead in the conversation he was about to join — like this heated exchange was something he’d been witnessing for years. He paused, silently observing Foreman and House trade intellectually sarcastic banter. As the exchange died down, his eyes met yours. His sharp features softened as he looked at you with curiosity, the hint of a dimple appearing as his lips curved into a playful smirk.

“You know, House, I’m impressed,” he joked, tapping House’s cane with his foot. “It only took you this long to admit you need some serious psychological help.” 

His warm brown eyes flicked back to you, winking, amusement lingering just beneath the surface.

A scoff escaped House, followed by a characteristic retort, “I’m not admitting anything, Wilson. Besides, I wouldn’t want you getting jealous watching someone else take the job you volunteered for all these years.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite knowing so little about their dynamic. Apparently, you were not alone in this reaction, as the rest of the team seemed to find House’s response amusing, likely because it was true.

“James Wilson, Head of Oncology,” he said, rolling his eyes at House’s comment. “You must be Dr. Y/L/N. I’ve heard good things from your new colleagues.”

His hand extended towards you welcomingly. Despite a flutter of nerves beneath the surface, you shook it, hoping your feigned confidence wasn’t too obvious.

“Y/N’s fine,” you responded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dr. Y/L/N has always felt a bit too formal for me.” Your gaze held his for a brief moment, feeling the subtle weight of the connection. A soft gasp escaped your lips, despite trying so desperately to keep it in.

“Y/N,” Wilson repeated softly with a smug smile.

He held your hand just a moment longer than necessary. When he finally released it, the hold he had on you remained. There was something magnetic about him, making it impossible to draw your gaze away as he repositioned himself against the wall. You blinked a few times to ground yourself, quickly glancing down at the file in your hand before instinctively looking up at him again. His eyes caught yours and his smirk deepened ever so slightly, as if he’d caught you giving away exactly what you hadn’t meant to. He appeared to take quiet pleasure in the fact that, for just a moment, you were completely distracted by him… but you were certain that was just wishful thinking getting the best of you.

It was then that Cameron leaned towards you, voice in a low whisper, “Careful with that look — you don’t want to end up in the ex wives club.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not only at the fact that he was divorced but that it seemed to be more than once.

Cameron nodded matter-of-factly, subtly mouthing the word “three” as she held up the same number of fingers under the table before gathering her things to head to the patient’s room.

While you felt the warning in her comment, it didn’t deter you much over the coming months. After all, it was highly unlikely that Wilson would even share your feelings. Despite this, there was something magnetic about his presence, and you often found yourself running into him, both accidentally and — more than you would like to admit — on purpose.

You had bought each other lunch in the cafeteria on a few occasions and took time to chat at least every couple of days. Even when you didn’t run into each other for a few days, both of you exchanged small reminders. One time, when you spent all day managing a patient in psychosis from the emergency department, he left a sticky note on your desk that read, "Missed you at lunch. Hope your patient is doing as well as possible. Also, House is being insufferable — rescue me soon?" A few days after that, after Wilson had an emotionally exhausting morning with some of his late stage patients, you had appeared at his office door with a cup of coffee exactly how he liked it (sickeningly sweet), offering no explanation other than a casual, "Figured you could use a pick-me-up." These exchanges became regular but still made your day every time.

There were quieter moments too, ones that lingered in your mind long after they happened. A late-night conversation in the breakroom when both of you had been too exhausted to keep up pretenses, speaking in hushed voices over lukewarm chamomile tea. A touch that lasted a fraction longer than necessary when he passed you a patient folder for a consultation he requested. Playful glances exchanged across the hallway after House made some inappropriate joke at his expense. Small pick-me-ups scratched onto sticky notes and left on desks or forgotten items.

But today, something a bit different occurred. By the time you finally got back to your office late in the day, you found a vanilla bean scone from the café waiting for you on your desk, a thoughtful surprise he had left earlier that morning. It was nothing out of the ordinary until you saw, across the brown paper, scribbled in pen, a note that read: Saw this and thought of you. Can’t seem to stop doing that lately. Come by my office soon?

At first, you thought he was just being normal Wilson — friendly, with the touch of flirtatious he has with everyone. That was until you read it a few more times and those moments over the past few weeks replayed in your mind over and over. You had been thinking of him incessantly from the moment you first saw him, but always tried to keep it professional. His note to come by sounded charged in your mind, more suggestive than any of your previous conversations. You contemplated his intentions for longer than you would like to admit, but figured you would never truly know unless you asked.

Which is exactly how you ended up here, in front of his office, two cups of coffee in hand, torn between knocking and shamefully walking back to your office. The hum of the hospital growing quiet as the typical business day came to a close. 

There was no way he was serious… was he? It was probably just some stupid bet he had made with House. God, that would be embarrassing. Maybe you should just leave the coffee and accept that your relationship would only ever be a friendship. When all those inner arguments (and more) failed to motivate you to turn and head to your office, you thought back to that conversation with Cameron. Even if he was serious, it was unlikely to last. You didn’t want to end up hurt like so many times before… but you were interested to see where this went.

Curiosity is what did you in… so, you knocked. So, what if it’s what killed the cat? “Come in!” his voice called, slightly muffled from the other side.

You hesitantly step inside, jumping a bit as you hear the door click behind you. You had barely stepped into his office before Wilson glanced up from his desk, his expression shifting from slightly stressed to pleased when he saw it was you.

“And here I thought my afternoon was going to be boring,” he said, standing to meet you by the door.

You lift the coffee cup slightly, before handing it to him, “Just returning the favor.”

He raised his brow in curiosity, leaning back to rest against his desk. “Oh, is that all?”

His feigned disappointment was laced with more flirtation than you had noticed before.

You shook your head silently, glancing down at the floor as you felt an embarrassed blush spread across your cheeks. 

“Your note,” you say, barely above a whisper, “...intrigued me.”

That got his attention, pausing from taking a sip of the beverage you brought.

“Oh?” His smirk turned curious as he scanned you up and down. “How so?”

You hesitated, but only for a second, “You’ve really been thinking about me?”

You brought your eyes to meet his as you finished your question, masking your nerves by tightening your fingers around your cup of coffee. When your eyes met him, the look on Wilson’s face was a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

“Well, that depends,” Wilson responds, sitting the cup down and crossing his arms across his chest. “Would saying yes make me seem endearing… or deeply concerning?”

You tilt your head, feigning consideration as you build your confidence. “Hmmm… that depends on just how much you’ve been thinking about me.”

A moment of silence passed as Wilson pondered his answer, breaking it with deep breath and a step towards you.

His grin deepened, and he leaned a little closer, admitting. “More than I should, really.”

Your stomach fluttered. You hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily, so effortlessly… or even at all. The part of you that wondered if the note had been some bet was fading, but you couldn’t help expressing your doubt even as your heart pounded into your throat.

“You’re not just… messing with me, right? This isn’t some House-ordained social experiment, is it?” Your voice was softer than you had desired, hesitation dominating your tone. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but you knew better than to take things at face value when House might be involved.

Wilson studied you for a long moment, his expression nearly unreadable, except for the flicker of something undeniably heated in his eyes.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is noticeably lower than before, still smooth and warm. “No, no… this isn’t some bet. If House was putting me up to this, don’t you think it would’ve been months ago?”

He did have a point.

Wilson tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he watched you consider his argument. Then, he slowly brushed his fingertips against the edge of the desk he rested upon, fingers tapping twice, as if considering his next words carefully. Or maybe he was just giving you time to process the shift in the air between you, which had become quickly thick and charged.

"Though if it was, I would’ve lost already," he stated matter-of-factly, bringing himself to stand up right, taking a step towards you. “Because this is painfully real for me.” His gaze flickered over your face, lingering for just a beat too long at your lips before returning to your eyes.

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. "What is, exactly?"

Wilson exhaled a quiet chuckle, the sound richer, deeper than his usual easy amusement, “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, any idea of what he meant absent from your mind.

"The way I catch myself looking for you even when I know you’re not there.” Wilson’s breath came slow and measured, but you could feel the tension humming beneath it, the weight of his restraint barely holding. “The way I think about you when I know I shouldn’t.”

Wilson stepped even closer, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he thought silently. Your breath caught as you shamelessly notice the veins in his arm becoming more pronounced, the subtle flex of his hand accentuating the tension coiling beneath his skin.

"I tell myself to stop," Wilson admitted, his tone almost confessional. "That it’s unprofessional, that I should focus on work... But then you walk into the room or I hear your voice, and suddenly, I don’t care about anything else."

“Wh-what do you think of?” You asked breathlessly, looking back into his eyes.

He didn’t respond at first, a conflicted look replaced his previous vulnerability. Wilson took the coffee from your grip, gently placing it on the desk next to his before stepping back towards you. He appeared deep in thought, the crease between his brows deepening as they furrowed and he brought his hand to briefly cover his mouth. His warm brown eyes flickered over your face, searching, as if debating how much he should give away.

Then after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, slowly and steadily, “It was small things at first. How the first day we met, your quiet laugh was so genuine and radiant.” Wilson cautiously raised his hand to barely brush fingers through the hair that hugs your cheeks. “Or how you sucked in a little breath when I said your name for the first time…”

You dart your eyes away from him, feeling simultaneous embarrassment and surprise. “I, oh — that wasn’t subtle was it?”

He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, a knowing smirk appearing across his lips.

“Not at all,” Wilson teased, bringing his fingertips to caress your neck. “Should I keep going?”

You nod quickly, likely a bit too enthusiastic. His arms came up by your ears to brace the door behind you, making your heart thud in your chest even harder.

A low hum came from his throat before continuing, “Then I started to notice how your perfume would linger after you left me.” He held still for a moment, stiff with restraint. “It’s so intoxicating… I swear it follows me all day.”

As Wilson finished his sentence, his face buried into your hair and one of his hands dropped to grip your hip. Your breath hitched at his touch as his breath warmed you, shifting from beside your ear to the curve of your neck. 

“J-James,” you gasped, a near moan as his breath tickled against your skin, lips so close to touching flesh.

“I’ve tried not to think about all of it, Y/N,” he whispered deeply, barely audible. “I promise, I really have.”

The hold he had upon your hips moved to nest in the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“I’ve tried to distance myself, stay professional,” Wilson explained with a tone of desperation, bringing his eyes back to meet yours. “But then I’d always end up coming back… asking you to lunch or finding something, anything, that I could use to get a consultation from you.”

“So, what you're saying is... you’ve been using work to get closer to me?” You let a playful smile slip through, despite your nerves standing on end.

Wilson’s gaze softened, sincerity behind his eyes. “Is that so bad?” His voice was low, almost questioning. “Because, honestly… I couldn’t help myself. Every excuse I found — every consultation or referral or accidental cafeteria meet up — was just an excuse to see you. To be close to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The air around you seemed to thicken with the confession, and your breath hitched, feeling the weight of his words pressing against you. His honesty disarmed you, and you found yourself drawn in closer, despite the unspoken tension.

“And you know what?” Wilson asked, his hand in the small of your back spreading open to feel you even closer. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

“I —,” you breathe, a chill crawling up your spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” 

Of course you did.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Wilson said with a bit of bite in his tone.

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, tilting your chin just enough to where you could not avoid his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was softer now, rich with quiet amusement. “The way you look at me when you think I won’t catch you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Wilson only hummed, bringing his thumb to press against your bottom lip.

“Or how you always seem to find a reason to stay just a little longer when we talk,” he continued, his face looming closer to yours. “Like you don’t really want to leave.”

You never realized he had been paying attention to any of that, or really that you had acted on your internal feelings so obviously.

Wilson’s fingers pressed just a little firmer into your waist, bringing your body flush against you. His body was soft and warm against yours.

You swallowed hard, words unsaid stuck tied in your throat. There was no escape from the truth pressing against your ribs, demanding to be spoken. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you could stop yourself, gripping just enough to steady yourself.

“I do,” you admitted, voice hushed. “I - I think about you… all of the time.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. Relief washes over him, relaxing the tension in his shoulder and softening his facial expressions. however, the look of desire in his eyes did not fade.

“I thought so,” he murmured, voice lacking its usual teasing lilt. Instead, he sounded almost relieved. “And how do you think about me?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his question settle between you. It was so very “Wilson” — turning your own question back to you.

Your fingers stroked against his tie as you thought, evading his gaze. “The same as you — I think about you when I shouldn’t be,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m supposed to be working. I think of you whenever something good happens… or something bad, and I need to tell someone. When I see something and I wish you were there to see it too.” You bite your bottom lip, pulse thrumming wildly beneath your skin. Then, you barely mumble, “And — I think about you when I’m alone at night...”

Though your voice trails off at the end, Wilson’s body language shows that he heard exactly what you said. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, his grip at your waist tightening for just a moment, relaxing again as he exhaled slowly. As he opened his eyes, they were darker, his pupils blown with an unspoken hunger, yearning that simmered just beneath the surface.

The weight of your quiet confession hung between you, making the whole room charged. For once, he didn’t have a quick-witted remark, no teasing quip to defuse the moment. Instead, he reached up, his knuckles brushing along your cheek, his touch achingly gentle.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered. There was no real warning in his tone, but rather a slight hint of desperation.

You tilted your head into his touch. “Why not?”

His gaze flickered down to your mouth, lingering there for just a second too long before he looked back into your eyes. “Because,” he said, pausing momentarily, his face riddled with confliction, “...it makes it very, very hard to resist you.”

A rush of heat engulfs every inch of your body, making it nearly impossible to think. Before you can, your fingers dance across the fabric of his tie.

“Then don’t,” you respond quietly, the last bit of uncertainty melting away as the words escape your lips.

He didn’t move, which you had somewhat expected him to. You could feel the weight of his restraint, so tense it could snap at any moment. His jaw was clenched, as though he was just barely holding it together.

You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him to crumble — you needed him to. 

With a sharp breath, you curled your fingers tighter around his tie. You thought for only a split second before pulling him down to you with a sudden, desperate urgency that surprised both of you. Before could even think to hesitate, your lips, finally, crashed into his. 

The moment your lips met, it was as if a dam had broken inside him. You felt the weight of everything Wilson had been holding back in that kiss — the hunger, the frustration, the overwhelming need. His hand that cupped your lower back pulled you in tighter, while the other cupped your cheek, ensuring you couldn’t break away from his kiss. Wilson’s lips were so soft yet demanding, the hint of sweet coffee on his tongue as he coaxed you open, exploring you with a raw intensity. His breath was hot against your mouth between kisses. A low, needy groan came from him as he deepened your embrace, motivating your entire body to react, heat pooling in familiar, secret places.

The rhythm of the kiss became frantic, desperate, each movement clumsy and raw, breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You could feel the loss of control in every touch, every trembling sigh that escaped your lips. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer with need. He obliged, his fingers tracing feverishly from your back to your waist, skimming upward to your ribcage, then to the curve of your breast, each touch sending jolts of heat through your body.

Then, Wilson’s lips reluctantly left yours, only to trace the line of your jaw with messy kisses, his breath erratic. “Y/N,” he said between kisses, nearly begging. “I can’t… you have to tell me to stop.”

You shook your head, against his request. “Not a chance, James,” you breathed, your voice raw with need. The next words felt like they were ripped from your soul, a silent plea to let go, to fully give in to what had been brewing for months before. “Don't stop. Please – don’t stop.”

Wilson’s lips found yours again, rougher this time, his hands clutching you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Wilson pushed you further against the wall, lifting you up just slightly so his hips aligned with yours.

There was an undeniable ache between your legs, where the heat had gathered earlier, beginning to throb and grow slick with need. Your desire for friction was so overwhelming, you hadn’t even noticed your hips rolling into his with desperation until Wilson groaned, low and guttural, separating your kiss once more.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” he asked, his words soft and just centimeters away from your lips.

“I’m sure,” You nod with reassurance. “Because this,” you whisper against his cheek, the heat of your breath brushing against his ear, “is just the beginning of what I think about when I’m alone.” The words were more than a confession, but also a promise and a challenge all at once.

“Christ, are you trying to kill me?” Wilson muttered, words laden with shock. 

He dipped his head lower, pressing open-mouth kisses from your lips down the nape of your neck and onto your collarbone. His hands began to explore further, tugging your blouse from its tucked position, slipping his finger beneath the fabric. The built up tension made his touch sting, sending a shiver down your spine and the heat beneath your legs becoming practically unbearable.

“Please, James,” you whimper, a handful of his hair and the other dipping down, applying friction in an attempt to relieve your need.

He drew back, studying the quiet plea upon your face and your hand trembling against your still-clothed center, attempting to find satisfaction as you rocked your hips. You could only imagine how pitiful you looked, but it was entirely overwhelming for Wilson. His breath caught in his throat and he fell to his knees, lips parted with desire and his brown doe eyes looking up, with an expression that was almost fawning.

Wilson reached behind you to find the handle of his office door, which he clicked into the lock position. Still on his knees, he watched you silently for a few more seconds, admiring the look upon your face. Your brows furrowed in desperation, soft grunts escaping your lips, as you unsuccessfully searched for your release. He stared up at you, soaking it all in.

Then, suddenly, both his hands gripped the fabric on the outer sides of your thighs, shifting your skirt upwards to your waist and revealing your shamelessly soaked panties. The sudden rush of air hitting your sex made you gasp, chills climbing up your stomach and hardening your nipples. 

Before you could fully process the atmosphere overwhelming your senses, Wilson brought his pointer finger to slowly glide over the damp spot of your underwear, running perfectly between your covered folds. As he reached your clit, your breath hitched, prompting a teasing smirk to grow across his cheeks.

“Now,” he sighed, still basking in the sight. “I’m going to show you what I’ve thought about doing to you,” he paused, placing a gentle kiss against your mound, before continuing slowly, “…Every. Single. Time. You wear a skirt like this.”

A moan escapes you as his fingers hook on either side of your underwear, pulling them down to expose you entirely. Instinctively, you kick them off your ankles.

“God, you’re so…,” Wilson places careless kisses against your thighs, admiring your bare pussy before him, “so perfect.”

You look down at him, reveling at the sight of your pussy on full display. Just as you wrap your fingers in his hair, he lunges forward, pressing his lips against your clit, bracing your back with one hand, and spreading your thighs open with the other. Your legs go weak as his tongue darts out and begins lapping at you relentlessly. The mix of his soft lips intermittently sucking your clit and the deep pressure of his fingers digging into your flesh, is so consuming that you absentmindedly tighten your grip on Wilson’s hair. You begin pushing and pulling him while bucking your hips into his mouth, fighting desperately to reach your climax.

He can sense your need, which is reflected as his tongue begins to flick more methodically against your clit in addition to providing suction. His dominant hand joins his mouth, one finger massaging your entrance before slipping between your folds. Your body responds almost immediately, becoming even more aroused as he introduces a second finger, pumping you with a complementary rhythm to the one he is devouring you with.

The sensation is so overwhelming that there are tears in your eyes, and cry-like whimpers escape softly from your mouth. “P-please, I’m so close.”

He maintains his pace, but curls his fingers just enough to find the exact spot where you needed stimulation most. Looking down at him, seeing his mouth full of you and his pupils blown wide with desire is too much to handle. His lips provide deep suction against your swollen clit and the tension burning in your stomach releases. You are overcome with pleasure as you ride out your orgasm on Wilson’s face, his fingers and tongue still putting in work to ensure he can lap up every last drop.

When you were finally able to catch your breath, your legs were impossibly weak. You steadied yourself against Wilson’s body as he rose to his feet, a look of teasing satisfaction on his face.

“You taste so sweet," he hummed, his voice low and lustful. He pulled you flush against him, the heat between you both rising with every second. As his tongue flicked against yours, you could taste yourself mixed with him, the fire inside you burning brighter with every passing second. He groaned softly as you deepened the kiss as if he couldn’t help himself anymore.

You pulled back, barely able to catch your breath, lips swollen from the intensity of his kiss. "You know, I did expect you to be a giver," you teased, running your tongue over your lips. "But that… that was better than anything I ever imagined."

“That’s because I’ve been obsessed with the idea of what you’d taste like…,” he breathed, his words thick with need, “And the scent of you… God - I’ve been dreaming about it, craving it, for months now.” He couldn’t stop himself from groaning, the raw honesty in his admission pushing you to pull him down by his tie, lips crashing together again in a messy, heated kiss.

You broke away after a few moments, breathing heavily, a smile curling on your lips as you slowly pulled his tie loose. “Well, since one of your fantasies has been fulfilled," you sighed, tone heavy with teasing lust, “it’s only fair that one of mine gets to be, too. Don’t you think?”

You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. There were so many thoughts that had run through your mind — so many fantasies you’d envisioned over and over again, but there was one that had played over and over in your mind far more than the rest.

For a moment, he was mute with anticipation, admiring how your fingers began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt. By the time words finally break from his throat, one of your hands is caressing down his chest, the other grazing along the waistline of his pants.

“I’ll give you anything, whatever you want.” He assures, reaching to cup your cheek. Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, but his voice cracks as he pleads in a near whisper, “Just tell me — but don’t stop touching me, please.”

His plea is so raw, so desperate, it makes your heart race, your pulse quickening in response. You can feel the weight of his need, how much he’s willing to surrender, and it sends a wave of satisfaction through you. You can’t help but feel a deep sense of accomplishment hearing the vulnerability and desperation in his voice.

You let your fingers trail over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. A slow, teasing smirk grows across your face as you lock eyes with him. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, you know.”

His breath catches, his pupils dilating as his gaze flickers to your lips. The heat between you both is undeniable, and the anticipation thickens.

“Tell me... tell me what you’ve been thinking,” he mutters with desperation.

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, your words a slow, tantalizing whisper, “I’ve been imagining you… having your way with me, right here on your office desk.”

The words hang in the air and you watch as his body reacts, muscles tightening and his throat bobbing with a heavy swallow.

"I’ve imagined you pushing me onto this desk, your hands all over me, taking control, claiming me,” you hum, bringing your hand to brush against the bulge in his pants. “No hesitation. Just you, making me lose myself in you."

 A deep groan escapes his lips, your words and touch unraveling him. Wilson’s eyes squeeze shut as he tilts his head back as if he’s struggling to regain some sense of control. Then, without warning, his lips crash against yours. His kiss is frantic, starved for you. His hands grip you, sliding up your back, threading through your hair, pressing you so close it’s like he wants you under his skin.

"You have no idea," he moans between kisses, breath hot and uneven, "how many times I’ve wanted this, too. How many times I’ve thought about throwing everything off this desk and putting you right where you belong — right under me.”

The words send chills down your spine, desire coiling tight in your stomach. His hands are already moving, feverish and impatient, pushing under your clothes, dragging his fingertips over every sliver of bare skin he can reach. You gasp into his mouth as his grip tightens around your waist. 

Then, in one swift motion, Wilson’s hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. The sound of scattered papers and objects hitting the floor barely registers before he’s on you again, mouth crashing against yours, feverish and insatiable, his tongue sweeping in, tasting, teasing, like he’s trying to devour every gasp, every moan.

 His hands roam with an urgency that borders on worship — gripping, kneading, learning every inch of you that he’s been deprived of for far too long. Then, with a low, needy groan, his fingers find the hem of your blouse, tugging it up, over your torso, leaving your top nearly bare before him. The fabric is barely gone before his lips descend, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. A sharp gasp comes from your throat as chills scatter across the tops of your breasts, your skin prickling at the contrast of the cool air and the heat of his breath.

Wilson takes a slow, deliberate step back, his gaze raking over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of the sight before him. His chest rises and falls, his lips still parted from your last kiss. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, his fingers move to his belt. The slow slide of leather through the loops is deliberate. His knuckles graze his waistband as he pulls the belt free, the flex of muscle beneath his sleeves hinting at the tension coiling just beneath his skin.

As Wilson tosses his belt to the ground, the air feels thicker, heavier, expectation crackling between you, leaving you breathless with want. You have truly never felt this aroused in your life, your heart rate quickening, muscles tense, and every sensitive part of you swollen with desire. You never expected that you would ever really be laying on top of Wilson’s desk, watching him undress and waiting for him to take advantage of your body — let alone that he had thought about it, too.

As he moves back towards you, slacks now undone, you can’t help but notice the outline of his prominent erection straining beneath his boxer briefs. You reach out to touch him, but he meets you first — his hands slipping under your skirt, fingers digging into your skin before drawing the fabric down your legs. As the garment falls to the ground, Wilson kisses up your legs and to your torso, caressing every part he does not touch with his lips with his fingertips. Eventually, he meets your breasts, still guarded by your bra, placing kisses along the valley between them. He then cups both of them with his hands before sliding behind you to unhook the final bit of clothing that was keeping you from being completely nude before him.

As Wilson pulled the thin barrier of fabric from your body, his warm hand replaced the supportive cups that protected your tender breasts. His eyes linger on your chest, admiring as it rises and falls, thumbs grazing over your hardened nipples. Your breath seizes in your throat as he takes one into his mouth, suction pulling between gentle flicks of his tongue. 

As much pleasure as you feel in this moment, you can’t help but remember Wilson’s bulge, hard and twitching just underneath a layer of cloth. You sit forward, propping yourself up on your forearms, prompting a perplexed look from Wilson who was reluctantly releasing his mouth from your breast.

“Everything okay?” he inquires, catching his breath. 

You do not answer him with words, instead you lean forward and bring your palm to press softly against his bulge. Wilson’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted in a struggle between ache and pleasure as a grunt escaped him. He was full and swollen as you gripped him firmly through his briefs, precum staining the fabric darker.

You kiss his chest softly as you sneak your hand beneath his waistband. His flesh was hot as your fingers danced across his erection, which jerked in response. You wrap your hand around him, savoring how strained and tense his thick cock feels, before bringing your thumb to glide down the slit.

“I need to feel you inside of me,” you insist with a begging tone, eyes fluttering up at him with need.

Before any words come from his lips, his dick is already out and Wilson is stroking it with painfully slow, drawn-out motions. The head of his cock is swollen and flushed and a prominent vein on the underside is near-throbbing with with every motion.

 “God, yes,” he groaned in agreement with your request, before pulling you down closer to the edge of the desk. “Spread yourself open for me, beautiful.”

Without taking time to think, you separate your legs, bringing your fingers down to glide through your slickness. Wilson revels in the sight, but still moves towards you — his earlier restraint melted away entirely. Placing one hand on your thigh, he uses the other to guide his cock to massage between your labia, tip grazing against your clit, sending shock-like waves of pleasure through you. He stays there for a moment, gliding himself through your folds, properly preparing both of you before lining up with your entrance.

You lock eyes, both of your faces twisted with anticipation and desperation, as he begins to sink into you with a pace so slow and deliberate it is nearly excruciating. At the same time, you were grateful for this patient approach, as the thickness of his cock stretches you out, creating the perfect mix of pain and pleasure across every inch of your body.

“Y/N,” Wilson cries in a hushed whisper, nearly half-way inside of you. “Y-you’re so tight a-and warm… damn.”

You moan in satisfaction at his words, hands searching for something to hold onto as you unravel beneath him. Seeing your fingers wrap around the edge of the desk, Wilson reaches one hand down to intertwine with yours. There is something intimate and touching about how he holds your hand as he presses deeper into you, true care mixing into this moment of raw lust.

As he bottoms out, feeling the base of his dick against your pussy, your free hand clings to his back, fingernails digging into the skin beneath his shoulder blades. Wilson fills you perfectly, stretching you just enough to still surround him like a sheath. You have never felt this full before, which makes you even more aroused, bucking your hips to grind your clit against his groin. It must look utterly pitiful, but you can’t help but search for friction.

“Fuck, you’re stretching me out so good,” you whine, pitch higher than before and laced with pleasure.

Looking up for reassurance, you see Wilson’s face is blown with pleasure, slack-jawed and brows knit together, pupils blown. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles, slowly pushing the first full thrust into you.

It doesn’t take long for him to build up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, despite your walls attempting to cling to him with every entrance and exit. 

Despite the pace being steady and his strokes being deep enough you feel them in your stomach, there is something so soft in the way Wilson fucks you — more as if it wasn’t fucking at all, but more like making love. His eyes look over you with admiration, like he’s soaking in every motion of your body, and the hand not holding yours roams freely across your skin, frequently nestling fingers against your aching clit. When a cry escapes you as he begins rubbing it in figure eights, he presses a kiss to your lips — not only to muffle the sound but as an indication that he loves to make you feel this way.

He whispers against your lips as he breaks the kiss. “You feel amazing, better than anything I ever dreamed…” You feel him trembling with overwhelm as he continues breathlessly. “I-I’ve never felt — fuck — any pussy as perfect as yours.”

“James,” you gasp, feeling his dick hit against the most sensitive area inside you. “Please, keep going… r-right there.”

Wilson nods eagerly, in surrendering agreement, “Anything you want, my love. I’ll do anything for you.”

He keeps true to his promise, continuing the same pressure and angle of his thrusts until you’re completely undone beneath him — vision blurry and every inch of your body nearly numb with pleasure. The only thing keeping you grounded is your back against wood and his hand still holding yours.

You can barely form thoughts, let alone words when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on them needily and grunting enough that low vibrations hum against your chest. Every inch of you was buzzing with pleasure, but you felt the familiar pressure grow deep within you.

“I - I’m going to cum,” you manage to say, looking down at him with pleading eyes.

Wilson releases his latch from your breast, barely taking time to catch his breath when he provides a pressured reply, “Please, please cum on my cock. Shit — I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

His permission is all you need to let go as he keeps up his pace, working your clit relentlessly with his free hand. Your eyes roll back into your head as the sensation of heat rushes across your trembling thighs, walls clenching around Wilson’s thick cock as you cum. The pressure slowly lessens and your clit is throbbing from overstimulation when you come back to reality, your mind still foggy in bliss.

“That was so fucking hot,” Wilson whines, face scrunched with the sweet agony of pleasure. You can tell he’s close, before he even tells you, through strained breaths. “Y/N — tell me where I can cum. I’m so close, please.”

“Cum in me,” you beg, consumed with feverish need. “I’m on the pill. Baby, please — fucking fill me with your cum.”

A guttural groan leaves Wilson’s lips as he hears your request, his dick twitching inside of you. “Christ — yes. I was hoping you’d say that.”

With a few more strokes, you feel him become rigid inside of you and his breath hitches in his throat as he releases inside of you. The warmth of his cum coating your walls sends a rush of bliss throughout your body, a soft yet satisfied smile growing across your face.

You both try to catch your breath as you come down from your shared high, soaking in the last seconds of being physically one. As Wilson’s tense body relaxes, he nearly collapses on top of you, bare chests still heaving and sweat-laden pressed against one another. You’re both exhausted, yet idyllically happy. You run your fingers through his now-damp hair as his breath slowly returns to a normal pattern.

The quiet hum of the room settles around you and the faint rustle of fabric begins to fill the air. You both begin to dress, but the heat between you lingers, tangible and unspoken. As you pull your skirt up over your hips, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, you instinctively glance at him. His eyes are fixed on you, intense, almost reverent, as if he wanted every moment, every movement, etched into his mind. The tenderness in his stare is enough to make your heart race like he's memorizing every inch of you, this closeness, this shared silence.

You gather your hair, pulling it into a ponytail, a vain attempt to fix the mess it’s become. As your fingers complete the final loop, Wilson steps towards you, cupping your face with his hands and bringing you in for a tender kiss. His thumb traces your cheek with a tenderness so light, it feels almost like a whisper. Your fingers weave through his hair, drawing him closer, as if you’re aching to be closer, wanting to melt into him, as if he hadn’t just been inside you. The moment is quiet and brief — but feels like an eternity. You both linger in it, savoring the silence that speaks volumes.

As the kiss ends, the absence of his lips on yours leaves a hollow ache, but it is almost immediately remedied when he speaks. “Come home with me?” Wilson asks, his voice wrapped in a quiet, inviting warmth. 

His eyes search yours, steady and sincere, yet there’s something more behind it, something vulnerable like he’s offering you a piece of himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long... wanted you,” he says in a near-whisper, his tone thick with emotion. “Now that I’ve had you... I can’t stand the thought of letting you go.”

The sensitivity in his voice makes your heart race, his words carrying all the unspoken hopes you’ve both held onto these past few months. You let the moment stretch between you, just enough to collect yourself, but not long enough to let the fear of doubt slip into his mind.

“Of course, I’ll come with you,” you respond quietly, your voice filled with affection as you press a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. “I don’t want to be anywhere but with you. We’ve both waited long enough for this, haven’t we?” 

A soft, almost disbelieving smile appears on his face, as he threads his fingers gently around yours. “I’m so glad you said that,” he sighs in relief, his voice thick with sincerity. 

“I’m yours, James,” you assure him, squeezing his hand in return. "I have been for a long time.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmurs in a pleased tone, a look of admiration beaming down at you. 

“I think you’ve shown me that tonight,” you reply with a slight tease. The months of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, all seem to settle into this one moment—solid, certain, and undeniably real. “Take me home?”

His smile deepens, tender and unguarded as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get out of here,” he says softly, opening his office door. 

The silence as you walk hand-in-hand down the hall is no longer heavy with anticipation but is instead filled with something quieter, more certain. Peaceful. 

Outside, the cool night air hits your skin, stinging as it contrasts your flushed cheeks. Wilson pulls you close as you walk, his thumb tracing soft circles against the back of your hand. Neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of contentment and understanding. Every glance, every brush of his fingers against yours, a language all its own.

When you reach his car, he pauses, turning to face you as if needing to see you clearly beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. His gaze lingers on your face, soft and searching, before he leans in and presses a tender kiss to your lips, sealing some still-unspoken promise.

“Home,” he whispers breathlessly, the single word carrying more weight than it should. As you settle into the passenger seat beside him, heart thrumming in your chest, you know, deep within you, that you’re finally right where you’re meant to be.

[naumin]

How to format, print, and bind a zine

This is a consolidated version of previous posts on zine making, with more detail and screenshots. For a version of this post on gdocs, click here.

This is a step-by-step guide on how to use InDesign (or similar programs) to format and print a zine. This can be used for fanzines, sketchbooks, anything. It’s also only one way to do things - there are as many methods as there are zines under the sun. If you’re interested in other ways, searching for zinemaking on youtube would be a start.

If you are printing your zine, your total page count must be a multiple of 4.

Examples of multiples of 4 ✅

4, 16, 112

Not a multiple of 4 ❌

7, 99, 31

This is because our book will be made of folded A4 sheets (that’s regular printer paper). 1 folded A4 makes 2 A5 pages. Each A5 page has a front and back. Therefore each sheet of paper makes 4 pages.

How to format

Open InDesign. Go to Create New > Print. Choose A5 and tick Facing Pages. Enter your page number (this can be changed later). I’ve put 12. Hit Create.

Locate the Rectangle Frame Tool.

Draw a rectangle over your whole page, or just the part where you want your images to go.

Press Ctrl+D and insert the image you want on that page.

That’s it! Repeat on every page and you’ll have a book. Promise.

Further reading

I need a free alternative to InDesign.

InDesign is free for the savvy but I also recommend Scribus which is free and open source and very lightweight. The method is exactly the same but the Rectangle Frame Tool is called Image Frame and the Ctrl+D shortcut will now be Right click > Get Image instead.

I need help with designing my A5 pages.

For my first sketchbook zines, I arranged several images on an A5 canvas in a program like CSP or Procreate and exported them as a JPG into InDesign or Scribus. You can do this if your images aren’t already A5 size or you don’t want to waste time with InDesign’s formatting tools.

I need to get fancier with it, format text, or export my file as small as possible.

Here are the InDesign tutorials I used and liked:

How to Add Page Numbers

How to keep Page Numbers on Top

How to Create a Table of Contents

What is Overset Text and How to Fix It <- essential for formatting text onto multiple pages

How to Reduce InDesign File Sizes

Formatting best practices

Remember that in addition to your front and back cover you also have an inside front and inside back cover. You can leave these blank or create an endpaper with a pattern or include a short message or something. Look inside any books or zines on your shelf for inspiration. Or don’t listen to me and put your first drawing or poem there. Just be aware printer paper is thin so you might be able to see it through the cover.

Avoid putting anything important in the gutter (inside edge) or outside edges of the page. Also be careful of creating double page spreads that go across the centre of the book. Because of how we will print and fold the pages, each half of your spread might not meet up perfectly. 

How to print it out

Open your completed book’s PDF file in Acrobat Reader (free download: https://get.adobe.com/reader/)

Print with the following settings: Booklet, and Booklet subset: Both sides. 

We can see a preview of our print-out on the window on the right. The pages will look jumbled up, but form the book in order when folded.

Congratulations! Now you’ll have a stack of paper. Once it’s folded it should resemble your (unbound) final book. Use a bulldog clip or similar to keep your pages together neatly.

How to bind (2 methods)

If your book is less than 30 pages, I recommend using a long arm stapler, or a stapler that can open to lay flat. They are cheap.

There are also special book binding staplers or heavy duty staplers, if your book is thicker than 30 pages. Just position your book so the staples are in the middle of the spine (or as close as you can get) and send it. They will be a little wonky… that’s fine.

You can also separate your book into staple-able segments and then join them into 1 big book with tape or thread.

For my 112-page zine, I used thread to bind it.

These instructions are copied from the video ‘How to Print & Bind a Zine’ by LFONinja.

You can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKYy6G7lIy8

You will need: Ruler, awl, thread, sewing needle

Make 5 holes in the crease of the pages like so. (½ page, then ½ of that, then ½ of that again)

If the paper is thick, be careful when making the holes. It helps to have a piece of blu tack, putty, or soft eraser underneath the spine of the book as you work for the point of the awl to push into.

I don’t recommend separating the papers into smaller stacks as your measurements will likely vary and the holes won’t align.

Use a needle and thread to go through the holes in the following pattern. At the end, tie a knot with the ends of the thread (1 and 9) in the centre of the book. You’re now done.

About page creep

Because we are using folded pages inserted into each other, they push each other out like so:

From: https://www.greenerprinter.com/ support/page-creep/

You can use a heavy duty or industrial paper cutter/trimmer to remove this edge. This is why we kept any important contents away from the edge of the page during formatting, because we don’t want this process to destroy our book’s contents.

About image edges

Because of how the printer works, the images in the book don’t extend all the way to the very edges of the paper and have a thin white border on all sides. It’s possible to crop these edges from your book with a heavy duty paper cutter. Be careful and start small (3mm or less). Depending on how much your pages move during the printing process, the size of the white edge can be different on different pages. Or you can just leave them in.

To read some of the zines featured in this post, check out naumin.itch.io.