#dwarf x dwarf was always meant to be

[a-drama-addict]

also “dwarf wlw suspended” is a lie we all know i will still do it

[milkis-deepspace]

sylus x reader - caring for you

a/n: i saw a tweer about intimate non-sexual showering and it was stuck in my mind so, bon appetite!

intimate showering

while this could be one of those scenarios where lust could come up to the surface but this time, this moment was meant for tenderness. you and sylus hadn’t seen each other for way too long and needed to spend every moment together. you took off his layers - a dress shirt and pants - while he could have easily thrown in a little comment about you stripping him, this moment was a gentle one. when it was his turn, he was as gentle as the snow. he took of your hunter uniform with all the care and put it into the clothing bin. he even took the time to brush your hair, so that it would be easier to shower with. getting out all the stubborn knots and tangles. as you two stood naked as the day you were born, you stepped into the big shower. the water pressure was heavenly.

“close your eyes,” he almost whispered to you.

sylus started with adding shampoo to your hair. massaging your scalp, knowing where you were tense. he used his hands to soap your body, massaging your neck and shoulders. your eyes were closed as sylus took care of you. in this moment you wished you two could stay here forever. in his arms where you would be cared for. as he rinsed the soap off, he gave your cheek a peck to wake you up from your thoughts.

“you need to stay awake for a little while longer,”

he turned off the water and led you out to dry you. you had your own towel set at sylus’ since you spent so much of your time here anyways and sylus wanted to make you feel at home. he dried off your body and found your lotions. this wasn’t the first time he took care of you like this, but it surely gave you the same amount of butterflies as the first time. he was ever efficient and quickly got you into your sleepwear. while you didn’t notice, the pyjamas he chose were the ones you had bought together. it was a matching pair to commemorate you completing a mission.

he motioned for you to walk and sit in the bedroom. you sat with your eyes closed, not having anymore energy to open them. he came back with hairdryer in hand. the hot air from the hairdryer made you even more drowsy, and sylus made sure to not keep the dryer too close to you. in these moments your guards were truly down, and it was a privilege to take care of you like this. you had surrendered every wall for sylus. it brought him satisfaction to care for you. he was the only one to see you like this and he would never take it for granted. he kisses the top of your head and sighs fondly. sylus finds your head to be cute. it's the place where your funny, silly thoughts come alive. whenever he felt the burst of fondness beginning to pop out he would pet your head, ruffle your hair, and kiss your silly forehead. this was also a way for him to smile unbashedly while you were too busy with either blushing or or shaking your head trying to shake his hand off.

as your hair was dry, he turned the dryer off, kissed your forehead and carried you to bed, “time for bed, sweetheart.”

as the clocked ticked, exhaustion pulled the blanket over the two of you. closely entwined with the care of someone stroking a flower petals, your hands were naturally entwined. while his hands dwarfed yours - his hands engulfing yours were secretly something you looked forward to, thus you would continuesly seek out his hands. sometimes you needed his hands to warm you up, other times you seeked them to cool down, occasionally to compare hand sizes, and always seeking them out to feel safer. you were close yet not close enough. you moved your gaze once more from the ceiling to sylus and saw that he was already slumbering. your legs found his and made themselves at home and you put your head on his shoulder, burying your nose into his neck, wanting to be engulfed by his scent and needing more of his warmth to lullaby you to sleep.

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Bully- Part 1

Summary: Your bully's, Gojo and Geto, find out an embarrassing secret of yours and will never let you live it down. But maybe, you don't want them to.

Disclaimer: 18+ fic. Gojo X Fem reader X Geto. Humiliation kink. Free use kink. Gojo and Geto being mean. Bully Geto and Gojo. Dub-con warning. It is subtly implied that reader wants and enjoys what's happening to her, but the boys don't care to ask for consent.

a/n: Sorry it took so long wah but here's part one to the series. I plan to write many more cause damn it is so fun haha. I promise, the next part will have all the gratuitous smut and ruthless fucking this premise deserves. Consider this an appetizer <3

Taglist: @bisexuawolfsalt @candycandy00 @nekonanamii @sirimiripetrichor @collectionofdolls @dreamsxmerci

You sighed as you walked towards your classroom, dragging your feet, knowing full well what was waiting for you. It was the end of the day and it was your turn to clean up the classroom and just your luck- you were paired up with the two people you couldn't stand.

Gojo and Geto. The two 'strongest' sorcerers of your school. Their reputation preceded them. One of them was the prodigal son of a famous family with a deadly technique while the other had an incredibly useful and powerful skill as well. Everyone disliked them to some extent, but nobody could deny that the Jujutsu world would be worse without them.

Which is why it always confused you as to why these two powerful men seemed to love bullying you.

They were never malicious but damn if they weren't annoying. They loved to tease and prank you, joking about how weak you were and how you couldn't do anything by yourself. Forget the fact that you were actually quite strong and capable- but compared to them- everyone was weak.

But they seemed to enjoy bullying you especially even if there were classmates who were of lower grade than you. Stealing your drink right before you were going to take it from the vending machine, taking unflattering pictures of you and distributing it, embarrassing you in front of strangers by treating you like a dumb baby in front of them, making loud sex noises if you were on the phone with someone, tossing away your books and stealing your money-

Gojo spanking your ass casually a few times, Geto licking off some chocolate that was smeared next to your lips like it was a normal thing to do and even that one time when they cornered you in the hallway and convinced you to let them grope your boobs:

"If you let us squeeze your tits, we'll leave you alone for a week~" Gojo had said, wangling his fingers comically as they both stared at your chest like perverts. The offer was too good to give up which led to them squeezing your clothed tits for ten second each before they left, laughing at how easy it was to use you. And of course, they continued to bother you anyway.

You could have made a complaint to the higher ups about their behavior, something your friends have told you to do but you refused. You didn't want to be the wuss who was running to the elders over something so childish when everyone has an important job to do. Dealing with some bullying was easy compared to fighting to the death with some curses.

Besides, if you reported on them...

You steeled yourself before opening to the door to the classroom, met with the sight you expected: Gojo and Geto, lounging around, not doing any work as they waited for you to do it for them because, in their words: 'the weaklings need to put in more effort'.

But what you were not expecting to see was your phone in Gojo's hand using earplugs that he had connected to the device. You knew you left your phone in the locker assigned to you in the hallways which meant these two managed to pick the lock and take it. But the anger over that was dwarfed by your sudden realization:

The way they were looking at you as you closed the door, giving you a shocked look but you could tell there was an underlying hint of pure glee.

Uh oh.

"Give me back my-"

You yelped as Geto suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him, barely giving you a second to collect yourself before he wrapped his arms around your neck, catching you in a choke-hold. Before you could even react, he pulled your back against him and manhandled you as he sat on a classroom bench and forced you to sit between his legs, wrapping said legs around you. You were completely caught, your nails doing nothing even as you dug it into his arms.

"Holy fuck!" Gojo explained, eyes wide and a huge grin on his face as he continued to listen to the audio on your phone, looking over at you and Geto opposite of the table he was sitting on, "You're a perverted freak, aren't you?"

"Give it back!" you snapped, grunting in annoyance as you tried to break out of Geto's hold but the man simply laughed as he held you tighter, his legs not budging.

"This is some nasty stuff!" Gojo continued, "Who knew a weakling like you would be such a masochistic slut~" he removed the earbuds from the socket and increased the volume as he confirmed what you had feared:

"Yeah? you like that don't you? Little slut~" a man's voice echoed throughout the room from your phone speakers, "Everybody looking at you as I fuck this sloppy little pussy~ Oh this cunt is dripping for me- did you like being spanked in front of them so much?"

It was an erotic audio you had saved on your phone, one of many that you enjoyed in private. You had even saved it under non-suspicious names which meant that the boys were digging through your files to find something- and they did.

"This isn't even the only one we heard, you know." Gojo explained as he dangled the phone in front of you mockingly, "What was it again? A girl getting humiliated by her teacher in front of her classmates-"

"A girl getting groped by her boyfriend on a crowded train." Geto recollected, his lips so close to your ear you could feel his hot breath dance against your skin.

"Being used as a free-use toy by a group of guys~" Gojo said, a giant shit eating grin on his face, "Seems like this one has a humiliation kink~"

"I'm not surprised." Geto said, leaning into your ear and blowing into it, making you gasp and jump, "No wonder she never reported us to the principle for all the times we preyed on her. She was probably enjoying it."

"Oh!" Gojo said like he just realized it, "Was that why? Was your pussy growing wet every time we bullied you, little slut?"

"Fuck you." you spat out, both of the men laughing in response.

"Yeah, I bet you wanted us to fuck you." Geto growled into your ear, your shiver not going unnoticed by him, "You're fucking loving this~"

"Why don't we check?" Gojo suggested, cutting off anything you might have said, his hands inching towards your belt, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, "Let's see for ourselves if we made your pussy wet~"

"Gojo-"

"That's a great plan!" Geto interrupted, laughing as he tightened his hold your your neck, making you gasp, "Take those pants off. So baggy and loose- what a waste of a nice ass."

"I agree." Gojo said, finger now running over the metal of your belt, "it hides so much. With what I felt everytime I've spanked you- your pants do you no favors."

"Don't you- fucking dare!" You choked out, face turning slightly red from the lack of air and from Gojo slowly starting to fiddle with your belt.

"Oh, what are you gonna do about it, little slut?" Gojo teased, licking his lips as his long, lithe fingers started to tug at the leather of your belt, "Look at your fucking face- that look in your eyes? You're loving this."

"No- I'm not- fuck-" you sputtered out, failing to convey your frustrations. You couldn't stand these two assholes. Constantly picking on you and thinking they were so high and mighty- treating you like a bug on their path. So smug and narcissistic and not caring about anyone but themselves-

But as much as you'd hate to admit it, you couldn't deny that your body was throbbing. Everytime they bullied you, you felt that heat. Your heart-rate quickened and your pussy would grow wet, leaving you a confused mess every-time you got bullied. When it first happened, you didn't understand what was happening. Through some internet searching, you found those audios and realized you weren't the only one out there.

A masochist with a humiliation kink.

And without them knowing, the two guys you hate were fulfilling those fantasies for you.

Well now, they were more than aware.

"Come on, little bitch~" Geto cooed into your ear, his silky voice making you shudder, "Why settle with these audios when you can experience the real thing?"

"I...I..." you panted, heat rushing to your face and your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel your pussy dampen and had no doubt that if Gojo actually took your pants off, they'd see you be wet and needy.

"Too slow~" Gojo suddenly said, unbuckling your belt in a matter of seconds before ripping it off of you just as fast, throwing it aside. You yelped as you instinctively struggled, Geto laughing behind you as he tightened his hold on you even more, rendering you helpless. Gojo laughed as well, his bright blue eyes peeking from behind his glasses as you could see the gleam of excitement in them.

"You excited, little bitch?" Gojo cooed, licking his lips as his hands started trailing up your leg, running over the fabric of your pants as he inched up higher and higher. Everywhere he touched felt like it was on fire, a rush of heat coursing through you.

"He asked you a question." Geto said, clicking his tongue as you refused to say anything, "Weren't you taught any manners?"

"Fucking- i'll kill you-" you gasped out, face growing redder as you heard Geto's growl of annoyance, feeling the vibration of his chest against your back. "Don't worry about it, Suguru." Gojo said, smirking as he started undoing the buttons of your pants, "We can punish her later for her disrespect. For now, I just want to get at this pussy~"

With a big grin, Gojo ripped your pants off of you in one fell swoop, making you squeal as he tossed it away. You shivered as your bare legs were exposed to the evening air as well as their lecherous stares. You could see Gojo's eyes trail up your legs before zoning in on your clothed pussy, the man letting out a snort as he took in your panties.

"Pink with a bow on? Really?" he joked, "how plain and not sexy."

"I think they're cute." Geto chimed in, also shamelessly staring down at your clothed cunt, "But it doesn't matter. It's not going to be on her for long, anyway."

"True." Gojo said with a nod as he hooked his finger into the waistband of your panties and pulled it out before letting go, allowing the elastic to slap back against you, "but next time, wear something sexier."

"I hate you- so much!" you snarled, face bright red, biting your lower lip as the white haired man looped his fingers back into the waistband of your panties, this time, very obviously wanting to get it off of you. You gasped, unable to stop your shivers as Gojo leaned forward and placed a kiss on your tummy, his tongue peeking out to lick at your skin as he slowly starting pulling your panties down. He laughed as you tried to squiggle out but your movements only made the slide of your panties all the more easier for him.

"Look at that~" Gojo gasped as your cunt got exposed, practically drooling as he stared like a pervert, a twinkle behind his blue eyes, "You might be a weakling but atleast you have a pretty pussy."

"Atleast she's good for something~" Geto teased, shuffling behind you and in that moment, you felt it. Something long, hard and thick pressed up against your back and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what that was. You gulped as you felt the imprint of Geto's cock against you, unable to help yourself as your eyes darted towards the front of Gojo's pants and sure enough: His erection was straining against it.

They were too focused on your cunt to notice where you were looking and you were too focused on their dicks to notice that your panties were now completely off and that Gojo had tossed the fabric aside. Geto immediately hooked his legs over your own before forcefully spreading them apart, leaving you wide and exposed to their perverted gazes. Gojo let out a whistle as he dragged a chair over before sitting on it, his face now right across your bare cunt.

"Fuck- fuck you- fuck you!" you gasped out and cursed, feeling lightheaded from the situation. "How does she look?" Geto asked, both of them ignoring you and you could hear the hunger in his voice and the sensation of his cock twitching against you. "Oh, she's perfect~" Gojo responded and you knew they were referring to your pussy as its own person- somehow giving it more praise and respect than they've ever given you, "And oh so wet~"

"I want to see." Geto demanded, not having the same view as Gojo, "Can't let you have all the fun."

"Sure thing, pal." Gojo said, not taking his eyes off of your pussy as he continued to stare, hand reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. "Gojo- don't you dare-" You barked out, understanding what he was going to do- but what you hoped sounded aggressive came out soft and subservient. The man simply snorted in response, ignoring your pleas as he opened up his phone camera and started taking pictures of your pussy. You shut your eyes and squealed everytime you heard the shutter of the camera, trembling body still held tightly in Geto's arms.

"Her hole clenches every-time I take a picture~" Gojo cooed, bringing a hand up to thumb at your pussy lips before spreading them apart even more, making your back arch against Geto, "And look at this little clit! So fucking cute!"

"Just show it to me already!" Geto snarled, impatient. "Alright, alright." Gojo responded with a roll of his eyes, standing up before turning the phone towards the two of you, a shot of your spread pussy on screen. You turned your head away and closed your eyes, ears ringing at how humiliated you felt-

and pussy dripping at how good it was.

"Oh, she does look delicious!" Geto praised, gripping your chin as he forced you to turn your head back towards the phone, making you look at the picture, "You have such a pretty cunt and you hid it from us for so long?"

You whined cutely as you looked at the picture- a closeup shot of your spread cunt with a clear view of your clit and hole, your cunt glistening with slick.

"Seriously!" Gojo barked as he started swiping, showing off the various photos of your pussy that were now in his possession, "If we knew all you wanted was some fucking, we'd have pounded this pussy ages ago! I've always wanted a sex toy."

"Don't you have like a dozen already?"

"Yeah, but I'm sure this bitch's cunt will feel way better than some silicone~"

"I hate you-" you gasped out, any and all fight leaving your bones (not that there was much to begin with) as you leaned your head against Geto's shoulder, "I hate you both- so much-"

"Yeah?" Geto asked, the tone in his voice clearly indicating that he wasn't taking you seriously, "Well, this pussy says otherwise."

He let go of your chin and snaked his hand down quickly to cup your pussy, making you yelp. You didn't know if what you felt was shame or relief that there was finally a hand on your cunt- finally some friction against your dripping womanhood. You tossed your head back, eyebrows furrowed and lip trapped under your teeth as Geto's long fingers started gliding through your pussy lips. The slick sound of him rubbing circles over your hole and collecting your wetness echoed through the room, the sound making your ears burn and your chest feel like it was on fire.

This is was so...so...

so fucking fun...

"She's loving this~" Gojo predicted accurately, eyes darting between your blissful expression and Geto's fingers toying with your body, "Fucking whore- slutty bitch- oh, we are going to have fun with you~"

"Her pussy is growing wetter by the second." Geto noted, cock fully erect and throbbing against you, his other arm slowly letting go of the hold around your neck, confident that you were going to stay right there like a good little girl. You gasped as the head spinning pressure was finally off of you, taking in a few deep breaths but choking on it just as quickly as the man started using his slick covered fingers to run circles over your clit.

"You're dripping all over the table, little bitch~" Gojo teased, taking a couple more pictures before pocketing it, "Fuck- let me feel too- or- actually-"

He sat back on the chair, pulling it closer before gripping your thighs, an eager grin on his face:

"I'm gonna eat~"

"Get used to this, little bitch." Geto growled into your ear, pulling his hand away from your cunt and snickering at your whine of disappointment, "You're our toy now and we are going to do whatever we want to you, understand?"

His hands came upto your chest, lithe fingers starting to undo the buttons of your shirt one by one, revealing a patch of skin before the peeks of your bra. Gojo licked his lips and moved forward, his hot breath fanning against your slick cunt.

"Whatever. We. Want."

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Harder, Better, Faster...

Summary - Comparing three dwarves to your exes...

Warnings - Smut, language, male genitalia, mention of bodily fluids, creampie, rough sex, lowkey breeding kink (maybe?), slight dom themes (Thorin and Fili)

Pronouns & POVs - None, third-person.

Pairings - Thorin x Reader, Fili x Reader, Kili x Reader

Word Count - 2,500+

A/N - I am once again stumped on the full smut I am writing and was listening to music when "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" by Daft Punk came on which for some reason sparked this idea. (I have had this sitting in my drafts for far too long.) Pure smut under the cut!

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

- thorin

Harder. When it came to your past lovers, there always seemed to be something lacking when it came to more intimate activities. It was not that your past lovers were awful, but they never seemed to get you to the finish line, so you began handing out fake trophies.

It was hard to explain your desires. It was not that your previous lovers treated you poorly in or out of the bedroom; they treated you as if you were a fragile flower in and out of the bedroom, and that was the issue.

It was not an issue outside the bedroom: you loved being doted upon, having your every wish and command acted upon without question. Yet, when it came to inside the sheets -- you preferred it hard. It was simple, the easiest thing to grasp in your mind, but your previous lovers seemed to absorb the information as well as glass absorbs water; it doesn't.

It appeared hopeless until you had met Thorin.

The journey to the Misty Mountains had been treacherous. One that had left all members littered with new bumps and bruises, as well as new scars that littered their bodies alongside bruised, potentially even fractured, bones.

Throughout the journey, the company of dwarves experienced several hard struggles. Ones that took them many hours, if not days, to resolve; their nights often spent pondering as they gazed upon the stars. Yet, the stars held no answers regarding the hardest hassle they had dealt with: convincing you to accept aid.

It was not if you were neglecting yourself; you accepted food and medical aid when needed, yet you refused items the company of dwarves attempted to gift you -- such as new clothes and boots. You had been perfectly fine repairing your clothes when you had a moment. After all, the cloak you journeyed with had covered any tears within your outfit, so it was not as if the world could see the flesh the cloth once shielded.

You reminded yourself that you had to travel light: extra luggage meant extra weight, which meant extra aches and pains from lugging around said weight all day. Yet, there had been the odd occasion upon your travels where an item had caught your eye.

You had managed to stay strong until you passed it. The most beautiful pair of boots you had yet to see, in a color you adored and a style you knew was comfortable for travel: they looked perfect. You could not help but approach the stall, making small talk with the woman who ran it as you examined the boots from afar; they even appeared to be your size!

It appeared to be too good to be true, and that it was. You had been a few coins short of purchasing them, and attempting to barter the boots down to what you had was out of the question -- you needed the coins to pay for your next meal.

"How much?" The dwarven king asked from beside you, his sharp sapphire gaze glued upon the same boots. The suddenness of his deep voice startled you as you were quick to look at him, as he stood there with his arms crossed at his chest, leaning back slightly, a stance he often did while in thought.

"How much for the boots?" The dwarf repeated the question in a low and serious tone as his gaze rose from the boots to the seller. The seller calmly restated the price for the item in question, earning an amused "That's all?" from the dwarven king as he handed over the payment without hesitation.

Yet, the boots did not remain in the dwarven king's hands for long, as they quickly fell into your grasp as he thrust them into your arms.

"Hurry up." The command left his thin lips in a low tone as the heat of his gaze examined your body from head to toe. "We need to find a tailor; you're practically in rags." The words became distant, accompanied by the tap of his boots against the creaking wooden dock. A creaking almost as hard as when the frame of your bed shakes as he pleasures you.

The sharp thump of the bedframe bouncing against the wall danced throughout the air, accompanied by the melody of your moans as the dwarven king continued to drive his hips into yours. Each inch of his hardness pounded into you, the squelching click of skin slapping against one another growing as loud in the air as the bedframe against the wall.

His hands would tightly grasp upon your legs, your legs spread upon his shoulders, new boots upon your feet as they bounced slightly against his back with every hard thrust of the king's hips. His gaze upon you would be lustful as a smirk spread upon his thin lips.

"That's it." He'd breathe, his breath caressing your face as he leaned down, pushing you further into the bed and pushing further into you, allowing every inch of his cock to have a chance inside of you before sliding out. "Give me every inch of you. Show me why I spoil you." He'd purr, lips hovering a breath above yours as his eyes remained locked onto yours. 

His harsh gaze would urge you further into submission, to give into the hardness of his thrusts and the hardness of his cock.

A hardness that left you utterly entranced: how it stretched your inner walls perfectly, carving itself deep into your center as the rhythmic pulsations of his lust lulled you closer to the brink of release. 

The dwarven king was far harder in many ways compared to your past lovers, yet it was a hardness you craved. 

──────

- fili

Better. The terms of your love life had always been lackluster. The lovers of your past rarely managed to wow you, and upon the rare occasion that they managed to, it always appeared to come with terms and conditions.

It never felt as if you were the priority, yet you sat idly by for many years as you patiently awaited with the hope that a lover would make you feel special, wanted, and better than any had before. And, as if an answer to your nights of blandness, Fili came into your life.

And he was better.

The moment you had met, the golden-haired prince had whisked you off your feet. It was not through his title, nor was it through lavish gifts or promises that would be broken, no. He listened.

You had been enthusiastically speaking of a weapon you had found upon your travels, going into depths about the elaborate carvings upon it and what origins you had suspected it to be. You had been raving about this weapon for many paths now, excitedly showing whoever would listen.

"And, best of all, I haven't needed to--" The words had stalled in your mouth as you noticed how the dwarven company rolled their eyes at your rambling. A heat began to spread beneath the flesh of your face as your lips shut suddenly, and the warmth of embarrassment began to spread from the center of your chest as your gaze fell.

"Haven't needed to what?" A familiar voice had spoken, one deep and full of warmth. "I am listening. And I would like to see this magnificent weapon." The golden-haired prince spoke, a smile upon his thin lips as your gaze lifted from the ground and onto him.

The warmth within your chest had quickly eased from the uncomfortable sensation it felt moments prior, as the speed at which your heart raced now turned to various fluttering as your gemstone-colored eyes locked with his ocean-colored pair.

You had felt the harshness of his calloused palm upon the back of your hand, gently rotating your hand to fit into his before he applied a soft pressure upon it, a reassuring squeeze as the smile upon his thin lips softened.

"Go on." A phrase the golden-haired prince had used for various events. The most frequent was not in comfort, though it always made you feel better when he spoke it while he was deep inside you.

The thickness of his manhood would stretch out your inner walls, expanding them to mold perfectly around his throbbing cock, feeling the pulsation of his heartbeat, his arousal, within one of the most sensitive parts of him.

His thrusts would be deep and slow, allowing you to feel every inch of his throbbing length as his eyes scanned your face. It was as if you were a novel, and he was reading you, jotting down mental notes of what made you gasp in pleasure and what made you hiss in pain.

The bed would creak rhythmically, the headboard hitting against the wall, creating a beat that danced alongside the melody of your moans.

"That's it." His tone would be full of praise as he stroked your cheek; the sensation of his calloused thumb brushing against the flesh of your cheek would send a wave of pleasure down your body. "Let me hear how good it feels." The heat of his breath caresses your face as he leans closer to you, causing his thrusts to deepen as he does so: ensuring his cock reaches the most sensitive and pleasurable spots within your core.

That was what you adored about Fili; it wasn't only his pleasure he did this for, but your pleasure as well.

Your lips would entwine with his, your moans muffled against his thin lips as he continued the same pleasurable pace. The faint taste of ale lingered upon his lips, becoming more apparent as you parted your lips, giving his tongue access to yours.

Tongues entwined in a sloppy dance, breaths becoming uneven and deepened until you both parted. Lungs expanded vastly as the pair of you gasped for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips as your gazes met.

"I love every sound you make, every noise that escapes your beautiful lips." Fili would breathe, his lips curved into a lopsided grin as his hips continued to jut against yours, ensuring that the familiar tingle of pleasure would roam throughout your body before he would even recognize the knot within his abdomen. That your hands would grasp at the sheets of the bed, or your nails would claw down his toned back before he would allow his grip to tighten upon the flesh of your hips. 

That your lips would be stuck open as a slew of moans fell from them before he uttered a single curse of pleasure. That the sweet nectar of your being would cascade upon your skin before he allowed his seed to paint your sensitive inner walls, or allow it to coat the flesh of your abdomen.

He cared for your pleasure as much as he cared for you. He was simply better.

──────

- kili

Faster. The speed at which your love life progressed had always been slow. The lovers of your past seemed to enjoy silly games instead of commitment, and for the rare few who desired something more -- they seemed to move even slower.

It felt drawn out. It felt as if your previous lovers had held a meeting on how to waste your time, yet you held onto faith that you would find a lover who wanted to belong to you as much as you wished to belong to them.

And though your heart had yearned for a faster pace in terms of romance, you were not prepared for the fast dwarven prince.

The night air nipped at the flesh of your skin, and the soft crackling of the campfire danced alongside the sounds of the woods and your dwarven companions. Some of your companions were off eating their stew, a mix of mushrooms and other things they had managed to forage within the woods, though you'd never question where they found the meat or spices that went into it.

The low chatter of their voices nearly muffled the gentle sounds of the fire; the soft sway of its light and warmth reminded you of its presence as your gaze remained glued to the stars above. It was a brief moment of peace within the sea of chaos that had become your life, and though you had lost the comforts of home, the dwarven prince who sat beside you had found those comforts within you.

The sound of your voice, the scent of your skin, the light that shimmered within your eyes; you became his home on the road. Yet, he had been too nervous to say anything until that night.

Either overcome with confidence or immense stupidity, the dwarven prince could not help but blurt out the three words that had been swirling around his mind since the moment he laid eyes upon you.

"I love you." His voice echoed throughout the makeshift campsite, his amber gaze glued upon your face, and a sea of laughter erupted from his fellow companions. The heat of his cheeks burned as bright as the fire before him, yet he did not back down as your sparkling gaze met his. "Y/N, I love you." He repeated, his confident voice wavering as the words left his lips. A wavering you would hear in far more intimate events.

The rapid thumps of the bedframe bouncing against the wooden wall echoed throughout the not-so-silent room. The sounds of the bed were so close together in pace that a thump barely had enough time to become an audible sound before another came in its place, masking the previous one as fast as it was made.

His cock raced within you, desperately stretching out the inner walls of your core, as his face was buried within the crook of your neck. The heat of his short, quick breaths tickled the side of your neck as he inhaled your scent.

"So good." The words wavered in pleasure upon his lips, hanging upon the tip of his tongue before escaping in more of a whimper than a moan. "You feel so good." His words would become a full whine of pleasure as he held onto you.

His hands would be tightly clenching at your arms, grasping so tightly that his nails would begin to dig into your skin. A delicious twinge of pain and pleasure flooded your sensations as his cock would continue to rapidly carve itself deep inside you.

His breaths would come out as quickly as his movements, each harsh thrust a silent devotion of his love, his neediness for you. His head would remain buried in the crook of your neck, allowing his whimpers to vibrate against the exposed skin as the burn within his hips grew hotter.

His body moved like a well-oiled machine, never ceasing in action as it brought you closer and closer to the brink of release. And as fast as you were thrown overboard, drowning in the sea of pleasure, the dwarven prince dived in after you.

He was far faster than your exes, yet he always ensured you came first in all scenarios.

──────

Want to read one part at a time? Read separately on AO3

Thorin, Fili, Kili

Want to read it as a book? Read separately on Wattpad

Thorin, Fili, Kili

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[meazalykov]

its never enough

barca femeni x platonic!alexia putellas x reader

summary: the team had to intervene after seeing the amount of things you own

warnings: overconsumption, financial issues, childhood trauma, angst

you’ve always been a fighter, y/n. 

growing up in a small, cramped apartment with not much more than a kitchen table and a flickering television, you learned early on how to make the most out of little. your world was filled with the sounds of exhaustion: the tired creaks of your mother’s joints as she came back from long shifts, the gentle rumbling of your stomach as you lay in bed at night wondering if tomorrow would bring a meal or just another day of uncertainty. 

when you were younger, you were happy because you didn't know better. there was no one to tell you that many other kids didn't go through the poverty that you had to go through.

there were nights when you would curl up under a thin blanket, feeling the hunger gnaw at your insides, wishing for just a slice of bread or orange juice to ease the ache.

your mother worked tirelessly, holding down two jobs and often coming home with her eyes clouded from exhaustion, but she always made sure you had at least one decent meal a day, even if that meant sacrificing her own. the smell of burnt rice or old beans became an ordinary experience, an echo of sacrifices made out of love. 

she sacrificed a lot, even if you started to resent her after seeing all of the rich kids at your school with no worries about when they're going to eat next.

you remember the days when you would sneak out to the local park, pretending that the kids from the academy didn’t have talking points that revolved around the latest gear or shiny new sneakers. you wore the same worn-out cleats for years that you found in a thrift store, and while those shoes may have drawn odd glances, they also pushed you to play harder, to train longer.

those white colored adidas cleats of yours slowly turned yellow and green overtime due to the grass stains. 

the first time you were signed to an academy, it was through scholarships. you took public transport (sometimes without paying) back and forth from home to the academy from 6am to 9pm.

that’s where it all began—out in the sun-kissed fields—the heartbeat of your journey. every dribble, every sprint, made you feel alive. the coaches quickly noticed your raw talent; your feet danced like a lyrical melody, weaving in and out of opponents with fairy-tale grace. 

they’d call you into training sessions meant for the older girls and suddenly, you found yourself in a world where your poverty didn’t define you.

many of the nice coaches offered to pick you up from your home in the poor neighborhoods outside of your city, knowing that they couldn't afford to not have you on the pitch.

those were the fabrics of the beautiful game that would one day pull you from those struggling days into a life of unimaginable opportunity.

your childhood academy, once you graduated high school, called you up to the senior team. the salary was small but it was enough to finally see breakfast, lunch, and dinner all in the same day instead of sacrificing one or the other. sometimes, you're lucky that you still have muscle and strength for someone who was not eating enough.

fast forward to after you turned nineteen, a year after your first senior team callup from your childhood club.. you were standing in the hallowed halls of barcelona, far away from home.

the weight of your dreams now intertwined with the club’s crest stitched delicately onto your new jersey. barcelona had been keeping an eye on you for years.

the contract you signed with the catalan team was something you could hardly comprehend—it felt surreal, almost like playing in a fantasy. the money you received dwarfed anything you had imagined during those starving nights as a child. suddenly, you had means far beyond what you had deemed possible.

the first time the signing bonus hit your account, you stared at the numbers blinking feverishly on your screen, unable to process it. the world opened up before you like a child’s storybook, each page filled with opportunity. and so, you rented a bright little apartment in the heart of barcelona, sunlight pouring through oversized windows, casting warm hues upon your brand-new life. 

it felt like a fresh canvas; you could paint it any color you desired. and paint it you did—perhaps too much.

at first, it felt liberating. a new superpuff jacket from aritiza? an absolute must. four different colors? obviously, because how could you choose just one jacket? each item in the store beckoned to you like love notes, whispering promises of happiness that you’d long been denied.

body washes in five different scents? a practical necessity because—how could you ever pick just one that felt right? you bought them all, bringing home bags filled with excitement and haste, giggling as you unwrapped each item in your sunny living room, often spilling the contents across your pristine floor in a flurry, and marveling at your newfound abundance.

having a space to yourself where the shelves were always stocked, the floors were always cleaned, and the heater actually working was something that gave you more peace than you expected.

sometimes, looking around your apartment often made you realize that the walls were suffocating under the weight of your possessions. clothes spilled from closets, shoes lined the hallway and your closets, and accessories filled every surface; a delightful chaos really, yet one that made your heart race with a strange sort of anxiety. 

you owned everything you ever wanted, but somehow, it still felt like a little too much.

your relationship with your teammates blossomed, particularly with alexia. she was a guiding light for you; her encouraging words sculpted you into a more confident player, and her laughter felt like a reminder that you were not alone in this world. 

she took you in after seeing how much potential you had for a twenty year old. the way you'd tackle world-class forwards like you had ten years of experience under your belt was something that caught the spanish woman off guard.

at barcelona, you gained the closest companion in your life, esmee, your best friend.

esmee visited your apartment frequently, often gaping at the sheer amount of items you owned, her eyes wide as she stepped over a particularly extravagant pair of heels that you probably haven’t worn once.

“y/n, do you really need all of this?” esmee asked playfully during one of her visits, standing at the entrance as if she were an unwitting tourist exploring a museum filled with ridiculous wonders.

“of course! look at this,” you laughed, sliding on a pair of trendy sunglasses you had bought just that week. 

“i could be a runway model with these prada ones.”

esmee chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief, careful not to trip over the plethora of colorful items sprawled about. 

the dutch places her jacket in her walk-in closet, hoping to not mix it up with all of your other ones. seriously, it looked like a whole family lived in your apartment instead of yourself.

“the fashion runway maybe, but i genuinely wonder how many outfits you have.”

as the months went on, whispers began to circulate amongst the team, drawing a bit of humorous attention. 

mapi once teasingly commented to alexia, “you know, i’ve never seen y/n in the same outfit twice. it’s like she has a new look every single day!”

alexia raised an eyebrow, thinking back to the countless intricate combinations you’d flaunted during practice and the matches that followed. 

“are you serious?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. 

“you think she actually has that many clothes?”

“esmee and i were talking,” mapi continued, her lips curling into a smirk, 

“and we noticed that y/n always has new shoes, new clothing, she's always walking by with a new fragrance scent—it's hard to keep track. i don’t get it.”

the curiosity started to whirl in alexia’s mind. she respected you immensely and admired your skills, but now she felt a tug towards something deeper. the urge to check in, to see if this was just youthful exuberance or something more. 

so, she decided to probe a bit further, casually nudging esmee one afternoon while both of them waited for practice to begin.

“does y/n have, like, spending habits?” alexia asked casually to esmee, pretending to tie her shoelaces, her expression deceptively nonchalant. 

“not that it’s any of my business– nevermind.. who am i kidding, it is because i need to watch out for her.”

esmee looked a bit uneasy, weighing her words carefully. 

“you know, she does get a lot of packages delivered to her apartment,” she admitted after a short pause. 

“it worries me a little. she’s got a lovely place, but, um, some of the things she buys are expensive—like that vintage prada jacket she flaunts all the time.”

alexia nodded, her mind racing at the thought. 

“okay, but how does she really feel about it? do you think she realizes it’s become…well, a problem?”

“i don’t want to start anything,” esmee replied quickly, clearly hesitant. 

“but…i’ve noticed some little things here and there.”

a few days passed. you found yourself bustling through your apartment, obsessively tidying up as you waited for a batch of brownies to finish baking. the sweet aroma was filling the air, comforting and familiar, hard to resist. 

you had always loved experimenting in the kitchen since having your own space. growing up, you had no idea what brownies were until your childhood academy threw an, "end of the season" party for getting top of the league. they were delicious, but you knew that your mother at the time only had enough to feed your rice, chicken, and pinto beans.

a knock broke your reverie. you wiped your hands on a dish towel and opened the door, revealing alexia dressed casually in a simple t-shirt and sweats, looking relaxed yet focused. she stepped in, offering you a warm smile.

“hey, y/n!"

"ale!!" you say, hugging her before leading her into your apartment.

"whats that smell? are those brownies?” ale asked, stepping over a pair of athletic shorts you’d carelessly discarded near your living room. 

“mind if I grab one?”

“sure! they’re almost ready!” you chirped, feeling a bit of giddiness wash over you.

as you neglected the untidy piles around you to shuffling around the kitchen, you could feel alexia’s gaze wander.

she noticed your open closet door by your front door, she didn't notice the amount of jackets and shoes you had stored in there when she first walked in.

alexia knew that you didn't have a roommate, you or esmee would've told her. all of those items belong to you.

the older woman turned to you, her expression turning serious. 

“y/n, listen,” she began slowly, 

“i wanted to talk about something.”

you froze for a moment, piecing together the gravity of her tone. the brownies, still cooling, were suddenly secondary to her serious demeanor. 

“what’s up?” you asked with a slight frown, putting the tray down on your kitchen island to focus on her.

“i’ve been meaning to bring this up,” she said, taking a deep breath. 

“i heard some things about your, uh, spending habits, y/n. i think it might be good for us to talk about it?”

you instinctively shook your head, the edges of denial creeping in. 

“my spending habits? what do you mean?” you asked, your voice suddenly edged with defensiveness. 

you hoped that your bedroom door was locked, you thought inside of your head. that would’ve gave away all of your issues that alexia is concerned about. 

“it’s not like i’m, you know, drowning in debt or anything.”

“i—I know that,” alexia kept her eyes locked with yours, her gaze gentle yet unyielding. 

“but y/n, it’s a lot. i want to make sure you’re okay. i mean, it’s easy to go a bit overboard when you’ve finally got the chance to buy things you’d never dreamed of.”

“what do you mean? it’s not overboard,” you insisted, crossing your arms. 

“i grew up fine, really, i am not–” 

“y/n, please don’t lie to make yourself feel better.” 

“alexia–i–i just…i like looking nice, and it’s not just about the clothes. it’s—you know, it makes me feel good.”

“trust me, i get that, really.” alexia's voice softened, understanding behind her words. 

“but don’t you think all of this,” alexia points to all of your shoes in the hallway leading to your bedroom. 

“could be something more? an underlying problem?”

your heart suddenly felt heavy. 

“underlying problem? what are you saying, alexia?” the defensiveness you felt turned to an urgent need to protect the parts of yourself that had been so fragile for so long—the parts that still whispered fears of never being able to escape your past.

“i know how you grew up,” alexia said gently, the weight of her words settling like a blanket between you. 

“almost everyone on the team knows, y/n. and it’s okay. we all love you but you don’t have to be afraid of going back there—I promise, you’re safe now.”

you shifted uncomfortably, grappling with the urge to retreat, but alexia’s words were like a balm, soothing your frayed edges. yet, discussing your financial problems felt almost impossible.

“it’s hard for me,” you finally admitted, almost a whisper. 

“i’m scared, okay? scared that i’ll get back to being that poor little girl who was always hungry ale…i don’t want to be that person again, even if it was years ago.”

alexia stepped closer, her eyes radiating kindness. 

“y/n, you don’t have to live in fear anymore. you can have the nice things you’ve always wanted, but maybe you should think about getting a financial advisor? someone who can help you save, invest, and still enjoy life? you really can have both.”

you pondered her words, the idea gently pulling at your heartstrings, unsure of how you could intertwine the idea of safety with spending. 

“i don’t want to give everything up,” you breathed. 

“i just…I don’t want to feel like i’m back there—not again.” 

“you won’t,” she assured you. 

“you have the power to change, and you did. you can still get nice things, you deserve that since you work hard on the pitch with us– but maybe focus on less quantity and more quality? your childhood doesn’t have to dictate your future, y/n. believe me. you can have the nice things you still want.”

you nodded slowly, feeling a sense of warmth envelop you. 

“maybe that’s true,” you whispered.

“you don’t need to hide your past either, y/n. many of us did not grow up with a lot of dinero either. aitana’s family suffered while she was growing up, same situation as you but you didn't have the politics involved.” alexia lightly smiled, hoping to see you less scared of the conversation. 

“oh,” you said, leaning your arms against the kitchen island across alexia sitting on your stool. 

“i am just saying that all of this stuff and the idea of buying it will only last temporarily. you do not want to spend so much money to the point where you’re broke. i have an idea on how much your salary is at barca and with adidas, its a lot and you should not blow through that much money in one month.” alexia and you giggled at her last sentence. 

“i know, and i’m sorry.” 

“don’t apologize to me, you didn’t do anything to me. i’ll set you up with the financial advisor i have and we will put you on the right track okay? maybe a therapist at barca too?” 

“anything you think will help me, capi.” you leaned against alexia for a hug. 

masterlist

[readychilledwine]

Size Kink

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

A Size Kink is a general term for being aroused by being smaller/larger than your partner. It can be height, muscle mass/weight in general, cock size, ect. This is generally a kink we associate with subs having, but in my humble 5'1" experience, I've met more Doms with this kink than subs (hence my 5'11" baby daddy who thought he'd never have someone short enough to enjoy this kink with.) This kink has several subgroups that fall into it and sex acts that fall into it, but my personal favorite to write is height difference and body frame difference. So tall muscular male, short female (curvy or lean.)

What I love about size kinks is that it's so focused on specific aspects, and ANY body type gets to play with it. Little hands? Little legs? Luscious curves? Member of the Itty bitty titty committee? There is someone out there with a size Kink who is into your body and thinks you are a piece of artwork and sexiest thing on the planet. It's so beautiful because it is a body type kink that does not discriminate, and as a sex positive and body image positive person, I think that's super important and comforting for some people.

💕Peep the Valentines Day list here💕

As always NSFW below the cut

Azriel x short!reader

Warnings - reader is VERY petite, smut, p in v, slow stretching

A/N - So, I actually have a request for a size Kink with Cassian sitting in my drafts as well from before I decided to do Valentines Day Bingo. Since I picture Cassian as an absolute unit, I used a more Megan thee Stallion vibe for that reader (tall and thick) so I decided to go very short and thinner built for this one to ensure they'd be different. I apologize if that bothers anyone. I will try to get that Cassian request finished asap to post it and make up for this 💙

Ps- with how quickly I am cranking some of these out, and how.... spicy some of them are getting, I don't have my normal outside editing all of the time. Baby daddy proof read this one. Before staring at me and going, "that wasn't fair." So, I apologize for any errors, as always, I will catch them on my fresh reread after it's posted 🫠

Azriel was slowly losing his mind as he watched you use a chair to be closer to Cassian's height and argue with him face to face.

You were just so… small. So little compared to the two Illyrian males. They towered over you. They dwarfed you. Hell, he and Cass had discussed several times how easy you'd be to manhandle, considering they were both so sure their large hands could almost touch if they were wrapped around your waist.

At 6’8” and 7’ it wasn't hard for him and Cassian to own a room or be the tallest males, but Gods when Azriel stood next to your 5’ frame, when he saw Cassian pick you up like you were no more than a doll. It did something to him. It made him feel like a God, like he was powerful, possibly invincible.

He had been further spurred on by over hearing you and Nesta yesterday. She had asked you about how, if the opportunity presented itself, you would manage to fuck an Illyrian, and you, you with your never back down attitude had told Ness, “Mountains were made to be climbed.” He did not know if you had meant that in regards to him, but his hand found his cock quickly that night.

Azriel walked over to where you and Cassian argued over cereal. The fight wasn't serious, but he just needed to remind you that even with a chair below you, you still fell a few inches short.

“Get down before you fall and hurt yourself, angel.” He put a hand to you, offering to help you down. You glared, but put your hand in his.

Offering to help you was a mistake.

He felt the blood rushing to his cock as your little hand sat in his.

He shared a knowing look with Cassian when you looked away to step down and get back on the floor. The argument resumed instantly, your hand still in his.

It stopped as soon as Nesta walked in. Her mate and you going silent and agreeing to disagree.

Well, at least you thought you had agreed. Until Cassian turned around, Nesta in his arms waiting to fly into Velaris. He looked between you and Azriel before smirking. “You know, y/n, you might have shit taste in cereal, but at least you're the perfect height for some things.”

You didn't get it until you turned to Azriel, plush lips parted to ask what Cassian meant.

The blush that spread your cheeks was sinful.

Another image Azriel would save when he imagined it was your mouth around his cock tonight.

Azriel's room was across the hall from yours, so he knew you were being subjected to the same torture he was.

He was sure all of the Night Court could hear Cassian and Nesta. He rolled over to his back, throwing an arm over his face and sighing.

You were so small, so sneaky, he hadn't noticed you come in and shut the door until you were sitting on his bed.

And fuck being in his custom made oversized bed made you look so little. “Hello angel.”

He made room for you, welcoming you under the blanket you laid facing him, watching him. “Do you all never.. get worn out?” He chuckled. “Because humans do. Males typically finish, then they're like, done, and asleep.”

He looked towards you, laughing and smiling so hard his dimples were showing. “Is that your way of telling me you didn't enjoy rolling in the sheets while you were human?”

That blush spread your face again. “I had plenty of fun before Hybern did this to me. Thank you very much, sir.”

You had done it. Azriel shut his eyes, growling at the nickname as he did. “You cannot call me that when you're laying in my bed, y/n.”

You looked at him, snuggling closer to him. You knew what you were doing to him. You had known for a while. You always tracked his eyes when he'd watch you take your heels off, biting his lip thinking no one was looking. You noticed him hide his arousal behind a mask of indifference when you would climb things around the House of Wind. You had also noticed Azriel and Cassian taking every chance they could to lift you.

You had even know Azriel was so sneakily listening to you and Nesta the other day, and you had meant it. Azriel was a mountain you intended on climbing. “Of course, sir. Wouldn't want you to have to use those big hands to keep me quiet.”

The growl that echoed through the room had your thighs clenching. He was on you in an instant arm between your breasts, so it rested on your neck. The other hand sat on your hip, inching forward. “Do not tease me.” You could feel him pressed against your back, mind immediately lost in how that would fit.

You may have been biting off more than you could chew.

But fuck it.

You had never backed down from a challenge. Why start now?

You wiggled further into him, grazing his cock with each movement. “What if I'm not teasing? What if this is an offer, sir?”

“You're going to regret that, little one,” Azriel's hand immediately was in your shorts, his other hand squeezing your throat. A thick finger ran your soaked core, pulling a moan from you. “Going to have to go slow,” Azriel ground his hips into you, needing that friction on his aching cock. “Don't want to hurt you, angel.”

That one finger entered you without warning. It was already a stretch, but one you welcomed.

You loved how everything about Azriel was so big. His hands, his muscled chest and arms, his wings. Of course he'd be big there too. Anticipation began to replace the fear. You relaxed into him, tilting your head and pulling him into a heated sloppy kiss.

Azriel swallowed your moans and cries as his finger opened you up for him. You were tight, so damn tight. His hand moved from your throat to your breasts, loving how they weren't even a handful for him. You were so petite and slim, he reminded himself. He pulled your tank top off, maneuvering the best he could to get you fully below him. He pushed in a second finger, watching as you squirmed so helplessly below him. “So fucking little,” he moaned. “Mother above you're perfect. Just perfect.”

He leaned back, fingers increasing speed the best they could with your shorts in the way while he toyed with your breasts, pinching your nipples and smacking the tender flesh as he saw fit. “Cum for me so I can sit you on my cock, angel. You can do it, y/n. Show me how tight you'll be squeezing around me.”

You felt like you were floating as you came, whimpering Azriel's name as you watched him rut against the mattress for some friction, hazel eyes damn near lost in lust.

He pulled his fingers out of you, wasting no time ripping his sweatpants off and using those juices to coat himself. Your shorts came next, torn to shreds as he pulled you to the edge of the mattress and rested one leg on both sides of his chest.

He was as perfect as you imagined. His cock was long and thick. He was running it along your folds, soaking up at the slick he could before smacking the head of it against your clit.

Azriel could help but to stand with his hips flush against yours, admiring how it looked like his cock would be damn near in your stomach. “Gonna go slow,” he mumbled as he positioned himself at your entrance. “Can't risk hurting my little angel.”

He pushed the head in, keeping an eye on you as you moaned out a long fuck before relaxing into his bed. He sat there, only a few inches inside of you, feeling as your walls stretched out to accommodate him.

He pulled out and slowly reentered, pushing a little more inside of you. Your back arched off the bed, a whimper of pleasure ripping through your throat. The burn of it felt so good. You felt yourself drooling already, mind numb, and lost to anything that wasn't Azriel.

He continued his motions over and over until he was flush against your hips, and you were screaming for him. You had cum just from him slowly getting inside of you, and now he could see the bulge he had created, the slight swelling inside of you as your body made room for him.

Azriel put a hand on the bulge, feeling himself inside of you as he began thrusting. You were squeezing him so tight, hand struggling to find him to hold on to something.

He felt himself losing control, pace growing faster and faster as he watched you squirming and moaning below him. His arms went behind your hips and back, lifting you off the bed and manhandling you in the air for a little while. He brought you to his chest, moving you to be against the wall that shared his room and Cassian's.

A silent brag, and message, that he could now accurrately inform Cassian how easy you were to toss around like a doll.

Your hands found purchase on his shoulders as you became a babbling mess. Your silky core was twitching and tightening around him all over again, indicating to him how close you were, how ready you were. “Az,” you panted. “So fucking big.”

“Yeah,” he kissed the top of your head. “Bet it feels so good stretching you out, doesn't it, baby?” You couldn't respond as a certain angle had you becoming pliant in his arms. “Fuck I know it does.” He was practically lifting you on and off of him, watching as you stretched around his cock. “You're close, aren't you, angel?”

You nodded, eyes glazed over and jaw fallen open to the perfect o. “Gonna cum.”

“Then cum. Squeeze my cock. You wanted to climb the mountain, right y/n? Fucking climb.”

You hit that peak on his command again, clinging to him tightly as he continued using you and stretching you out.

It took Azriel a few more moments, but he stilled inside of you, head thrown back in a loud growl as he came inside of you. He pressed you back against the wall, panting slightly as he stared into your eyes. He lifted you easily, allowing his cock to fall out of you and you to whine at the sudden emptiness that took place where he had filled you.

“This can't be a one-time thing,” his voice was almost desperate as he moved to set you on the desk, forehead finding yours. “I need more of you. All of you.”

You couldn't help but to bit your lip, nodding so quickly with a growing smile. “I like how little you make me feel. How safe you make me feel.”

Azriel's eyes almost rolled back completely as they shut. “Gods you are perfect.” He leaned in to kiss you, only to be interrupted by his door slamming open and Cassian and Nesta barging in.

A massive wing snapped between you and them, blocking your body from their view.

Cassian cleared his throat before speaking. “We want to know how exactly that worked. Show us. Please.”

“Show you?!” Your voice cracked as you turned to a smirking Azriel.

Azriel kissed your forehead. “Bend over the desk, angel. Gotta give him a show since he asked so nicely.”

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth

Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish @novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer @thisblogisaboutabook @amygdtjhddzvb  

@justasillylittlegoofyguy

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 15

[chap fourteen] | [all chapters here] | [chap sixteen]

Summary | You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

Warnings & Notes | fem reader, slooow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, dysfunctional family dynamics, idiots-to-lovers, smut & nsfw themes

Author's Note | Yes it has been nearly 2 months since I've posted, this chapter was giving me a hard time 😭 But I finally fought off the writer's block, and now we're only a few more chapters away from the end!

WC | 5.9k

Chapter Fifteen

“I can’t believe I let you drag me into this.” You grumbled as Eddie guided you through the school hallways, to which he gave you a dazzlingly mocking smile. That self-satisfied grin was practically ear-to-ear as he looked down at you, his face alight with such glee that you briefly felt the temptation to smack the look away in retaliation.

“You didn’t have to come along.” Eddie answered with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you pulled a face at him; you were always amused by Eddie’s antics, even the ones that annoyed you, such as this.

“You say that, but I didn’t really have a choice, did I?” You countered smartly. Eddie’s grip on your hand tightened a little just to torment you.

“One night of D&D for one night at a Halloween party, I think that sounds fair enough. And I came up with a very special campaign just for you, princess, it would be a shame if you missed it.”

He gave you a taunting, perhaps even flirtatious look, and you couldn’t help your surprise - was he just saying that, or had he actually created a campaign simply because he was counting on you being there? Regardless, he made a good point, although you abhorred to admit it.

Yesterday afternoon, you’d overheard some of your peers excitedly talking about a Halloween party coming up next week, and it caught your attention - you loved parties and you loved Halloween too much not to become curious.

So, you eavesdropped, getting what details you could. The party was hosted by Chance Hunter, whose family was very well known for their parties - it started with his oldest brother back when he was still in school, and the tradition continued with the middle brother and finally Chance. For the past ten years, everyone at Hawkins High knew a party at the Hunter house meant getting absolutely trashed and totally fucked up.

You’d had your own share of wild memories from past parties hosted by Chance - not good memories necessarily, but undeniably chaotic ones. Getting into spats with people after drinking too much, trying coke for the first time - parties hosted by the Hunters were total mayhem, and yet you all kept going back for more like a bunch of sadists.

So, having heard all the details about the party coming up next week, you insisted to Eddie that the two of you had to go, that he had to experience at least one party at the Hunters’ before he graduated. And he was not wholly eager to go to a high school party, although you insisted it wasn’t like any shit he’d probably seen before. It took some back-and-forth for you to get him to agree, but only if you came to a session with the Hellfire Club; you had laughed at the idea before you realized that he was being deathly serious. You were half-tempted to say the party wasn’t worth it, but then Eddie seemed to look actually disappointed, so you begrudgingly agreed so that you didn't hurt his feelings too much.

This god damn crush was going to be the death of you.

Thus, here you were, entering the drama room to the sight of everyone else already sitting around a table, a bit of a sneer on your face as they looked back at you with surprised confusion. You could practically feel how large Eddie’s smile was as he dragged you across the room, eagerly pulling up a chair for you, although the seat was dwarfed in comparison to the stupid throne at the head of the table; if this weren’t the theatre room, you’d wonder why the fuck Eddie had a throne in the first place.

“How’d you convince her to come here?” Grant asked with a laugh, to which you glared; the group of boys was starting to grow accustomed to your presence and, unfortunately, that meant they also weren’t quite as scared of you as they once were. Nor were you quite as annoyed by them as you used to be.

“Much persuasion.” Eddie responded in a comedic, low voice, as if he were already getting into character as Dungeon Master; the title made you burst out laughing when he first said it, to which you received a sharp glare.

Really, Eddie didn’t think you’d agree to come along when he first mentioned this - he threw out the Dungeons and Dragons suggestion because he figured you’d say “no,” that you’d rather skip a good party than be even a spectator to his hobby. Considering what happened at the last party you two attended together, Eddie was initially anxious about what could happen should you go to another; he enjoyed kissing you far too much, and he worried that if given another opportunity to do so, he’d have a much harder time keeping himself together.

Prior to that party at Rick’s place, Eddie already knew he was royally screwed - his crush on you had developed so damn quickly that it nearly gave him whiplash. Despite the fact that you were mean just for the sake of it, that you were frigid half the time, that you were stubborn and willing to fight with him… Eddie had still managed to fall for you like a total sap.

From that first “date” when you two actually found things to laugh about together, Eddie was already growing charmed by you, and even at the time he knew that was a dangerous thing. And as the weeks carried on, it only became easier for Eddie to see you as his - you actually went to his band’s gigs, you were open to trying new things with him, you willingly apologized to him despite it clearly being a near impossible task for you. Eddie knew better than to catch feelings for you, but in the span of only a few short weeks he was head over heels.

And really, he’d always thought you were gorgeous, which didn’t help the situation any - Eddie shouldn’t have let your pretty face get to him, but he just couldn’t help himself. 

He noticed you from the first moment you sat down at the desk in front of him in history class back in ‘82; you collapsed into the seat with an annoyed huff at something, flipping your hair so that it fell onto the notebook that he was doodling in. Your carelessness had irked Eddie, especially because you always seemed to be invading his space - an irony, considering that he learned later of your disdain for being touched. Your hair or your elbow were always on his desk. Sure, he could’ve said something to you about it, but he had found enjoyment in the scent of your shampoo and the way your elbow would accidentally nudge his hand, prompting you to jump a little and quickly yank your arm to your side.

Hell, the one time Eddie walked into the classroom to find you sitting on his desk while caught up in conversation, it made him nervous; although he’d built this reputation for himself of being a freak willing to say and do anything, he couldn’t find it in his power to ask you to simply move. You were so cold, hence the nickname bestowed upon you by peers, and he found that quality to be both terrifying and hypnotizing at the same time.

Then there was that day when you accidentally knocked over your bag when the bell rang, and Eddie immediately jumped to help collect your scattered belongings without a second thought. While others stepped around the two of you, you watched in surprise as the resident freak picked up pens and erasers, a stray tube of lipstick in a color that was now discontinued. It was the first time Eddie got to see your genuine smile, and he was riding that high for the rest of the week. It had only lasted for a split second because your friends were calling you to hurry up, but you gave him that dazzling smile, not even saying a word as you then breezed past him and out the door.

Back then, Eddie had enough wherewithal to avoid ever developing feelings for you - you were bitchy, you had an attitude problem, and you were prone to rudeness constantly. You made it easy for him, in that respect - he could look at your pretty face all he wanted, but feel no desire to get to know you any better. So what if you had an amazing smile and he loved the smell of your hair? Eddie didn’t need to get hung up on a popular girl with seemingly no redeeming qualities.

Following that school year, Eddie figured it was just a crush-by-proximity - you two hadn’t had a class together after that, so he never saw you and, therefore, never really thought about you. And so it stayed that way, until this year - when he saw you sitting in math class on that first day of school, he was briefly reminded of the sweet smell of your shampoo, of that smile that he’d never seen on your face again. But that was that, or so Eddie thought.

Seeing you, the ice princess, waiting for him at the picnic table on that fateful day was nearly startling to him; he’d already guessed that the note in his locker was from some preppy chick if the handwriting was any indicator, but for whatever damn reason you hadn’t even crossed his mind. You made him feel nervous immediately, although he was never going to let that on. No, he played up his confidence and his antics, keeping you on your toes so that he wouldn’t feel so damn anxious around you and your cruel stare.

Hell, before that meeting at the picnic tables, he’d never really taken notice of the charming sound of your voice or the pretty color of your eyes, but then those things immediately became all he could think about. Eddie knew he shouldn’t have agreed to your crazy idea, but for whatever damn reason, he couldn’t turn you down; even then, a part of him wanted to give you everything he possibly could, as crazy as that was.

Like an idiot, he tried to set out rules for himself, much like your attempts to create rules for the fake relationship:

Don’t let all the pretend dating get to his head

Keep his distance whenever possible

No spending time with you unnecessarily

Don’t get stupidly jealous of your ex

Follow your lead

It seemed simple enough, and yet Eddie managed to break all of his rules in rapid succession, one right after the other. He should’ve known things wouldn’t go according to plan, that his feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated and that he was just a means to an end.

But then Rick’s party happened, and you threw Eddie and his entire perspective for a goddamn loop. Leading up to that, he already knew things were different between you two, but he couldn’t have predicted that you’d drunkenly kiss him, let alone with the fervor in which you did it. Shit, that night made his head spin, and foolishly he thought maybe that kiss had meant something, that maybe you’d admit that you were secretly harboring feelings for him, too.

Considering the kind of whirlwind that life had been since then, Eddie couldn’t even venture to guess if there was actually something going on between the two of you or not. Clearly you were friends, clearly you’d come to depend on his companionship, but he couldn’t possibly fathom that you actually liked him in the same way he liked you.

Yet you'd get nervous when he looked at you a certain way, or you’d avert your gaze when he said something suggestive; you’d get a particular look on your face when Eddie was being serious about a subject, or you’d bite your lip if you two locked eyes for too long. How was he supposed to interpret it when you’d grow tense at his touch, or when he’d lean in too close and your eyes would go wide?

And, fuck, Eddie hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that day when you looked as if you were going to drool over the goddamn ketchup on his fingers. That look on your face had taken up permanent residence in his head, making his alone time all the more torturous when he tried in vain not to think about you.

Eddie couldn’t resist laying it on extra trick following that, flirting with you more blatantly just to see how you’d react. Clearly, he made you nervous, but he couldn’t quite tell why - was the flirting a good thing or a bad thing, did you love it or loathe it?

Could he have just asked you directly what you were feeling? Yes, Eddie supposed he could, but he wasn’t particularly brave enough for that potentially cruel rejection.

Sure, whatever may or may not be going on between the two of you was odd, ridiculous even, but Eddie would much rather deal with that than risk losing it by asking you the all too simple question. He could handle a whole year of this tension so long as it meant spending time with you, so Eddie chose not to have that potentially fatal discussion.

And so, you two were in something of a limbo, stuck in a way that the both of you had come to accept, silly as it may be.

Once Eddie was settled into his throne (which you still rolled your eyes at), he reminded everyone of where they left off in their adventure, the recap confusing you as an unwilling spectator.

 “Now, gentlemen, if you remember our last meeting, you were all left penniless following a camp raid, and the party is in desperate need of funds in order to continue this quest.” Eddie looked eagerly around the group, a wicked smile on his lips as he settled his gaze on you; you gave him a suspicious look, suddenly nervous about why exactly he was staring at you like that.

He returned his animated face to the group around the table, “Luckily, you're only about a day’s trek from the Ten Towns Valley of Icewind Dale; you have enough supplies to make that journey, but you won’t make it any further without funds and the proper equipment. It might be in your best interest to visit the tyrannical Ice King who rules this realm - there’s rumor he’s willing to pay a handsome fee for those daring enough to accept the quest he has in store.”

As the group began to excitedly talk amongst themselves about what this side quest may be, you stared at Eddie with intrigue, to which he simply gave you a giddy look. He leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“Excited yet?”

“For what?” You questioned, although you already knew this had something to do with the “special” campaign he claimed to have come up with. But instead of answering you, Eddie winked with a charming smile, looking back at the club with faux seriousness.

“Well, what’s the party’s decision?”

The group all exclaimed, voices overlapping as they agreed to visit this Ice King character.

At that moment, you realized what Eddie may be implying with that title, and you quickly shot him a look; as if he could read your mind, his smile grew larger with anticipation. As you two stared at one another, you narrowed your eyes even as you resisted an amused grin, challenging him to explain to you what was going on, but Eddie wouldn’t budge.

It felt like a whirlwind trying to keep up with all the chatter and excitement amongst the boys, your eyes bouncing around the room as they talked over each other, asked Eddie questions, and laughed at jokes that went over your head. Within only a few minutes, you were growing more confused and, thus, more annoyed, and so you tried to find something to keep you preoccupied - you fussed with your nails, flipped through a book, anything to distract you while you were stuck sitting here in the middle of this silly game.

The boys hollered and howled together as they speculated what the quest might be, as they debated how the story might unfold. On occasion, your ears would perk up when Eddie would put on some voice while the group went on their “journey,” but you’d just as quickly become disengaged again.

Eventually something significant must have happened, because abruptly Eddie grabbed the fold-out chair you sat in and dragged it closer to him, causing you to yelp in surprise; the sharp sound of the chair legs whining against the floor made the entire room yell in annoyance and frustration. You gave Eddie a glare, your face knotted as if your ears were ringing, but he seemed entirely unphased as he threw his arm around you; for good measure, you half-heartedly smacked him in the chest as you continued glowering.

“Brave explorers,” Eddie began in a deeper voice, going so far as to change his cadence, clearly becoming a different character, “I, the Ice King, ask but a simple task of you - rescue my daughter, the Ice Princess, who has been kidnapped by my rival. Bring her home safe and sound, and I will pay you a hefty fee.”

Eddie squeezed your shoulder eagerly as the boys once again began to talk amongst themselves, meanwhile you gave him a charmed look, leaning into his side, “Really, the Ice Princess? How creative.”

He leaned in close, his face so close that you could feel his breath against your skin, making your heart skip, “Hey, I’ve got something up my sleeve, don’t worry your pretty little head over the details.”

Luckily, Eddie looked back at the group before he could see the embarrassment that washed across your face at his indirect compliment.

Dustin resolutely spoke for the party, “We will gladly save the Ice Princess from your enemy’s clutches, sire.”

Eddie nodded at him, “Very well. The last known location of Princess…”

When he trailed off, everyone looked at you, causing you to pull a face and glance at Eddie; he, too, had an expectant look in his eyes, “What?”

“Well, the princess needs a name.”

“Then give her my name.” You said it as if that were obvious, your tone biting albeit confused; but everyone simply snickered at the suggestion.

Eddie shook his head teasingly, “Not in D&D; you pick something.”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, “Gladys.”

The group laughed again, although this time clearly in amusement at your humor. Eddie, however, narrowed his eyes at you challengingly, perhaps a little disappointed that you weren’t playing along, “Come on, something more interesting than that.”

You sighed again while glaring at him smally; it’s not that you were wholly averse to being here during their game, but you hadn’t realized you were expected to participate. You bit the inside of your cheek, knowing that there was no point in being stubborn just for the sake of it. And the look on Eddie’s face didn’t help the matter, as despite his own obstinate expression, his eyes seemed all too hopeful that you’d engage with this game. So, you mulled it over for a moment, Eddie watching your face far too attentively in anticipation.

“Fine. Elvira.” You smiled proudly, feeling all too pleased with yourself when Eddie’s eyes lit up at your answer.

“Elvira?” He leaned towards you flirtatiously, “So, you’re the Ice Princess and the Mistress of the Dark?”

“As if you didn’t already know.” You countered playfully, forgetting the rest of the group for a moment.

Eddie gave you one more teasing wink before looking you up and down, then returned his attention to the group. His eyes practically made you melt, and you quickly had to pull yourself together, “So, Princess Elvira was seen being escorted through Luskan by a known hand of the Rebel Prince, so it is believed that he’s taken her prisoner. Do whatever it takes to return the princess back home.”

And so, the game commenced, although you were quickly left in a state of semi-interested confusion yet again - clearly, Princess Elvira wasn’t too significant for the time being, as you were left to entertain yourself as the group engaged with their quest.

Eventually, you huffed, growing antsy as if in need of something - anything - to keep you occupied as you simply sat here. Beside you, Eddie shot you a glance, feeling your languor radiating outward; teasingly, he pinched at your arm, promptly receiving another small smack from you in retaliation.

“Am I supposed to do anything?” You asked smally while leaning towards him, causing Eddie to smirk.

“What, don’t tell me you’re suddenly interested in playing.” He teased as Lucas paused to debate some move he was going to make, though you had no context for what exactly the party was meant to be doing at this moment.

“No, but I’m just sitting here doing nothing.” You answered in a bratty tone. Foolishly, you hadn’t counted on Eddie being so engaged with the group that he couldn’t keep you entertained - you should have figured as much, and yet, you’d grown so accustomed to his attention that it was suddenly strange to not have it.

That was one more thing for you to not read into.

“Darn.” Eddie mocked, and your expression deadpanned, causing him to grin widely. The group drew his attention back just as he looked like he was about to say something more; you watched as his face shifted, getting back into character, and you couldn’t help but smile at it despite your annoyance.

As Eddie narrated whatever scenario the group had just found themselves in, you tried to pay a little more attention, at least in an effort to satiate your boredom - there was something about a snowy mountain pass and an encounter with soldiers of the Rebel Prince.

While the story continued on, you slowly found yourself becoming gripped by it, watching as Eddie verbally guided the group through treacherous landscapes and harrowing enemy encounters; you were beginning to understand, at least to some extent, what Dungeons & Dragons was about.

Sure, the skill checks and abilities and dice rolls were still confusing as ever to you, but the basics were becoming clear - everyone had a character and a role, and they had to rely on Eddie to reveal the story and information to them. That must have been part of the fun, you figured.

And although you weren’t participating, you found that you were also coming to enjoy this - watching Eddie speak in a variety of voices, jumping out of his seat with excitement and histrionically throwing his arms around. Much like when he played guitar, you could see that he was in his element, that his passion and focus had a way of bringing a smile to your face despite a part of you still finding this game to be completely dorky. Yet again, Eddie found a way to charm you, but at the moment you were far too amused to be annoyed by that.

Eventually, Eddie’s narration brought the group to what must have been the climax of the journey - the party had burst into the Keep of the Rebel Prince, prepared to confront him regarding the kidnapping of Princess Elvira. For this, Eddie sunk down into his seat, his posture taking on one of snarky confidence - this must have been for the prince’s characterization. With a smirk, he began in a voice not quite his own.

“So, you’ve found me, gentlemen.” Eddie’s eyes shined eagerly, as if this is what he’d been waiting for the entire time, “I suspected the Ice King would send someone soon enough.”

“We know that you’ve taken the princess prisoner.” Dustin spoke up eagerly, equally as excited as Eddie for whatever was to come next, “And we plan to kill you and take her back!”

Eddie laughed theatrically, and although it was ridiculous that he was doing all this for a simple tabletop game, you couldn’t help but watch him in anticipation, “You will not be killing me nor will you be taking her back, not unless she has anything to say about it.”

Collectively, you all looked at Eddie with expressions full of confusion and curiosity, wondering what he could possibly mean by that. And, clearly, he was absolutely eating this up - you could see just how much Eddie thrilled in the suspense and tension that was building.

“Your dear Ice Princess is going nowhere, you see, because she’s fallen in love with me.”

All at once, the boys began to eagerly talk over one another, delight and surprise amplifying their volume as they tried to make sense of this plot twist. As they conferred with one another, Eddie returned his gaze to you, his eyes alight at the surprise that had crossed your face as you stared back at him, although there was something within his expression that almost seemed to be assessing you.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Mike spoke up, everyone giving Eddie suspicious looks, “How do we know that you haven’t cast some spell on her.”

In a near threatening manner, Eddie leaned forward with an over the top look of menace, daring the group to doubt him, “From the moment I first laid eyes upon her, I was captivated by the princess. I was drawn to her like a magnet, and by some stroke of luck, she was drawn to me as well.”

“Or so you say.” Jeff challenged rousingly.

Eddie looked at you from the corner of his eye, and perhaps you were misreading it, but there was something uncharacteristically guarded about his expression; he quickly looked back to the boys before you could read further into it, “The princess asked that I help her run away from the cruelty of her father, and how could I refuse her all that she asked for? As the Ice King’s rival, she and I both knew he’d never approve of what had grown between us, so we staged the princess’s kidnapping, despite knowing he’d still come after us.”

The corner of your mouth turned up at the obvious parallel, Eddie drawing inspiration from the secret that this entire relationship between you two was a sham. But just as quickly as it amused you, it also made you tense, silly as that may be - sure, he was in character, but something about the Rebel Prince’s confession of love for the princess spiked your nerves.

You realized amidst your reverie that Eddie was looking at you once more, although the moment you made eye contact he looked away. That avoidance only added to your nerves, another wave of anxiety fluttered inside you, but you simply watched on as he, and the rest of the group, continued.

“For the princess, I’d do anything.” Eddie continued, his tone serious enough that you’d believe him if this wasn’t just a game, “Kill for her, die for her - and I’m willing to take on each and every one of you if that’s what it comes to.”

The group quickly conferred, deciding what their course of action should be now that this shocking information was revealed. All the while, you continued staring at Eddie with wonder, wishing that his fictional little story hadn’t made you feel something, that it hadn’t made you begin to question and wonder at things. He refrained from gazing back at you, furthering your curiosity.

“We want to hear from the princess.” Gareth finally spoke up for everyone; Eddie tilted his head playfully in response, “If what you say is true, we want her to confirm it. And then we’ll decide whether or not we fight you.”

An eager smile spread wide across Eddie’s lips as he went on to describe the way a set of doors opened to reveal Princess Elvira, detailing how she entered the room with a calm, graceful, hypnotic demeanor. Eventually, he and the boys all looked back at you expectantly, and you realized with a start that you were now expected to finally participate, to speak for this character that barely existed within the scope of the story.

You looked between them all with trepidation, eyes practically imploring Eddie to help you figure out what the hell you were supposed to do. Now that you were on the spot, all pondering about Eddie had come to a halt, your mind immediately drawing a blank.

“Oh, come on, don’t chicken out now just when things are getting good.” Dustin lambasted excitedly, drawing a glare out of you as everyone shared a small laugh, “Well? Is the princess being manipulated, or does she actually have feelings for the Rebel Prince?”

You pulled a bit of a hesitant face before sighing, returning your eyes to Eddie as if seeking assistance, as if you needed help forming whatever sentences he wanted to keep the narrative rolling. He was finally able to actually look you in the eye again, simply nod before falling back into character.

“Well, princess, what do you say?”

For another moment you chewed the inside of your cheek before starting tentatively, voice unsure and plain; you held Eddie’s gaze hesitantly, “It’s… true. The Rebel Prince and I are… in love?”

You couldn’t help but huff out a confused laugh at how strange it felt to now be involved in the boys’ dorky little game. And it felt even stranger to allude to love between you and Eddie, even if it were through your characters; you nearly felt a chill on the nerves it made you feel.

“I don’t find that very convincing.” Grant teased as if he were trying to rally the party against the Rebel Prince’s supposed lie. Your jaw tightened a little at the challenge, and so you continued while looking from Eddie to him, growing nervous as if you - not Princess Elvira - were the one being interrogated.

“Everything he said is the truth,” You tried again, hoping that by looking away from Eddie you would somehow keep your cool. Why were you feeling butterflies in your stomach? It’s not as if you were admitting your feelings for Eddie, you reminded yourself. You attempted to swallow your nerves while figuring out what to say next, trying to find this character within yourself, “My father is heartless and hateful, it was suffocating. The Prince is kind and caring and a far cry from all the bad things people have called him… how could I not fall for him?”

There was a shared look of approval from the group - clearly, they were now pleased with this surprise narrative that Eddie had put together and pleased with your participation. As they huddled together once again, you glanced over at Eddie nervously; there was a faint smile on his lips and a light in his eyes that you couldn’t place, that made you anxious in combination with the not-confession you just made.

“As you boys can see, all your efforts were for nothing.” Eddie said to the group condescendingly, which once more seemed to rally them to argue, “So, either you leave us in peace, or I’ll be forced to strike you down.”

And so commenced another bout of debate and dice rolls, the boys deciding to fight in an effort to get their reward rather than show sympathy to the prince and princess. By their skills and luck, the characters eventually defeated the Rebel Prince, choosing to take him prisoner, intent on dragging both he and the princess back to the Ice King.

But then Eddie called it a night, deciding that the Hellfire Club would pick this narrative back up next week considering how long they’d already been at it. You were simultaneously glad and disappointed - you’d just begun to understand the game, to be a part of it, but you’d also been growing tired as the evening wore on.

So, once everything was wrapped up and put back in its place, you all exited the school together, the night air colder than you’d expected, which made you shiver. Being late October, you knew that you had to start dressing more appropriately for the weather, but you weren’t quite ready to give up your short skirts and thin shirts quite yet. You were willing to freeze your ass off just a little for the sake of fashion, shallow as that may sound; and, you simply hated wearing pants and layers.

Seeing the way you shivered and tightened your arms at your side, Eddie slipped off his jacket without hesitation, draping it over your shoulders. Nervously, you gave him a thankful look, hoping he didn’t catch the way you inhaled the scent of leather and cigarettes and musk. 

Eventually, everyone had parted ways, and you were comfortably situated in Eddie’s passenger seat with your knees tucked under you. As had become habit, you watched Eddie as he drove, studying the way the streetlights hit the planes of his face, smiling at the way his hands drummed along to the music against the steering wheel.

“So, what you think?” He asked with a quick glance at you.

“Pretty dorky.” You responded, although you quickly added, “But… fun.”

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that for me?” Eddie teased with a mischievous grin pointing at his ear in emphasis; you rolled your eyes, “Did the ice princess just say she had fun playing D&D with a bunch of nerds?”

“Shut up.” You countered half-heartedly, sharing a smile with him.

“Does that mean you want to come next week?”

Your brow furrowed a little, “We’ll be at the Halloween party.”

Eddie waved a hand, “We’ll go after, I’ll make it short.”

You sighed through your nose in consideration; if you went to more Hellfire Club sessions, would you just be sitting there idly as much as you were tonight? How could you participate? Would they even want you to? Did you actually want to?

“Fine… but don’t get used to it.” The simple response brought another bright smile to Eddie’s face.

“Oh, you’ll be begging to go in no time, I guarantee it.”

“I’m sure you’d love to see me beg.” You didn’t think the words through until they’d already spilled out of your mouth, causing your eyes to immediately widen and your shoulders to tense. Beside you, you could see the way Eddie’s own expression faltered, clearly catching the accidental innuendo, too. Fumbling over yourself for a moment, you tried to put on your best disinterested tone, as if you were none the wiser of the implications in your previous statement, “As if that would ever happen, though.”

Eddie blew air between his lips, also trying to play off that brief instance of tension, laughing falsely, “Yeah, yeah, that’s not happening.”

You could feel a shiver of anxiety all throughout your body, wondering what Eddie thought of what you just said, wondering why D&D felt a little too candid when you finally had the chance to speak. You had to have been blowing this out of proportion, your nerves simply getting the better of you - yeah, it was just this stupid crush of yours making you second guess things, making you overreact. There was no way Eddie was confessing anything to you back there, and you weren’t exactly confessing anything to him either.

Shit, you really had to keep yourself in check, because this crush was seriously getting out of hand.

.

.

@3rd-conchord @a-queen-blr @adelalaaa @adversary713 @avalon-wolf

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@twihard28 @welcometohellsock @whats-my-question @xxsxdghxstxx

[sleepynoons]

Locked Eyes

Jing Yuan finally returns from his Grand Tour, but by the bounds of society's customs and traditions, you cannot marry him. This is a romance story told through letters exchanged, secret rendezvouses, red silk embroideries.

jing yuan x afab!f!reader, regency!au, sfw

word count: ~15,300

cw: explicit language, slight suggestive content, minor character death

notes: the regency era is too complex, and i got lazy with my research, so this is not accurate!!! best read on desktop because there are some long paragraphs... would also appreciate reblogs + comments!!!

infinite thanks to @staraxiaa, for always being a fantastic and incredibly insightful beta-reader, and for watching me lose my sanity over the past 1.5 weeks. and to io, wherever you may be, this is for you. you made this piece possible, and even if we do not talk anymore, i hope you are well and happy. every day, i am so grateful we met, and i hope you can enjoy even bits and pieces of this story.

YOU HAD met Jing Yuan in your early years, by chance, peering at each other through the relentless beating of the sun’s rays and the glittering of the sea’s many jeweled crests. At the time, the boy had, you thought, equally dazzling eyes, as golden as the chains that adorned your mother’s neck and wrists, the same in reflecting your curious, admiring gaze.

Now, the gold is shades darker, matured and cured, a reflection of his much more grown state. Even from across the room, past the rotating crowd of other noble families, where you peer at him over the top of your lace fan, you can deduce his transformation, his broader, fitted shoulders and chest, inappropriately loose, long hair, tall stature that dwarfs those lingering near him. Most importantly, though, you cannot help but smirk at the flicker of red when Jing Yuan adjusts the collar of his tailcoat. The flash of color is meant to be discrete, though to observant eyes, it might as well also serve as a challenge.

For now, this will do.

A call of your name from your older brother pulls you from your watchful perch. Beside him is another man, another introduction, another attempt at your mother’s instruction. Your foxy satisfaction melts into your typical countenance, and you curtsy as the two gentlemen approach you. You know this conversation will result in nothing, but you entertain your brother and the baron he has brought over anyway.

–

You have never been the daughter your mother wanted. Perhaps, when you were once little, you were on course to becoming favored, but you have grown, enough, at least, to develop a pointed sense of your own being. Your brother says you think too much, that you are unable to see the bigger picture, and perhaps that is why your mother does not take too kindly towards you. After all, why would anyone favor another that watches, observes, judges their every move?

Even now, as she sits across from you, informing you of the baron and his lineage weeks after your introduction to the man, your mother is aware that while her directions may escape your memory, her movements do not. The shuddering of her fingers, an instinct that comes with age; the adjusting and readjusting of the pleats of her nightgown, a glean into her deep-set fear of abandonment; the twitching arch of her brow, the permanence of her distaste and disappointment in you.

“Mother,” you interrupt, “I suppose you are willing to sacrifice the nobility of our family name in order to satiate your sole desire to marry me off?”

She harrumphs. “Incorrigible.” The word is equivalent to being spat on. You give her some reprieve by pulling out your handkerchief and dab at your forehead, as if she really did. “You dare to claim you exhibit even an ounce of the dignity and lavishness you have been raised in?”

“Not at all.” You cease your acting, slipping the cloth away, and stare straight into your mother’s eyes. The briefest thought, that it is your fearlessness, a lack of tact, that your mother wholly detests you for, flickers in your mind before you extinguish it effectively. No matter. You say, “But we must not forget I still bear your husband’s last name. Regardless of your personal feud,” and you raise your chin towards her, “your husband would never allow even the likes of a woman such as myself to tarnish the family’s honor.”

You can see the tightening, working, grinding of her jaw. She grits, “You must have someone in mind, do you not?” She throws down her fan, the lacquered wood snapping in half when it collides with the ground, and rises on her haunches, towering over your seated figure. “You whore. Who is this man that you are seeing? Do you not understand what a scandal –“

You tilt your head, less than impressed. “There is no other man. That is your job, to find your only female kin a suitable proprietor. I would never do something on your behalf.”

Your response simultaneously placates yet enrages her further. “See yourself out now. And do not appear in my sights again tonight.”

“Of course, Mother.” You finish the last sip of your tea before standing to curtsy and exit the drawing room.

You pad through the darkening halls of your father’s manor with purpose. Instead of returning to your bedroom, you make your way to the third of four floors, veer towards the right end of the hallway, and knock on the last door.

The door cracks open before you can identify yourself.

“I am no postman, My Lady.”

“Oh, Fu Xuan!” You giggle and clasp her hands in yours, holding her fingers up to your cheek. “You are absolutely wonderful to me.”

“I would prefer if you kept your correspondences to a minimum. The servants are already gossiping about the frequency in which letters are delivered to me, and in due time, your mother will begin to pry into this matter.”

“Please, it is only every fortnight!”

Fu Xuan huffs, retracts her hands, and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You would not believe how bored your servants are.”

“Well, then, I do apologize. Perhaps I should have a more extravagant fight with my mother next time? At least she might knock over a teapot or something. That should occupy the maids for a day or so.”

“My Lady, if I may presume, it seems you will no longer have to meet that baron?”

You flash a wide grin at your governess. Born in an unconventional household, Fu Xuan is educated, beginning her academics at the age of no less than three, and prepared her whole life to work as a teacher. At first, your mother was against employing Fu Xuan because you were already struggling to conform to the set of traditions and expectations she had placed upon you then, but after meeting the young academic for a brief hour one morning, Fu Xuan and her adept way with words convinced your mother otherwise.

To you, Fu Xuan is more than your governess. She is also your closest confidant, similar enough in age to understand your perspectives yet more than practiced to offer wisdom when required. Though she was shaking her head as you proposed your strategy, Fu Xuan nonetheless agreed to help send and receive letters on your behalf to avoid the hawkish gazes incessantly monitoring you, to deprive them of another chance to pierce and tear at your person.

You walk over to her desk, cleared of everything except for a paper envelope and a small butter knife. You pick the former up, running a pointer finger across the wax seal, and release a soft, muted sigh. “You have always been so keen, Fu Xuan. How could you tell?”

“My Lady, your strengths have never lied in deception.”

“Oh, please!” You feign offense, dramatically setting the back of your hand to your forehead with faux urgency. “I am always excited to see you!”

“Please read the letter, so I may rest.”

Fu Xuan pulls out her desk chair for you to sit in, and you take the small butter knife in your unoccupied hand. Carefully, you prod the tip underneath the seal, gently pushing and easing its grip, until the wax plucks off neatly.

The envelope is thin this time, slimmer than many of the previous letters you have received, and you feel a pang of disappointment, resounding and clear in the hollows of your chest. You pull out a single sheet of paper and unfold it carefully, as if it might tear and dissipate into dust if you so much as brushed a finger a degree too harshly against the fiber.

Dear Lady,

I would like to foremost extend my condolences regarding your father’s condition. Word has reached the far edges of my relatives’ stays in Bath, and when I had visited a week ago, my family had discussed the news over lunch. I should have returned for a brief stay by the time this letter arrives in your hands, and do give Lady Fu Xuan my utmost thanks. I believe I shall see you at the dinner party that is occurring in just a few days time, and, if the chance arises, I will see to it that I am introduced to your brother.

Regarding your question in our previous exchange, my thoughts on the matter vary. Perhaps we may reach an impasse on the issue, but it is an overwhelming hurdle to pass such aggressive tax revisions without unanimous agreeance from many of the other men on the Royal Council; this is hardly achievable in the current instance, and I would advise My Lady and myself to not fancy ourselves with ill-conceived hopes. However, I do concede that your suggestions come from willful intent and are what is best for the common people, and therefore, I will do my part and pass on word to my father and his heir. I sincerely apologize that that is the extent of my powers. I am also aware that this writing may be shorter than before, and I hope My Lady is not discouraged, though, it may be presumptuous of me to assume My Lady would ever have such moments of wavering.

Once my tour has been completed, I can assure that there will be plentiful recounts of my journeys and more debates to be had about the state of affairs I come across. I bring your embroidery with me at all times.

– Your most faithful friend  

Jing Yuan, ever thoughtful, always considerate, never one to miss a single detail. Jing Yuan has always been thorough, that has been clear ever since you witnessed those dense, molten golds, and you are glad that he actively reciprocates your efforts in conversation, despite how inexperienced and eloquent you may be in comparison. On cue, Fu Xuan pulls out a drawer to grab a quill, a sheet of paper, and a well of ink, setting them beside your dominant hand. A maid will come to check on you very soon, judging by the rising of the moon, so you must write with precise decisiveness.

Sir,

Many thanks for your condolences to the Marquess. He is recovering and should be able to return to his post in a few morns. I did, indeed, witness you at the dinner party, and I am a little dimmed at the lack of correspondence between you and my brother. Instead, I was subjected to quite a drawling meeting with this baron from somewhere in the South, and the Marchioness has been encouraging his affections for me since. I managed to escape the impending engagement, after inciting a fit from her, but good Sir, while I do not mean to expedite our efforts unnecessarily, I would prefer if we could bring our exchanges elsewhere soon. Paper simply does not compare to the excitement and passion one feels in speech and gesture. Miss Fu Xuan is also beginning to fall under scrutiny, and I would never put her in harm’s way.

As for my simple questions regarding the rumored tax revisions, I thank you, truly, and can only implore My Lord to use the full extent of your ability, despite slim chances at approval. I hope your travels are safe and felicitous, and do write to me next month. I will be awaiting your full return.

– Your most affectionate friend

There is very little time for you to look over your reply. Quickly scanning, you pause only for any glaring errors, and at the lack thereof, you set your quill down and fold the letter in half.

“I must go now,” you tell Fu Xuan as you stand.

“I shall see you tomorrow, My Lady.” The two of you share a soft embrace, cheek to cheek, before you creak the bedroom door open and traverse with light steps to your own chamber. You make it in time, already shuffling into bed when one of the servants arrives to snuff out the candles lighting your room.

–

You remember the soft pulses of warm wind against your arms, the crisp, slightly briny scent of the sea and sand the breeze wafted to your nose. There were many families, children and women and men alike paddling in the sea, while others lied underneath umbrellas on the shore. If there is anything you and your mother have ever agreed on, it is that the beach is truly a healing, almost spiritual location.

Although your mother forbade you from wading into the waters, in fear of the sun burning your visage and hands, you did not mind staying behind on the sands in the first place. The feel of the dirt and grains and cracks of shells felt foreign against your palms, your nerves much more accustomed to the smooth, flat texture of grass blades and rough cobblestone. The beach sands were harsh, sometimes sharp, sometimes rounded from years of natural erosion and other children’s curious touches. You also took delight in the colors of the shore, glittering hot white and beige and speckled pink, winking at you as you scoured for conches and clams. The large sunhat you were wearing kept perturbing your digging, constantly sliding down your forehead and obscuring your vision, yet every time, you would pull it back into place and continue shoveling with curled fingers, until the sand transitioned into wet, moist sediment.

Your mother could not prohibit your burrowing for she was under another umbrella with her acquaintances, and you took much delight in being able to cause some mischief right in front of her without repercussion. But more than petty vengeance, you wanted to find a memento to bring home. Though young, you were already aware of some rift between you and your parents, and you were not guaranteed attendance on such trips in the future. The only way you could comfort yourself was by digging for that perfect shell, with its spirals and grooves and gradient of pearlescent white and baby pink, the ones described in the simple novels Fu Xuan lent you.

But the area around your feet offered little reward, and you were dissatisfied by the chips and scraps remaining in your palm as you sieved through the sand with your fingers. You gave up a little saddened and frustrated, as children do before they lose interest. Then, suddenly, you felt a soft tap on your shoulder, and you peered over to see an outstretched hand with a piece of something bright and orange. You glanced up, and that was when you first laid eyes on Jing Yuan.

“What is this?” you asked, voice muted and withdrawn in the face of a stranger.

“A piece of coral,” he answered. His voice was light and energetic, warm and welcoming, what you imagined playing and frolicking in the sea might feel like.

“What is coral?” He grinned wide, and you decided then that you liked this boy with wild white hair and generous hands. He did not shun you for speaking in questions, did not criticize your lack of knowledge, did not comment “little girl” under his breath.

“My mother says it is a type of rock, found on the ocean’s floors.”

“How did you get it?”

His grin softened into a gentler simper. “She gave it to me. She has these beautiful coral necklaces, and one broke two nights ago. She and her maids could not string it back together, so she gifted me the beads.”

The way he spoke so adoringly, lovingly, about his mother was foreign to you. But even then, you knew how important this woman was to him, and you could not understand why he would give you a present that was meant for him.

“Should you not keep this bead for yourself?”

He shook his head adamantly. “I can share.”

“But this is not something to be shared, yes?”

He paused for a moment, considering his response. He cocked his head to the side, rubbed at his temple with a knuckle, carefully stringing and knitting together the words he wanted to say.

“I want to,” he decided, with a tone of finality. “That way, I will not be the only one to remember my mother.”

You would later find out that Jing Yuan is the illegitimate child of one of the honorable dukedoms. Your brother had informed you but elaborated no further. It was then that you learned that it is customary for those of different castes to separate themselves from each other.

–

Jing Yuan listens to you well. You receive his next letter exactly a month later, timed intentionally no doubt, during a luncheon with Fu Xuan. Your father was still recovering in his chamber, and your mother was away for the weekend to spend some time with her younger sister. It has been a while since the last time you could so openly indulge yourself.

Dear Lady,

I believe I must offer my condolences to both Lady Fu Xuan and My Lady herself; I hope this report is delivered not even an hour too soon. Alas, I am also deeply perturbed at the notion of you being engaged to a baron, of all potential suitors. Though I will not fault the Marchioness, for you are of age and she must feel the pressures from the Marquess and other prying persons, it truly is deeply troubling that she has had to resort to such dire methods. Rest assured, however, that I will do my best to build an alliance with your brother.

I am to complete my tour before the New Year, in time for the coming Season, leaving us ample time. I only pray that the Marchioness does not rush My Lady into another introduction in the meanwhile.

“My Lady,” Fu Xuan interrupts, “your countenance is slipping.”

Without removing your gaze from the letter, eager to continue reading, you simply reply, “He will be back in less than two months.”

I am eager to see the familiar fields of the Duke’s estate when I return, but more than that, and I hope My Lady does not take my affections so lightly, I am delighted to reunite with you. As of this writing, I have only just arrived in Rome, with its famed colonnades, brilliant masonry, and fine arts. If my travels allow, I shall ensure that I bring some trinkets back with me to present to you. I will say no more regarding my tour, as My Lady and I will have more than sufficient time and space to discuss all that I have seen and experienced in the past three years.

However, this is where I have to mark the end of good news. My communications with my father have been unsuccessful, and the revisions we have agreed upon will not even reach the table of the Royal Council. The Duke has made it clear in his returned correspondence that he will speak no further on the issue, and therefore, that is the limitation of my influence. While this outcome may be discouraging, I hope My Lady’s interest in the politics and machinations of our nobility will not wane, and I will continue to improve upon myself to aid in seeing your efforts to fruition.

Before I forget, I must say that I had arrived late to that evening party and could not identify you or your brother at the hall. Next time, I will be more vigilant. Do tell how My Lady is faring, and perhaps we are only a letter or two away from being able to speak to each other in person.

– Your most faithful friend

You do not even bother to respond to Fu Xuan’s calls for you to finish your meal. Rushing out of your seat, you head straight to your brother’s study to write your letter in answer. Fishing through the drawers, you manage to find a dwindling well of ink along with an old, ragged quill, but they shall suffice.

Sir,

How excitable that My Lord is to return so soon, but surely, you jest. Upon the conclusion of your tour, you will have met many characters of people, and therefore, will not feel a need to see such a lively creature as myself. If I had the privilege of my own tour, I know I would lock myself in my room upon its finishing for three days or longer, with no disturbance, not even from Lady Fu Xuan, to record and digest all that I have experienced. There are also the remnants of your mother’s garden; though they may be bare in the midst of the winter snow, I am sure the winding branches and thick brushes are welcoming, familiar sights.

That said, I will hold My Lord to his word and shall comment no more on the matter of our formal introductions. I will continue to educate myself, to silence any hesitation or doubt you may have of my fancies towards academics. It pleases me to know that My Lord has such adoring concerns for me, as I to you.

– Your most affectionate friend

Just as you seal your envelope, waiting for the wax of your family seal to harden, a knock comes from the door.

“This is your own room. You ought to walk in and out as you please.”

Your brother laughs, always amused at your quick wit, and pads over to the front of the desk.

“You behave as if this room belongs to you. It looks like someone has ransacked my drawers for ransom and treasure.”

You roll your eyes. “There are none of such wares here. Your most pitiful sister could only employ an abandoned quill and a leaking pot of ink.”

“But you finished writing, nevertheless. To whom may I inquire?” He attempts to peer at the back of the envelope, hoping to catch a glimpse of a name or an address, but you slide it off the table before he can see.

“A friend.”

You know this answer will not satiate your brother’s endless curiosity, one of your many similarities. “Do I know of this friend?”

“You will,” and you wave at him to dismiss his other queries.

Unwavering, he says, “I see my ‘most pitiful’ sister has tricks up her sleeve. I am eager to see what surprises you have in store for me.” You nod cheerfully in agreement.

Aside from Jing Yuan, your brother is the only other male figure in your life that encourages your willingness to explore and learn. In the first place, he distastes the act of patronizing or critiquing you, and only provides guidance when even Fu Xuan cannot convince you of your wrongs. So when he brings up the debates and discussions that have occurred at the Royal Council, you are ever grateful for his generosity.

“I am sure you have heard recent word of the revolts happening in the slums. Such news has reached the ears of those in the Royal Council, and the Dukedoms have unanimously agreed to patiently wait for silence to befall the common folk.” He glances at you to see if you have anything to say. You blink, urging him to continue. He takes a deep breath, and suddenly, leans forward, bending at his waist so you two are now nose to nose. In a hushed voice, he says, “In fact, in the upcoming Season, they plan to raise the taxes again.”

You huff, frustrated. You mutter, “Relentless, they are.”

Your brother echoes your sentiments, wearing a solemn expression as well, and mumbles, “Indeed. How cruel, too, to decide the fates of so many right before the New Year.”

“I am confident Father agrees?”

“Regardless if he does or not, a Marquess cannot possibly rebuke the demands of a Duke.”

Both of you can only sigh. Without lingering for too long, though, you rise, preparing to send off your waiting response.

“Be well,” your brother says as he accompanies you to the study door, “for I have heard this winter will be sinister.”

Rather than feel a chill in your bones, though, your blood rushes with renewed warmth and vigor. An initiative, a motivation to take action, something you have never experienced before, appears in your mind, burning into your thoughts so you will never forget. This is a chance, you think. An opportunity I will never be bestowed again.

–

In and out, through and through, back and forth. You wet the tip of the thread with a flick of your tongue and string it through the silver of the needle. In and out, through and through, back and forth. You tie a small knot at the end of the thread. In and out, through and through, back and forth. 

Stitching did not come naturally to you. If one studied the pads of your fingers at length, one could discern the faint scars of scratches and pierces of the tender skin, remnants of your debacle with the needle before you learned to seamlessly wield it. Now, after many years of practice, you have come to enjoy the meticulous process of creation, watching as each push, pull, and tighten amounts to a stroke of an image.

At first, it began with tambouring, straightforward enough for a young girl to grow accustomed to the pricking and stringing motions of a needle, decorating spare handkerchiefs and old dresses that you could no longer fit in. Then, when you received some canvas and a circular wooden frame from Fu Xuan for your birthday, you transitioned to the needle and began to acquire knowledge of the many different types of stitches and patterns. From there, your practices extended beyond the frayed edges of cut cloth. From lace trimmings of your skirt to the cuffs of your brother’s shirts and coats to the reticules your mother had long abandoned and forgotten about, your work started to resemble that of the many renowned seamstresses in town. Of course, many did, still do not, look favorably upon this talent of yours. Embroidery is considered a lower form of art, incomparable to the ways of music or sketch or paint. But, still, you seek comfort, when your mind is much too tense and worn, in the rhythm and coming together of fabric and lines.

“What is it?” Disinterested, convinced that whatever you have conjured up is of no importance, will always never be important, your mother looks outside of the window panes, more content to watch flakes of white drift from the graying sky.

You are not swayed. You clear your throat and say, “We are mother and daughter. Occasionally, the blood that binds us does show in our behaviors.”

Your mother sighs. “Out with it, foolish girl.” She casts a glare at you before her eyes flick back to the scenery outside. “I require total peace, so hurry with your speech.”

“I simply want to request a tea party with a few of the other ladies.”

Eyebrows furrowed, your mother peers at you as if you have sprouted the Devil’s horns atop your head. Incredulous, she asks, “Why such a change in heart and mind?”

“Well, to ease some of your concerns, I think it is best that I learn from those you deem proper enough. Further,” and you stare at her intently now, “your dearest son has informed me that this winter will be particularly harsh. How can we entertain our guests when we are all inside for so long?”

“Is the usual routine of games and food and good laughter not sufficient?” Your mother is fully facing you now. Inwardly, you chuckle with much delight.

You speak slowly, stretching out the silence between each phrase to heighten pressure and suspense. “Fair,” you muse, “but all of our fathers are getting older, too. See your husband, Mother, his state is faring worse and worse. Perhaps... us ladies can spend the time more wisely.”

“I see.”

All you can do is wait as your mother mulls over the idea, letting your suggestion sink, ruminate, digest. You cannot push anymore, so you bid a good night and return to your room. Even without the tea party, even if you have to bear the burden yourself, your work awaits you.

The next morning, you are surprised to find one of your mother’s maids carrying several letters outside.

“What are these messages for?” you ask.

The maid does a brief curtsy before answering, “The Marchioness is sending out invitations for a tea party, My Lady. It is set to happen immediately, a week from today.”

The outcome is even better than you had anticipated.

You rush to the morning room, where your mother is eating bread and chocolate. 

“Mother, thank you,” you say, a hand over your heart as you bow.

She huffs and finishes chewing her bite. Dusting her fingers, she replies with arrogance, knowing you owe her a favor, “I have also gone ahead and asked for layers upon layers of cotton, linen, and wool to be delivered to the estate. Let this be a reminder that you owe everything to your noble upbringing.”

You are much too giddy to smartly reproach her.

–

The tea party is loud and boisterous, filling the usual silence of your family’s manor with tall tales, news on the men’s recent fox hunts, and scandalous romantic couplings. You hear that a baron was caught with his mistress of several months. A Duke’s son fell off his horse because he was severely inebriated, but thankfully only broke his dominant arm and nowhere else. An older earl and countess were blessed with another daughter. 

You sit in a rocking chair and let the conversation float freely in your mind. For once, your mother has truly outclassed your expectations, presenting you with an occasion, an opportunity, so bountiful that you are almost compelled to forgive her historical grievances towards you. You sew together sheets of linen, piling in wool and cotton, before closing the seams. The other ladies also work with unparalleled diligence at having been given a purpose.

“What a wonderful idea!” one praised with joy. Another said you were “incredibly thoughtful.” You smirk within your thoughts, concealed by a pleasant countenance on the outside. Even the accompanying men nodded approvingly at your intentions.

At the beginning of the party, you announced to the many guests, “Please, do enjoy your time here at the manor. I am incredibly gracious towards you all for making the cold journey to this distant estate. However, I urge all of the ladies present to work as quickly yet dutifully as your hands can, for we need to make as many coats as possible. There is no such thing as too much warmth in this never ending cold.” Everyone agreed with solemn expressions before breaking for Chinese green tea, gingerbread, and walnut cake, filling the air with festive cheer.

You pause for a brief break. As you curl and uncurl your fingers, stretching out the strained joints, you glance over at a couch. In a day’s work, the couch is covered in layers upon layers of coats and thicker shirts. Some are small, others are longer, few haphazardly put together, but all will still do. Then, you look around the room, passing your eyes over the faces of all of the guests. The women, more than there usually are at such parties, sit in armchairs around the room. The men stand in between, wherever there is space, holding onto glass cups of wine and emptied coffee cans. Though you have never felt like you belonged in such groups and communities, you cannot help but find today’s gathering rather agreeable and successful. Is this what it feels like to start something and see it through to the end?

Well, not that you are at the end. You count in your head and conclude that there is still a month before Jing Yuan returns. When he does, then you will be able to see your work to completion.

At the thought of him, though, you feel a faint flicker of concern. It has been a month since your last letter, and you have yet to receive one in return. You try to comfort yourself with reminders that Jing Yuan is busy and there is always the possibility of mail getting lost or delayed in transaction. But, in that case, you must try again.

Later that evening, when all of the guests have dismissed themselves and the drawing room brims with clothes, you slip to Fu Xuan’s room and draft a quick message by melting candlelight.

Sir,

My sincere apologies for disturbing your journey. As I have not received a reply since my last letter, I wanted to send another one to let you know that I am, at least, faring well. Winter is rapidly approaching, and I hope My Lord is not experiencing any disorder or illness yourself, that is, if Rome is experiencing such volatile weather as well, I would not know. If possible, since you insist, shall we wait in your mother’s garden when you return, as we did years ago?

I patiently await My Lord’s presence.

– Your most affectionate friend

–

A knock on your window wakes you from your restless sleep. Already half-awake from tossing and turning, you hear the curt raps against the glass pane and slowly blink awake. The person is patient and remains silent, as if knowing you would require a few minutes to get dressed and prepared. 

You pull on another two layers of gowns and a thick shawl. You also grab one of the coats you sewed. Finally, you grab two pairs of gloves, one much larger than the other, and pad over to open the curtains covering your windows.

The sky is overcast, large clumps of clouds blocking the moon and stars from your vision, but occasionally, faint streaks of light pour through the cracks of the grim overhang. And right as you see him, a single ray casts its brightness over the man waiting outside, as if to anoint him prince or king or some holy spirit. His hair gleams the purest silver, and he adorns a coat, one that is seemingly a little too small for him, with floral patterns adorning the length of its sleeves. He flashes a close-eyed smile, and you cannot help but also beam at him.

Firmly, you hold the top sash of the window while pushing the bottom panel up. As soon as the bottom panel is lifted even slightly, a gust of biting air enters your rooms and flurries around your figure. You shiver at the chill but continue to lift until the window is fully open and slip through.

Holding onto your arm with one hand and your waist with the other, he helps you out of your room and onto the tiny balcony with him. When you stand, you two are pressed chest to chest, but by now, the streak of moonlight has disappeared and you can only make out faint traces of him.

“Good day, My Lady,” the man whispers.

You take a deep breath, basking in the sturdiness of his frame against yours and the ticklish sensation against your ear from his breath. “Should it not be ‘good evening,’ My Lord?”

“The day is anew, so I shall be the first one to greet you in this early morn.”

As your eyes adjust to the darkness, his features come into clearer view. The strands of each hair, the creases of his lapels, those molten golds. You cannot stare for too long, lest you blaze and melt as well.

“I will go down first,” he says, “and be there to catch you when you jump down.”

“Yes, yes,” you agree, though, not without a tinge of sarcasm. “As we have done before.”

He nods, maintaining his grip on your waist for another moment, before he releases you, leaps into a nearby tree, and swiftly climbs down to the ground. You, on the other hand, pull yourself up to sit on the balcony railing, and when he motions with waves of his hands, you take a deep breath, feel the pounding of your heartbeat against your ribcage, and propel yourself off with a push of your legs, holding onto your belongings. He catches you, arms knowingly finding their way around your waist and under your knees, as if he did not simply perform a feat of great strength and balance.

“Jing Yuan,” you gasp.

“Oh, now we are using names?” he jests. You are still too excited to reprimand him, and he laughs at your awestruck state before saying your name. He carries you over to where his horse stays, neighing and nosing at the ground, and helps you get on. By now, you have recollected your breath and can say much more.

“Jing Yuan,” you call out. “Your coat is much too small for you. Wear this one instead.” You toss the one you have been clutching onto this entire time, along with the larger pair of gloves, into his arms. “It may not be as comfortable, but it should keep you warm.”

“It seems My Lady has become quite cold-hearted in the years we have spent apart.”

“No, I know why My Lord chooses to wear what he has adorned. But I cannot have you falling ill on me. I need you.” The sound of your last three words seem to soften something in Jing Yuan because when he looks up at you, his gaze is full of longing and yearning.

“Then, we must leave here immediately,” he replies as he mounts onto the horse, sitting in front of you. “Hold on tight.”

And with a tug of the reigns, the two of you are racing through the fields and roads that surround your family’s estate. You bury your face into Jing Yuan’s back, feel the scratch of the linen against your cheeks, and submit to the roaring of the wind in your ears.

Three long years since you have been on the back of this very horse, holding onto Jing Yuan as so. Mimi, a most peculiar name that Jing Yuan imagined, was only a young mare at the time, but she could at least withstand the weight of your younger selves, quite strong for both her sex and age. In the past, the two of you often made such arrangements, every fortnight or so, him greeting you at the window as he did this evening, you leaping into his arms, the two of you escaping to the safety and privacy of his mother’s garden.

You do not know how long it takes to reach his estate from yours, but Mimi must have gotten faster because you arrive before you can fully adjust to the jostling of horseback. With a tip of his chin, the gatekeeper of Jing Yuan’s manor obeys and cracks the gate only enough to let your party slip through. Mimi’s hooves clop against the gravel of the driveway as Jing Yuan slows her down to a slight gallop and guides her towards the left side of the estate, where one can enter his mother’s garden after jumping past a few evergreen hedges.

He gets off first before helping you down. From above, you can see the tips of his reddened ears and scoff, frustrated.

“What is the matter, My Lady?” he inquires, attentive to even the smallest shifts in your disposition.

“I must apologize, My Lord. I should have brought a tippet.”

“Do not concern yourself with such trivial matters. Yanqing has already prepared warm clothes and food for us.” He sets you down and guides you to an open space nearby that is hidden behind granite pillars and dry rose vines, where, on top of a picnic sheet on the floor, lay two oil lamps that illuminate a spread of covered tableware and articles of muffs, coats, and blankets. If you recall correctly, this area used to host a small table and two chairs, allowing Jing Yuan and his mother to nibble on biscuits and talk about the day’s events during spring dawns and summer dusks.

“Yanqing must have grown considerably,” you say as you take a seat. Jing Yuan nods, sitting right beside you, and drapes a blanket over your shoulders.

“Much has changed,” he muses. “He is at my shoulders now. He has taken great care of Mimi.”

“You did not bring her along with you?”

Jing Yuan tilts his head, as he always does when he is about to tell an interesting story. “I had to travel by boat several times throughout my tour. There was no way to bring Mimi, for she is terrified of the ocean.” You perk up at and listen intently, eager to drink in all of the details of his travels.

Jing Yuan speaks of meeting the British envoys and French royals. He recounts the myths behind the statue of the Tiber. He speaks of the many hurdles he experienced as he made his way from one country to the next, once needing to barter with a driver over ten cents for an additional mile, another time having to locate a luggage that slipped into a raging river. He describes the cuisines he ate in masterful language, the fragrant breads, seasoned fish, decadent pastries, hearty stews. He lists cultural differences, how the Austrians bond over musical theatre and opera, the way Italians pore over their massive collections of literature, the Portuguese’s peaceful lives separate from war and political strife.

“I wonder how Portugal does it,” you mumble.

Jing Yuan leans down to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “My Lady,” he mutters, “there is no such thing as a complete utopia in this world.”

“But did you not just prescribe their land as such?”

He hums, tracing his finger from behind the shell of your ear, down to your pulse point at your neck, back up to the under of your jaw. “A Grand Tour is still only a tour. One does not visit the slums or the rural villages or the dirty outskirts of cities, if it can be avoided. We will never fully see or understand how the common people live. How they survive.”

You can feel the intensity of his stare. He is testing you, urging you to look back, to taste the raging of flames and anger and frustration in his golden eyes. But you cannot, or rather, you should not. It would be too presumptuous of you to act like you still know how he thinks, understands, perceives the world.

“You are right, My Lord,” you manage to croak, throat somehow parched, despite the cup of warm milk you only just finished. “We will never truly know.”

You want to say more, but you do not know if you should. Instead, you shut your mouth and lean against Jing Yuan’s shoulder.

Unexpectedly, he shrugs you off. He even pulls away from you. Then, he taps at the middle of your spine, causing you to sit still and upright.

“Speak,” he instructs, voice low yet stable, as if he is waiting with bated breath, patience wearing thin. “I know you have your own thoughts, so speak your truth.”

“My Lord, I…” You falter. It has been a while since you have been allowed to speak so openly about such serious matters, and you are no longer accustomed to late hours past your curfew, neither of which aid you as you attempt to string together some semblance of eloquence. “In reality, I… I will never have the chance to know. To know how it feels like to go without food or shelter. Or to withstand this severe weather in the barest of threads. Or any degree of suffering and hardship, truly. But…” You take one hand out of the muff and place it on top of his gloved ones, running the pads of your fingers over the glazed leather. “But I cannot sit idly by and do nothing, no?”

Jing Yuan interlaces his fingers with yours and asks, “What can you do?” It is not an admonishment or an ironic jab, but instead, a genuine question with hopeful intentions.

“Jing Yuan.” The punctuated way you utter his name alerts him, and he tightens his grasp on you to let you know he is listening. “Forgive my impertinence, but perhaps, I have found a way. Your coat.” You nudge your chin towards his chest, and he finally examines the thick wool keeping him warm.

“Did you make this?”

You nod. “And many other ladies. I hosted a tea party a few weeks ago where we gathered together to make many. Though they may not be lined or hemmed properly, they should last a few winters.”

Jing Yuan shuffles to look around at the coat that he is wearing. You watch as his eyes dart from the collar to the sleeves to the buttons. As if coming to some sort of internal agreement, he nods and releases an interested hum.

“I wonder how you convinced such noble families to partake in charity?”

You chuckle, shaking your head before resting it on his shoulder. This time, he does not shake you off. “They do not know that it is for charity. I simply requested that we do it under the guise of my father’s illness, and bless their hearts, they agreed to assist in making as many winter pieces for the noblemen as they could. My Lord, women can be quite determined if given a meaningful task.”

Jing Yuan laughs at your last comment. “That I know well, for My Lady is a prime example of such fortitude. But will they not realize some of the clothes will be missing?”

“Oh, of course, I addressed that as well. I told them I would be sending the pieces we made to the seamstresses to get it properly fitted, which would require some time and patience. My Lord, you ought to know that, while many noble ladies know how to embroider, that is the extent of their talents. None of them even know how to put together a dress for themselves! At the very least, they can do rudimentary work in sewing together large pieces of fabric and stuffing cotton. Regardless, in the meantime, I will continue to sew as many as I can to substitute for the missing amount, and I will be sure to distribute the coats to their intended owners before the New Year. Speaking of which…”

You nudge at his chest with the point of your elbow. It takes Jing Yuan a second to react, the exhaustion beginning to penetrate and muddle his senses, before he realizes. 

He chuckles again, softer, quieter. “I understand why My Lady said she needed me earlier this evening.”

“Would you be willing to support such an endeavor, My Lord?”

Without a single word, he brings his arms around you and sets his head atop of yours, embracing you with comfortable tightness and security. “Of course, anything at your behest. Let me know when, and I shall act upon your instruction immediately.”

“On Saint Thomas’s Day. Visit as many families as you can, especially those with children.”

“Then it shall be done.”

With that, silence fills the space around you. You should be even a slight bit cautious and careful, with the way Jing Yuan surrounds you whole. You both are much more grown, after all, and if someone, anyone, were to see the intimacy the two of you are sharing, it would tarnish your reputation irreparably. But three long years it has been since the last time you felt his touch. Three years since you could feel his hair graze against your cheek, his fingers hold at your waist, his chest press against your back. And more than anything else, these past three years have cost you the sound of his voice. He sounds different now. More worn and fatigued, yet simultaneously confident and articulate. You have been deprived of his lips ghosting your ears, his hot breath trailing against the lines of your neck, each of his words sending tremors through the flesh and bones of your body. 

“Are you warm, My Lord?”

“Yes, much due to this coat of yours.”

You huff. “You should not have worn such an ill-fitted coat in the first place. It does not fit you anymore.”

He strokes at your side and banters, “My Lady, I truly do hope that you are not, in reality, ignorant as to why I chose to.”

Of course, you know. The way the coat stretched to accommodate Jing Yuan’s growth is only another sign, in testament to how much he has transformed since your last encounter three years ago.

You still remember doing, undoing, redoing many of the countless florals that are strewn across the expanses of the sleeves. The red thread is bold, in contrast to the crisp white of the article’s linen, and you remember how, at the time, you were embarrassed by your brazenness to choose such a distinct color. You had wanted to change it to something else, perhaps a muted blue or yellow, but it was too late, and you had to see Jing Yuan off before his tour.

Seeming to know where your mind is wandering off to, he says something that steals your breath and sets your heart ablaze. “I wear this coat whenever I can.”

You can only roll your eyes, and you are grateful that your frostbitten nose and ears do not give away the warmth in your face. “You foolish man, Jing Yuan.”

Somehow, his hold on you becomes stronger, and you feel as if he is swallowing you, overwhelming all of your senses with only him. “I think it is romantic. It is My Lady’s first gift to me, after all.”

That is true. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be coddled, and think back to when both of you were much younger and even more so naïve, not yet fully aware of fate’s unfoldings.

After your encounter at the beach, you did not meet the boy again until a few years later at a party. Your parents were unacquainted, but as soon as you saw him, you escaped your mother when she was too busy meeting other guests and pulled Jing Yuan aside to say your much belated thanks. When he was younger, Jing Yuan was mischievous, feisty, energetic. He delighted in your spontaneity as well, and as children do, the two of you decided to meet up after he learned to ride. There was no discussion of details or logistics, only an intangible promise that somehow carried more trust than any vow or oath. 

Yet, he found you. And he brought you over to this very garden, to a small shed where his mother was awaiting the both of you.

You remember his mother in vivid detail. One could describe her as the embodiment of the nobility. Her posture exuded dignity and discipline, her choices in fashion tasteful and elegant, a woman of such gentleness and compassion that you had wished many times she was your blood mother as well. Jing Yuan’s mother was also responsible for introducing you to embroidery. Had she not, you are sure you would never have touched the needle and string in this lifetime. You practiced so diligently, hoping to impress and astound her with your talent. But truly, regardless of what came of your fastidious efforts, she always caressed the top of your head and praised you, repeating honeyed words and phrases until you almost believed them. Jing Yuan would watch the two of you work and occasionally try his hand at your activities, though he was never much good, too impatient and easily irritated as young boys are.

But then, in the spring of your twelfth year and Jing Yuan’s fifteenth, she was gone. There were no more traces of her, and the shed no longer stood where it once was. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully. The tulips, pansies, and hyacinths his mother labored over were in full bloom, yet she would never see those sun-kissed petals and brilliant green stems. She would never witness Jing Yuan’s rapid improvements in the sword or your ability to peruse a text meant for grown men. She would never see the two of you grow up to become the man and woman the two of you are today.

And Jing Yuan did not cry when he told you. But you could see the sorrow and emptiness hang from him, outlining the lines of his face, scenting the tear stains on his button-up, creaking in his joints. You stood behind him, watching as he raised his head to look up at the sun, so bright and gleaming and proud. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully. And he told you everything, answering all of the questions you never voiced or had.

His mother was the mistress of a Duke, making Jing Yuan an illegitimate child. But because his father was a Duke, no one batted an eye, and it never caused a stir, simply a passing comment made as the nobles greeted each other over mealtime before moving onto more extravagant rumors. And, as Jing Yuan described, he did not suffer much either. The Duke still gave him the education and training befitting of a high-ranking noble’s child, and he was granted unrestrained freedom and privileges. But the one thing Jing Yuan deeply, wholly wanted his whole life was never satisfied.

Although Jing Yuan was allowed to do whatever it is he wanted with no dispute, his father maintained distance and never showed much of an interest towards him or his mother. His mother had always been sickly and was often in isolation, yet despite the circumstances, the Duke only slipped farther and farther away. Jing Yuan had longed for a complete family, but to no avail. And his mother passed away, accompanied only by a physician and two maids, when Jing Yuan was away for a hunt. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully.

Afterwards, the two of you became an inseparable duo. You visited more often, almost once or twice every week, and though you never cared much for, or rather, did not know much of, affection, you began to let your fingers linger on his shoulders as he helped you down from Mimi and to sit in a way such that the cap of your knee would brush against his. And when you were not in the presence of each other, the two of you established a line of communication via letters. These letters would bridge the physical gap between the two of you and proved extremely useful when Jing Yuan went on tour.

Aside from letters, when he was away on tour, Yanqing would deliver some clothes to your estate, hiding a bag of shirts or tailcoats in a bush, of which you would collect when you and Fu Xuan would return from your afternoon strolls. These were articles prepared for Jing Yuan during his brief returns, usually due to some family emergency or duty for the Parliament. At this point, you fully embraced the color red and its flare and passion, choosing to take on the burden of a crimson so bright that you are left with no choice but to ensure that every stitch is perfect. You adorned his clothes with the subtlest of details, only meant to elevate them around the collar or cuffs or pockets.

And that is how those three years passed. Now that he is beside you, the time apart feels both painfully enduring yet incredibly effortless. Though he was not by your side, it never felt like he was far away, definitely not across oceans and mountain ranges and plains with names you have never heard of. Regardless, all that matters is, in the present moment, Jing Yuan is truly here, and you are with him.

–

The events leading up to Christmastide and the holiday itself flurried by. As planned, Yanqing had come to collect the coats you and Fu Xuan had left in bags behind a bundle of trees, and on Saint Thomas’s Day, Jing Yuan went out to deliver them, spending the day outside and reporting to you promptly when he returned home later that night. Through the grapevine, you heard of the countless praises the nobles showered upon Jing Yuan and his father, and from Jing Yuan himself, many of the common folk were at a loss for words, shocked that the son of a Royal Council member would dare to tread into their territory.

The end of such festivities also signaled the beginnings of the new Season. January was spent preparing the finest laces, silks, ribbons, jewelries you would be donning at the never ending series of parties, picnics, hunts, and other gatherings for the next few months. This time, though, you were eager, hounding all of the maids, Fu Xuan, even your mother to assist in the wake of your unprecedented enthusiasm.

Presently, you are en route to your first ball. You and your mother are in a coach, while your brother rides on horseback. It is dark outside and the snow is incessant, but the ambience is full of excitement, the hopeful chattering between young ladies and lords, as well as the charming music from the band playing inside, drowning out the howls of the wind. As your party nears the assembly room, you can clearly see the size of the gathering, dozens of middle- and upper-class families present and attendants rushing about to answer calls for help.

Your coach stops near the edge of the driveway, and your brother takes your hand as you step out.

“I heard from Mother that you were fervently awaiting today,” he says with a smirk, brushing off the snowflakes collecting on your shoulders. “This is your third season, so what could possibly be so unique about tonight’s party?”

You open your fan, concealing everything below your eyes, and shrug. Behind the fan’s ribs, though, you are smiling widely, unable to feign even an ounce of indifference.

“I simply hope this is your sister’s final season,” your mother remarks as she exits the carriage.

As soon as the three of you step into the hall, your brother is hounded with warm greetings and impatient requests. Your father had fallen ill once again, and given his series of absences, many have turned towards your brother as the patriarch of the family.

“I shall tend to these matters. Do enjoy your time, dear Sister!” your brother calls as he gets pulled away.

You and your mother walk over to a group of ladies, many of whom attended your tea party and took part in your ambitious project. One lady in a pale pink gown, in particular, seems to be at the centre of the conversation, as all the rest are peering at her with palpable expectation. You can hear bits and pieces of the conversation as you approach.

Another in tea green pokes at her. “Miss, please share! We are begging you to tell us how!”

The lady blushes deeply, fanning at herself. “Friends, there is no how! I simply met the man at a closed gathering the week before.”

“What is his demeanor?”

“Is he of your rank or above?”

“Have you garnered affections for him yet?”

Questions are flung at her, and she simply responds by closing her fan and tapping at one of her cheeks at each query.

When the arguably most important question is asked, whether or not she wants to be engaged to the man, she places the tip of her fan against her right cheek, and everyone breaks into surprised gasps and delighted murmurs.

Then, as if staged, the music in the room diminuendos until the band tapers into silence. There is a brief shuffling of sheet music before the musicians break into the first country song of the evening. A gentleman comes over, a son of an earl from a glance, and bows in front of the lady in the pink, holding his right hand out in search of her left. The other ladies, you and your mother included, watch with intent and rapture, and follow the extension of her elbow as she lets herself be taken. As the pair slip away, mutterings break between the remaining women before they, too, are asked, one by one, to dance with other single gentlemen.

As usual, you excuse yourself to the corner of the ballroom, finding a seat that ensures an adequate view of the dancing attendees. There are rumors that you do not participate because you are not well-trained, but truly, it is only because you have very little interest in dancing with men you have never met before. 

From here, you can observe the subtlest of details without disturbance. You notice a younger boy slip into the room with refreshments, bound to gorge himself on bread and butter even though dinner is scheduled in two hours or so. An old couple stands at the tailend of the dancing line, half a beat behind everyone else, chuckling to themselves as they attempt to keep up with the steps they know by heart. The mothers of many of the debutantes are lined against the walls, their eyes not on their respective daughters but rather on the many potential suitors in the room, cherry picking the perfect son-in-law. 

And then, a flash of red. You see it at the edge of your periphery, and your head whips to the left. You do not see the red again, but instead, a dense cloud of white. You are about to leap up and pace forward, but you catch yourself and hurry to rearrange your expression to one that is more neutral and acceptable.

Jing Yuan comes to stand before you, followed by your brother.

The latter says, “Dear Sister, this is Lord Jing Yuan.”

You bite at your lip to prevent yourself from reacting to the comedy of the situation, and curtsy towards Jing Yuan as he bows to you.

“Pleased to be in your presence, My Lord.”

“I should be thanking My Lady.”

Your brother chuckles. “The two of you are too stiff. Sister, Lord Jing Yuan has just returned from his Grand Tour and is the son of Duke…,” and he prattles on, listing facts and details you are already aware of. Jing Yuan is also amused and glances at you every so often, but you avoid returning such stares and focus your attention on the sound of your sibling’s voice.

However, soon thereafter, the Master of Ceremonies interrupts all activities, including your trio’s brief exchange, and calls for mealtime. Jing Yuan dismisses himself, returning to his step-brother’s side.

Suddenly, your brother grabs you by the shoulder. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you shake your arm in response, urging him to loosen his grip.

“What a miracle!” he exclaims. You furrow at him with confusion. “Sister! Lord Jing Yuan himself rushed to greet you. That is unheard of!”

It takes you a second to understand, to remember that there are customs and traditions in society’s place, and the oddity of the situation finally dawns on you. “Brother,” you respond, “tell me how you encountered him.”

“Well, I paid the Duke, his father, a quick greeting on behalf of our family, and Lord Jing Yuan was there as well. When I was about to take my leave, he followed after me, and asked if I had any time. Can you believe it? He asked if I had time!”

“Yes, yes, please proceed.”

“I was worried I had done something imprudent in front of him and the Duke. I began saying a flurry of things, but he simply asked if I knew of any ladies that are seeking engagements, as he is in a rush to get married himself. I should have asked why –”

“Brother.”

“Ah, dismiss that thought. Anyway, of course, I had to say that you are of age, and he requested I direct him to you. I resisted, because as our father is only a Marquess and him a part of a Dukedom, it is only proper that I bring you to him, but he said he needed to be somewhere quieter and hurried us off.”

Your brother takes a deep breath and waits for your response. With much effort, you remain stoic.

“How peculiar,” you muse, with as even a tone as you can muster.

“Dear Sister, perhaps…” The two of you share a quick look, his expectant, yours knowing.

After a lingering moment of silence, you can only sigh. “We shall see.”

Ecstatic, your brother takes your shoulders with renewed vigor, lightly shaking you back and forth. “How auspicious! Of course, I will miss you, but Sister, you would be much happier away from our estate! You must seize this chance!”

You go along with his antics and incessant chattering, making slow progress towards the dining hall.

–

The third month of the year promises a multitude of changes. Primarily, fox hunting ends in March, therefore the men are rushing to organize their final hunts. As the men are occupied during their outings, the women pass their leisure time inside, rather impatiently, too, for Easter and the height of the Season, which will be at full throttle within a few weeks’ time. For noblewomen in particular, they also have the option to accompany the hunts, and on this late morning, you and your mother stay in a carriage to support the participants from afar.

Today’s hunt is small, exclusive to a few select Dukes and Marquesses of the nobility. Your father, now recovered, and your brother are present, and you notice Jing Yuan and his step-brother are also members among the group. 

Truly, Jing Yuan stands out amongst the crowd. Again, you are reminded of his towering and broad stature, and even when he is not speaking, he carries a solid aura of authority and a command for respect such that the other attendants do not dare to mention, let alone mock, his birthright. At the moment, he is running his hands through Mimi’s mane, and even his trust and care for her alone are superior to the mediocre handle the other men have of their horses.

The hunters seem to be strategizing, plotting out routes and dividing themselves into smaller groups, and with each passing second, your interest dampens, and it seems your mother is also growing disinterested.

With a flick of her wrist, glass-beaded bracelets clinking and clanking, she speaks, “The white-haired man, is it?” 

You nod.

She huffs through her nose, but she is not unhappy. She is silently beckoning you to question her.

And so, you inquire, “Mother, what are your judgments of Lord Jing Yuan?”

She leans towards the window and narrows her eyes. “A man of benevolent nature… Quite handsome as well… But a bastard child, is he not?”

You shrug. “What does it matter? His father is a Duke.”

“It does not change that he is born from the womb of a wicked woman.”

A striking flash of anger and urgency erupts in your gut, and you are close to hurtling uncouth insults at the woman sitting before you, but there is no need because your mother finishes her thought before your outburst can materialize.

“That brings me great pleasure,” the absurd woman says, with a twisted snark, “for you do not deserve happiness in your marriage. While I may be gone, misfortune shall always befall you. You will always suffer from your ill nature.”

Without a word, you swing the door of the carriage open and step out, in need of space. You strut to a group of barren trees, sparkling with melting dew, and lean against the trunk of one, looking off at where the hunters and their hounds are racing after the scent of foxes.

The biting cold does nothing to cool your raging internal heat. The echoes of your mother’s spiteful words act as fuel, a permanent well of dark, staining oil, spinning and stubborn in your mind. In fact, you become more bitter and sensitive at their persistence, and if anyone were to say one wrong phrase or make one wrong move towards you at this very instance, they would, for sure, catch your ire. 

How dare she. Even in your most distant memories, the thought of Jing Yuan’s mother brings warmth, a tight embrace, an affirming kiss on your forehead. In comparison, your own blood parents have done nothing more than bring you into this world. Even the jewels, fabrics, food, shelter they provide you are done out of obligation; given the option, they would abandon you without hesitation.

The taste of acid and iron surprises you. You are usually tame, capable of extinguishing any sign of anger or disappointment, so to find yourself so outraged that you have bitten open the inside of your cheek serves to worsen your temperament. You refuse to let that woman, only bound to you by blood and flesh, grate at your nerves, but it seems, this time, she has poked at your most sensitive vulnerability.

Suddenly, a loud neigh from a horse rings through the field, and you turn your head just in time to see Jing Yuan, a crumpled body, and Mimi leap through the air and land near you.

“Jing Yuan!” you cry, hands clutching at the sides of your skirt, annoyance and frustration set aside.

He tugs at Mimi sternly, and with a kick of her front legs, she rears to a halt. You rush over as Jing Yuan hops down with a man on his back, the latter wearing a deep-set frown and releasing low groans.

“What happened? Someone, please –”

Jing Yuan intervenes with a call of your name, shaking his head. “No need for your people. I shall bring the Marquess to his carriage and stay with him till he reaches his estate.”

You could care less about the injured man. “And what about you? Are you injured, Jing Yuan?”

He nods. Then, under his breath, he mutters, “Careful, for we are being watched. But thank you.” Something in his eyes glitter, a light diamond yellow, a new color so beautiful and mesmerizing. You force yourself to tear your gaze away. “I am fine, My Lady. Please, take care.”

You clamp your mouth shut. With that, he paces away, doing his best to carry the injured Marquess steadily.

You do not see him again for the rest of the day. But his heroics, over the course of an evening, become the talk of the town.

Two days pass, and for the first time, Jing Yuan and you meet during the daytime, accompanied by Fu Xuan. A nearby promenade has been kept cleared, as more and more folks spend time outside, and it is only proper that the two of you extend your public interactions beyond simple greetings, primarily to discourage and drive away any suitors who still retain hopes in having your or Jing Yuan’s hand.

“My Lord has certainly come under scrutiny,” you say, playful and amused in tone.

“Ah, the nobles do love their entertainment, I suppose.”

“Do not be so bashful, My Lord! I have heard of everything, and what you did during the hunt is truly an accomplished feat.”

“Tell me, then, My Lady, what you have heard.”

You switch your parasol to your other shoulder and tilt it up so that you can better see in front of you. There are other prospective couples, as well as their respective chaperones, but all eyes seem to be on you and Jing Yuan. With no fan in hand, it is difficult to signal to your partner, but he, too, already seems aware of the prying stares.

You begin to tell, “I much prefer the noble ladies and their recollections. Their recountings began before the hunt even started.

“You were steering the conversation, as if you were a general and the others your cavalrymen, planning every possible move and route.”

Jing Yuan stifles his fit of laughs with the back of his hand, and you do as well.

Resuming, you say, “Then, the group broke into partitions of four or five men each. The hunt seemed already destined and fated for success, with you in charge. However, many of the noblemen are elderly, yes? So as you and Mimi galloped so freely under the blue sky, the other men in your group struggled to keep up, and one Marquess with very little talent in horseback did not jump over a jutting root in time and came tumbling down with his English thoroughbred.”

Jing Yuan claps when you finish. “I am surprised you know what a thoroughbred is, My Lady.”

“I do not. To me, a horse is simply a horse. But, more importantly, what does My Lord think of my rendition?”

You glance up, only to see that he is watching you, and immediately, you turn your cheek the other way.

“I think,” he muses, “that My Lady is an excellent bard.”

“A bard?” You feign shame, because you already know how hyperbolic the noblewomen are in their gossiping.

“Indeed.” He continues to tease. “My Lady seems unmatched in her lyricism, rhythm, and most importantly, exaggerations. A true bard in nature.”

You cackle out loud, at which Fu Xuan shoots you a swift glare. You calm yourself and ask, “Exaggerations? A bard only makes songs of tales they hear from their journeys. My Lord, then, must tell the truth himself, as he is the protagonist of this one.”

“It pains me to say, then, that the story would no longer be as interesting.”

“My Lord does not aspire to be a bard or a court jester, so please speak.”

He sighs. “I did no such leading or commandeering. I simply listened from the side. Though the noble ladies are not wrong that it was an older Marquess who felled, it was not due to his own carelessness. Rather, one of the younger hounds must have caught the trail of a fox, and ran in front of the Marquess and his horse. His Lord was only trying to protect the little one, but injured himself in the process. I happened to be riding behind the Marquess and assisted him in returning him home.”

Jing Yuan, ever observant, always humble. You do not know if he is dismissing the finer details of his saving the Marquess, but you cannot even pinpoint where to press him further.

You settle with a simple platitude. “My Lord’s kindness knows no bounds.”

He does not say anything, only closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the winter-spring air.

“What plagues My Lord?”

“My Lady, tell me another story, one from your childhood.”

You still, and he takes two steps forward before he pauses as well.

You turn around to face your governess. “Fu Xuan, shall the three of us sit somewhere?”

“Yes, My Lady,” Fu Xuan replies. “There is a bench around the bend.”

Between you and Jing Yuan, neither of you speak until you both sit down. Fu Xuan finds another spot, a shady patch underneath an old willow, to supervise from afar.

Your bench is located beside a fountain, a large stucco vase with carved borders, emblems of flowers and reeds, gilded bronze around the circumference of the bottom. The water splashes past the rim, wetting the surrounding pavement, amusing the toddlers that belonged to some of the lounging women.

It is not rare for Jing Yuan to ask about yourself, to request to learn more about who you are in the moments when he is not by your side. While it is not always enjoyable, especially when you reflect on the less joyous memories, you do like that he is the only person in the world that knows so much about you, your strengths, weaknesses, likes, dislikes, fancies, displeasures.

But on occasion, he asks you to share because he does not want to speak about himself anymore. Today, as you judge the crease between his brows, the white of his knuckles, his hair free of its usual braided cord, this seems to be the case.

You speak of the many sleepless nights you had in December, how you had pricked the pads of your fingers several times from trying to sew by dim candlelight, hurrying to finish as many coats as possible, lest the noblewomen became suspicious. You speak of the shelf of books your brother had lent you when you were only ten years of age. You finished the literature within a fortnight, and your sibling was shocked, jaw agape, from your intellect and efficiency. Lastly, you speak of the morning of Jing Yuan’s departure, how you refused to come out of your room because of how distraught you were from bidding goodbye, needing to lie to the maids that your tears were only a result of a gut-wrenching stomach ache.

The entire time, the two of you sit side by side, shoulders brushing against each other, staring straight ahead, never at each other. But you do not need to see to know that he is listening with rapt intent to each and every one of your words, and you feel empowered to continue and please him with whatever he wants to hear.

Many hours pass, from high noon to late afternoon, finishing well past lunchtime. The atmosphere has relaxed, and Jing Yuan himself seems more at peace, and you are grateful that you have an eternity to indulge him.

When the three of you retrace your steps back to your family’s coach, he grips onto your hand as he assists you into the vehicle. His grip is tight, restricting you from sitting down, and you glance over your shoulder to see him resting his forehead against the back of your hand, nose brushing against your fingertips.

“A fortnight,” he mutters, loud enough for only the two of you, and promptly releases his hold.

You bring your hand, the one Jing Yuan held moments ago, to your cheek, basking in his lingering, escaping warmth, and nod in understanding.

You repeat, “A fortnight,” and he closes the coach door behind you.

– 

It is uncharacteristically cold for April. Frost forms a thin sheet over all of the foliage and herbage, the rabbits and woodchucks still slumber in their dense burrows, the moon silvery and thin in its wake.

You tuck yourself into Jing Yuan’s hold, where he sits behind you with his legs propped on either side of your figure. He grabs another blanket and lays it over your knees down to your feet, and sets his chin on your shoulder.

“I wish your mother’s shed was still here,” you admit through gritted teeth.

A little sleepily, he agrees. “I, as well, but please bear with our conditions for tonight.”

You are grateful, though. The worst of winter is past, and there are no clouds to conceal the stars or moon, meaning outside, you can make out his features and expressions with little effort. Before, you would have to strain and squint at his visage, but there is no need anymore and you think Jing Yuan appears softer, younger under the placid moonlight.

“My Lady,” he says, “if it is not inconvenient, I have an inquiry to make.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Why is it that you never look at me?”

You startle, jumping in your skin, not expecting such a jarring interrogation at this hour and place.

“Of course, I look at you. What can you possibly be insinuating?”

If you sound offended, you do not mean it. Rather, you are, to a minor degree, disgruntled at being caught. Internally, you have been well aware of your sudden shyness towards Jing Yuan. Before his departure, you had no such fears, but since his return, upon seeing all of the ways in which he has transformed and grown, you can no longer allow yourself to be so bold. You cannot look at him with wholly pure intent.

“Apologies. I meant that My Lady does not seem to look me in the eyes anymore, as we used to. Have I done or said something to deserve such avoidance?”

“Do not be foolish, My Lord.”

“And what is with the use of ‘My Lord’?”

“Do you not refer to me by ‘My Lady’?”

“Only because you seem so insistent on such etiquette. If I had a choice…” He takes a sharp inhale. “I would call you by your name all the time.”

The chill of the atmosphere does not seem so acute anymore. You feel a rush of heat, from the crown of your head all the way down to the lengths of your toes.

“How improper,” you mumble.

He laughs. He knows you could care less.

To drive his point further, he enunciates your name, rolling the letters and phonetics out with the curve of his tongue and a caramel sweet, taffy-stretched tone. He then whispers, “You seem to only use my name when you are quite agitated or excited.”

You swat at his arm. “Jing Yuan!”

Your reaction causes him to bark out true laughs, ones from the gut and stomach, and he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. You want him to press further into you, to bite and nibble and mark at the tender skin, to meld into you so you always have him with you. You need more of him, all of him. Being by his side as a confidant in public, a lover in private, for eternity will never satiate your greed.

“My Lady, you never cease to entertain me! You are absolutely darling.”

“You are totally arrogant.” You shrug his head off of your shoulders, to your own disdain, only for him to place his chin on top of your head, entrapping you once again.

“My Lady, I believe I am not so arrogant. Rather, my actions are demonstrations of my affections for you, and the latter seems to grow at an astounding rate with every moment we spend together.”

He utters your name again, so sincere, full of unconditional respect. This time, you are forced to look at him, scooting yourself forward and twisting your back halfway around to soak in those melting, incandescent golds, brimming and spilling over with unfiltered love, loyalty, trust. You cease, completely bewitched and spellbound.

Slowly, he leans forward until the peaks of your foreheads touch. He is still staring at you, you are still unable to breathe. His hands have come up to cup your cheeks, and by sheer instinct, yours grasp weakly at his sleeves.

“Finally,” he breathes, “you are looking at me.”

Shuddering, you try to nod, but his hands keep your head in place. Regardless, he knows.

Jing Yuan, ever knowing, always understanding. He can see through you at all times, and you do not mind that it is him. In fact, you want it to be him, always him, and you have been waiting for this moment. Since you saw him on that sandy beach, with the orange coral bead and crystal clear waters and damp earth. Since you saw him standing alone in the garden, his back turned to you, tearless yet grief incarnate. Since these three long years, where he was seas and mountain ranges and plains separated from you, only brief moments of respite when he would return for business, yet never to interact.

You, who have waited this entire time, can finally see him again. You have no reason to disallow yourself. You have an eternity to indulge him, and an even longer infinity to indulge yourself in him.

The oil lamps flicker no more. The hawks and owls no longer cry. The vines and stems of the flora no longer sway in the wind. 

The only movement is from Jing Yuan, when he purses his lips and takes a deep breath.

He whispers your name, as if it is a prayer, an oath, full of promise and reverence. He says it once more, twice more. Then, he closes his eyes briefly before looking up at you again, a fire and determination now smoldering in bright gold.

“I have kept you, yet you have patiently, without any complaint or excuse, waited for me. You, the only person in the world who has witnessed me a mischievous child, a brooding boy, and now, an older man. I cannot fathom being with another, and this has been true since I first met you.”

You can only gulp, and staring wide-eyed, anticipate his next words.

“You cannot imagine how many times I begged my mother for permission to visit you during the day. At the time, I could not understand her unshakeable refusal, and even now, I am still resistant in some ways. Did you know I became jealous of my mother? I have never been adept with delicate work, and at one point, I was convinced you only came so you could sew with her. I would leave the shed to shake off my anger with the sword. And then my mother was gone, and I thought you, too, would disappear. But, of course, in light of all of my deepest fears, you stayed.”

There are traces of tears in his eyes, but he is more preoccupied with brushing away the ones that stream down your face. You do your best to cease the trembling of your lower lip, the blur of your vision, the cries that threaten to spill out. 

“I was frightened once again, when my father announced the beginning of my Grand Tour. I knew you would come of age as soon as I was scheduled to leave, and I wanted to propose right then and there. But my father does not know who you are, and not even the illegitimate child of a Duke could get away with marrying someone of a lower caste. A coward I was, am, indeed. Yet, we maintained correspondence, and we wrote to each other at length. Many times, I wanted to abandon my Tour, but your curiosity and eagerness convinced me otherwise. 

“It has always been because of you. I am who I am today because of you and your endless affections. And it is my turn, now, to let you know that my love for you goes beyond words and actions. My existence is solely yours.

“May I?”

You nod vigorously, desperately, longingly.

He presses tender kisses to the apples of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips. After, he takes your hands in his palms and kisses at your wrists and knuckles and joints and fingertips.

Finally, he sits up, and you raise your chin to follow his eyes.

He says your name, this time firm, grounded, determined. “I love you. Please, let us never part again.”

–

The Season has reached its peak, and at long last, June permits enduring hours of sunlight, hot, humid evenings, a myriad of blossoms of all distinct shades and colors. Your brother guides you into the ballroom, your mother trailing behind the two of you, feathered fan concealing her rather displeased disposition.

“I still cannot believe it,” he gasps with incredulous wonder.

“No? Will I have him come to ask for your permission again?” you reply, indifferent, more concerned with identifying Jing Yuan amongst the crowded halls.

“No, no, no need for that, Sister! I am, well, rather, well –”

“See, Brother! There he is!”

Adorned in a handsome cream ensemble, Jing Yuan stands near a table of refreshments, collecting two glasses, one of which you presume is yours. You rush to his side, your brother in tow, and curtsy when he notices. And, as you suspected, he bows and hands one of the cups over to you and the other to your brother, already turning around to grab another for your mother.

Your brother takes a nervous sip before exclaiming, “Lord Jing Yuan! Good evening!”

“Good evening!” Jing Yuan greets, festive and light-hearted.

“I wanted to give you my thanks, again, Lord Jing Yuan. I have never thought my younger sister would marry anytime soon, but you have truly done her a wonderful service. How could I –”

Your mother coughs and interrupts your brother. “Son, cease with your rambling. I could hardly stand the fuss you are making, let alone imagine how exhausted Lord Jing Yuan must be.”

Jing Yuan shakes his head and intercepts. “Not at all. Brother-in-law, I understand that our engagement has only been newly confirmed, so your surprise is inevitable.”

The boisterous chattering and guffawing seem to quiet down, passersby slowly redirecting their attention to your quartet.

Your mother seems to notice as well and fans at herself. “How could the son of a Duke possibly have taken an interest in the daughter of a Marquess?”

The encompassing crowd falls into a hush. All are thinking the same question, almost bloodthirsty in their intrigue to know the answer, and they flit their eyes between you and Jing Yuan, wondering who will speak first.

You, for one, have no interest in such public or dramatic gestures. You put your glass back down on the table and comment, “Mother, Brother, My Lord, the dancing is about to commence.”

Someone whispers that they have never seen you dance before, adding another layer of suspense.

Jing Yuan extends an arm out, and you take it without a shred of doubt or hesitation.

But before the two of you leave, you pause to speak with your mother. “Oh, Mother, please, take my fan!”

She glares at you, and you smile back, taunting and urging her to keep watching you, to see what you can and will do.

You can imagine the way the room will uproar with shock and rage as soon as you step out. You know your mother will splinter your fan in her wrenching grip, and your brother will have to figure some way to placate her. You know you and Jing Yuan will reminisce on this memory with much jest and delight.

And so, you do it.

Committing to putting on a show, everyone watches the flick of your wrist, the extension of your index finger along the frame of your fan. You direct your gaze to Jing Yuan, who is already looking at you with unreserved adoration, and slowly draw the fan across your cheek, dragging out the moment for as long as you can.

You hear the gasps, the cries, the confused mutterings. But the Master of Ceremonies, always in a timely fashion, calls for everyone’s attendance in the ballroom, and you drop the fan in your mother’s upturned hand before Jing Yuan whisks you away.

Now everyone knows you and Jing Yuan are lovers, to be married in a little over a month. Though you would prefer to be married already, you remind yourself that your shared happiness has already begun, and nothing will change that. 

Hand in hand, you and Jing Yuan, along with many other couples, approach the middle of the ballroom, taking your positions in the dancing circle.

“When was the last time My Lady danced at a party?”

“Never before, actually.”

“Then, I must be blessed to have your first dance.”

“And many more, of course.”

“How many more? And just dances?”

You raise your head to stare at him, right as the Master of Ceremonies gestures at the band to begin. Jing Yuan’s eyes shine a brilliant gold underneath the glow of the chandeliers, clear and proud in their affections for you. Jing Yuan, always loving, forever yours.

As the waltz begins, you rise en pointe, and he clutches onto you so that your chests press together and your faces are only a breath apart.

You speak, the words you articulate only for him to hear.

“My existence is entirely yours.”

[mooooonnnzz]

hiii, saw request is still open and just finished reading forwards beckon rebound and bawled my eyes out.

so i was wondering if you could maybe make something with ford having a kid (reader) who's like really young when he got pushed into the portal and stanley raising reader and reader reminds stanley so much of ford when they were younger and is a nerd like their old man it hurts stanley so much to see the resemblance.

Dream About Me

Platonic!Stanley Pines x Child!Reader

ᰔ 1,8k words!

ᰔ MULLET STANLEYY!!!

ᰔ slight angst? or heavy angst? it's just overall sad really depends on the person

ᰔ gender neutral reader!

ᰔ request are open!

𐒘𝛠 When Stan took you in, he never thought how painful it would be to see all Ford’s quirks and traits shine in you. Seeing his smile on your face made it really hard for him to continue on with his day without breaking down into violent sobs, especially freshly after Stan had accidentally pushed Ford into the portal. Another wound to the heart was the additional finger on each of your hands. He hadn’t noticed until one day during dinner when you were sitting in front of him, coloring within the lines of the coloring book he had gotten you days prior. Your hand was splayed across the page, hand pressing down on the other side of the page to keep it from closing it on you. His eyes brushed past your hand, disregarding the six finger, just like he always did with Ford when his eyes shot back to your fingers, eyes widening upon seeing the extra appendage. He would’ve choked on his food if he didn’t swallow it moments before. 

𐒘𝛠 “Are you looking at my extra finger?” Your fingers curled inwards on instinct, nuzzling them into your palm. “Dad told me to never be ashamed of my extra finger.” You tell him, which sounded more of you trying to reassure yourself than anything. “Did he really?” A wistful smile pulls at his lips, his eyes distantly looking down at his plate. “Yeah. He said that it’s a gift. We both shared our weirdness together.” Your other hand that was holding the crayon was now wrapped in your other hand, the crayon discarded on top of the unfinished page. Stan’s teeth snagged on his bottom lip. This was harder than he thought. “And you-you should treat it like one, k-kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He had tried coming off as stern, but the way he fumbled over his words and how his voice cracked in all the wrong places made it lose its whole empowering purpose. But you managed to get the message. A smile all too similar for Stan’s liking shown on your face. “Do you have an extra finger, Uncle Stan?” You brought your six fingered hand in front of his face, wiggling them wildly. “Unfortunately, I do not.” He pressed his palm against yours, his large hand completely dwarfing yours. “Ah! Five fingers!” You retract your hand away from Stan’s, wide eyes never leaving his five fingers. “I have actually never seen five fingers before!” You comment, flicking his fingers. “Have ya never seen another person that isn’t your dad?” Stan initially meant it as a lighthearted joke, but the way you sheepishly looked down to the ground told him very clearly that Ford had never taken you out of this house. ”Maybe once or twice when I was a baby?” You shrug. “He’s been so busy with everything else he left me to myself.” Sounds just like Ford. He hopes you don’t inhabit that from him. 

𐒘𝛠 Your insatiable curiosity was full force. Everything always needs to have a reason or explanation, and if not, you would forge a plausible reasoning that ties your question into a nice little answer. Seeing this in a different perspective really rattled through Stan. He had found this side of Ford when they were younger plenty annoying, always wondering why his brother couldn’t leave things be, but seeing you do it was a messy mix of bittersweet and gut churning. Hearing you ask all the same questions Ford had asked them when they were younger sent him in for a loop. How could you be so eerily alike to him? Even the passionate twinkle in his eye had passed down onto you. “Uncle Stan!” You padded over to him, book in hand with messy scrambles of your writing. “Look what I discovered!” Stan forced a smile onto his face, stomach twisting into vicious knots. “What did ya find, kiddo?” You eagerly nod your head as you spoke with the same vigor and passion Ford had all those years ago and shoved your book into his lap. Looking down at your book had some semblance of Ford’s cursive writing, but it had seemed that it was a mix of his and Ford’s. “This is really nice, kiddo.” He strained out, rapidly blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall out. “So you believe me? You believe my theories?” You rambled out, oblivious to Stan’s fighting battle with his emotions. “Yes, kiddo.” He pushes himself off the couch, running a hand through his hair. “I need a m-moment. Gotta check on this mullet.” He leaves with that and you’re left wondering what you did wrong. 

𐒘𝛠 When you were about twelve years old, Stan had caught you squinting at him from afar, the same way Ford would look at him without his glasses—he didn’t mean to draw everything back to Ford, you just were an exact carbon copy of him, unfortunately for him. So he conducted an at home experiment where he stood far away from you, holding up a sign with words that looked like a blended mush to you. That was enough to prove to Stan and you that you needed glasses. Getting a pair of frames sent Stan in for a loop. As if you didn’t act enough like Ford, now you had glasses that made Stan’s stomach drop whenever he looked at you. “How do I look?” You smile at Stan, the comically large glasses sliding down your nose. “Maybe we should get smaller ones?” Stan suggested, plucking the frames off your face and setting them back on the display stand. His eyes abruptly landed on ones that looked exactly like Ford’s glasses when he was about your age. He cleared his throat, shaking him out of that weird trance and ambling on to more of the display cabinets with glasses. “What about these!” He turns around and when his eyes lock on you, his mouth runs dry. “A-Are ya sure you want those?” You scamper over to the mirror, a small gasp leaving you. “I look like Dad.” You whisper. Confliction swimming in your eyes. “You don’t have to keep em—“ You wave him off. “It’s okay, Uncle Stan. I-I think it keeps his memory alive, right?” Stan swallows, nodding slowly. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

𐒘𝛠 Staring at yourself in the mirror, you flickered your eyes back and forth to a polaroid photo of Ford to yourself in the mirror. There was some resemblance. Especially with you wearing your glasses. It made sense why Stan couldn’t really keep a straight face whenever he talked or even looked at you. You internally fought with yourself, jumping back and forth to liking the fact that you looked like Ford or to hating the fact that you do. You had his eye shape, his nose, his smile, the extra finger, even the stupid need to have glasses. You have his mannerisms, the way you speak is a lot like how he talked when he was your age–told to you by Stan, and so much more that you couldn’t dwell into before you’d burst out into tears. It was both a blessing and a curse. A worn out sigh leaves you, brain spinning and pounding harshly against your skull. This wasn’t going to lead you anywhere. Picking at your features and wishing that you didn’t have them wasn’t going to be beneficial for anyone. You pocket the photo and swing the door open to see Stan right in front of you currently in the process of opening the door. “Oh!” You step back and Stan jolts up. “I didn’t know you were in there, kiddo. I’m sorry.” A sheepish hand rubs his neck. “It’s okay. I was leaving anyway.” You sadly smiled at him, stepping out of the bathroom. Stan raises an eyebrow, catching the melancholy look in your eyes. “You doin’ alright?” You stop in your tracks, hand ghosting the pocket where the photo of Ford was in. “I-,.” The words die in your throat when you notice the concerned look in his eyes. You didn’t want to put any more weight onto his shoulders.  “I’m alright. Thanks Uncle Stan.” Stan looks at you hesitantly before nodding to himself, bidding you a quick goodbye. “You can tell me anything, just lettin’ ya know.” He lastly says, closing the door, leaving you to your thoughts in the silent hallway. You weren’t sure if you were ever going to get the guts to truly tell Stan how you feel. 

𐒘𝛠 As the years go by, Stan had found himself breaking out of his habits of relating you to Ford and saw you as your own person. But there would be times where he would slip up back into his old ways and meddle in his mind. You had adopted a few of Ford’s mannerisms, from the way he spoke to how he fidgeted, you had it all. He’d catch glimpses of Ford whenever he would see your pinched concentrated face. Sometimes you’d walk into the lab to show him all the theories you thought of to fix the portal and Stan would just look at you, guilt and despair heavy on his expression. You would have to awkwardly bring him back and repeat everything you had just said to him. “I’m sorry that I keep reminding you of him.” You fidget with your spinny chair, softly swaying from side to side to ease your anxiety. “It’s not your fault. I promise.” He kneels down beside you, patting your shoulder reassuringly. A moment of silence passes before you turn your head over to look at him. “Sometimes I think you’re going to up and leave because I act like him sometimes.” Stan has had hard times coming to terms with you being so alike to his lost twin. Nights he’d spent crying on his bed, wondering if this is all worth the struggle. There’s times where he couldn’t even look at you without being choked up in his own cries. He wasn’t emotionally stable enough for this and he was doubting his capabilities of taking care of you. But alongside pain, you also brought him joy, you gave him a reason to wake up in the mornings, to smile, to laugh. Stan takes a shaky breath in. “Kid, I’m gonna be honest with ya. It’s been hard, extremely hard. I’m not gonna sit here and tell ya that it’s been all sunshine and rainbows, because it hasn’t. But what I can say is that I have been getting better, with the whole Ford thing. Sometimes it comes back like a slap on the face and I’m left scramblin’ but, at the end of the day, you have shined so brightly and shown me how incredible you are, just as yourself. And no matter how hard it gets, I’ma stay right by your side.” Wrapping him in a bone tight hug, you let out a relieved sob. “Thank you,” you cry out. Stan pats your back soothingly. “You’re also my kid now. Forever imprinted on me. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz, @katharine3000

dm or comment if you want to be added/removed!!

just wanted to share that i had the worst food poisoning ever these past few days

[alistairsmonstercafe]

Hi! Just incase you do requests, could we please have some wraith-ghost x werewolf!reader? I saw the fanart and couldn’t stop thinking about Ghost being absolutely dwarfed by their partner especially in their shift.

(And in case of nsfw, imagine ghost helping his partner through rut and getting absolutely railed by his bf half-shifted. The size difference is going crazy!)

NSFW Guiding A Shadow

NOTICE Male Werewolf TOP/DOM reader

CHARACTER BOTTOM/SUB Wraith Ghost

CW Scent Kink, monster fucking, size kink, werewolf rut, slight blood (just mentions of you scratching him accidentally with claws), mentions of poly relationship with 141 (so no cheating they all bang each other like horny rabbits)

ADDITIONAL I don't mind Fem/Fem aligned readers reading but don't feel insulted/complain that I strictly don't do Fem reader, not my cuppa tea mate.

INSPIRATION @/Bluegiragi Monster AU on Twt and Tumblr

NOTE Sorry for my sudden absence a while ago... Cough.. I think in my little adhd brain I had a fit of hyperfixation and just burnt out as easy as I came.

When you had first arrived in the helicopter, the moment Ghost had caught even a whiff of a tail, he groaned. Another werewolf? Albeit larger. But after Soap was just as recent? He prayed you weren't like him.

Well. Hoped.

He looked at you what could only be assumed from under his balaclava was a scowl. Eyes looking you up and down with a harsh crease in his eyebrows. Furrowed and judging as you walked off the plane.

Training would never be fun with a werewolf, that was for sure with their size, and with you? Many dwarfed in comparison. You were not as bulky as Soap, persay, but damn, you were built. Decently thick legs and a height that towered over many, even Ghost. Fur upon different parts of your body and decently groomed might one say.

And after hitting it off with Soap (as he wished wasn't expected,) he was yet then assigned with the task of watching over you. The likes of you, of which, while quiet, seemed to be influenced by Soap that he, Ghost, was not as scary as he turned to be. No matter how many growls or warnings of what he could do to you, you never seemed to be phased. And just as Soap had wiggled into Ghost's heart, who said it could only hold one?

You had seemed to wedge your way into that dark depth he called a heart. (As how he always described it, but nobody ever believed him.) And he seemed to accept you more. React less to your energy and simply nod. The best you could ever get you supposed. But who could complain? Not you, thats for sure.

The real kicker had been training day. It was you, Gaz, Ghost, Soap, and Price gearing up for what was meant to be a casual spar. Soap seemed ecstatic at a new man who could keep up to his size, and even challenge him. Price and Gaz could only agree to see how this would play out.

But Ghost? His eyes never left you. Narrowed and watching. What would your werewolf form look like? Were you smaller, or bigger then Johnny? Did you go just as wild as Johnny did on a full moon, more or less?

There were many unexplained questions, many both answered and many forgotten in a series of minutes as he saw your form.

That shouldn't have explained the sudden tent in his pants when he saw your wolf ish form panting over Johnny's, teeth playfully bared and a paw like hand keeping Johnny firmly planted into the floor as he surrendered.

That shouldn't have explained the sudden burning arousal in his core.

That shouldn't-

But it did.

And all Ghost could do was excuse himself for the restroom. Undoing his belt with whisps of smoke practically fighting to not let lose on his forearms. Muttered curses of mild frustration as he groaned and let out his cock, freeing it from his boxers as he bit his glove hard and stroked it. He couldn't let anyone know how much this affected him.

His mind foggy and desperate in both a want of release and mild curiosity, Ghost wondered how you'd feel. Hell, he was aware he'd only been interested a few times in his life, few one night stands, few casualties here in there in the squad.. But there was something about giving the control to someone who didn't always have a human form for the night made him curious.

Apparently curious enough to cum on his hand, breathing heavily as he was pulled from his high with a knock on the bathroom door.

"Hurry it up Lt, lads eh waitin' for ye." Soap grumbled, the sound of him walking in and turning on the tap was quiet.

"Out in a minute." Ghost could only reply, pulling up his boxers and zipping up his pants. He wiped down everything and pushed the stall door open to see Soap leaning against the sink with a raised brow, looking a little bruised.

"Look a little bruised there, Johnny."

Soap scoffs and shrugs.

"Tha' lad did aye number on me. Accidently broke the lads phone, but for a wolf of tha' size, I'd guess his family wasn't small either."

Size. Back to the size, practically forgetting about the fact your phone broke and Ghost was reminded when his mind briefly drifted back to your size, large and imposing an-

"Ghost to earth. Ye there or did ye ascend to high heaven to meet the queen?"

"I'm here, I'm here. Just had a thought."

"About a certain little wolf?"

"Shut your trap." Ghost had looked away as he was snapped from his thoughts once more, brushing past Soap as he reached for the door.

"You can do that a later day." Soap hummed. Watching Ghost leave with a cheeky grin.

Later that day, in the mess hall you were seen chatting idly with the squad, complaining on the cafeterias shitty meat options as everyone could only ever agree.

"I'm tellin' you guys, how can you even eat this shit? Tastes worse then a dog's ass." You groan, poking at the slice of supposed ham.

"An' how do you know what a dog's ass tastes like mate?" Gaz teases quietly, before getting a firm smack on the head by Soap.

"Look at us mate. We ain' exactly the people you wanna ask when knowing that of all things."

Gaz shrugs and gives a laugh. But you seem to pay no mind to their conversation, your eyes scanning around for Ghost. It had been a while since he was supposed to meet with the rest of you for dinner.

"I think I'm full, I'm gonna go look for Ghost, alright?" You mention quietly, and the rest nod, but Price seems to have an idea and shrugs, looking to the side.

Walking through the halls you pass by a calander, January 24. January 24? Why did that seem so familiar? It wasn't a birthday or a meeting, so you shrugged it off. A broken phone wouldn't serve you any good either. And you didn't feel too off aside from a few aches from today's spar.

But when you knocked on Ghost's door, a scent hit your nose like a truck. And a few soft groans was enough to let you know what was happening.

"Ghost?" You called out quietly, unsure to knock again.

"Can I come in?" You ask, even while fully aware of what's happening, leaving your tail wagging and your mouth almost salvating, you hold respect as you grip the door knob.

But when a strained voice of "come in", is spoken, you almost quickly push open the door. Seeing as Ghost lays on his back, two fingers stuffed into his hole as he looks up at you with a dazed expression.

"Interested in helpin' your superior out?" He groans, head falling back a little as his fingers press near a spot inside him.

And you can easily feel the strings of your restraint tear, the scent of him so aroused, so wet, so perfectly presented for you makes your instincts practical drool. A perfect position for a mate, and a perfect way to start the spring season.

You quickly find yourself on top of him, face buried in his neck as you lap at the scent, tongue licking where it can while your hand finds its way to his mouth. Shoving it in whilst he gives a muffled whine on them. But you know it's hard to restrict yourself in the confindes of a more human then wolf body. And it's almost like a silent plead to be allowed to switch as you look up at Ghost and whine, rutting your cock against his thigh.

"Fuckin' hell.. You have my permission. Go wild." Ghost whispers as he tugs you in close by the collar. And that enough is able to grow you around 4x in size. Clothes easily removes and teared off as your cock lays heavy against his thigh, as you continue to rut, and your fingers have long replaced his in his hole as you pump in and out, stretching him on your thick fingers as your long tongue finds its way up and down his body.

"F-fuck that tongue..!" Ghost moans out, back arching into your touch as the thickness of your fingers, your tongue, and heavy cock all feel like so much on him, and he loves it. Craves it even. And it's when you remove your fingers, in that brief moment he knows he's going to not be able to move for quite a bit after that.

And the stretch is even better. The thickness of your cock at the tip pushes in and burns delightfully, filling him up as you drag it down until it reaches near the base. But not entirely to leave room for the knot soon later. A slow paced easily turned into Jackhammering as you snapped your hips quickly into place after bottoming out in him, your claws digging into his thighs and hips causing mild drips of blood that Ghost couldn't care more about and flipping him over onto his stomach to reach deeper positions, and seeing a small tummy buldge hidden beneath as you place your free hand under it, making his whispy shadows go rampant on his body, his shadows shakily wrapping around the fluff of your neck to pull you in, mumbling praises. "G-good fuckin' boy- Oh fuck! So-.. So good fuckin' your lieutenant like a good pup-!"

It makes your tail wag faster and your mind run rampant on breeding the man below you, as you feel your knot built up.

All the sensations make Ghost jolt, moan, squirm, and whine. But the size and stretch is so worth it, and he wouldn't have werewolf cock any other way.

[fantasydreamland]

Sorceress

legolas greenleaf x fem reader

Summary: You join the three men on the journey to fight against Saruman, and one does not trust you. Legolas is suspicious of you and your perfection, until he admits to himself those feelings were just masking his true feelings that he had quickly developed for you.

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, enemies to lovers, angst, violence/minor gore in battle scene, alcohol consumption, p in v, fingering, oral (m&f), masturbation (m), fluff, possible spoilers

Word count: 5967

(I got a little carried away with this one)

masterlist

“She is going to help us.” Aragorn says as he, Legolas and Gimli sit at a table inside the inn while they wait for your arrival. “She is supposed to be a great sorceress. We need her.”

“We cannot trust some old woman we do not even know. Why can we not simply go without her?” Legolas questions with furrowed brows.

The idea of a stranger joining them on their journey left him feeling extremely uneasy.

“Who told you I was an old woman?” They hear a voice behind them.

You lower your hood as the inn door closes behind you. You walk towards the men and they stand to greet you. You give a friendly smile to Aragorn whom you had just recently met and agreed to assist. Legolas’s eyes go wide in surprise as he takes you in. You appeared young and basically flawless, nearly elvish beauty but something even more rare. You had piercing purple eyes and beautiful porcelain skin. Below your cloak your long purple dress clung to your figure, Legolas had to clear his throat to force himself to stop staring.

As Aragorn goes to speak Legolas says- “Forgive me, my lady.” He bows his head. “I simply cannot trust someone I do not know. And I find it rather odd that the other sorcerers I have known appeared quite old in age yet you look remarkably young.”

“Well, I do not trust you either yet. We have only just met after all… And I doubt you have ever met a female sorceress.” You give him a catty smile. “The concept of eternal youth should not seem that odd to you, elf.”

“Hey now.” Gimli cuts in.

“I did not mean any offence, sir.” You turn to the dwarf before turning your gaze back to Legolas. “I have a great admiration for the elves. They can be quite impressive.”

Legolas fought his lips curling into a smile as your eyes remained deeply connected for a moment.

You all sat down at the table and started quietly discussing the plans. Legolas’s eyes kept drifting towards you anytime important information was mentioned, still untrusting of this (beautiful) stranger before him.

**********

Legolas continued to keep a close eye on you, still unsure if he could trust you. He is always skeptical of strangers but there was something too enchanting about you. He felt bewitched every time your eyes would meet. You were too perfect, no one is that perfect.

“We should take the passage through the cave here.” You say pointing to a spot on the map that you and your three companions were hovered over.

“It would be safer to go around. We have no idea what lurks in that cave.” Legolas responds.

“Perhaps, but it will take us three times as long.” You gently argue as Legolas gives you a scowl in response. “Besides, I have passed through it once before. We should be fine but we will remain on our guard for any surprises.”

“Surprises?” Legolas retorts. “How do we know this is not some trap you have set for us?”

“Legolas.” Aragorn says firmly.

“What? I am sorry but this all seems far too suspicious for my taste. How do we know she is not working for Saruman?” Legolas continues with frustration as his eyes go back and forth between you and Aragorn. You just stare at him blankly. “Why is she helping us so willingly if she is not a spy meant to trick us? I do not trust her!”

“I am helping you to fight against Saruman because like all of you I do not wish to see this world destroyed by evil.” You state sternly, tears beginning to fill your eyes that were firmly focused on Legolas. “If you cannot find a way to trust me we are doomed… But if that is not enough, and you remain convinced I am just some horrible evil witch, I will figure out some other way on my own and leave you all alone…”

Legolas simply stares at you in surprise, not quite sure how to respond.

“You may let me know your thoughts in the morning.” You say before he can respond, with a slight shake in your voice as you fight back tears. “I’m turning in for the night.”

And just like that, you walk off without another word or ‘goodnight’ to anyone. Legolas feels a sinking ache his stomach. He could tell you were genuinely hurt by what he said and he felt quite guilty about it now. You had not truly given him a real reason to mistrust you so deeply. He just believed you were too good to be true. Too perfect. Maybe deep down he was simply trying to mask the unwanted feelings he was quickly developing.

“I am going to turn in as well.” Legolas says lowly to Aragorn and Gimli. “Goodnight.”

He walks off to his room which was directly across from yours. His heart and feet stop at the sad sound of you crying in your room. His advanced hearing could hear your soft sobs through your door, though you were clearly trying to remain unheard. Another wave of guilt washed over him.

He felt a magnetic pull towards your door and was nearly about to knock before deciding against it. He retires to his own room instead, unable to find any rest as you overtook all of his thoughts.

**********

The next morning Legolas was quick to rise. He was eager to see you and apologize profusely. He waited anxiously at the table you had been at last night. After some time, his head perked up at the sound of feet approaching from the hallway. His expression quickly sunk when he saw Aragorn and Gimli come around the corner.

“Do you know if (y/n) is awake?” Legolas asks.

“Ay, she is awake.” Gimli responds, giving a knowing side eye to Aragorn, making Legolas raise his brow at them.

“Her room is empty…” Aragorn says hesitantly, avoiding direct eye contact with Legolas. “She must have left in the night.”

“All because you could not keep your mouth shut!” Gimli points out.

“Gimli.” Aragorn says sternly.

The dwarf grumbles an apology. Legolas hardly pays any attention to the insult or the apology as his mind races from the news of you being suddenly gone. He feels sick to his stomach, not completely sure why your absence affected him so deeply. As he goes to say something the inn door opens and you walk inside, your hood up and your bag at your side.

“Forgive me, I was restless this morning and went for an early walk.” You say blankly to the men at the table as you walk over to them.

Legolas lets out a quiet breath of relief. The feelings he had thinking you had left just proved how badly he wanted you to stay with them, with him.

“I trust you have made your decision?” You ask Legolas directly.

“I have.” He stands from his chair. “I have decided to trust you.” He states.

“Oh!” You say in slight surprise. “Well, I suppose that is good then...”

Legolas raises a brow at your dry tone, you notice.

“I was expecting a much different response.” You explain.

“Please forgive me, my lady.” Legolas gently takes your hand in his, you let him. “My behaviour last night was unbecoming of me and you did not deserve that. You have given no reason to earn such disrespect. I am truly sorry.”

Your slightly pursed lips curl into a pleased smile. This was not what you were anticipating at all. You truly thought he despised you. You assumed it had already been decided last night that he would certainly choose to be rid of you. You did not know that he actually had made his decision last night, it was just not the choice you expected. You were oddly relieved as you realized you not only didn’t want to part from the crew, but you did not want to part from Legolas.

“You do not understand how glad I am to hear that.” You smile to him.

He smiles back and places a kiss to the back of your hand before letting go.

“Well then, the adventure continues!” You say to the group of men before you all continue your journey.

**********

Legolas was quite impressed seeing you in battle. Your powers were incredible but what blew him away was how skilled you were with a blade. You stuck closed together during the fight, like magnets. There were multiple times you pulled a brave move that saved his life and he, yours.

One attack had you knocked on your back. You fought hard, pushing against your enemies dagger that was getting closer and closer to your throat. You were too exhausted to use any more magic to save you, your life flashed before your eyes when the tip of the dagger touched your skin. Suddenly, the enemy lets out a pained scream and you see the tip of a sword sticking out of its eye, it’s blood splattered on your already blood coated face. You see Legolas standing over you as he kicks the enemy to the side so he fell to the ground and not on top of you. He reaches his hand out and pulls you up.

“Thank you.” You pant.

“No problem.” He pants back, both of you exhausted from battle.

After the battle you all began to flee back to your meeting spot. You climb on your horse and go to Legolas’s side.

“Climb up!” You call down to him.

“I need to find Arod!” He calls back.

“He is safe! Gimli already took him!”

“That little…” He snarls. “Alright, let me steer!”

“Just get on!” You shake your head at him.

He climbs on behind you, the saddle forcing your bodies to press closely together. You ride off and the friction between you in the saddle begins causing a panic to rise in Legolas as his member quickly hardens behind you. He tries hard to concentrate on absolutely anything else but with your butt bouncing and pushing up against him as you rode, it made it impossible. He prayed to the gods that you would not notice but you were secretly smirking to yourself as you clearly felt something hard pressed against your backside. You casually push into him even more as you continue your journey, your cheeks quickly heating at his desire for you.

**********

You rest and celebrate from battle at a nearby inn. Gimli boldly challenges Legolas to a drinking contest. Several mugs of ale later the dwarf was piss drunk laughing loudly.

“I feel something…” Legolas suddenly says, lifting his hand and rubbing his fingers together. “A slight tingle in my fingers… I think it’s affecting me.”

Gimli cheers loudly, raising another cup as they both continue to drink. After some time Gimli lays passed out on the table and Legolas is stumbling towards where you stood against the wall with your now empty cup.

“You seem to be having fun?” You smirk at him.

“Quite.” He smirks back, a drunk smile stuck on his face. “Do you think you could point me to the direction of my rooom?” He slightly slurs.

You chuckle at him. “Come now, I am heading back to mine as well.”

He follows you down the dimly lit hallways of endless doors and couldn’t help but continuously glance in your direction. He was too busy drinking with Gimli that he hadn’t noticed earlier just how revealing your dress was. The purple fabric wrapped around your body in a way that left your back and arms fully exposed. The sight of the few freckles scattered across your back made his cheeks heat, though that could also be from all the ale. The dress was long and flowed openly as you walked, briefly exposing your bare legs underneath. Then his eyes slowly wandered up to the low cut V of your dress, revealing a sinful amount (he thought) of your large breasts. He felt a jolt go down his spine and shoot directly to his member.

You stopped suddenly and his eyes met yours.

“We are here.” You say a little awkwardly, gesturing to your rooms that sat across from each other at the very end of the halls.

His cheeks darken, unsure how much of his gaze you had caught.

“Goodnight, Legolas.” You smile before leaning in and placing a soft kiss to his cheek.

You turn towards your door when his hand grabs yours.

“(y/n)…” He says in a whisper, leaning in closer to you as your hands remain connected.

“Yes?” You whisper back, eyes searching his.

“I am not sure when I will have the courage again to say this…” He says as his other hand cups your cheek, causing your heart to race. “I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And the most interesting, kind, wild, and courageous woman I have ever met.”

You can’t help the wide grin that spreads across your face at his words. Before you have time to respond he closes the space between you and captures your lips in a searing kiss. It was deeply passionate, hungry. Your hands cling to his shirt as you kiss him back desperately, happily letting his tongue slip into your mouth. His hand moves into your hair as he pushes you back up against the wall. His lips fall to your neck, kissing and sucking gently.

“Legolas…” You breathe.

The sound of his name softly falling from your lips like that just spurred him on. His lips continue to ravish your neck and move down your chest as his hand grabs at your breast. A soft moan escapes you and the need for him fills your veins like fire. You wanted him so badly… but not like this.

“Legolas…” You whisper again, this time gently pulling him off you. “I think we should slow down…”

“Yes. Sorry. Yes, you’re right. I am sorry. I should not have-“ He stutters a bit anxiously.

“No! No. You have no reason to apologize.” You say reassuringly.

“I should not have assumed-“

“Legolas.” You say firmly, cupping his cheek in your hand. “I want you. I want you much more than I would care to admit… But when, or if, that moment happens… I want us both to be fully in the right state of mind.”

“Yes… you are right.” His hand covers the one on his cheek. “I would also like to be able to ravish you… fully.” He gives you a devilish smirk as his eyes drift from your lips back to your eyes.

His words make you blush and he watches as you bite your lower lip. It took both of you all of your will power to finally pull away.

“Goodnight, (y/n).” He says, taking your hand to place a kiss upon it.

“Goodnight, Legolas.” You give a blushing smirk before you turn to walk into your room.

Your eyes meet his a final time as you both go to close your doors. No words are said but the look between you was an unspoken promise for later.

Sleep was difficult to find as your mind races thinking of the steamy kiss you had just shared with Legolas. The thought of your tongues intertwined, his sinful mouth all over your neck and chest. You had a taste of each other and now the desire for him was driving you absolutely mad.

Legolas was in no better shape. The alcohol began to fade from his system but he still felt drunk on the memory of your lips on his. His hard member pressed angerly against his trousers. He couldn’t help himself. He would blame the blinding lust on the alcohol later, when he was completely sober and trying to reason his actions. For now, he shoved shame aside and pulled his aching cock out and began slowly stroking himself. His hand speeds up as intoxicating visions of you flash in his mind. Your revealed skin, the freckles on your back and your long pale legs. His lips on your sinfully exposed chest. The soft gasps and moans that slipped from your perfect lips. What finally pushed him over the edge was your voice ringing in his ears ‘Legolas… Legolas…’ Your soft whispers of his name had his release shooting across his stomach as a choked out moan escapes him.

He cleans up for bed and rest finds him surprisingly fast after that. His dreams were filled with nothing but images of you.

**********

A loud rumble of thunder wakes Legolas in the night. His mind instantly begins to race at the memory of the steamy kiss you had shared just outside the door. He could not resist the strong magnetic force pushing him to go and see you. After several minutes of debate he throws off the blankets, revealing his shirtless upper half and heads towards the door.

He quietly closes his door behind him before stepping towards yours. He was desperate to see you but also did not want to wake you if you happened to be sleeping through the loud thunder continuing outside. He knocks lightly on the door, not to wake you if you were asleep but loud enough you would hear if you were awake.

His heart stops as he hears your footsteps getting closer and watches as the door slowly opens.

“Legolas?” You ask in a sleepy whisper, peaking out the door.

“Apologies my lady, I hope I did not wake you.” He responds quietly, careful not to wake anyone else in the nearby rooms.

“No, the thunder woke me… Though I have hardly been able to sleep.”

You try to ignore the heat pooling between your legs at the sight of his bare toned upper body and his rarely loose hair tucked messily behind his pointed ears. You also notice his eyes scan over your form. He nearly lost all restraint right then and there, at the sight of your nipples poking through your thin night dress.

Before you could ask what he was doing at your door in the middle of the night he says in a whisper- “I could not stop thinking about you...”

You can’t help but smile as your eyes connect, electricity sparking silently between you.

“I have not been able to stop thinking about you either…” You say lowly. “Do you… do you want to come in?”

Legolas smirks and nods before boldly capturing your lips and walking you both into the room as he closes and locks the door behind him.

“Are you certain?” You ask him in a pant, breaking the kiss. He knew exactly what you were referring to.

He knew he was certainly not in his right mind with the way you haunted his thoughts. But he knew he was now completely sober and knew for certain this is what he wanted. You were what he desperately wanted.

“I am certain.” He responds, looking deep into your eyes. “Are you…?”

You nod a little too eagerly, making him chuckle. He kisses you again and you both make your way over to the bed. You boldly pull your night dress over your head, leaving you completely exposed before him. You watch his breath catch and fire flicker behind his eyes as he takes you in.

“Lay down…” He says in a seductive whisper.

You don’t hesitate for even a second before getting into bed. He quickly climbs over top of you and leans in. A nearly silent moan escapes you at the feeling of your breasts pressed against his bare skin. His lips hover just above yours as your noses brush.

“You are… exquisite.” He whispers before capturing your lips again.

This kiss is much more slow, tender. Like he’s savouring every second and every reaction from you. Each gentle flick of his tongue against yours calculated and deliberate. His lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and then sucking harshly.

“Legolas! You are going to leave a mark…” You yell in a whisper.

“Good. Then everyone will know who you belong to.” He says in a husky voice against your neck.

His words send a shiver through your entire being. He continues his light torture on your skin, sucking and gently nipping his way down your collarbone. Once he reaches your chest he does not hesitate to take your breast into his mouth. You moan as his warm tongue circles around your nipple, he moves to the other breast to do the same before kissing down your stomach, your breathing now rising and falling frantically.

“Tell me if you wish for me to stop…” He says in a rough, deep voice that you had never heard from him before.

You shook your head at him. Having him stop was the very last thought on your mind. He gives you a devilish smirk before his mouth moves down onto your core. You gasp loudly as his tongue instantly begins working against your clit. Your fingers bury into his silky white hair as soft whimpers escape you.

He slowly slides in his long slender finger, testing you before he adds a second. The way he begins to curl his fingers inside you as his tongue relentlessly works at your pearl has you crying out his name. You were grateful for the loud rain and rumbling thunder masking your moans while Aragorn was sleeping in just the next room.

Legolas subconsciously begins grinding against the bed as he continues ravishing you, his achingly hard member screaming to be released. His fingers work faster as he feels your beautiful thighs tighten around his head, warning him how close you are. With a final cry out you come undone, pulsing against his fingers and soaking his face.

He pulls away and you look down at him, his glistening face between your legs, messy hair, cocky smirk and heavy lustful eyes staring into yours. You felt like you could come again just from the sight of him.

You pull him to you and kiss him hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I need you inside me, please.” You pant, you could not wait a moment longer to have him.

He growls at your words as you reach for the hem of his trousers. His pants are quickly thrown to the floor and he lets out a shaky breath as your delicate fingers wrap around his length. He glides his tip against your core making you gasp. He smirks to himself before pushing into you. You let out a relieved moan in tandem, both of your mouths dropping open. Legolas stills inside you for a moment, the feeling of your warmth wrapped tightly around him had his head completely spinning.

“Legolas…” You pant.

He looks deeply into your purple eyes and the connection of it makes your heart skip a beat. He presses his lips to yours before sliding out and thrusting back into you. You moan into his mouth as he does it again while continuing to chase your tongue with his. His lips move to your neck as he gradually increases his speed. He can’t help the moans and grunts that escape him.

“Gods (y/n)… you feel fucking incredible.” He groans against your ear, causing goosebumps all over your skin.

You could not remember if you had ever even heard him curse before. You moan loudly in response. Suddenly he sits up, falling out of you causing you to whine from the sudden loss. He lifts your legs onto his shoulders before leaning down and plunging back into you. You cry out and he begins pounding into you relentlessly. The new angle and merciless speed quickly makes you see stars. Your mind goes completely blank other than his name and the amazing feelings he was sending throughout your body. Your nails dig hard into his biceps as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. You let out a long final moan that rings in loudly his ears. Loud enough that you were certain the thunder did not mask it.

You are completely breathless as he continues slamming into you, now chasing his own release. He lets your legs fall back down to his waist, wrapping around him. Another orgasm creeps up and threatens to overtake you.

“Fu-ck!” Legolas moans loudly as he spills into you, the intensity of it making him dizzy.

You moan loudly with him as he triggers your release once again. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist and pull him deeper into you as he fills you with his seed.

He rolls over, crashing onto the bed beside you. You both lay there facing the ceiling panting, trying to catch your breath and bring your minds back down to earth.

“Wow… that was… wow.” Legolas says between heavy breaths.

You let out a breathless chuckle in response. He pulls you in close and you cuddle up to him. He places a kiss on your head and softly plays with your hair as you peacefully fall asleep.

**********

The next morning you wake and look to Legolas with a mischievous idea in your mind. You could not stop replaying last nights events in your head. But there was one thing you realized you had not done. With that in mind, you slowly pull the blanket down his body, revealing his morning wood. You begin to place soft kisses all the way down his stomach, making him slightly squirm under your lips.

“What are you doing?…” Legolas mumbles sleepily.

“What does it look like I am doing?” You smirk at him before sucking on his tip, causing him to let out a sound between a gasp and a moan.

His heavy lidded eyes meet yours and his mouth parted, already breathing heavily.

“Do you want me to stop?” You pull away teasingly.

“Gods no.” He breathes before placing his hand on your head, gently urging you back down.

You smirk to yourself before you take him fully into your mouth, forcing a loud groan to escape him. You continue to bob your head, taking him fully down your throat. Legolas’s mind was completely blurred, all he could think of right now was beautiful, magnificent, you… and the feeling of his cock slamming against the back of your beautiful throat. Your actions quickly bringing him to his release.

“Gods (y/n), I’m going to-“ He chokes out.

Just then there’s a loud knock at the door. You pull your mouth off him with a ‘pop’ and look to the door then at Legolas, concern on your face.

“(Y/n)? Are you awake?” Aragorn calls from behind the door and you hear Gimli mutter something else to him.

“Ignore them.” Legolas urges in a desperate whisper, cupping your cheek with his hand. “They’ll go away if they think you are still sleeping. Just… ugh, please do not stop.”

You smirk and give him a small nod before taking him into your mouth once more. Legolas tries to hide his soft moans as his fingers tightened in your hair. He was so, so, close.

Another loud knock. You ignore it and continue bringing him towards the edge.

“(Y/n)?” Aragorn calls again. “Sorry to disturb you, but we cannot find Legolas. His things are still in his room but we cannot find him anywhere. We are worried something may have happened.”

“Oh for fucks sake...” Legolas huffs and storms out of bed, grabbing the sheet to wrap around his naked waist.

You watch from bed as he stomps over to the door, pulling the other blanket up to your chest to hide your exposed body. He swings open the door and you see Aragorn flinch in surprise as he takes in Legolas’s half naked form wrapped in a crumpled white sheet and an annoyed look plastered on his face.

“Legolas? I- I-“ Aragorn stutters and then spots over Legolas’s shoulder you lying in the bed, peaking at them both from under the blanket. “I- I am sorry… Just, um, come meet us at the bar when you are, done- I mean, ready…”

Legolas simply nods, trying to bite back a smile and keep a stern face until they were out of sight.

“Well, that solves that mystery!” Gimli laughs loudly once the door is shut.

Legolas makes his way back to you with a smirk.

“Well, that was incredibly awkward.” You chuckle and get up from the bed, leaving the blanket behind. “I suppose we should get ready.”

Legolas’s eyes flicker with fire as he takes in your naked body now standing right in front of him.

“As they said, we will meet them when we are done…” He says lowly.

He lets the sheet around his waist drop to the floor and your eyes glance down to his hard member before meeting his eyes again. The raw desire in his eyes causes fire to spread throughout your body.

He grabs both of your cheeks and pulls you into a passionate hungry kiss. You whimper at the intensity. He quickly flips you around and leads you back over to the bed.

“On your knees, love.” He whispers sensually in your ear, causing you to shiver with goosebumps, his hardness pressing against your back.

You follow his instructions and get onto the bed on your knees. You bend forward, giving him perfect access to you. He growls at the sight before him. You feel his hands grab your butt and hips. He shoves himself into you and you yelp out a moan. He wastes no time and starts a fast and relentless pace.

“My love…” He pants. “I- I cannot last long.”

You had brought him so close to sweet release with your mouth only moments ago, before you were interrupted, and it was making it impossible for him to last any longer. He was fighting hard to hold back at the very edge waiting for your response.

“It’s alright, my love. Come for me...” You breathe.

Hearing those words in your enchanting voice pushes him right over the edge and he finally lets go of the last thread of restraint. He grunts loudly as he comes deep inside you, his head thrown back and his fingers digging hard into your hips.

He rests against your back for a moment as he catches his breath. He pulls out and you both quickly get cleaned up and dressed. You made sure to choose a high cut dress to hide the many love marks that were spread across your neck and collarbones.

“Ready?” You smile at him.

“No.” He smirks and pulls you close against him.

He kisses you, gentle and slow. His tongue lightly glides over yours only once, before he places a final kiss to your lips and pulls away.

“I wish to stay in this room with you all day and night...” He gently pulls the neckline of your dress down to reveal your skin, before softly kissing your neck, following the trail of marks he had left last night.

“Mmm.” You hum. “I wish for that too…”

It takes all your strength to pull away from him as he nips at the sensitive spot on your neck. Your hooded eyes meet his and he watches as you bite your lip, which causes even more desire to fill him.

“But we cannot…” You sigh, eyes still connected intensely.

“You are right…” He sighs back, reluctantly pulling away from you.

He grabs his things from his room as you gather your own things and head out together.

**********

Aragorn and Gimli were waiting at a table in the bar area of the inn, just where they said they’d be.

“It’s about time!” Gimli calls loudly, Aragorn nudges him to be quiet.

“Apologies gentleman.” You say shyly as you sit down at the table.

Legolas sits in the empty chair across from you and you felt your stomach tighten when your eyes meet. You could hardly focus on what Aragorn and Gimli were discussing. Your mind swirled with the pleasure you had just shared only minutes ago and all the wild memories of last night. The feel of him, the look of his body, the taste of it, his pleasured facial expressions, his moans and sighs… it all flooded your mind. You tried to snap back to reality and focus but your eyes met his again and you could tell by the fire in them and the slight smirk creeping in the corner of his mouth, he was thinking about all of the same things you were.

You bite your lip trying to fight back your own knowing smirk. The action catches his attention and you watch his eyes look from your lips back to your eyes, somehow with even more fire behind them. There were unspoken words behind his gaze that you understood. All he was thinking about right now was being inside of you again and taking you right here on this table. And your lustful stare back at him told him that is exactly what you wanted too.

“Could you please stop eye-fucking eachother? We have important things to discuss!” Gimli yells with a laugh, startling you back to reality.

“We weren’t-“ You clear your throat, choking back the embarrassment. “Sorry. Please continue.”

Legolas simply smirks and shrugs. You both turn in your seats to fully face Aragorn and Gimli as they repeat the plans you missed. For a quick moment you dared to glance at Legolas again and when his eyes met yours, they were full of heated promises for later when you could finally be alone again.

**********

Later that night you find yourself tangled in the sheets with one another. He enters you for the second time that night.

“I have to ask you something.” He mumbles against your ear as he spoons you from behind.

“What is it?” You breathe out as he continues to slowly move in and out of you.

“Did you use some kind of spell… or magic on me?… Because the way I feel about you… the way you completely consume my mind… and my body…” He says between slow thrusts, placing a gentle nip to your neck. “I feel bewitched.”

You chuckle shyly, the confession of his feelings making your heart soar. You turn around, making him slip out of you. He whines at the loss of your warmth but then your lips find his in a fierce kiss as you move to straddle him.

“I did not use any magic on you, my love.” You mumble against his lips.

You grind against his length, causing his hands to grab onto your hips.

“Though, every time our eyes meet…” You say as your eyes meet intensely. “I feel bewitched by you.”

“I feel like I am in a trance whenever I am near you. Your eyes, your lips, your wicked mind, even your scent… You-“ His words are cut off with a groan as you sink down onto his cock. “-intoxicate me.” He chokes out the last words.

**********

You could not get enough of one another. You were all over each other every chance you got to be alone, whether it was time for bed or you had a moment to sneak off somewhere. Aragorn and Gimli could hardly stand to be around you both sometimes with the sexual tension constantly bubbling between you two. But it was not just the sexual desire and lust… the romance, gentleness and love that you shared between you was just as intoxicating as any of it. You fell deeply for your handsome male elf and he fell deeply in love with his beautiful sorceress.

masterlist

[hellfirenacht]

C'mon, It's Just One Night (Part 1)

Summary: After getting a fake love note in your locker, you ask Eddie to help you mess up some bullies plans. 

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, smut later, fem reader, reader wears a dress at one point, mentions of bullying, actual bullying, three-shot

Master List

Work Count: 3.7k Words

You ain't seen nothing yet....

The thing that always confused you about jocks and popular kids was that they always assumed that everyone else was dumber than them. Girls would come up to you and give you a compliment that was clearly not sincere and when you thanked them just to get them to leave you alone they would giggle and think that you believed them. Guys would ask you on dates as a joke and you’d roll your eyes and try to ignore them, even as they tried desperately for your attention for their own amusement. 

Thankfully, there were certain perks that came with being in the Hellfire Club. Being associated with Eddie “the Freak” Munson meant that as long as you were standing near your friend, you’d mostly be left alone. You’d sit with him at lunch, try and walk with him to class in the hallways, and in general just tried to avoid any jock that looked particularly bored. 

However it had been quiet over the past few weeks, too quiet for your liking. Honestly, you were almost missing some of the backhanded compliments because it at least gave you a chance to blow off some steam outside of Hellfire. Well, something out there heard your wish and that’s how you found yourself watching from the other end of the hallway as two boys shoved a note in your locker, snickering to themselves. 

Well, this should be entertaining at least. 

They didn’t even try and look around to see if anyone was watching them, too caught up in their own scheme to realize the person who’s locker they were messing with was watching them from just a few yards away. 

“-’s gonna be so funny.” laughed one. You didn’t even know their names. There were so many people at this school that how were you expected to keep up with everyone when you didn’t even speak to them?

“Yeah, she’s gonna be embarrassed and we’ll get a free show out of it.” laughed the other one. 

You were right there. How was it that you could be on their radar for this shit and yet still remain completely invisible? 

The two turned around and you pretended to be throwing something away in a nearby trash can quickly, so that they wouldn’t realize that you had been staring at them. 

“There she is, we gotta go!” you heard one say in a voice that you assumed was his idea of whispering as the two scampered off while trying to hold off their laughter. 

You gave them a generous thirty seconds to get away before making your way to your locker and opening it up, grabbing the note and reading it over. It took everything you had not to burst out laughing right there, and you were just going to throw it away when you had an idea. 

Tucking it into your pocket, you smiled and made your way to the drama room for Hellfire as you started making your own plans for what you’d just read. 

“And with the Dwarf’s golden pick rightfully returned to him, I think this is a good stopping point.” Eddie said, finally sitting back in his chair. He’d been really revved up today, jumping around the table and getting in everyone’s faces as he described what was happening. He’d nearly rammed his head into yours at one point and you had barely managed to lean back enough so he didn’t. 

Eddie was always revved up, always ready to put on a show. He wasn’t afraid to be loud or call out the bullshit of what was expected. Eddie would jump on tables, get in people's faces, declare himself King Freak. 

He was perfect. 

...For your plan. Nothing more. You knew he’d be on board when you explained what you wanted to do. He was perfect for... that. 

As the rest of the club filed out, you stayed behind to help clean up the leftover soda cans and break down the board. You were also stalling because you didn’t want any of the other members to witness what you were about to ask of Eddie. 

“Your Scottish accent is getting better and worse at the same time.” you said, handing him one of the minis. “Sometimes you nail it, and sometimes I don’t think you’re even trying to say anything legible.” 

“It’s better than your character's accent! Is your tiefling from New Jersey or trans-atlantic?” Eddie laughed, shoving his notes unceremoniously in a folder. 

“Why do Dwarves need to be Scottish anyway?” you ignored his question, fully aware that your accents were no better. “I think you should mix it up. Make Canadian dwarves or something.”

This is how Hellfire usually ended, with the two of you joking around and talking about the session and making fun of each other while you tried to get hints about what was to come. He never gave anything away. 

You blew out a few candles and Eddie went to readjust the lights. You reached into your pocket and pulled out the note. 

“So, Eddie.” you started, turning to him. “Remember how last month I helped you study for Mrs. O’Donnel’s midterm and you got a solid B?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and he stopped what he was doing to look at you. Under the multicolored spotlights he looked... you never had the words to describe it. He just looked like Eddie. The Eddie that should be playing guitar on stage or the Eddie that kept your attention so easily and rapturously when he was running his games. You weren’t ready to say that to his face yet, despite the contradiction of what you were about to do. 

“I remember.” he said, walking over to you and crossing his arms. “I take it you aren’t just bringing up a fond memory of us to reminisce about?”

“Not a chance.” you looked into his brown doe eyes. “It’s time for you to pay up.” And with that you handed over the note. 

Eddie took it with a slight tilt of his head and unfolded it, scanning the contents. 

My Dearest, 

I’ve been watching you for weeks now, enraptored by your beauty. I’ve been too shy to talk to you, but now I want the chance to confess to you. I’m in love with you, and have been all year. I don’t care if everyone thinks you’re some weird Satanist freak because I’m into that. Please be my date for homecoming and meet me at the school at 7:30 pm.

-Your secret admirer  

“It’s not really a secret if you’re handing this directly to my face.” Eddie said, looking up from the note. “And you spelled ‘enraptured’ wrong.” 

“I found this in my locker.” you said, ignoring his comments. “Some jocks think they’re being funny and are clearly trying to pull some sort of prank to humiliate me.” 

“Think it’s a Carrie situation?” Eddie asked, looking over the note again before handing it back to you. 

“They don’t have the guts to get any pig's blood.” you shook your head. 

“So what does this have to do with me? You know that Hellfire doesn’t do school dances.” He said. “I thought we were just gonna blow it off, and Corroded Coffin is gonna do a secret show at the Quarry.”

“Eddie, all your shows are secret.”

“Not true, we have recently gained another groupie. There are now a grand total of six drunks that regularly listen to us play.” Eddie pouted. “Six and a half if you count the cat that’s been hanging around the Hideout.” 

“Yeah, okay, remember me when you’re famous.” You said. “Listen, I need your help. I’m coming to you wanting to cash in my favor. I need the Freak to help me out here, Eddie.”

“For what, exactly?” His eyes narrowed, but you stood your ground. 

“If I show up to homecoming, something's gonna happen. The best case scenario is that I show up and they ignore me and laugh while I wait for this fake person to show up. The worst case scenario ends with pigs blood and me learning I have telekinetic powers.” You explained. 

“So why even bother going? I thought we all agreed that Hellfire doesn’t do school events.” 

That was a good point, and you were making a gamble on this. Eddie didn’t do school events, and tried to make it a rule for his club as well. That didn’t go over well when Mike insisted that he was going to take his girlfriend Jane to homecoming, and everyone finally came clean that Lucas was playing both sides of the field and playing basketball AND doing Hellfire. 

You had to admit, Eddie’s face of disappointment and disapproval was pretty funny. You felt bad for the guy though, he avoided anything school related like the plague outside of this club. Eddie had boasted that he’d never gone to prom or homecoming, and had been skipping any pep rally since his second senior year. 

“You agreed that you didn’t go to events. I never agreed to anything.” you said firmly. “I only agreed to show up every Friday and wear the Hellfire shirt.”

“And again I ask, what does this have to do with me?” Eddie pushed. 

“Be my date for homecoming.” you said. “My fake date. I want you to get to me before they have the chance to.”

Eddie froze for a second, a thousand emotions flashing through his eyes at once. You’d seen this look countless times when one of his players had thrown him a curve-ball and he had to scramble to figure out how to make it work for the game. 

“Your fake date.” he said slowly. “So you want me to- what exactly?” 

“I want you to show up and pretend to be the person who wrote this note.” you explained. “I’ll pretend to be thrilled, you get to be seen with a cute girl at a dance, the gossip train gets something to talk about, and the jocks get their plans foiled. Everybody wins.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes at your plan. “Or you could just not show up at all and just come help us set up for the show.” He said. 

“But that’s not fun.” You pointed out. “Besides, if they think we’re together even just for the night then they’ll leave me alone. Probably”

Eddie looked skeptical. 

“Please?” you leaned closer, making your eyes wide as possible. “Eddie, these dicks have been on my ass all semester. I can’t go two weeks without getting asked out as a joke or having some meat head yell about how his “friend thinks I’m cute”. It’s fucking annoying, and ignoring them has done jack and shit.” 

You saw the stone look in his eyes falter and his shoulders ease up. “You’re really serious about this?” he asked. 

“I am.” you confirmed. “You do this for me, and you can have full creative control. Show up in your Hellfire shirt, hell you could show up in your pjs and I’ll pretend to be thrilled that you’re my secret admirer. We’ll make sure that we’re seen, then we can go to the quarry. We don’t even have to stay for fifteen minutes. Just show up for me, Eddie. Please.” 

Eddie took a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hands. “Fifteen minutes. All I have to do is show up and pretend that I’m your secret admirer and then we leave. Right?”

“Right.” You promised. “That’s all I need.”

Eddie sighed deeply and grabbed his jacket and threw it on. “I am never asking for your help studying again. You drive a hard bargain.” Despite his words he had a grin on his face. 

“I’m going easy on you, if you had gotten an A I’d be demanding that you show up in a full tux with roses.” you teased. “I’m talking about the full cheesy school dance treatment. Corsage, first dance, all of it.”

“Don’t even start, you’d have to get me to completely ace her whole class to get that kind of treatment.” Eddie grabbed your shoulder and started pushing you up the stairs. “I wouldn’t even know where to get a tux.” 

“I think you’re supposed to rent one.” you laughed as the two of you made your way out of the drama room and closed the door. “I, however, will need to actually buy my dress.”

“You’re really gonna get a dress for this? We’re only going for fifteen minutes.” Eddie pointed out. 

“Oh, would you rather me show up looking terrible?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You really wanna show up and fake-confess to me looking plain and like I don’t care?”

“You really want to sell this, huh?” Eddie laughed. 

“It’s the only way I can think of for them to stop.” You said. 

The two of you made your way to the parking lot. Eddie walking you to your car. 

“Remember Eddie, you have full creative control over how you want to do this.” you said, getting in the driver's seat. “I don’t care how you show up, just go loud.”

“Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson would never disappoint.” he said, closing the door for you with a flourish.

You were going to get a dress for this. 

No, you weren’t, you were only going to be there for fifteen minutes at most. 

But your mom would want to take pictures and be thrilled you were even going. After all, you’d avoided it during your first four years of high school. 

And you wanted to. 

That was the real kick in the pants for all this. You wanted to go to homecoming. You wanted to have a night to dress up and look nice and have fun with your friends. Unfortunately, only the freshmen were going to the dance, and as much as you loved Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, you didn’t really think you’d have a lot of fun with some kids a good five years younger than you. Hell, Mike and Lucas had actual dates and Dustin had a long distance girlfriend! 

You’d be the single person in the group and that didn’t exactly put points in your favor for sticking around for the dance. The rest of Hellfire didn’t bother going to these kinds of things, as this town made it clear that school events were for normal people who enjoyed normal things, whatever the fuck that meant. 

As much as you denied ever wanting to go to homecoming or prom, you knew that you wanted to, and you knew who you wanted to go with. 

On the bright side, at least you’d get your secret wish now, even if it was for fifteen minutes. 

Eddie had made it clear since the first time the words “school dance” were uttered in his presence a few years ago that he wasn’t going to even entertain the idea of showing up. Those nights were dedicated to one shots or longer sessions for Hellfire. So for the past few years you had skipped out on any dances in favor of at least telling your beat up journal that you had technically spent prom or homecoming with Eddie Munson. 

You walked into the department store that you knew had a sizable selection of dresses, took one look at the price tags, and walked right back out. It was insane to spend that money on one night of dancing, let alone fifteen minutes. 

Besides, where else would you even wear a dress like that? You laughed at the idea of showing up to Hellfire, with your shirt on over whatever you would have picked. That’d be stupid. 

....

But it’d also be funny. 

You walked back into the department store and ignored the front and center mannequins to hit up the clearance rack instead. Even as you browsed, you were still trying to convince yourself that you didn’t need to buy something for this. Eddie was probably just going to show up in his old faded DIO shirt and some old jeans (maybe the ones that had that hole in the butt that showed his boxers when you stood behind him, if you were lucky). He probably wouldn’t even brush his hair. 

You had a choice to make. How much of an effort did you want to put into your appearance for this? Should you follow Eddie’s approach and just show up as normal, or should you allow yourself an indulgence in the Cinderella fantasy? What did you want, and what did this revenge situation call for?

You wanted to look nice. You wanted to tell your journal that you had a date with Eddie and that you looked good and that those asshole jocks didn’t even recognize you. Wouldn’t it be better that way anyway? No matter what Eddie looked like when he showed up, the point would be made clear; you were off the market (as far as anyone would be able to tell) and Eddie Munson had gotten the girl. No, not the girl; a girl. Being the girl implied that you were someone that Eddie had an interest in. 

Dresses of different lengths and cuts and colors started to blend together as you indulged in the fantasy of matching your dress to whatever Eddie was going to wear. You flipped through the dress rack while you mentally flipped through all the shirts you had seen Eddie wear in the last few weeks. He favored darker colors most times, the main exception being the white Hellfire Club shirt. 

“Dark clothes don’t stain as easily.” he’d explained before. 

You kept flipping through the racks of last seasons’ fashion, trying to find something that you could wear. Halfway through you considered giving up and just showing up in what you would have worn to the quarry if you hadn’t planned this whole thing. 

You need to commit to the bit. You reminded yourself. These jocks are expecting you to look pretty and then try to embarrass you. Don’t half ass it.

Sucking it up, you made your way over to the normal racks. Your mom had given you some cash to buy yourself a nice dress, but you had been hoping to just buy something cheaper and save the rest to buy off of Eddie later. 

You walked out of the store, bag in hand, with a receipt showing a number that made you feel sick. You reminded yourself over and over it was for you, Eddie, and your mom. 

“Are you sure you have the charisma for this?” Gareth asked. “You always roll shit with any charisma roll.”

“Gareth, I don’t know if you know this, but rolling a die and saying that I’m trying to do something is different than actually doing it outside of the game.” you said as the two of you made your way into the Library. You had it on good authority that this was the jocks study hall period, and you wanted to really sell your plan. 

“I still don’t get why I have to be part of this. I’m not even going to homecoming either.” He grumbled. “This whole thing is stupid. You should just come to the show instead.” 

“I can do both.” you waved him off. “All I need you to do is let me talk at you-”

“You do that anyway.”

“Yes, but this time I need you to pretend to be invested.” You explained. “You let me talk about how excited I am for homecoming and to meet my secret admirer and I use my powers of being able to leave school during lunch to bring you McDonald’s tomorrow.” 

Gareth couldn’t argue with that, no teenage boy could resist the sweet temptation of greasy fast food in the middle of the school day. It was more than a fair trade, even if Gareth didn’t see the point in this. You just really wanted to sell your plan. 

“Remember, all you need to do is ask me who I’m going to Homecoming with.” you reminded him. 

The two of you walked over to where the group of basketball players were goofing off and not really studying, and the two who had slid the note into your locker started nudging each other and snickering to themselves. 

“So who are you going to homecoming with?” Gareth asked, his line delivery stiff and unnatural and disinterested. You had to fight with yourself to not roll your eyes at the lackluster performance. 

“I don’t know!” your voice was a little higher pitched at the response, trying to emulate the cheerleaders you’d seen giggling in their groups as they gossiped. You pulled the note that you had been keeping in your pocket. “I got this note asking me to meet them at the dance, so I have no idea!”

You continued to gush to the disinterested Gareth how excited you were to be asked to go, and speculating on who it could be. The entire time, your friend looked like he’d rather be smashing his head against the table than listen to you talk about this, which was honestly more fun for you than the jocks reactions. 

From the table behind you, the normally loud group of boys were attempting to be quiet as they snickered and nudged each other. You wished that Gareth would try and talk a little more so that you could stop talking to eavesdrop on them. 

When the jocks started getting louder again, that’s when you dropped the conversation. They weren’t interested in hearing anymore and so you weren’t either. 

“So what was the point of that?” Gareth muttered, making his way to the exit of the library. 

“I don’t want them to forget about me. If I’m gonna be completely honest, I really just expected them to totally forget they left something in my locker about this.” you adjusted your backpack, following him out. “I’m committed to the bit.”

“Sounds like you’re just asking for trouble.” He shook his head. 

“Maybe a little.” you sighed. “Eddie and I are graduating this year and I don’t want to look back at my time here and think that I just took the bullshit that was given to me. I just want them to get off my ass for the rest of the year.” 

“Do you really think it’ll work?” 

“Only one way to find out.” 

Part 2 It's Gonna Be A Night We'll Never Forget (Coming Soon)

Dividers By: @strangergraphics

Tag List: @somethingvicked @ladysilence @leelei1980 @seexyyprincess @rosebudsgarden @ghcstpyre @crocwork-clockodile

[fizzyxcustard]

Those Hands.

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Insecurity, comparison, angst, sexual references, mutual pining, idiots in love.

Comments/Notes: From the imagine, "Imagine that Thorin is in love with you (from the race of Men) but constantly compares his body and features with other men, thinking you find him disgusting." Requested by multiple readers and anons. (THANK YOU!)

I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.

Thorin watched every little interaction that you had with other males, whether they be Dwarves, Men or Elves. He couldn’t help but watch you blush, avert eye contact and use self-soothing gestures, such as touching your face, curling your hair with your fingers, or rubbing your upper arms. 

Since Thorin had been crowned King of Erebor, and re-building was underway, many people visited the mountain. Bard came from Esgaroth, often meeting with Thorin in council, to discuss trade deals and assistance in building. Much to Thorin’s distain, Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, also came. Again, he joined the council to converse around the subject of trade deals in precious metals and gemstones.  

Your relationship with Thorin was entirely built on trust. The two of you had been companions out on the road during the quest to re-take Erebor. He had always valued your opinion, spoke with you in private, and kept you close to him on his council of advisors. Erebor was now your home, despite you being of the race of Men. Your family were all gone, meaning that the Dwarves had now taken that place, welcoming you into the fold and treating you as one of their own. 

One morning, council was busy. Neldra, one of the kitchen staff, was on hand with jugs of cold drinks and pots of tea. Then once all the drinks were laid out neatly on intricately laced doilies, she came back with a trolley of fresh pastries. 

The smell was divine; you took an inhale and let the scent overtake you. Apple and cinnamon were among the selection: your favourite. 

You reached out to take one of the pastries, only to feel another hand graze yours. “I apologise,” a voice came, from the direction of the hand. 

It was Bard, from two seats down to your right hand side, who had stretched across to grab one of Neldra’s famous delicacies. “It was no bother,” you replied. “You first.” 

“Ladies first. I insist.” 

Thorin’s blue eyes studied the scene going on before him. No one else had noticed the exchange between you and Bard. Upon the impact of yours and Bard’s hands, Thorin felt a jolt in his chest. It rose up into his throat, and he closed his eyes for a brief second. The red hot sensation bore into him, feeling as if it were forming a hole straight through him. Upon opening his eyes, Thorin looked at his hands, then glanced across to Bard’s. The man’s hands were broad, but his fingers long and slender. Very much unlike Thorin’s. The Dwarf King’s fingers were short and bulky, with stubby ends. Surely Bard’s hands would have the dexterity and skill to caress your skin, drawing shivers from you. A Dwarf’s hands would be too calloused and thick to evoke any kind of pleasurable sensation upon a woman from the race of Men. 

Chatter continued, along with eating and drinking. In that time, Thorin tried his hardest to push the negative thoughts from his mind, and concentrate on the conversation at hand, which involved the realms of Erebor and Esgaroth exchanging skilled workers and apprentices. 

Thranduil was also present and merely rolled his eyes as the conversation got underway between Bard and Thorin. The Elven King did not like to waste his time, and being in this council meant that there were stints of time where his input was not needed. 

“Would you like another drink?” you asked Thranduil, picking up the nearest china pot of tea. 

“I would much prefer wine, but since I’m not within my realm, I would not say no.”

Thorin’s gaze darted over to Thranduil, and then to you. He saw you brush a piece of hair behind your ear, and then look up at the Elven King sat opposite you. Your ears were small, with one golden hoop earring in each lobe. Then Thorin looked at Thranduil’s ears; pointed at the tip, finely structured. They weren’t big, round and sticking out. Thorin’s ears were ugly, and thankfully he could keep them hidden under his long hair. Secretly, he had always imagined you whispering against them, your lips brushing them. It made Thorin shiver. 

Once council had concluded, Thorin left the chamber and headed back to the royal wing. Once inside and he stood in front of his full length dress mirror, staring at the protruding ears on the side of his head. Then he studied his large hands, thinking back to Bard’s. 

The males from the races of Men and Elves made you blush in a way that Thorin never had. Their bodies were more finely crafted, which complemented yours. They had finer features with smaller noses and brows. 

Thorin shifted back and sat on his bed, his hands in his lap. He took one more glance at them, feeling disgusted at what he saw. They would never be good enough for you. None of his body would ever be good enough for you. Everything about him was oversized, not delicate and handsome like Bard and Thranduil. Both of them had lost their wives, and may have wished to re-marry, so they would make better husbands for you. 

***

The following day and Thorin was sat in the council room, signing documents. His quill scratched loudly against the parchment. 

You walked in, holding a further stack of documents in your hands. “These should be the last ones,” you said, offering a smile. 

Thorin looked up at you. No blush on your face to be seen. 

“Is everything alright?” you asked. There was something in his eyes, a thoughtfulness. Maybe even a sadness. You sat down in an empty seat next to Thorin. “What’s wrong?” On impulse, you placed your hand on top of his. 

Thorin looked at your hands, watching your thumb gently caress his knuckle. How huge his hand looked against yours. But how right it felt, as if the size did not matter, and they were still able to fit together as one. 

“There is nothing wrong,” Thorin said, forcing a weak smile. “I hear that Bard is leaving this afternoon. Will you not be wishing him farewell?” 

“I barely know him,” you replied. “I’d feel it strange to do so.” 

“Would you wish to get to know him?” 

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“Surely you find him handsome,” Thorin continued, pulling the new stack of documents over towards him. 

“Not really. Can’t say I do. There’s some reason to you asking this, Thorin.” 

“Why would I have any reason?” 

“There’s always a reason to anything that you ask. I know you enough by now. Talk to me. You’ve always given me more trust than I deserve, and never questioned me liked this before.” 

Thorin took a deep inhale and looked at you, dropping his quill. “Who do you find handsome? If not Bard, maybe Thranduil?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Why ever would you think I’m attracted to King Thranduil?” The whole idea was so comical that you couldn’t help but keep giggling. “It takes….” You couldn’t stop the giggling. “A special….kind of woman….to…..” 

Thorin also began to chuckle, watching your face turn red in amusement and delight. His heart somehow felt lighter as he watched you, and that overwhelming love for you rose. It was a love that would allow him to do anything to make you happy. It was a love that would make him sacrifice his very life to keep you safe. It was sacrificial and unconditional. 

You could see the glow in Thorin’s eyes and the smile which curled his lips upwards. He was the one you found handsome, above all others. The intensity in his eyes made butterflies swarm in your stomach. His proud presence caused you to shiver whenever he entered a room. His voice was enough to make your imaginations travel to another place where only the two of you were, locked away in comfort, pursuing wondrous pleasure. 

You edged closer to Thorin. “You said you want to know who I find handsome?” 

Thorin’s heart was hammering now and he was sure that you would be able to hear it. 

“It’s you.” Your voice was a whisper. “It’s always been you. How could it not be you? Why would you ever think I’d be attracted to Bard and Thranduil?” 

Thorin closed his eyes in embarrassment. “My features and body are not like theirs.” 

“So why would that not make you handsome?” 

“My hands…” 

“Your hands?” you giggled. This time a blush did hit your cheeks, and it was even more vivid than it had ever been when in the company of any other man. “You have found out my secret.” 

“What secret?” Thorin asked, shifting ever so slightly closer to you. He had never wanted you any more than he did in those moments. The very thought that it was him that you found handsome was making his whole being rise, but anticipation was now racing down his spine in shivers. 

“I have had a fantasy for some time now, since meeting you, of what you could do to me with those hands,” you said, biting your lip. 

Thorin couldn’t hold back any more and moved even closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek. His breath was elevated and his eyes were sparkling with so much joy, but slight fear. 

His lips crashed against yours and you both groaned upon impact. Within seconds and the kiss had grown deep, your tongues both meeting. You couldn’t help but whimper as Thorin’s lips left yours and trailed down your neck. His beard tickled your skin and then as he grew more impatient, you could feel the tickle become a bristling, sharp sensation. Your hands became lost in his hair as he nuzzled at your neck, groaning and grunting. 

Thorin felt your fingertips brush over his ears, and it drew an overwhelming shiver from his very core. 

“I love you, Thorin,” you said again. “Now show me what you can do with those hands.” 

***

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[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Hidden Touch (Thranduil x Reader)

Summary - In the midst of a meeting with the dwarves of Erebor, Thranduil decides to entertain himself with your hole.

Warnings - Smut, language, fingering (reader receiving), implied afab reader (though could possible be read differently), slight name calling (once), technically voyeurism, public fingering, bad descriptions (I tried).

Pronouns & POV - None, third-person

Word Count - 900+

A/N - Another smut I wrote on my phone and polished up a little bit. This was originally meant to be a Thorin smut, but I realized he does not wear that many rings...and rings were important to the smut or at least to me. There is only one translation in this smut, and Y/N is not used once (look at me, not relying on Y/N). I tried to keep this as vague as possible, only thing really note worthy is the reader's nails can dig into their seat. I am still in the midst of writer's block (save me), but thankfully had a sip of creativity while waiting for a package to arrive. I finally got a new vibrator. I will add the translation below. Smut below.

Translation - mui ithil (my moon)

Read on Wattpad Read on AO3

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The roaring boom of the dwarven king's voice echoed throughout the mountain halls. His voice rumbled deep with emotion as he paced back and forth in front of the large, stone table. His gestures were sharp, full of rage as he rambled on and on about, well, you were not aware of what.

Perhaps need for supplies? The winter had been rather harsh, the nip of the chilled air against your cheeks reminding you of its presence. Or was it a discussion of trades? You could not seem to remember for the life of you what this meeting was of.

And despite how loud the dwarven king's voice was, all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat within your skull. Thumping at a rapid pace as you attempted to remain composed.

The tips of your nails dug into the plush seat beneath you, the inner flesh of your cheek sucked inwards and now resting in a snug pinch between your back molars as you desperately attempted to stay silent. Yet, your silence was not kept for long as the elven king's fingers continued to move within you.

The stretch of his slender fingers was deep and calculated. He knew every spot within your body like the back of his hand—knowing exactly how hard to press and which spongey spot to aim for to force you to whimper.

His large, slender fingers curved within the dampened walls of your core—curving up to meet one of your sweet spots, the tips of his nails grazing against it ever-so-slightly forcing a hitched gasp to fall from your lips.

The room had suddenly gone silent at the sound, all eyes falling upon you as you awkwardly shifted within your seat. A familiar heat began to spread throughout the flesh of your cheeks as you quickly masked the sound with a slew of coughs, excusing your gasp with the excuse of being unused to mountain air, diverting attention from you as most gazes fell back to the pacing dwarf.

"Careful, mui ithil," The heat of the elven king's breath grazed your ear as he leaned down to you, his voice no louder than the softest whisper—ensuring only your ears heard him amongst the loudness of dwarves. "We wouldn't want our hosts to know what a slut you are, would we?"

All moisture within your mouth dried at his question, and your gaze quickly shifted from the now-pacing dwarven king to your elven lover. His position was calm and composed, as regal as he always was. An air of respect surrounded him, commanding attention and intimidating all with a simple glance.

He appeared as composed as he was from the moment he sat upon the plush chair—as if he was not currently fingering you beneath the dwarf's table.

"You do not think I am trying?" The question was choked out between gritted teeth, a quivering whisper as you desperately clawed at the plushness beneath you. A soft hiss was soon to follow the strained question as you felt his fingers almost fill you—only stalled by the metal rings that rested upon the base of them.

Rings you knew all too well. You did not need to glance down to be able to tell which one specifically was grinding into the outer dampness of your sensitive flesh.

It was one of silver, it sprawled out in various directions with the appearance of sharpened edges but was relatively smooth. Upon the center of the ring laid a hefty white stone, one in which the reflection of your sopping hole could be seen as it had recently been polished.

A ring that constantly jabbed at your sensitivity, pressing against the outer ring of flesh that surrounded your receptive hole each time the large, slender lengths of flesh dove within you.

The soft squelching click of his fingers exploring the depths of your wetness danced throughout the air, thankfully being masked by the annoyed thumps of the dwarven king's booted feet. A false sense of security arose within your chest at this; perhaps you would be able to remain as composed as your lover was. Perhaps he would stop toying with you as all focus now resided on the furious dwarf.

Yet, as soon as the secure sense arose within your chest, it was ripped away at the sensation of his fingers curling within you. A familiar static sensation arose within the pit of your core at the sensation, the size of your eyes widening as your nails sunk into the softness beneath you—likely pricking holes in the lavish upholstery.

"Thranduil—" His name clung within your throat, escaping as a choked whisper as you could not help but sink in the ministrations of his hand. The chilled metal of his rings scrapped against your dampened entrance, as the smoothness of the various parts pressed around the sensitive hole. A sensation accompanied by the steady sway of the elven king's fingers dancing within you—swaying to the same beat of the angered dwarf's thumps. It was far too difficult to speak, and it was just as difficult to think of anything other than remaining silent, or else the dwarves would know.

The corners of the elven king's lips lifted upwards into a slight grin—he had you exactly where he wanted you. Weak. Malleable. And desperate.

"Try harder." The words left his smug lips in a taunted whisper as his gaze drifted back to the king he was there to meet by your request—or rather nag. "This is of utmost importance, is it not?" The taunts continued, his voice remaining low and steady as the sway of his fingers did not cease. Pumping, curving, and carving their way inside of you in sync with the evergoing rants.

This was going to be a long meeting.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[targaryenluvs]

I absolutely love how you write!! Now I've got this under my skin: basically the President Coriolanus and maid dynamic. The servant has this behavior in which she avoids crossing paths with Coriolanus at all costs but he already has her in his sights.

coriolanus snow x fem!maid!reader

mr president

tw: mdni 18+ (m masturbation, jerked off, implied sex in, power abuse, humiliation kink, guilt trip, cheating, degradation, naive reader, implied short reader)

coriolanus had been watching you all day. you knew it. he knew it, and he didn’t care. you’d always been taught to put your head down, go unnoticed, to just work. but it seems president snow had other ideas to how you could be of service to him, preferably with your legs wide open.

but this week felt different. you were use to his stares, they always seemed to linger even once he was long gone. but lately they set your body on fire, consuming you. you could barely look at him when he asked you to fetch a glass of water, when he requested for another seat at the table to be set tonight, and so on.

he loved to embarrass you with the most ridiculous and tedious jobs. but at first they’d been mild in want, for you to feed him, for you to clean his shoes and tie them, pick any lint off of his coat. but as his desire for you increased so did the humiliating nature of them. to clean the floor in your uniform which he knew you’d ripped that morning on a sharp thorn, to pick up the utensils he’d dropped, when he’d requested fresh new sheets after he’d soiled them himself. watching intently as your hands bunched up the sheets, cradling them in your arms as your cute little face scrunched up in horror as his cum coated your hands.

he loved you.

and you had no idea as to why. you never drew attention to yourself and certainly not enough to warrant his. yet coriolanus was hellbent on having you.

when you were awoken by one of maids in the middle of the night you’d expected something different, maybe one of the girls needed help in cleaning. but when she told you of president snow asking for you specifically for help with something, you could only help but be scared. you didn’t want to go help him with whatever. you didn’t want to be within arms reach of him let alone his own quarters. his wife was away on a business trip that week, leaving him with free time to torment you.

but you went nonetheless, who were you to refuse your dear president?

the entire walk to his quarters had you reassuring yourself, he’ll want you to bring him something. ‘water perhaps, then he’ll let you go. he’ll let you go y/n.’ you approached his door, raising your hand before knocking but a voice stopped you in your tracks. was it a cry? a groan? you leaned into the door, ear pressed against the cold wood, listening for a hint of what was occurring.

‘fuck,’ he groaned out, ‘so good, fuck s’ so good.’ that must be some really good soup! you thought as you smiled, you’d made his soup today and he said he’d eat it later on that night. ‘fuck y/n.’ now you weren’t arrogant, it may have been your soup but you didn’t name it after yourself. you should correct him.

‘mr president?’ your sweet voice called out, your voice went straight to his throbbing cock. ‘c-come in.’ you smiled to yourself as you opened the door only to be with president snow on his bed, hand wrapped around the base of his cock, completely naked with a smirk on his face. definitely not eating soup, you thought. ‘close the door, now.’ you did exactly that, what would someone say if they found the president so indecent? you should protect his image.

‘sit down.’ you crept over to him before hoisting yourself up, your small frame dwarfed by the overly-large bed. meant for two. his wife! you instantly covered your eyes like a child who’d seen something they just weren’t meant to. ‘i’m so sorry president snow, i didn’t mean to look. i’ll leave.’ you rambled as you slowly wriggled away, but not before his hand landed on your thigh. ‘i didn’t call you in here for you to leave right after.’ his hand rubbed into your thigh, soft and gentle, everything he wasn’t. it drew a soft moan from your lips, snows smug expression was evident, only if you’d just open your eyes.

your hands slowly peeled away from your face as you gazed into his eyes, ‘i saw you looking before, you liked it didn’t you slut?” for some reason the word made you blush as you looked down at your lap, his hand was playing with the hem of your night dress. ‘no mr snow.’ you bashfully replied, his hand worked its way up underneath your dress, the other preoccupied with his dick.

‘no? am i not pretty?’ you eyes widened at the implication, president coriolanus snow, ugly? he was anything but, ‘no! i- i mean yes, yes you are pretty, very pretty mr president.’ he grinned at your words, ‘yeah? you wanna prove it to me? you’d do anything for your president right?’ you nodded along quickly, not before gasping as his hand now played with the waistband of your underwear.

‘i want you to suck me off.’

‘suck what?’ his eyes trailed downwards.

‘oh! oh.’

the sentence sent your head into a spin, were you really going to do this? but his sweet voice, so soft and hushed, his body illuminated by the gentle orange glow of his lamp, his hooded eyes, so sleepy. it all coaxed you in as he led your hand to where he needed.

another quiet groan escaped coriolanus’s lips as your thumb rubbed over the tip of his cock. he was already close but just your presence, along with your hand had him tipping over the edge. your slow tugs, unsure and trying, your timid voice, ‘am i helping you sir?’ sir, the clear line distinguished the two of you in place. ‘yes, yes you are y/n. call me by my name.’ and soon enough he reached his peek, sticky release all over your tiny hands.

he was sure the picture would be ingrained in his head, you’d lifted your hands as you simply stared at them, then looking up at coriolanus.

‘what do i do?’

‘swallow.’

[angstywaifu]

Hidden Feelings - Brennan Sorrengail.

Request: brennan sorrengail x reader where the reader is Violet's age/grew up being besties with her and Dain. Growing up she always had a crush on brennan but tried to suppress those feelings as best she could. She was going to go into the healer's quadrant but changed her mind when she found out about Violet becoming a rider. She refuses to leave Violet's side which results in her going to Athebyne and Aretia and learning Brennan was actually alive. When she does find out she's hella mad at him/gets into an argument and ends up admitting her feelings for him - @thatredheadwithglasses

Warnings: Mentions of death.

Masterlist | Support Me

619 AU - Unnamed War Camp

I clutch onto my fathers hand as he leads me through the camp. The camp is so noisy. People yelling to each other, the sound of metal hitting metal as soldiers and riders train in the various areas around us, whimpers of pain coming from the healers tent as we pass. Till recently we had been stationed at an outpost where there was far less noise than this. But now with my fathers promotion, we were now required out in the camps.

”You said there would be kids for me to make friends with.” I say as he drags me past more and more tents.

He chuckles and looks down at me, squeezing my hand reassuringly. “There are, I promise.”

I huff, “I don’t see any.”

”Just be patient.” He tells me with another laugh, shaking his head at me.

We round a corner, father dragging me towards a section of tents further away from the chaos of the tent. These tents looked far nicer than the ones I had seen so far. Clearly meant for leadership. Would we be staying in these ones?

One of the tents opens, a young boy walking through the open flap. His eyes scan his surroundings before landing on us, a warm smile spreading across his face. I can’t help but feel at ease instantly. Everything about him seems warm and opening, safe even. Even the colour of his hair and eyes gives off a warm appearance.

”Colonel Piarta?” He asks, walking towards us.

My father smiles and nods at him, holding his hand out to the boy. “Yes, and you must be Colonel Sorrengail’s son Brennan?”

He takes my fathers hand and shakes it. “I am indeed sir. Meaning you must be Y/N?” His attention shifting from my father to me.

I nod up at him, Brennan smiling down at me. It was clear the boy wasn’t a soldier or rider, his clothing nothing like the others around me. But he was definitely older than me by quite a few years, probably a few years off joining one of the Quadrants at Basgiath.

He squats down in front of me, resting his arms against his knees as he clasps his hands together. “How would you like to come meet my sister and her friend Dain? They’re very excited to meet you.”

I can’t help but smile at his words, quickly letting go of my fathers hand and stepping towards the boy as I nod in response, Brennan smiling even more at me.

”Are they my age?” I ask Brennan.

He nods. “They are indeed. Dain is a year older, but Violet is the same age as you. You’re going to love her.”

”You going to be ok if I leave you with Brennan to take you to your new friends?” My father asks, placing a hand on my shoulder to get my attenion.

I look up at him and nod, walking over to stand next to Brennan as he stands back up.

”She’ll be safe with me Colonel.” He tells my father with a firm nod.

”Excellent. I’ll come get you later Y/N.” He says before walking past us to the tent where Brennan had walked out from earlier.

As my father walks through the tent, Brennan reaches down and grasps my hand in his, his hand dwarfing mine immediately. He tugs on my hand leading me towards a gap in the tents, where I can see two kids, a boy and a girl running around amongst some trees. Despite being excited to meet them, I don’t want my time with the boy next to me to end.

624 AU - Basgiath

The door to Violets room bangs open, revealing a very out of breath Brennan, bandages clutched in his hands. His eyes drop to me kneeling on the floor in front of Violet, bandages already in hand as I wrap her joints. She’d been unable to find Brennan this morning and had sought me out to help her wrap her knees. Dain, Violet and I had been running around town yesterday, meaning Violet was a bit banged up today.

”Seems I’m not needed anymore.” He teases as he kicks the door closed before walking over and sitting next to Violet on her bed.

”I always need you.” Violet says softly as she leans her head against Brennan’s shoulder.

I don’t have to look up to see the sadness in her eyes. In a few days time Brennan would be crossing the parapet to join the Riders Quadrant now he was twenty. And just like Violet, I was sad at him no longer being around. Violet and Dain were my best friends, had been since the day Brennan had taken my hand and lead me to the clearing they were playing in. But something always dragged me to the oldest Sorrengail whenever I could. He provided a comfort no one else could provide me. There was just something different about him that drew me in. And the idea of losing that in a few days honestly didn’t sit well with me.

”Clearly not, looks like Y/N here has got this all under control. Maybe you should be a healer.” He tells me, his eyes focusing on me as I wrap Violet’s knee.

I look up at him and smile, my breath catching in my throat as I meet his amber eyes. “I think my father might kill me if I don’t cross that parapet.” I joke, causing the other two to laugh.

All of us were children of riders, and even though our parents would probably support whatever Quadrant we went into, there was definitely an unspoken pressure and rule to pick the same as them. Riders were the top of the chain in military, with nearly all the leadership positions held by dragon riders.

”Maybe, but you’ve always been going at looking after others. And you seem to have a talent for it. You should think about it.” He tells me with a crooked smile.

I drop my gaze, trying to hide the blush as I smile at his words. “I’ll think about it.”

628 AU - A few days before the Battle of Aretia

People are rushing everywhere, every one on high alert as the call goes out. The rebellion had met it’s peek, and all military were being called to battle. Even the third years at the college who were deemed ready were being called out to help. Essentially if you were ready, you were fighting for Navarre.

I push through the crowd, trying to make it in time before he leaves. I have to see him before he leaves. I hadn’t seen him since the day he’d left for the Riders Quadrant as he’d been sent out to his posting immediately. I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye. But he’d been sent back to help prepare for the battle. This was my only chance to see him before he left again.

I barrel down the stairs, surprisingly not tripping on my way down. I round the corner into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief as I see him standing there hugging Violet. Even from here I can see he’s changed. He’s still Brennan, but he’s bigger and stronger than I last saw him. His body far more muscular from all the training and dragon riding he’d done over the years.

As if sensing my presence, his eyes open and meet mine, a soft smile spreading on his face as he sees me. He lets go of Violet, who goes to protest, but she turns and sees me standing at the end of the hallway. Violet knew I found comfort in Brennan, knew I felt safe around him since the day I’d met him. I rush forward, barrelling into Brennan’s open and waiting arms as he hugs me tightly as I sob into his chest. He must hear my sobs or feel me shaking in his arms, his hands rubbing up and down my arm as he hold me to him.

I should be happy at seeing him for the first time in nearly four years, but this more of a goodbye than a reunion. In a few hours he would be heading off to war, none of us knowing if we would be seeing each other again. And the thought has me terrified.

”It’s going to be ok.” He tells me as he loosens his grip on me, crouching down in front of me as he holds my hands.

I shake my head, more tears rolling down my cheeks. “You don’t know that.” I sob out.

He smiles up at me, “I thought out of anyone you’d have more faith in me.”

I can’t help but laugh at his words and his attempt at making me feel better. He was incredibly talented. I often heard General Sorrengail and his father gushing about how well he was doing in the Riders Quadrant or at his posting. One of the best riders they’d seen in the Quadrant. Mira had some tough shoes to fill, but I knew she was having no trouble in living up to it from what I’d heard. He was going to be fine.

”I know, but anything could happen.” I say softly.

”I know, but I promise I’ll come back to you. Ok?” He tells me as he squeezes my hand.

At his words, a weight feels like it’s been lifted off my shoulders. He would get through this. He would come back.

634 AU - Aretia

Everything I knew was a damn lie. In a matter of days everything I knew had been flipped upside down on me. Venin were real. Not some fairytale made up to scare us as kids. The rebellion was not what I thought it was. And below me, pretty much intact was Aretia and the Riorson House. Though as it was mostly made of stone, I was unsure why anyone who had been here believed it had been burnt to the ground.

Below us I can see a group of people rushing towards the clearing we’re heading for. Clearly they don’t see us as a threat, no weapons or infantry in sight. This must be where the rebellion was hiding and running out of. I land at the back of the group, slowly sliding off my dragon as Xaden and Garrick rush to get Violet off the back of Sgaeyl.

”What the hell are you doing here?” Someone calls out, clearly angry at our arrival.

This was reckless, for all of us. If someone from Navarre had been following us, we just led them to the rebellion. But I knew Xaden would have been on the lookout for that. And I’m sure I saw a few of the others fly out of formation to check for anyone following us here.

”I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t come here she would died.” Xaden growls out.

”V-Violet? Shit.” A familiar voice dragging me out of my thoughts.

That voice, I knew that voice. I knew that voice all too well. But there was no way. No way that voice belonged to who I thought it belonged to. I shove Imogen and Bodhi to the side as I push through to the front of our group, stopping in my tracks immediately as my eyes lock onto them. Their head whips towards me, eyes widening as they take me in.

There was no way. He can’t be alive. I had mourned him, grieved him. Hell, sometimes I still cried myself to sleep over him after reading the letter he’d handed to me before he left. This had to be some sick joke or my brain playing tricks on me.

Xaden furrows his brow as he looks between Brennan and I, probably realising I knew Brennan and this was me finding out he was alive. No, he can’t be alive. “Brennan, she needs help. Now.” He growls out, snapping Brennan out of it.

Brennan nods before gesturing for Xaden who holds Violet in his arms to follow him, Garrick close behind him, leaving the rest of us to stand in the clearing and watch them go.

”You ok?” Bodhi asks after a few moments.

”Is there somewhere I can freshen up?” I ask him, completely avoiding my question.

I don’t miss the look he gives Imogen before slowly nodding his head. “Yeah, I’ll take you to one of the guest rooms.”

Hours later I sit alone in the room Bodhi had shown me to, sitting on the ledge of the window looking out over Riorson house. I hadn’t been game to leave the room after I’d washed up and changed into some cleaner clothes Imogen had given to me. I was still in denial over seeing him in that clearing, and I was scared I’d run into him and I wasn’t sure how I’d react if I did see him.

For six years I thought he was dead. Six years since I’d been told him and my father had died in the Battle of Aretia. And somehow the news of Brennan dying had destroyed me more than the news of my father. Though since his promotion all those years ago, I’d barely had anything to do with him. Violet, Dain and Brennan becoming what I needed over the years.

The door to the room creaks open, and I already know who it is without turning my head. The familiar calming presence that always followed him settling over me. Gods how I missed that feeling. I had craved it over the years. But feeling it now almost felt wrong. I never thought I would feel it again.

”A dragon rider? What happened to becoming a healer?” He asks me, trying to make an effort to make this feel like a normal every day conversation.

”I changed my mind when I found out Violet was being forced into the Riders Quadrant. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to loose the only people I had left. Or thought I had left.” I tell him sternly, still not turning to look at him. I hear the awkward shuffle of his feet, clearly picking up the hidden meaning of my words. “Is my father actually dead? Or is that another lie I’ve been fed all these years?”

”Y/N, I’m s-”

”Sorry?” I snap, finally turning to look at him as I push off the ledge, taking a few steps towards him. Brennan stands there in shock as he looks at me. The last time I’d seen him I was fourteen. Back then I would never have spoken to him like this. But after a year in the Rider’s Quadrant and the loss of him, I had definitely changed. “Sorry is all you have to say after all these years?”

”If I could have told you and Violet I would have. I wanted nothing more in the world to tell you I was alive. But it was too risky. I know it would have been hard losing your father and I are the same time.”

”No.” I say, cutting him off again before he can continue. “Losing him was easy. I barely knew him by the time he died. But you…. Losing you was hard. Losing you was the hardest thing I will ever have to go through, because I lost me as well. Losing you changed me. It broke me.” He slowly nods, a sadness setting in his eyes at my words. He can tell I’ve changed because of his death. A lot would be different if he hadn’t died. “And because of that I’m too scared to get close to anyone. Too scared to let anyone in. Too scared to let myself fall for someone again.”

His eyes widen at my words, and I realise what I’ve said. Shit. All those years ago I had a crush on him. A stupid crush for someone I shouldn’t have had feelings for. But I did. Feeling that somehow never left even when he died. They somehow got stronger.

”Y-you liked me?” He stutters out, clearly shocked by my sudden confession.

I panic, going to rush past him to the door, but his hand reaches out and grasps my arm, turning me around to face him, his amber eyes meeting mine. His eyes somehow widen more as he meets mine, as if seeing the intense emotions in my eyes. Not just hurt and anger in them. Feelings way stronger than just a stupid childhood crush. I use the shock to tear my arm from his grip before running from the room, pushing my legs as fast as I can, putting as much distance between us as I can.