#i mean...if you make him be still and he's forced to accept what he feels for you...

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Remember in the Alex hirshe comic con thingy he mentioned that Bill would also watch The Duchess approves

Soooooo would that mean that Stanfraud would watch cheesy old lady soap operas with Stanley?

Also has there been moments where Bill conceplated what will happen when he gets back to his body, what will happen to this family (while not his) that has become attached to.

Another thing I was thinking is how betrayed would Ford feel that Stanley was essentially playing house with Bill and how much anger would he feel at Bill for taking away time he could have had spent with his grand-niece and nephew, and with his brother?

This au is so incredibly interesting >v<!!!

They absolutely watch cheesy soap operas together — all the time. It’s become their thing, honestly.

Bill definitely catches Stan writing his erotic fan fiction (canon information on the website) and will never let him live it down — ever. He does offer to proofread though! But Stan threatens to play synthesised music to get rid of him.

As for Bill’s thoughts on getting his own body back. It’s always been there in the back of his mind, usually as a positive. Finally, he can be free of this annoying skin puppet and get back to prepping for weirdmaggedon. Finally, he can be himself again! But, as the reality of it draws closer, he begins to experience hesitance, which he wasn’t quite ready for. Why would he be hesitant? He’s waited thirty years for this!

(His eyes tend to linger on the two photos Stan keeps down in the basement, one of the twins, and one of everyone: him, Stan, Wendy, Soos, and again, the twins).

Stan also feels a sense of… sadness, maybe? He isn’t quite sure what it is. But there’s something hanging over both of them as they’ve almost figured it out, and, despite the complications behind their friendship, Stan can’t help but ask:

“You’re not gonna just… disappear, are yah? Kids’ll miss you if you did.”

‘I’d miss you’ goes unsaid.

And Bill probably has to pause for a second, caught off guard. Stan swears he almost catches a glimpse of sadness in his eyes, but it’s gone too fast, and Bill forces a grin.

“Oh please, Fez. You couldn’t get rid of me, even if you tried!”

There’s an uncertainty in his voice. Stan doesn’t comment on it.

Honestly, thinking about Weirdmaggedon, I don’t think Bill would be ready to accept how drastically he’s changed yet, even now, and would try to prove this by sticking with it. Albeit, he makes some changes. He doesn’t have to put the Pines in danger! They can be V.I.Ps! Shooting Star’s already a servant of chaos as is, he can let her whip up some creations to terrorise the town! And for Pinetree? Weirdmaggedon would be a front row seat to Gravity Falls’ weirdness on full display. With so much to study, how could he hate it? And Fez hates the law as is, why not let him be above it. Surely he’d appreciate the gesture after all they’ve been through together. A little token of his appreciation. And Sixer… well, he’ll come around once he sees just how safe Bill is keeping their his family. Maybe he’ll even throw Ice and Question Mark in the mix, just to cover all his bases.

Rationalising like that… it makes him a little less hesitant about getting his body back.

He doesn’t tell Stan of course, or anybody, even after it’s revealed who and what he is. It has to be a surprise!

And finally, Ford.

He honestly makes me really upset in this au, because you’re 100% right. He hasn’t just lost 30 years of his own life, he’s also lost 30 years of family. He’s missed his parents’ funerals, the birth of his grand niece and nephew, etc. And apparently, Stanley knew how dangerous Bill was, read all of Ford’s warnings and scattered notes, and still let him be around the kids, still played house with him all those years.

How has Bill manipulated him? He thought Stanley was smarter than that!

He can’t even be happy to bond with his niece and nephew, because they’ve been deceived into thinking he was someone else for months — Bill, no less!

Honestly, it hurts the most when he truly accepts Stan hasn’t been manipulated. He isn’t doing this because he’s been backed into a corner, even if it started off that way. He’s genuinely bonded with that monster. So have the kids. So have the townsfolk who Ford struggled so hard with to connect with.

It’s a lot of salt being rubbed into open wounds.

[vaguely-concerned]

To the ‘themes I am picking up on in Veilguard’ list, let's go ahead and add what I have a sneaking suspicion will actually turn out to be The theme:

— the world has changed and can never be as it was again.

— I have been changed and can never be who I was again.

— in this simple unavoidable truth there is endless grief and endless hope.

And I… may be getting a bit emotional about it haha. Let me show my work a bit: 

if da:o is a game about people who are already dead or half ghosts in some form (through societal forces, psychologically, functionally, literally, in body, through the joining etc.) coming together anyway to save the world from being swallowed by total nihilism and despair (symbolized by the blight) through the power of love and friendship and also this sword/potential heroic sacrifice that I found, da2 is a game about people who have lost their homes and been set adrift finding and building new homes in each other (while completely failing to save the world. also through the power of love and friendship. as well as years of petty bickering <3 we must imagine kirkwall if not happy then worth having been because the love was there the love was there and that's the only sanctifying force we can ever have in this doomed world and city of ours), and da:i is a game about old stabilizing-but-unjust comfortable lies vs. disruptive but potentially liberating uncomfortable truths, and the power of friendship to help us distinguish the one from the other and navigate through them...

folks… I'm starting to think that veilguard might be a game specifically about moving towards recovery and acceptance after trauma — about how even in this flawed, severed, scarred state, what is here right now is worth loving and worth caring for. even in an imperfect and impermanent world and self, there is worth and joy. and of course the first real tragedy — and threat — of Solas is that he just cannot find it in himself to accept this and move on, to let go of what was, the regret won’t let him go or he won’t let go of it. which means that even though on the surface it’s Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain (and the will to subjugate and violate they represent) who are the main villains, the real antagonistic force in this story beneath that is the Dread Wolf’s despair. A despair Rook must make an answer to by the end of the game, one way or another, compassionately or with righteous fury, triumphant or pyrrhic.

The world will change again and again and so will you — BUT the crucial element is that so will everyone else who exists along with you, you are fundamentally not alone in this existential truth. all we’ll ever have is each other and my god that is plenty, my god that is enough!!! Which is the second thing Solas just can’t accept, he keeps himself separate and completely alone out of an awful mix of fear and pride and feeling himself unworthy of anything else. Rook and the player want to save the world of Thedas because it’s where everyone we love lives, Solas wants to go back to the past because that’s the only neighbourhood where he can still visit those he loved — and the person he himself was, before. A very sympathetic and human instinct/trap to fall into when touched by trauma, I think, if only it wasn’t backed by godlike power, a fundamentally oppositional personality, and a catastrophic lack of therapy to make it literally everyone else’s problem too lol. It’s varric and solas’ banter about the man on the island and where meaning in a life comes from all over again, writ large and with detail work — and the added idea of ‘what if there are also other islands out there, though. With other people on them that you could find if you reach for each other’. Rook with the best of intentions has to make choices to which there are no perfect outcomes and live with what happens — and not cut themselves off from everyone else around them even when there is regret or shame. You get back up every day and you make a life with other people doing the same and you do your best, and that’s the only victory this world will give you. In the end, that is more than enough, that is essential. And I um. I love that. So much. It’s why some of the writing clumsiness on top can’t hurt me because this thematic spine is so solid and so beautiful to me. It’s DA2 all over again that way for me personally — I forgive this story for what it isn’t and couldn’t be, and I love it with my whole stupid open heart for what it actually is. Thank you for coming to my TED-talk and goodbye etc.      

(For my fellow TLT heads out there — you know what this story is reminding me of most of all, actually? It has some big Nona the Ninth vibes down there in the deep. It’s about… the horror and unspeakable beauty that can only be found in liminality, and the role of love in making that basic fact of existence bearable. And also even more unbearable at the same time. I'm so sorry.)

[anxiousthoughts365]

Comfortable

'Moony?' Remus looked up from his book to find James standing at the end of the sofa, and immediately his friend's demeanour made him sit up a little straighter.

James was trying his hardest to look at Remus, but despite his efforts, his hazel eyes kept darting around the room, seemingly of their own accord. The boy was also rocking slightly from side to side, shifting his weight from one foot to another, as though he just couldn't stay still, and he was twisting his long fingers together so rapidly that Remus worried for a moment that he might hurt himself.

Remus had only seen these signs a few times, but he instantly recognised what they meant. James Potter was nervous.

'What's up, Prongs?' Remus asked carefully, shifting so that his long legs slid off the sofa, making room for the other boy to sit. He ignored the twinge in his hip as James sank gratefully onto the cushion next to him. But even sitting, James couldn't be still. His leg bounced up and down rapidly, and he ran one hand distractedly through his already messy hair, somehow managing to make it look even more tousled than usual.

'I ...' James started, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he huffed in frustration and glared into the fire.

Remus swallowed the impulse to push. He'd learned over the last 6 years that both James and Sirius sometimes just needed a bit of space and quiet to talk. If they sought him out like this, it was usually because something was stuck and wouldn't come out in their usual haphazard way of just yelling their feelings at each other. He'd quickly learned to be patient in these moments, proud that he was able to provide this space for his friends (and later, as his relationship with Sirius developed, his boyfriend).

But as the minutes ticked by with James sitting silently, Remus was forced to exercise every ounce of restraint as he waited and waited. And waited. He was just forming a question that might get James started when the boy turned back to him and blurted, 'Am I boring?'

Remus might have laughed if his friend hadn't looked so distressed. Instead, he schooled his face into a neutral expression as he said, 'James, you are one of the least boring people I've ever met in my life. What on Earth made you think that?'

'Well, it's just ...' James took a deep breath, and Remus was alarmed to see his eyes growing shiny as he rambled, 'It's just that every time I hang out with Reg, he ... He falls asleep, Moony. I thought at first that it might just be because he's taken an extra class this year, and that maybe he was overdoing it. But it happens during the holidays as well. I mean, we do other stuff as well, but I've started to just accept that by the end of whatever we're doing he'll have fallen asleep on me. And I've tried to make things more exciting by taking him new places and showing him new things but -'

'Jamie,' Remus interjected hurriedly as his friend's words became slurred and breathless. He reached out to grip the boy's heaving shoulder, grounding him as he tried to catch his breath. 'You're not boring him, mate. It just means that he's comfortable with you.'

'What do you mean?' James gulped, wiping at his eyes and nearly knocking his glasses off in the process.

'I mean that you're making him feel safe,' Remus explained, a small smile creeping across his face as memories began to return to him. Memories of a young boy with long, soft black hair and a pale, haughty face. Memories of nights with limbs hopelessly tangled and steady, even breathing. Memories of whispered conversations and confessions. 'Don't you remember how Sirius would get at night when we all first started at Hogwarts?'

'Yeah,' James said slowly, his forehead creasing as he apparently tried to make the connection between his concerns and Remus' question. 'He was a nightmare. Wouldn't settle until like 2am. But then we figured out that if he slept in with someone else -' James cut himself off suddenly, his eyes widening, understanding flooding his face. 'Oh.'

'Another relic we can thank Walburga for,' Remus said wryly, any amusement gone from his tone. James' expression turned sharp, and he looked like he might ask Remus to go on, but the werewolf shook his head. 'Sirius told me his side of things, but that's not my story to tell. And it's not Regulus' story, either. You'll have to ask him.'

'Fair enough,' James rumbled, and Remus' chest ached at the hurt that flashed over his friend's face. He knew that it wasn't directed at him, knew that James was simply already feeling the pain of what he suspected Regulus might have had to endure that meant he didn't feel safe to sleep in his own bed and could only do so comfortably with James nearby. Then James was standing, already walking towards the portrait hole as he said, 'Cheers for that, Moony. See you later, yeah?'

'See you.' The portrait swung shut, and Remus sighed. He worried momentarily for his friend, whose heart was bigger than most realised. But it was a conversation he knew that James and Regulus would have to have at some point, anyway. Better that James didn't spend months in his own head, agonising over this and blaming himself for something he had no control over.

The memories that the discussion had stirred up were lingering, though, and all at once Remus had the need to seek out his own boyfriend, to make sure that he was alright. So he heaved himself up from the sofa and climbed the stairs to their dormitory, where he found Sirius lying on Remus' bed, his wand pointed at the canopy above him.

'Hey Moons,' Sirius said, without looking away from the trail of sparks he was weaving through the air above him. In moments, Remus had crossed the room and crawled up onto the bed, sinking down to press his face and chest against Sirius' torso, his hips nestled between Sirius' thighs. Slender fingers wound into the curls at the nape of his neck as Sirius asked, 'Everything alright?'

'Just needed to remind you how much I love you,' Remus murmured, turning his head to rest his chin on Sirius' sternum so he could meet the other boy's gaze. Silver eyes flashed, then softened, and Sirius' gentle smile was so beautiful that it made Remus' chest ache all over again.

'I love you,' Sirius whispered, and Remus scrambled up onto his hands and knees to press a deep kiss to Sirius' lips.

[otherworldlylovey-dovey]

leon with a girly s/o who puts his hair in pigtails and apply make up on his face. afterwards, treats him with some skincare?

oh my god, baby! This is a funny and endearing picture of Leon! Imagining such a serious character in a situation like this gives him a touch of humanity, so here goes your headcanon, doll.

Leon with a girly s/o who does beauty routines for him

At first, Leon might make a sarcastic comment or resist, saying something like:

"Is this really necessary?"

while his partner convinces him that a ponytail or braid would look great.

God, remember when your little brother or little cousin would start asking questions on a long trip? He's literally that in the process of combing his hair.

Wouldn't you rather have a mannequin? I feel like an experiment here.” “So saving the world isn't enough? Now I have to look pretty too, right?” “This is just what I needed after facing zombies… a ponytail.”

At least your fingers running through his scalp will relax him, he is a stressed man, since the incident in Raccoon City he can't sleep, besides it was either accept the job or be killed.

Oh, the most difficult moment will be when he starts applying makeup. He might complain that the eyeliner tickles or that the blush is "too much" for him.

“I hope you don’t get too excited about the eyeliner. I don’t want to look like a clown.”

but his partner would assure him that he is in good hands.++

“If this is permanent, I’m going to need a mirror… and therapy.”

Finally, when applying skin care products, your partner might joke around by saying something like:

“With all those missions in the rain and shine, it’s a miracle your skin survived!”

Leon, half amused and half resigned, would probably make a sarcastic but adorable comment, like

“Is this what it’s come to?”

as she or he applies a face mask or massages his face with some moisturizer.

This part will be funny because of him comments.

“I thought wrinkles came with work. Now I have to worry about moisturizing them, too?” “Is all this necessary? Because in Raccoon City, my skin was the last thing on my mind.” “Whatever you say, but if someone at the agency asks me what I’m wearing, I’m not going to say ‘hyaluronic acid.’”

Despite everything, at the end of the “treatment” he might be surprised to see that his skin feels better, maybe he would even admit that he feels good, although he would keep his attitude reserved. In the end, he would let his beloved have fun, if only because he loves to see how happy his partner is!

“Well, I must admit… it’s not that bad. But if anyone finds out, I’ll be forced to erase it from their memories.” “If this is what it means to be civilized, I think I’ll still prefer survival mode.” “Now, what’s next? Catwalk classes or ‘seductive gaze’ training?”

I imagined this, LMAO

Each comment would probably come with a resigned smile or a look of "please let this end soon," although, deep down, Leon would be enjoying the experience and the fun time together. His sarcasm would add a special touch to the situation!

Later on he might let you keep doing it just out of boredom or because he likes your fingers in him…in more ways than one (haha, sorry :( )

Maybe you are the reason for that perfect hairstyle that has survived hordes of zombies, explosions, bullets, etc. I mean, just look at it, it's been just as perfect for over 20 years!

He loves you so much that he couldn't refuse this, as long as it was in privacy.

[whumblr]

Hey!!! I know I just sent an ask the other day but I didn't what to forget to ask this

Can I have a drabble where jay has a panic attack because he hears some sort of sound that zayne makes (example the click of zayne's knife).

love your writing so much!!

Have a wonderful day and get good sleep❤️

Fidgety

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

-

Jay didn’t mind afternoon team meetings as much, really. It was a bit of a break in the day for him, half an hour to shut his mind off, sit back, and just listen. Maybe pipe up every now and then, or zone out and mull over the words for his upcoming articles, but mainly, just, listen.

Today however, he was distracted. Or rather, kept getting distracted.

Unfortunately, Peter had a habit of clicking his pen when he was paying attention. He had one of those blue pens with a button on the side that clicked the plunger back. And he was very much paying attention now.

Normally, it wouldn’t really bother Jay and he could shut it out. But, well, first, his nerves were shot, and very close in second, the click sounded like that of Zayne’s knife. A little shk with every click and he could practically see the blade flick out in his mind’s eye. He managed to reduce his flinches with every click, blinked his eyes, twitched his fingers, skipped a heartbeat, but on the inside, everything went haywire.

He forced himself to take deep breaths, keep in control, to stop the hyperventilation from kicking in. Forced himself to focus on who was speaking, on the actual words spoken – that didn’t mean they actually hit the mark; he listened intently but the panic rising scattered the words from their sentences like leaves in the wind.

Calm down. He was safe. He was here in the office. He was—

Shk

He was down on the floor, face pressed against the wood, a heavy weight on the small of his back pinning him down.

Shk

Something cold tickled over his back. Something sharp. Pressure slowly increased and the cold tipped into his skin, breaking it, a wet hot sensation bubbling up, fighting against the cold intruding as if trying to expel it. Then it repeated itself. And again. Hot lines carved into his skin with a cold instrument, by a cold tormentor. The weight draped over his shoulders. A chuckle in his ear. The call of his name, an added fake compliment how he was doing so well—

“Jay.” Dennis’ sharp voice broke through his haze and shocked him back into the meeting room. “Could you write the suggestions down for me?”

Dennis, leading the meeting, stood in front of the whiteboard and held out one of the markers. He had a concerned look in his eyes and beckoned him over.

Jay pulled himself from his own swamp of anxiety and gratefully stood. “Yeah. Sure.” He accepted the marker and Dennis held it a split second longer than necessary. His focus was still on his discussion with Terry, but his eyes briefly snapped to Jay searching his for some form of assurance before he let go and stepped forward, resuming his talk.

Jay fully turned towards the board to hide his face. He squeezed his eyes closed for a second, let out a long exhale, and uncapped the marker, facing the group again.

Shk

Something pressed against his stomach, something cold, sharp. A sharp gasp and he made a tiny jump backwards. But he quickly calmed down again when he realised it was only the magnetic tray for the eraser stuck to the whiteboard.

As one of the other team members was speaking, Dennis slowly walked over to Peter, tapped on the table to get his attention and gestured his fingers down. Peter got the message and put his pen away. A little something about Dennis Jay greatly admired. He himself would never do that, scared of being accused of making a fuss about nothing, inviting confrontation. But Dennis not only did it, he did it without even saying a word, without making the other feel bad.

And best of all: he did it for Jay.

-

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror

@susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime

@freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks

@whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion

@afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8

@withdrawingramen @lolrpop @nugget4427 @light-me-on-pyre @treasureguardingdragon

[puff0o0]

Gromsko Dating HC

Flirting

♡ When I tell you that this man is so serious when he flirts with you, i mean it. It started off as just simple compliments- complimenting your skills if you're a soldier, complimenting new clothes, comparing hand sizes (yes he's one of those guys, it gives him an excuse to hold your hand and he takes it)

♡ Eventually it becomes less subtle and more bold, bad picku up lines to make you laugh despite him meaning every single word, just straight up holding your hand, complimenting every part of you. Many would think you're already dating, especially if you flirt back

♡ When you do, or if you do flirt back, he has to stop himself from going wild. His heart is beating in his chest, his hands are stiffening, he loves you so much and now it's hitting him full force

Dating

♡ He confessed first, making sure it was perfect for you and him. The scenery had to be perfect for both you and him- if you're someone who hated being around people it was in a secluded place, if you were someone who preferred staying outside, it was outside. He wanted this to feel just as great as it felt for him

♡ When you accepted his confession, he wrapped his arms around you tightly and held you as close as possible, thanking you for giving him such happiness. You gave him even more life than he had just moments before

♡ He loves PDA, but if you don't he's fine with not giving it to you. But he will still have a hand on you somehow, whether it be hand holding or finding an excuse to lead you somewhere so he can hold your hand or the small of your back

♡ He loves using nicknames and he also loves recieving nicknames. Any nicknames are fine with him, even if they're satire ones like babygirl or male wife (he will most likely die if you address him as husband in any way however. It is his favorite above all else)

♡ If there is ever a moment where you're sad or hurt, he does everything he can to make you feel better. Usually it's watching comedies or just doing something you want to do, but he understands that sometimes you just want to be held and he will gladly do that for you

Dates

♡ They're usually always fancy and at restaurants that you both like. He saves up a lot of money specifically for these dates. He wants you to feel like royalty, and what better way to do that?

♡ If you don't like restaurant dates, he keeps that in mind. He then goes for dates at the zoo or the aquarium, ice cream dates, sweet and simple stuff like that. Anything that brings a smile on your face is enough to add 5 years to his life. He does everything he possibly can

♡ If you're not having fun at a date, he will quickly move locations. He has a backup plan to his backup plan to his back plan. He wants it to be perfect for you!

[asirensrage]

Break Sakura Haruka how? 🤔

I wasn't expecting anyone to ask 😳...but if I have to answer...

I mean break as in seeing how much you can make him blush and just how far down it goes. He runs if you tease him too much, reacting with anger, but I bet if you crawled into his lap, forcing him to be still (and he wouldn't throw you off, no matter how much he wants to escape what he thinks he feels is embarrassment), all it would take was a few teasing words, your fingers gently stroking his skin and he'd combust. in more ways than one.

[thehmn]

I wanted to make this post because we don’t see a lot of asexual characters in western media and despite him being from a hugely popular show (Seaside Hotel) you’re unlikely to know of his existence if you’re not from Denmark.

His name is Hjalmar Aurland and he’s one of the more sympathetic and realistic asexual characters I’ve seen. He lives in a time and place where asexuality as a concept doesn’t exist yet so he’s never labeled as such but rewatching the show made me realize that he acts exactly like the asexual people I personally know. Asexuality can mean a lot of things but his specific brand isn’t naive to sex nor is he repulsed by sex, sexual desire or thoughts simply doesn’t come naturally to him.

He can be convinced to have sex with his wife Helene but only if she appeals to their emotional bond. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, he’s not being forced or emotionally blackmailed to sleep with her. It’s simply that he understands sex is a way to show emotional love too and he wants to express that love for Helene when it’s important to her, and seeing as sex isn’t unpleasant to him, just kinda boring, he’s willing to do that for her.

Unfortunately that isn’t enough for Helene and despite her love for Hjalmar she starts an affair with the dramatic and emotional actor Edward Weyse. He has a string of relationships, marriages and divorces behind him because despite what it may look like from the outside Edward doesn’t really want shallow sexual relationships. He just can’t help himself and keep falling in love with women left and right, fully and wholeheartedly, only to be dumped or dump them once the initial excitement has passed.

So Helene and Edward’s affair that was only meant to satisfy their carnal desires quickly becomes romantic. Helene feels torn between him and Hjalmar who she still loves and Edward understands the difficult situation they’re both in while also feeling jealous of Hjalmar. And Hjalmar? He doesn’t catch on for years. He’s not stupid but his brain just doesn’t jump to sex. He just assumes they’re good friends and why shouldn’t his wife be allowed to have friends, even male ones? Things get really complicated when Helene gets pregnant and she has to have sex with Hjalmar so he won’t wonder how it happened. Edward even has to join in on the seduction, reminding Hjalmar how much Helene loves him, even though it breaks Edward’s heart to do so.

But like I’ve said Hjalmar isn’t stupid. He saw the signs but chose to ignore them until one night when Helene accidentally says Edward’s name. It breaks the dam in Hjalmar’s denial and he has to face that deep down he always knew. Overcome by sadness and betrayal he wanders off into the night in nothing but his nightgown and gets a room at a different hotel where he can think in peace. Eventually he agrees to return to the first hotel with Helene and Edward and decides to take control of the situation.

He sits them both down and tells them that he understands that the three of them share a bond and that there are things he can’t really do for Helene so from now on he wants their relationship to be open and honest. He wants Helene and Edward to keep seeing each other and Edward is welcome in their house, but Hjalmar wants to be allowed to call Edward by his first name and makes it very clear that Helene and Edward’s children “belong to him” because he still thinks of himself as their dad and loves them as his own children. Both Helene and Edward agrees to it, though the emotional Edward is very flustered and confused by the acceptance and love he’s being shown by Hjalmar.

This is obviously a very tv drama situation but I was so stuck by how much Hjalmar acts like my asexual friends. Having a lover for your partner isn’t the most common solution but it’s an idea I’ve heard a lot of asexual people be open to under the right circumstances and of course that’s the most dramatic solution for a romantic tv drama.

Hjalmar is defined by so much more than his sexuality though. His main characteristic is his passion for social justice and equality, and other than some early show weirdness before they really cemented the characters, Hjamler is the only character who floats freely between the men and women. He’s just as likely to sit with the men as he is the women, often appearing in otherwise entirely female spaces. It’s never questioned or even brought up, not because he’s a “safe asexual” but because he cares and think their worries are as important as the men’s. He’s often called a pessimist by the other men when in reality he is determined to be hopeful and compassionate and spread the love he feels the world is lacking as WWII draws closer.

So yeah, I just wanted to share this sweet ace guy with you because you probably wouldn’t have known about him otherwise.

[pomefioredove]

only one bed room

summary: it's the sdc and everyone's staying over at ramshackle but, oh no! you're one room and one bed short. being the generous (or gullible) soul that you are, you agree to share characters: all sdc competitors, separate additional info: fair warning I have no replayed book 5 in a while, reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, rook is rook, most scenarios end in cuddles. can be interpreted as romantic or platonic (nix vil and rook's part)

Deuce Spade

"I don't mind sleeping on the floor!"

it's a big fat no from Vil. waking up sore and tired is unacceptable, and will affect his performance during practice. he will use the bed, end of story.

you offer to take the floor or one of the many stiff and uncomfortable couches in Ramshackle, but he refuses

what kind of aspiring honor student would he be if he kicked you out of your own room?

so, yes, you end up sharing the bed

he's a perfect gentleman about it

he insists on sleeping on the complete opposite end of the bed

to give you your space, of course

not because he's nervous

obviously it doesn't pan out- he's kind of a messy sleeper, and on the first night you wake up with him sprawled on top of you

you decide not to wake him up

you'd been thinking about saving for a weighted blanket, anyway

Ace Trappola

"you better not hog the blankets,"

takes it like a champ, though he might be screaming internally

he already sleeps in a dorm with three other guys- this can't be any different, right?

it totally is

sharing a bed with someone? someone he likes, who he isn't just forced to live with for convenience?

he's not sure how to tease you about this one without coming off as nervous himself

so he just shuts his trap about it (for once) and accepts his fate

in the end, it's no big deal for a player like him

he ends up hogging the blankets, though. hypocrite.

Kalim al-Asim

"YAYYY SLEEPOVER!"

he means exactly what he says

not a care in the world

all he's thinking about is how fun this is going to be! just him and his favorite Ramshackle prefect (Grim heard the news and will be staying in deuce's room to avoid any cracker mishaps)

Kalim, admittedly, is not a creature of great thought. he tends to be dictated by his feelings, and he can be a little selfish sometimes

so when Jamil pulled him aside and asked him to just buy another bed for ramshackle, he ignored him entirely

why would he do that? the situation is resolved, and everyone's happy!

well... not everyone, but Kalim's happy!

he stocks up on Vil-approved snacks, insists you two braid each other's hair and stay up late into the night talking with no one to remind you to go to sleep

(he tried to invite Jamil and got the door slammed in his face)

this arrangement lasts approximately one night

when Vil sees the dark circles under your eyes, it's over

you are confined to the couch, and Kalim is forced to sleep alone

Jamil Viper

"okay,"

really. he's totally fine with it.

besides the fact that he doesn't want to cause any more trouble, he's shared beds with his siblings before. no big deal

he just wasn't expecting to wake up with you snuggled against him

but this is fine

totally fine

he's barely conscious and it's early morning, still dark, the time he's used to getting up at

Vil has things covered, right? he can stay here for a little while longer. it would be awkward trying to get up without waking you

it feels nice having something all to himself for once

he smirks, imagining how jealous everyone else would be:

the beautiful, kind, intelligent ramshackle prefect in his arms? oh, the looks on their faces would almost make this whole thing worth it!

but in the end, he decides to say nothing

he wants to keep you all to himself, after all

for just a little while longer

Epel Felmier

"ain't no way I'm sharing!"

that's what he says in his head, anyway. but it's late and he's worn out from practice (and being shouted at) so he just sighs and accepts his fate

of course Vil would make him do it. it's probably because he's the smallest, isn't it?

you can tell he's unhappy with the arrangement (not that he's making much of a secret of it- he's grumbling under his breath all evening)

he starts coming around to the idea when he wakes up holding something warm

his heart jumpstarts and he nearly panics before remembering where he is

and then he realizes the thing he's holding is... you. somehow the two of you had ended up spooning during the night

but, more importantly... he's the big spoon!

he's almost tempted to wake you to announce that he, in all his manly glory, had naturally assumed the most masculine cuddling position!

(yes he sounds ridiculous. just let him have this one)

he lets you sleep, though. just a little more won't hurt anyone, right?

he's okay with the arrangement after that

Rook Hunt

"I will do it!"

Vil isn't even able to finish his sentence before the vice housewarden is practically jumping up and down

pretty much everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief; a volunteer! thank the sevens. otherwise, this could get awkward...

of course, he quite intentionally ends up with you in his arms

but not for any nefarious purpose, he insists!

he's a light sleeper, and can be stirred by any sudden noise or movement

you appeared to be having some kind of nightmare

it reminds him of a small animal caught in a trap, struggling for its life. he can't bear to see it- it's cruel to let a poor creature go on suffering before you can make the kill

of course, instead of killing you (thank the sevens), he decides to comfort you

he presses your head against his chest so you can hear his heartbeat, and he runs his fingers through your hair until you calm down.

then he keeps you there, just to be sure you don't have another bad dream

if you gave him permission, he would gladly be all over you in seconds. kissing up and down your shoulders, caressing every perfect inch of your body, whispering words of admiration

but he's perfectly content just cradling you for now

hopefully, you will continue to have these nightmares and give him excuses to do this again

Vil Schoenheit

"don't argue with me,"

initially, you just gave him the bed

maybe you were afraid of him; maybe you like him; maybe you just wanted to avoid a conflict altogether

either way, you spent the first night on the terribly uncomfortable floor, and trudged through Ramshackle like a zombie the next morning

Vil was feeling guilty watching you

what? he's not a monster

and he's a leader, which means he has a responsibility. and you had so graciously invited them all into your home...

fine! he'll share. he insists, even

when you try to argue, he shuts you down, repeating all that stuff about responsibility and hospitality, blah blah

and he doesn't want the team manager dead on their feet

arguing with him is pointless, so you just agree

he wakes up with you against him, sleeping peacefully

now, if it were you clinging to him- he might have had a good chuckle. can't keep your hands to yourself, prefect? I'm just that irresistible?

but the way he's holding you, the way his arms are so tightly wrapped around your waist, the way he's so clearly pressing you against him...

he hates to admit it, but you're an elegant sleeper. it's almost cute

the tension is relieved from your face, your breathing graceful and steady, and your perfect lips open just a sliver...

he is a perfect gentleman, and would never dream of doing anything without your explicit permission, but for one shameful second he thinks about how easy it would be to kiss you

... and then he quickly puts those thoughts aside and tries to get back to sleep

he doesn't want any dark circles, after all

[yumeboshi]

𝜗𝜚。．．❛ #03. CORPSE BRIDE

𐙚 topic。．when you turn down yandere hsr men’s proposals.

．。𝜗𝜚 cw。general yandere themes, suggestive content, MINORS DNI

．。𝜗𝜚 a/n。aven, sunday, and boothill. sunday and aven are regular additions to my posts lol, wrote boothills less intense bc he’s too silly to imagine

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE ⇢ ‘convinces’ you

。he will actually try to coax you into it. he doesn’t want to just force things onto you, that isn’t really what he wants 。“ill make you the happiest pretty bride, doll, just believe in me, hm?” 。continues to sweet talk you, telling you what he can do- buy you pretty dresses, give you anything you want, and he lists luxury after luxury. 。and he follows through his promises. even if you are being really disobedient, he’d still buy you more luxury than you could ever ask for. you will start questioning if you really don’t want this marriage- which is exactly what he wants you to do, to make you doubt yourself. 。his list goes on and on- a vip ticket to the Reverie, first row tickets to robin’s concerts, only the finest things that only his class of people could ever get their hands on. 。but in that list, he conveniently puts out ‘freedom.’ 。if you disagree, he’d pout, asking you why- and when you tell him you want to be free from him, he’d laugh, calling you a silly girl. 。“i already gave you a choice when we met. it was your choice to pick a card from an unknown pile.” 。he’d have the wedding commence in some really luxurious property of the ipc, and he will, invite your family over- he’s merciful. but is it mercy when you know you won’t see them ever again? 。“it would be a shame if they don’t see the happiest moment of your life.”

STANDING there with the most beautiful dress you could humanly ask for, your expression is nothing but a shell as Aventurine smiles at you through those shades. Your eyes are everywhere but on his eyes, when you stare at them, you feel like you’re losing yourself.

you are glad your gown came with a veil over your head, nobody can see your dead eyes, except him.

As the officiant goes on with the questions, you grip your bouquet a little harder to the point you feel their stems crumple, just like your shriveling heart.

You snap out of it after hearing silence- you see his expecting eyes on you and you nod blankly. “I do.”

And your husband smiles even wider, and he steps closer and slowly, while staring at you with uncomfortable adoration through those tantalizing purple eyes, he kisses you. You are expecting a tender kiss in a ceremony; but his gloved hand sneaks onto the back of your head, pulling you in hastily.

“I love you so fucking much, princess—” he breathes into you, brushing aside the saliva that trickles down your chin after his intrusion. “It took quite a while, but you’re finally all mine.” He pulls up your hand that has your forced vow on it, he chuckles and softly kisses your fingers.

“‘m gonna make you so happy, so ecstatic, that you’re gonna thank me for it, love. you will thank me that I restrained you from everything else.” he whispers, and the people clap, cheering; your family too, who smiles, knowing nothing that it would be your last reunion.

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY ⇢ breaks you

。he just takes it on another level (and does not find your struggles entertaining unlike the former) 。he will be, really heartbroken at first. the head of the oak family asking you to be his lifelong sweetheart is almost like him giving you his life. you are his entire world- and the world has rejected him. 。“…I see. was I not good enough for you, angel?” 。although his emotions will be very hard to control, he’s very used to commencing plans. he’d tell you that he could ‘talk this out’ with you. unfortunately, it’s not a choice, but rather, an order. 。sunday is a ‘the end justifies the means’ kind of person. he will do any means to make you eventually accept your fate. that will include imprisoning you in some faraway place and leaving you abandoned for so long, you will be broken, wishing for any interaction. food is only given to you through a remote device, with no human interaction. 。sunday itches to be with you- he is compassionate for you, his heart will ache to see you sob into an endless cacophony. a part of him will be tempted to go to you and be with you physically, not watching you from a screen. 。he will repeat it- he will visit once a blue moon, comforting you, asking you if you changed your mind. when you ask him when he’d release you, his expression will harden. 。“it seems you haven’t learned anything, sweetheart.” 。if you are still stubborn, he will be a little impatient. he will speed up the process by adding new things in- maybe making you dream of a lovely, free life and when you wake up, you’re just alone. he will not resort to anything violent, he cares too much about you to hurt you. although, ‘hurt’ in his dictionary doesn’t apply to mentally hurting you. 。you will sob and show your most dramatic, fragile sides to a descent of madness, thinking you are truly alone until sunday comes to visit. you are wrong, though- sunday has always been with you, just not physically. 。he has always been watching you cry into the void through a screen. always.

MAYBE you have finally lost your mind, because when Sunday comes to visit you and your dull prison, you collapse to your knees and immediately plead him.

“Please,” you sob, clutching his legs desperately- he doesn’t crouch, but looks down- almost like a god addressing its follower. Sunday is no god for you, but you beg like he is.

“Please what?” He looks at you, fingers brushing over your hands, tilting his head just the slightest. His golden eyes glitter in the dim light. He is waiting for only one answer, there is only one correct answer to his question.

But you do not give him the right one. “Please just let me go,” you break down. Your heart is throbbing from all the crying, vision blurry and your head is light with no energy to talk anymore.

His gentle, serene smile immediately warps into that of a cold one. “Try again?” His fingers grip your hands hard, warning you that his patience is running thin.

When you remain silent except for your sobs, he crouches down to stare at you on eye-level, boring holes into your fearful expression. Unlike his deadly gaze, his words are soft and flow out quickly like a river- albeit with a sigh of exasperation. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to stop this just because you beg.” His hand pushes yours against the floor to knock you down, figure towering over you as he leans in to whisper- “—although, they’re very pleasant to listen to.”

“Honestly, I don’t get why you are struggling right now. It’s so easier to accept your eventual fate. Unless, you do like to seek pain.”

His other hand goes over your stomach, then slides tantalizingly slow up your body- you shiver and tremble at each touch that is too foreign to you. Cold fingers cage your neck and you choke on your breath.

“I’m not planning on hurting you, angel.” His voice is still gentle, but his eyes are telling another story, they seem keen to hurt you again and again. “But I did say I’ll resort to other… methods. Since none of them seem to work, I suppose the only solution would be caging you with a baby.” When your eyes widen, he laughs dryly. “The look on your face tells me that you didn’t expect it. But you will be my loving wife, dear. You will not be able to run or reject me, not when your own child is at stake. It makes only more sense to… make you bear children. My children.”

As he watches you struggle under him, trying to breathe, he feels like he has entered ascension. Soon, one of your pretty fingers will have his ring, and very very soon, he will have his first child- the very thought of him makes him lose his mind. He so wishes to make you his, claim you inside, watch your pretty pussy gush out his cum while he’s pressing deep into your womb- but he also wishes to see a mini version of him, or you. He finds it too adorable to withstand. He will vow that his children will grow up pure and innocent.

“We will be the happiest family in the world,” he purrs. “And I’ll make sure of it.”

#BྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིOOTHILL ⇢ will try to prove himself

。maybe a little similar to aven. but while the latter will materialistically give you things and spoil you around to convince you, boothill will more likely show himself off instead. 。“i can fudgin’ shoot an ipc lackey in the head from miles away, sugar- ya can’t see that ‘n any other guy.” 。he’ll try to show you his capability to protect you- which will likely end up in multiple people dying but as a galaxy ranger, he has morals, so he will probably use the ipc as his shooting dummies 。overall he’s sweet even if you reject his proposal- he will likely be furious, just not at you. 。oh lord but during the day you rejected him, be prepared for multiple news flashes of dead people across the street. the amount of emotion will be too much for his consciousness to restrain 。when you confront him, he’d apologize, albeit a little too nonchalant. 。“‘m sorry sweetie, got a lil outta hand last night.” 。per your wish, he won’t kill anyone who’s unrelated and innocent- but he’d still go on a killing spree in the ipc headquarters to the point you are blacklisted on their list because he would shout your name and rant why you didn’t accept him while he shoots his gun all around the place.

“BOOTHILL, what the hell are you doing?” You frown when he returns- even after rejecting his proposal, he drifts around you like a lost stray dog. And he is always covered in blood, looking furious- but when you talk, his expression simply melts away like butter to a grin that shows his sharp teeth.

“What do ya mean what I’m doin’? Makin’ sure nobody hurts you.” He snickers. He smells like metal, like he always does, but this time it’s overpowering, which lets you know what he’s been doing.

“I don’t need protection, Boothill. You can just leave me alone.”

You’re beyond annoyed at his clinginess. No matter how many times you reject him, he’d always come back, showing something new off to you, and half the time it wasn’t anything pleasant, but rather his list of crimes.

“Aww, don’t be so uptight, sugar.” He chuckles and flashes a grin and his other metal hand spontaneously pulls you into his embrace— you jump. When did his hand get there? “All I wanna do is to make sure my future wife is safe and sound. Nothin’ wrong with that, hm?”

“I told you, I’m not going to accept-“

“Ah ah! Wait and see, you will be, I promise. But don’t drag the chase a lil too long. Even I get impatient.” Something cold pressed against your forehead and you realize it’s his gun. When your expression turns aghast with fear, he barks an amused laugh.

“You scared of this? Nah, I’d never hurt ya. Won’t wanna turn your body into metal like mine.” Although he says this with a dark smirk, he doesn’t remove the gun. “The sooner you agree to it, the merciful I become. Ya don’t wanna see innocent guys die because of your stupidity, hm?”

[flowersforbucky]

delirium

bucky barnes x reader (sex pollen trope)

word count: 4.1k

summary: stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you.

warnings/tags: sex pollen, dub con, unprotected sex, oral, masturbation, angst, descriptions of physical pain, language, friends to lovers, avenger!reader, no use of y/n, reader is afab, 18+ only

flashbacks are in italics

Sometime in the near future, there would be a case study conducted on how long a human being could burn from the inside without dying.

They would refer to you as exhibit a.

Doctors and scientists would lay your cold corpse on a colder table and use a scalpel to cut you from your thorax to your belly button. They would scribble notes about how your lungs had turned to ash and your esophagus to molten lava.

They wouldn't say it, but they would think it's a shame, because your driver's license states that you were an organ donor.

A harsh gust of wind snaps you out of the twisted fantasy and back to your reality - standing barefoot on the rickety front porch steps of a small cabin in Sitka, Alaska. You've only been outside for a few minutes but the snow is pouring down at a brutal pace, already covering the tops of your exposed feet.

The razor sharp chill of the ground below you and the air that surrounds you are the only things tethering you to what little remains of your sanity.

You never thought that you would be so thankful for your feet to be going numb, but after feeling like every fiber of your being is getting melted with a hot branding iron for - what? Ten? Twelve hours now? You had to resist the temptation to submerge your entire body in the multiple feet of snow that had accumulated since nightfall.

You hear the front door of the cabin creak open from behind you. You don't have to turn around to know that he's standing in the doorway with the same look of pleading desperation that he's been giving you since the two of you had realized what was happening.

“You need to come back inside,” he says delicately. His voice is muffled by the roar of the snowstorm, but right now with heightened senses, you hear him just fine. “You're going to get hypothermia.”

You don't respond. The mere sound of his voice makes you grit your teeth together so hard that you're surprised the tiny bones don't shatter.

He keeps to the doorway, scared that if he takes one step closer, you'll flee into the miles of thick woods that surrounds you in only a pair of old sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. He murmurs your name in a tone that begs you to come in from the below freezing temperatures.

“What time is it now?” You barely recognize your own voice - low and strained, it sounds like you haven't had anything to drink in days.

You clear your throat, though you doubt it'll make any difference.

“Just after four o'clock.”

Eleven hours into this hell, then. Best case scenario, another half a day of this. Worst case scenario, close to two.

Either way, you knew that these symptoms had yet to hit their peak. This would undoubtedly get worse before it gets better.

You stare out into the endless thicket of snow covered hemlocks and spruces. The illumination from the full moon makes the white powder on the branches glisten in the darkness.

Daylight was still hours away, and with it, hope for some means of communication with the rest of your team back in New York. The snowstorm had brought a widespread power outage across the city. Cell phone signal was nonexistent right now.

“Go on back to your room,” you tell him. “I'll come back inside in just a moment.” You continue to watch the blizzard before you, knowing that he's still just a few feet away from you. “I promise,” you add, hoping that he’ll believe you and return to the bedroom you'd been forcing him to keep to.

The drug coursing through your veins had amplified every one of your five senses. Even with him behind the closed door of the bedroom, you could still smell faint traces of the earthy musk of his deodorant and something warm that is uniquely him.

You wouldn't chance coming back into the house until his scent has dissipated from the entrance - not unless you want to feel as though all air is being stripped from your lungs.

Even simply standing here, with him behind you and the wind blowing his scent in the opposite direction, is nearly intolerable.

You hear footsteps retreat into the house, growing quieter and quieter as he makes his way back down the hallway, until you finally hear the click of his bedroom door. You exhale a breath that you weren't aware you had been holding in.

You have no doubt that he'll try to drag you back inside by the ankles if he has to, so you make good on your promise and return to the sweltering interior of the six hundred square foot log cabin.

A sharp, stabbing pain radiates from the center of your body at that thought - the exact kind of thoughts you were actively trying to avoid having. Thoughts of his hands digging into your thighs, his wet mouth on your throat, his bare chest pressed against yours as he fucks you into the likely thirty-something year old couch - those thoughts. Dangerous territory thoughts - the kind you didn't trust yourself not to act on if dwelled upon for too long.

Apparently, the thought of him putting his hands around your ankles and dragging you kicking and screaming falls into that category.

You settle onto the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest in an effort to alleviate the ache in your lower belly. You notice that Bucky has crammed more wood into the fireplace, which currently serves as the main source of light for the cabin, save for a few candles that have been placed sporadically throughout the small space.

Sweat begins to bead across your skin within seconds of sitting down in front of the fire. You know that Bucky is just trying to keep the temperature of the house from dropping below zero while also providing enough light to see during the middle of the night while you are in too much discomfort to sleep, but you feel like you are locked in a sauna after running five miles.

You think back to all of the times that you've given Sam shit for taking ice baths after his workouts. Now nothing sounds better than an ice bath.

Almost nothing, anyway. The only thing that could possibly feel even better is laying down behind a closed door less than twenty feet away.

And he'd offered - begged, actually, to take this pain away from you.

“Please,” he whispers, kneeling on the ground next to the couch, where you sit hunched over in pain. He's so close to you and it's fucking suffocating. He places his hand on your knee and you have to dig your nails into the suede upholstery to keep from whimpering. He notices the reaction and retracts his touch.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he says louder, the pet name finally getting you to meet his gaze for the first time since you dropped the glass jar of the firetruck red powder in the former HYDRA warehouse two hours ago.

Big mistake. Looking at him is a big fucking mistake. From the way his blue eyes bore into yours with sincere concern to the way that his plump, pink lips are slightly chapped from the cold weather -

“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head into your hands. “I can't ask that of you. I can't make you do that. I would never forgive my–”

“You wouldn't be asking or making me do anything,” he tries to reason with you. There's sincerity in his voice but you're too delirius to hear the truth of his words. “I'm offering. Because I care about you. Because I don't want to see you in any kind of pain if there's anything I can do about it. Because I think you'd do the same for me if the situation were–”

“Bucky,” you cut him off in a strained gasp. “Your voice is making this so much worse right now.”

“Then let me help you. Let me make you feel good.”

His words alone are enough to have you clenching your thighs around nothing but the thick material of your sweatpants. You can feel your cotton panties becoming more drenched with each word he speaks.

“Not like this.” You're on the verge of tears - from pain, from anger at the entire situation, from how goddamn badly you need to feel him inside you. “It can't happen like this. I never wanted it to happen like this.”

His features soften, a look of understanding spreading across his face.

“When we fuck, I want it to be because we want to fuck,” you say as you jump up from your position on the couch, desperately needing to distance yourself from him before you do something you can't take back. “I don't want it to be because we feel like neither of us have a choice in the matter.”

“But we do have a choice,” he murmurs from where he's still kneeling on the floor next to the couch. “And I'd choose to go back to that HYDRA facility and infect myself with this shit, too, if it means you'd feel a little less guilty about saying yes.”

Your answer to that was, of course, a big, giant absolutely fucking not. The snow started pouring down shortly after, making his irrational proclamation an impossibility, anyway.

Almost half a day later, here you are. Surrounded by miles and miles of snow and ice in a town with no power or semi-functioning cell phone towers, just trying to endure the fire coursing through your veins until the effects of the HYDRA made drug have worked through your system.

You're coming up on the twelve hour mark now, and there's no denying that you're desperate for relief in one way or another.

Worth a fucking shot, you think.

You prop your feet up on the glass coffee table in front where you sit on the couch, spreading your thighs apart by a few inches.

You hesitate for a moment, listening for any kind of indication that Bucky's no longer in the confines of the cabin’s singular bedroom.

Dead silent, except for the crackling of the wood burning in the fireplace.

You snake your hand down the front of your pants, past the waistband of your underwear and to your center that's been aching for hours now.

You stroke your fingers up and down your folds, stopping at the apex of your core to massage your clit in circular motions.

Your head rolls back on the couch at the sensation, immediately feeling the slightest sense of relief. You dig your teeth into your lower lip to keep from moaning - hard enough to draw blood, the taste of iron flooding your mouth.

You slip two fingers past your entrance, not requiring any foreplay to plunge them to the hilt. It feels good - the way you're working yourself with rapid scissoring motions. Really fucking good, actually. Better than fingering yourself has ever felt.

But only a mere minute into the ministrations, you fear that it won't be enough to satiate you in the way that the drug requires.

Still, you try. You yank your t-shirt above your tits, bringing your free hand to paw at your breast as you continue working your pussy with your fingers, the heel of your palm putting pressure against your clit.

“That's not going to work, you know.”

You yank your hand out of your pants, snapping your head to the side to see him leaning against the frame of the small hallway. You had been so immersed in attempting to find some amount of relief that you hadn't heard him exit the bedroom. He's looking at you with sympathy and concern, not judgment - you don't think you'd be able to find it within yourself to feel embarrassed even if he were. Not in your current state of discomfort.

“How do you know that?” Frustration is evident in your voice. You look away from him, back to the fire in front of you as you pull your shirt back down. The floor creaks as he steps out of the hallway and makes his way over to the opposite end of the small couch. He sits a foot away from you, close enough so that his scent and warmth invades your senses, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core.

“Because I've been through what you're going through right now.”

Your eyes break away from the ember that you've been staring at, your gaze snapping to him. You don't know why this comes as a surprise to you. It shouldn't, not with every other form of torment that HYDRA had inflicted upon him for over half a century.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was embarrassed,” he answers with a small half-shrug, breaking your stare. “I didn't.. handle it as well as you are,” he continues, shame in his voice and cheeks rosy. “You’re doing everything you can to fight something that you didn't ask for. That's more than I can say for myself.”

“You were brainwashed, Bucky,” you remind him delicately. It's a risky move that makes your skin burn and belly clench, but you scoot closer to him on the couch - your outermost thigh brushing against his knee. If the two of you weren't both wearing sweatpants, the minimal touch might even aid in bringing you some relief. Instead, you’re left feeling desperate for more of him.

But you push the feeling down, wanting to do what little you can to comfort him - wanting him to know that you don't think poorly of him for what was forced onto him, and what is now being forced onto you, too.

“I would never judge you for anything they made you do,” you assure him.

“I know you wouldn't,” he murmurs, turning to face you again. His blue eyes glow in the low lighting of the fire. The closeness between the two of you is dizzying, and electrifying, and -

“And I want you to know that I would never judge you for giving into this torture,” he adds.

You snort a laugh. “I'm starting to think you want me to give into this.” You mean for the statement to sound light-hearted, but a sharp pang in your gut makes you wince in pain and your voice goes shrill. You clutch your lower belly, hunching over at the pain.

He leans in closer, putting one hand on your lower back and one on your thigh. You whimper at the pressure of his fingers against your spine and inner thigh. Even through your clothes, the contact feels like heaven compared to hell you've been enduring for the last twelve hours.

You lean into his touch - you don't even think about it, you just do it. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, your forehead nuzzling the warm skin of his throat.

You take a deep inhale, attempting to steady your breathing, and you realize quickly that is a mistake - his scent is so euphoric, it feels like inhaling flames.

“Would it make it easier for you if I said that I do want you to give in?” His voice is low, his breath fanning across your face from his position above you.

“Fuck, Bucky, you can't say that to me right now,” you whine. You fist your hands into the fabric of his t-shirt, your eyes squint shut.

“Look at me,” he commands. You force your eyes open, pulling your head back enough to look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I want it to be your choice.” He brings a hand up to cup your jawline. His thumb skims the outline of your bottom lip. “But I would be lying if I said that I'm not relieved that I'm the one here with you, or that I wouldn't enjoy every second of helping you feel better.”

He brings his hands to yours, pulling them away from where they still clutch his shirt. You release your grip, allowing him to hold you by your wrists. He pulls your right hand up to his face, stopping just under his nose. Your brows furrow in confusion, until it dawns on you what it is he's doing.

He inhales deeply, then lowers your hand to his parted mouth. He slips the tips of your index and middle fingers past his lips, and then swirls his tongue around the two digits.

The exact two that had been inside your pussy not even five minutes ago.

Right now, you think you could come from him sucking on your fingers and nothing else.

You don't even try to stop the groan that slips past your lips as you shove your fingers deeper into his mouth. He moans around them as he finishes cleaning them off, the sound sending vibrations up your arm and throughout your body.

You pull your fingers from between his lips and immediately crush your own lips to his in their place. You feel the drug surging through your veins, but this time it's less excruciating - it now feels like pure adrenaline bubbling under your skin, spurring you on.

He opens his mouth to you, your lips and tongue moving with his in synchronicity. It's hurried and messy, and maybe not as romantic as you had imagined it in your head before this night - but it's exactly what you need right now.

He maneuvers you so that you're laying down on the couch, and nestles himself between your thighs. You can feel the hard outline of his erection through the thin material of his sweatpants. He ruts against you, dragging the bulge across your clothed center as he yanks your t-shirt up and over your head. He tosses it somewhere behind the couch before attaching his mouth to one of your nipples and palming the other with the cool metal of his left hand.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling the full weight of his body down against you. You stick your hands up the back of his t-shirt, scratching your nails down the skin of his back.

“I need more,” you gasp out as he pinches your nipple between his teeth, rolling it in his lips. The clothing that separates the two of you feels like a prison. “I need to feel you.”

He pulls away, leaning back to perch on his knees between your legs. Your eyes roam down the chiseled planes of his chest until they land on the defined “V” shape that disappears into the waistband of his low-hanging pants.

He hooks his fingers into your sweatpants and underwear and tugging them both down past your ankles, then throwing them somewhere across the room with both of your long-forgotten shirts.

His eyes trail your body from your breasts to your thighs, his pupils dilating in the firelight. He splays his hands across the meat of your inner thighs, pinning your legs open wide for him. He lowers himself back down on the couch, belly down so his face hovers just above your pussy.

“Bucky, I swear if you don't put your mouth–”

He laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle before his tongue slips between his lips. It darts to your hole, licking a soft strip up to your clit. You exhale a sharp hiss of pleasure, your hands shooting to lace your fingers through tendrils of his hair. You arch into his touch, meeting the thrusts of his tongue with thrusts of your hips. He eats like you're the best thing he's ever tasted - like he's wanted this for way longer than this drug has been in your system.

You're coming on his face in an embarrassing amount of time, really. Thanks to the influence of the pollen, you currently have the stamina and endurance of a teenager losing their virginity. Your thighs are clenched around either side of his head, writhing above him as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

The relief that you feel as you come down from your high feels like years of pent up frustration leaving your body all at once.

You don't quite feel entirely like yourself - there's still a dull ache in your core, and your skin’s still feverish - though that could be due to the fire that the two of you are just feet away from. But you're now able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Come here,” you whisper, your voice low and honeyed. He crawls over you, his chest brushing against yours as he centers himself above you. His skin shines with a thin layer of sweat that mingles with your own. You reach a hand between your two bodies, palming his erection through the sweatpants that he has yet to shed. You keep your eyes locked on his face, watching as his eyes roll back into his head and his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip as you massage him through the fabric. Your other hand juts down to the waistband of his pants and you tug them downwards, far enough to help him shimmy them down to his knees.

His cock springs forward and he takes himself in his flesh hand, pumping his length several times before teasing your folds with his tip. He collects your slick along his length, lubricating himself before nudging his head just past your entrance.

You're more than ready for him - hours of desperation in addition to already having come on his face leaves you needing no further preparation before he's filling you up with his impressive length and girth. There's a slight burn at the sheer fullness of it, but there's also a wave of relief that your body has been craving for hours.

He pulls out halfway, then rocks back into you. He starts slow - trying to hold back for his own sake or for yours, you're unsure. Gradually, he increases his speed, hitting your cervix at that sweet angle that not everyone knows how to work. You lean forward, raising your head enough to capture his lips in yours once more.

You taste yourself on him - a dichotomy of sweet and salty mixed with something entirely unique. He brings his flesh hand in between your bodies, lowering his fingers to your clit where he begins rubbing pressured circles. You moan his name into his mouth and he responds by biting your lip between his teeth, his movements becoming messier.

“You gonna come on my cock?” he asks in a low growl when he feels your pussy clenching around him. “Gonna fill you up and make you feel all better.”

His words send you tumbling over the edge for the second time - that telltale warm coil in your belly bursting at the same time that he begins spilling his warmth into you.

He collapses, pinning you between his body and the couch beneath you. Starting at your shoulder, he peppers kisses along your collarbones and up your neck until he’s finally eye-level with you.

“We can do that again,” he says in a breathy voice, still inside you. “If you need to, that is. Or if you just want you.” There's a mischievous grin spread across his face and a twinkle in his eyes. It's the most carefree you've seen him since the two of you left New York to come here for this mission. You put your hands on his chest, jokingly attempting to shove him away from you.

“Oh, I don't think I need to,” you jab at him. “I'm feeling pretty great now, but thank you for your services.” He laughs, pulling out of you and sitting back against the couch. He pulls you up with him, wrapping his flesh arm around your waist and tucking you into his side. “But I think I might want to again. You know, now that I'm no longer in excruciating pain.” He hums in agreement, stroking his flesh fingers across the side of your stomach.

“I'm glad you were the one here with me too, Bucky."

thank you for reading! i know sooo many people have done this trope, especially for bucky, but it's truly one of my all time favorites and i just needed to get this out of my system so i hope you all enjoyed

comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

other works by me: oil & water • down bad • acquainted •

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

For your 900 followers celebration!!

“I’ll always choose you”

Jason Todd has never been anyone's first pick. He knows that. He's second, third, eighth best.

He doesn't get second glances, he doesn't get what he wants, and he doesn't get to be anyone's first thought. He's not anyone's go-to person. He understands that, accepts that.

But, deep down, in a place he doesn't want to ever want to unpack, he wishes you would.

You. He knows he has it bad for you. Pretty eyes, even prettier smiles. He's head over heels, a complete mess with no direction, and no idea what to do about it.

He'll endure the teasing he gets when he stares at you too long. He'll ignore the doubts that creep into his mind that you'd hate him if you knew how his heart stutters at the sight of you. He'll deal with it all if he can just spend another second listening to you laugh.

He thinks you have at least a vague idea of how he feels. You must pity him, because you seem happy to patrol with him. You sit yourself next to him on the couch more often than not during movie nights. You call him when life keeps him too busy from visiting.

It lulls him into a false sense of security, that even with how broken he is, you still want to stick around. It makes him a little greedy, a little selfish, to have more of your attention.

But you give it to him. Without question, without asking for anything in return.

You text him more, invite him to your apartment. He finds himself more and more entwined in your life, and it's more than he ever thought he'd deserve.

He's sitting in your kitchen one night, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice as he tells you what he's planning to cook for dinner. It's a new recipe. One he thinks you'll like.

But then you get a call. He deflates a little when he hears your friend inviting you out. He tries to keep the smile on his face. It's fine if you go. The leftovers he leaves might not be as good as they are fresh, and it might not taste as good without you, but he's not going to hold it against you.

He swallows the knot in his throat when you hang up the call, head spinning with so many thoughts he missed the tail end of your conversation, "So, ah, rain check for dinner then?"

You look a little surprised, "No? We're hanging out tonight, aren't we?"

"I mean, yeah," he says, cursing himself for stammering, "but, if ya wanted to go out, I wouldn't blame ya."

"I don't," You say easily, "I wanna stay here with you."

His gaze flicks over your face, trying to pick out the truth of your words, "You do?"

"Yeah. I'll always choose you, Jason," you tell him softly, like you don't realize you're knocking his entire world off center, "I like being around you."

He can't fight the wide, cheesy grin that spreads across his face, and he quickly turns to mess with the ingredients on the counter to hide, "Oh. Cool. Yeah. Me too."

You giggle a little, and his face heats up at the sound. He forces out more words, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart, "So, uh, dinner?"

"Dinner," you echo, voice happy and light. It makes him think he might have had this all wrong. That, there's a chance, he really is your person.

The thought sticks with him all the way through dinner. And when you smile like you want to be here, when you ask him for seconds, he almost starts to think it's true.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues. 

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong. 

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs. 

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface. 

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more. 

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment. 

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable. 

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness. 

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak. 

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you. 

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down. 

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!” 

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time. 

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.” 

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could. 

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs. 

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips. 

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade. 

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin. 

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh. 

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles. 

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg. 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. 

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs. 

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases. 

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents. 

Almost. 

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed. 

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention. 

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him. 

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm. 

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him. 

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back. 

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them. 

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again. 

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him. 

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good. 

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice. 

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

 He hums contemplatively. 

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum. 

“About what?” 

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn your first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine. 

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?” 

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?” 

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again. 

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you. 

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away. 

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet. 

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes. 

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it. 

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message. 

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky. 

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven��t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort. 

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh. 

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly. 

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile. 

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily. 

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck. 

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly. 

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy. 

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids. 

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin. 

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum. 

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you. 

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you

I love you. 

-

part two

[screampied]

gojo planned to confess his love to you on valentine’s day.

he had the entire thing set, he was anxious, pondering just what your reaction might be. you were forever on his mind — even now, he was picturing your smile, imagining you returning the words and accepting your gifts. his heart swooned at the thought, the feeling of you finally returning your feelings to him. he’s had a deep love for you as long as he could remember.

“she’s gonna say it back, she’s gonna say it back.”

he repeated those words in his head like a mantra.

just the thought of your name made gojo’s heart race at such a speed. he was in love with you. he figured today would be the perfect time to tell you, smother you with compliments, decorate pretty roses in your hair and maybe snag a polaroid picture with you to keep in the back case of his phone.

although, once he finally meets up with you, he’d never know how foolish he really could have been.

you’d be somewhere outside by yourself, perhaps sitting on the grass and soaking in the humid sun with the most gorgeous relaxed expression. he texted you prior that he wanted to tell you something, very subtlety.

he felt his heart beat pick up at the sheer sight of you—you were so effortlessly pretty. trapped in your own little world. gojo trods his feet up to you, hiding his hands behind his back with a gift he had prepared for you. it was a necklace with a bunch of your favorite candies inside. he also had a cheesy card that read, “do you have a name? or should i just call you mine.”

it made him snort, he found the idea off of google.

as he kept making his way towards you, dragging his feat, he’s repeating his sappy speech a million times in his head. he straightened his tie, reaching for his pocket to grab a rose out of his pocket before he stopped once he saw geto approach you …

with a kiss.

gojo had a slow reaction, he felt like his breath got snatched from his chest. a tough snatch to where he could barely breathe. geto stroked a thumb against your chin before after a few brief seconds, he pulls away. you smiled at him before geto surprised you with a big box of what appeared to be a gift.

“oh..” gojo mutters, feeling trapped, as if his feet was stuck in place. you looked so happy, he started to feel stupid. he’s so ensnared into his own loud screaming thoughts that he doesn’t even realize that you’re standing in front of him now.

“satoru. hey. you wanted to talk to me about something?” you utter, glancing up at him, wondering why his body language was so awkward and stiff.

his jaw tightened before he blinks twice, sighing out a soft. “huh? oh that—oh, it’s uh, nothing,” and then he forces a fake smile on his face. he was too late to win your heart, and it costed his own to be shattered into a million glass pieces.

“are you sure?” you pry.

he gives you a nod, and you literally slip from his fingers the minute you turn your heels to walk away. gojo felt numb, tears started to swell into his eyes as he brought the gift up to his chest.

a single tear runs down his cheek as he watches you walk off into the sunset with geto, cursing to himself mentally that that should have been him. he had a force smile, because in the end — at least you were happy.

“happy valentine’s day,” he sniffles, knowing the true meaning of heartbreak at that particular moment. “i still love you.”

[timmydraker]

Tim’s parents demand a meeting with Bruce and their son himself to discuss the future of their company and Tim’s place in it. Everyone knows they probably want to get in on Bruce’s wealth and business so they might be able to go from millionaires to billionaires like Bruce.

To everyone’s surprise, Tim accepts and says he’ll do it as long as Bruce will stay with him the entire time.

Obviously Dick refuses not to and Damian insist as the ‘true heir’, which makes Jason want to as well just cause he’s not being left out. Duke promises to stay out of it and keep the girls busy so Tim doesn’t feel cornered or smothered in worry.

So, Bruce and his three sons sit on the meeting with Bruce doing most do the talking and Tim sitting on a chair with his brothers all keeping eyes on him.

Jack and Janet try to give pleasantries to their son but he just stared at them, a blank look that even Bruce can’t decipher if only because he’s never seen it before.

Jack does most of the talking, explaining that Tim still has a set aside amount of many and place in the company but that it’s only there because he’s kept the family name. They explain that they would be happy for Tim to take the Wayne name as long as their son gives up his legal place in the company and hands over his personal funds they gifted him willingly.

They subtly explain that they want him to continue to work with the as he works with WE extremely well, and that they could possibly become partners.

Tim would still be the co-CEO of WE as well as COF for Drake Industries but he must… ‘donate’ money to them regularly as a show of good partner ship.

Bruce is furious that they just want money and haven’t acknowledged their son or the fact that he just turned eighteen, but he remains calm and after almost twenty minutes of talking Dick cuts them all off.

“Perhaps-we could ask Tim himself what he thinks of this offer.”

The growing tension both settles and raises as everyone turns to Tim who is sitting like a statue.

He looks like he could be dissociating but there’s a distinct presence in his eyes like he doesn’t want to miss a single word or second.

Jack sits back and gives Tim a stern look, “Well, son? What do you say?”

Tim speaks in the same voice Bruce has heard him talk to clients he doesn’t like, “I’ll accept, I’ll even give my earnings from the company.” Just as Jack and Janet begin to look smug and his family members look shocked he adds, “on one condition.”

Janet looks at him like he’s the most vile creature ever and covers it with a forced smile as Alfred pours more tea for her as a means to appease the clearly nasty woman.

Everyone waits for Tim to state his condition but none of them are ready for when he looks his parents each in the eye and says in the calmest, most level voice the most shocking sentence nace they have ever heard from both Tim and Red Robin:

“I want you to kill yourselves.”

.

..

…

No one speaks.

Jason and Dick look genuinely afraid, Damian looks taken aback though not nearly as shocked as Bruce is with his jaw hanging low.

Alfred for the first time in his life serving the Waynes spills tea and looks at Tim in a way that shows he is genuinely aghast.

Janet and Jack are frozen looking at their son like he’s a different person, which is funny as that implies they knew he was before.

Tim doesn’t smile or gloat, he does nothing to suggest his words were one big joke or last ‘fuck you’ to them.

He sits still and patient, waiting for an answer.

Janet opens her mouth several times to speak but never gets any words out though Jack manages to get over his shock and fury crosses his face. He opens his mouth, most likely to yell or berate his son but Tim beats him to it.

“It’s your choice. I’ve said all I want, so kill yourself or leave.”

Tim picks up his own tea and watches as Jack and Janet storm out of Wayne Manner.

Silence prevails for a while with none of the family talking until Damian breaks the silence, “Holy shit.”

[sluttysnowangel666]

His Second Wife - cregan stark x reader (request)

summary: two years following the death of cregan’s first wife, he accepts an undesired marriage proposal to rhaenyra targaryen’s daughter. rhaenyra’s daughter, who had loved cregan the moment she first met him as a young girl, immediately loves and accepts cregan’s first child as her own. yet it is still not enough for cregan to find his own love for his new wife.

cw: mean cregan😓, widow!cregan, targ!reader, loss of virginity(reader), rhaenyra’s daughter, angst to fluff, unrequited love, sex, happy ending

do yall notice i always post a long ass story usually around midnight or later ( i’m unwell)also this is long af soz it was a detailed request and I wanted it to be to a T. this is SOO long. i prolly should have done two parts… oh well @lillithsalvatore hope you enjoy it love ❤️

“How do you feel, my love?” Your mother asked, placing a warm and comforting hand on yours.

You sighed. “Nervous.”

She gave you that warm and sweet smile of hers. “I know. I hope you know this choice was not easy for me to make, as I know this was a hard task for me to place upon you.”

“I know, mother.” You say with forgiveness, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Had it been any other lord I would have surely declined but… Starks are the most honorable among men. I know your union will be blessed by the gods.”

You give her a smile, blindly trusting her words. You had met him once, and you knew he was kind. In fact, he had left a paw shaped imprint on your heart. You thought to yourself no union could be more suitable. You knew he had married once before out of a prior marital alliance, but the marriage had been short lived, lasting only a year before his first wife died in her birthing chambers.

It took more than four moons before you arrived at Winterfell, as if every power in the world was set on preventing it. You were not a superstitious person, so you simply thought all the bad things that happened prior to your marriage was coincidence.

Each time you went to leave, something prevented you. Your mother miscarried your baby sister, Lucerys was killed by Aemond, Daemon went silent at Harrenhall, Rhaena ran away and was lost in the eyrie before revealing she claimed Sheep-stealer.

You arrived in the dead of winter, and the journey had not been kind to you. You got a chill on the way up, causing you to stop at an inn for a few nights, you had came across raiders who killed one of the many men escorting you, and your clothes were ill suited for the weather.

You did eventually arrive at Winterfell thankfully, all in one piece.

You stepped out of the carriage cautiously, eyeing the snowy landscape surrounding you. It went as far as the eye could see. You held your hand out, letting the thick snowflakes fall and melt in your hand.

“My princess.” You turn to see Cregan, walking towards you. He bows, forcing a politeness. “Winterfell is yours.”

You bow in return, “No need for such formalities, Lord Stark. This is your home, and I am honored to have you welcome me here.”

He nods, choosing to say nothing else to you.

“Please show the princess to her chambers.” He says to one of the servants, then immediately turning on his heels to leave. Your jaw falls slightly, surprised at his curt demeanor.

You compose yourself, trying to hide the slight hurt in your features before making your way to your private chambers.

You bathed immediately, welcoming the hot water against your skin. No water could be hot enough for your dragon blood, but what they had drawn up for you would do nicely.

Your wedding was a week after your arrival, the lord having given you time to settle in. You had not seen him much during that week so you chose not to bother him, assuming he was busy with duties.

When you walked down that snowy path to the red weirwood, Cregan stole a glance at you. You looked beautiful, and he felt horribly guilty for thinking it. He felt like what he was doing was betraying her.

You said your vows, swearing your love before the old gods. You smiled at Cregan and he gave you a forced one in return. Guilt wracked his whole body. He felt guilty for you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you a union where you were loved, he felt guilty for liking your smile, he felt guilty for forgetting hers.

There was a feast following the ceremony, nothing large due to the pains of winter, but it didn’t bother you. The small gathering felt intimate, compared to southern weddings where lords and ladies travelled from all over the realm to witness it.

It was here you met Cregan’s son, Rickon.

“Hi, little one.” You said. He was only two, a fat little babe who looked just like Cregan.

“Rickon, this is my new wife.” Cregan said. The way he worded it made you twitch, it had sounded so strained. He didn’t even use your name. You told the boy the name he could call you, but he said nothing as he hid behind his father’s leg.

“I apologize.” Cregan said, his voice showing no sign that he actually was sorry.

“It is alright, my lord. He is just a babe. He and I will have time to get to know each other.” You said. Cregan tensed up, suddenly remembering again this union was forever.

“Excuse me, princess.” He said, turning and walking away with Rickon. Your heart sunk a bit. You could start to sense it now, Cregan was not in the slightest invested in your union together. You felt lost, out of place suddenly.

You sat back down at the high table, overwhelmed with nervousness. You bit at your nails and the skin around them, biting until they bled. You missed your mother dearly. Being here, in this room among strangers who didn’t care much for southerners to begin with, made you feel small.

You had sat there for an hour or two, not moving or eating once, save for your cuticles.

Cregan came to you, not noticing your nervous state. If he had noticed, he chose to ignore it. “I’ve put Rickon down… Would you please accompany me to my chambers?”

You looked at him, the nail bed of your thumb resting between your teeth. You nodded, standing and staring at the hall one last time. You locked eyes with a man, who noticed you both about to take your leave.

“Is it time for the bedding ceremony, Lord Stark?” The man asked, erupting a few cheers from the men mostly.

“No!” Cregan nearly barked the order. “There will be no bedding ceremony.”

The men in the crowd shuffled awkwardly at his outburst but accepted.

“Princess.” Cregan said, walking away and not waiting to see if you were following.

You did anyway, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. You had the sense he wanted this to be over with quickly.

He held the door as you both entered his chambers. You took in your surroundings. It was a clean and large kept room with a lit hearth and a large bed. A thought passed your mind, even though you tried to push it down.

Did he share these chambers with her?

Cregan began to take off his armor and furs, again not watching to see if you did the same, only assuming you were. If you weren’t, he didn’t care.

“Um, could you help, my lord?” You asked, referring to the laces of your white wedding dress.

He sighed, walking over to you as you turned your back to him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you tried to hide it.

His hands were gentle with the laces, not tugging at them as you expected him to. He obviously had experience doing this before.

He grew emotional as he undid your dress, but he hid it well. It was a weird sense of deja vu. Your hair looked like hers from the back and he felt like he was back at his first wedding.

You pushed the dress off, revealing the sheer linen soft dress underneath. He hadn’t moved from behind you, trying to maintain his composure. You walked away from him, lying on the bed and biting your nails again.

He finished disrobing besides his briefs, and you stole a glance at his back. It was huge, muscular and scarred.

He walked over to the bed, getting between your legs and pushing up your shift.

“Is this alright with you, princess?” He asks. “We need not consummate this if you are not ready.”

For the first time it seemed like he kinda cared about how you felt. His hand still had a hold of your shift, which was resting on your pelvic bone.

You nodded, “Is it alright with you, Lord Stark?”

He nodded, pushing your shift up the rest of the way to reveal your chest. He wanted to fall on his sword for the way he kept stealing glances at your breasts.

He pushed his briefs down, and you choked on your breath at the reveal of his length.

“Oh, gods.” You mumbled under your breath.

He rubbed himself against your slit, and your heart stilled for a minute. The feeling was foreign and intense.

He gently grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. You hadn’t even realized you were still doing it, it was starting to become like breathing. A natural, unintentional habit.

Your hands fell to his biceps to steady yourself. You looked at him, but he did not meet your gaze. He instead bowed his head, watching himself enter inside you.

You dug your nails into his arm, gasping in shock. He gently shushed you, telling you it was okay.

“Please, please.” You said, not knowing what you were even pleading for.

“What?” He asked gently, his voice low and almost mimicking of your whining. It sent a shiver up your spine.

He was slow and gentle with you, not in it for any pleasure himself.

You touched his chest and his hair and his arms, and while he didn’t stop you he made no effort to touch you himself. His hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight.

Your hands found his arms again and you moaned softly, feeling your peak building in your stomach. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his head, moaning as you spilled onto him. He closed his eyes as he felt it, and guilt wracked him again.

He gently pulled out of you and stood up, immediately dressing himself into his nightwear. You pushed your shift back down and pulled the linen covers over you, immediately going back to biting your nails at his reaction.

He laid beside you, not facing you and not saying anything.

You said nothing, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed how he intentionally avoided spilling himself into you.

———

It had been 3 months since your arrival to Winterfell, and you had adjusted as well as you could given the circumstances.

You did not often see your lord husband, but you were used to it. He spent a lot of his free time in the crypt where she was. It hurt, but you gave him his peace and he appreciated that you didn’t hover.

“Mummy!”

“Sh, sh, love.” You say as Rickon runs into your chambers.

Cregan did not like when Rickon called you his mother. He’d gotten upset with you a few times over it, and you assured him you would correct Rickon when it happened.

“Mummy.” He repeated. You giggled. pulling him into your lap. You shook your head and tapped his nose, saying, “Nooo. Not mummy.”

“Mummy.” He laughed, and you ran your fingers through his thick brown curls.

“What ever will we do with this mop on your head, my son?”

“He is not your son.” You turned to see Cregan standing in the door way. “And his hair is fine.”

“Apologies, my lord.” You said, curtly. He ignored your attitude.

“Come, Rickon.” He said, beckoning his son.

“No, mummy.” Rickon whined, holding you.

“Go see papa.” You told him, and with your blessing Rickon ran to Cregan.

Cregan gave you a cold stare as he left, and you returned the favor.

You were growing ever so agitated with your husband. He had welcomed you into Winterfell, but not his heart. The only time you both had shared a bed was the night of your wedding, to which Cregan had made sure not to give you an heir.

You had no one. Rickon had you, Cregan had you even if he did not want you, yet you were alone here in Winterfell.

You decided to write to your mother on Dragonstone, requesting for Jacaerys to pick you up on dragon back so you could visit your family and hopefully receive advice. You had left your dragon, Silverwing, at home. You did not want to disrespect the already hesitant northern people, and you did not want Silverwing to be cold or hungry.

That night when you were brushing your hair before bed, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You looked in the mirror and saw Cregan’s half sister, Sara, enter.

“Hi, Sara.” You said. She came up behind you, taking the brush from your hand and slowly combing it through your hair. You two had formed a unique bond, given you were both considered outcasts in Winterfell. You were a southerner, she was a bastard. They were two sides of the same coin here in Winterfell.

“I heard what happened today.” She said, and you hummed mindlessly. “My brother can be a bastard.”

You smiled at her in the mirror. “Is that so?”

She nods. “I wish I knew what to do, Sara.”

“We northerners love hard, princess. We are unwaveringly loyal. The wound of losing Aly is still fresh in my brother’s heart. Give him time. He knows you love Rickon, and that scares him. I don’t know why.”

“Was Aly pretty?” You ask.

“You have a southern beauty we do not see often in the North. Aly was not a beautiful woman, but she was a fierce fighter. That is how history will remember her. She was born fighting, and she died fighting. I know you are a fierce fighter as well, princess. You are the blood of the dragon. Do not let the grief my brother holds make you feel small.” She kisses the back of your head. “Throw a fucking book at his head if he acts like that again.”

You laugh, her joke comforting you. She turns and leaves you alone, your head clouded with thoughts of Aly.

You heard back from Jacaerys within a few days that he would arrive shortly to bring you home. You had not yet told Cregan, as you knew he wouldn’t care anyway.

A few days following the letter from the raven, it was Sara’s name day. Cregan had decided to celebrate with a feast, one bigger than your wedding.

You all sat at the high table, your husband and sister in law drinking heavily. Although Cregan was a big man, the amount of ale he consumed that night seemed enough to kill a horse.

“My princess.” A servant rested her hand on your shoulder. You and Cregan both turned to look at her, and she grew nervous, not expecting Cregan to pay any attention or perhaps she would not have asked the princess the request. “Rickon has had a nightmare and wants no comfort of the maids. He is requesting you by name specifically, princess.”

You turn to look at Cregan for his approval. He gives a quick nod, which you hadn’t expected. Perhaps he only obliged since Rickon had requested you by your name, rather than requesting his “mother.”

You walked with the maid to his chambers, opening the door.

“Mummy.” He said through sniffles. You turned to face the maid.

“I thought he requested me by my name.” You said.

“That is your name, princess… to him.” The maid closed the door.

You turn to face Rickon with a gentle sigh. “You know papa doesn’t like that word.”

“Mummy.” He just says again. You walk to his bed, fitting yourself in to lay with him. He cuddles into your chest, and you play with his hair to help him sleep.

“Say it okay.” He says.

“Hm? What do you mean, child?” You ask.

“She say it okay to call you mummy.”

“Who?”

“Mummy did.”

“No, you have to call me my name, sweet boy.”

“Not you, mummy. My other mummy said it okay.”

“You confuse me, Rickon.”

“Mummy says ignore papa.” You chuckle softly.

“Sleep now, my love.” You say, and he slowly falls asleep while you hum him a soft song.

You rise, tucking him in and giving his head a kiss.

You open his door to return to the feast, and Cregan is there waiting.

You gasp, covering your mouth quickly to not wake Rickon.

“Gods, you scared me!” You whisper/yell at him. He says nothing, his eyes in a glossy and drunken haze.

You close the door, nearly standing chest to chest with him.

“I heard you sing to him.” He says softly. “Where did you learn that song?”

“He taught me it.” You say, as you go to step past him when he stops you.

“Cregan?” You say confused, turning to look up at him.

He takes your cheeks in your hands and slams his lips on yours. You freeze for a second in shock, before immediately returning the kiss. He presses you against the door, and you moan into him as you quickly grow wet with Cregan’s sudden change of behavior.

He moves to press gentle kisses on your neck, biting softly here and there. His fingers dig into your hips, grinding himself into you. You moan softly, trying not to cause too much noise against the door.

“Not here.” You moan. He avoids your eyes, taking your hand and pulling you further down the hall to his chambers. It was only your second time in his room. He lifted you into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing you against the wall.

You both hadn’t even undressed, but you loved the thrill. Your husband finally wanted you after three long grueling months. He pushed your dress up to your waist as you unlaced his breeches.

He took you there against the wall of his chambers, fucking you so sweetly, fucking you in a way that would surely produce an heir.

Your moans filled the halls, and the servants began to spread word that the lord had finally moved on from his first wife.

He carried you to the bed, placing you along the edge as he stood, fucking you with sloppy and drunken thrusts.

You moaned his name, both of you drawing so close to your peak as your hands rested against his stomach. He leaned closed to you as hand moved beside your head to hold his weight, and the other moved under your lower back to lift you slightly off the bed and pull you more into him. The angle sent you over the edge, crying and moaning his name.

Your moans pushed him over, but his next words made you sick.

“Fuck, Alysanne.” He groaned, burying his head in your neck and spilling his seed into you.

You gasped, not even sure you heard him right.

He kissed your neck a few times and then rolled off you, not noticing the look on your face.

You laid there unmoving, still in your dress which was now damp with sweat, and your thighs now sticky with Cregan.

He fell asleep the second his head hit his pillow, still in his clothes.

You choked back a sob, moving your hand to your mouth so he wouldn’t waken. In reality, you could’ve started screaming and he wouldn’t have woke, or even shuffled.

You exited his chambers, trying not to be sick on the way to yours.

“My sister!” Sara drunkenly yelled as she seen you in the hallway. She took notice of your disheveled dress and hair. “Oh my gods, did you and Cregan just…?”

You ignored her, but she noticed the tears on your face. “Wait, sister what is wrong? What happened?”

You slammed the door in her face, throwing yourself into your pillow and screaming.

—

“Mother would be furious if she knew you were sleeping this well past sunrise.”

You groaned, lifting your head from the pillow to find the voice in the room.

“Jacaerys?” You said, when your eyes landed on him.

“I take it the feast for Sara Snow was a success.” He says, making fun of you. Your hair was sticking to your face, wet with a mixture of tears and drool.

“I guess you could say that.” You said, wiping your hair to the side.

“You’re disgusting.” He says.

“Gods, five minutes you’ve been here and you already frustrate me! Get out!” You say, both of you immediately teasing and arguing like you had never left home.

You push him out of your room.

“Don’t touch me, wench!” He whines, smacking your arms.

“Piss off! Go harass the bloody Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’d rather harass the Lady.” You push him out of your doors, turning and pressing your back to slide down the wall.

You hear him knock again and you rise to your feet, angry. “Jace, I said-“

You don’t finish your sentence, since as you open the door it’s Sara.

“I wanna talk about last night.”

“I don’t.” You say, going to close the door on her before she pushes it back open.

“What happened?” She asks, angry. She closes the door behind her and follows you to the bed. You sit on the edge and rest your elbows on your thighs, burying your face in your hands.

“Did my brother hurt you?” She asks, worried.

“No, no.”

She rests on her knees in front of you, placing her hands on your knees. “Tell me what happened.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your tears, but you cannot. “We had sex.”

“Isn’t that good? What went wrong?”

“He called me Alysanne.” You sob out.

“Oh, no.” She says, moving to sit beside you and wrap her arms around you.

“I cannot stay here no longer, Sara. I am being haunted by Alysanne. I find letters she wrote to Cregan, her clothes, her weapons. Rickon thinks I am her and Cregan wishes I was.”

“I am sorry, princess.” She says, sadly. “I thought I knew my brother better than that… Perhaps, if you talk to him about these past few months things can be different. Just give it a try, yes? You have your brother here now. You can leave if things do not work and the marriage can be annulled.”

You did not even wish to think of that possibility. It would be so shameful for both of your houses. You would do everything in your power to make it work.

You cleaned yourself up and went to Cregan’s chambers, knowing he would be hungover.

And you were right.

You entered his room without knocking, finding him in a bath with a warm rag over his eyes. Three times now you’ve been in his chambers.

“You can set it on the table.” He says, not moving the rag.

“What?”

“Oh.” He says, his voice changing in tone. “I thought you were the maid.”

You say nothing, unsure of where to even begin.

“Can whatever you’ve barged into my chambers for wait until I am done.” He asks, only the question is more of a statement.

“No.” You say, angry. You walk over to him and pull the rag off his eyes. He squints at the brightness, then gagging on the air as if he might be sick. “We’re going to talk, Cregan. We’ve been married for months and I don’t think we’ve ever truly had a conversation once. It is all I am asking. You could at least give me that. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for three months, and I’m tired of it. I’ve helped raise your son, I’ve loved you and I’ve cared for you even when you didn’t want it. You owe this to me.”

He sighs, defeated. “You are right in that, my princess. I apologize. We can talk later, alright?”

“No, Cregan. We will talk now.”

“You wouldn’t rather talk when I am of a clear headspace?”

“No. Now.” You say. He sighs again.

“Say your piece.”

The words left your mind the second he said that. You had this conversation in your head many times before, but now it was here and you could not handle the heat of the moment.

He raised his eyebrow at you, as if you were dumb.

“Oh, do not do that. I thought you Starks were supposed to be the most honorable among men. This whole marriage I have been treated with everything but. You are a disrespectful man, Stark. I am truly sorry about Alysanne-“

“Do not speak to me about my wife, ever!” He yells, pointing at you.

“I am your wife!” You cry out. “You chose me, whether you were ready for another marriage or not! I left my home, my family, my dragon to be with you! If I cannot have your love, is it too much to ask for your fucking respect?!”

He goes quiet for a few moments, “You have always had my respect, princess… and I know I have erred in the way I’ve treated you these past moons. But this marriage is just a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. This marriage is not out of love… so do not expect me to love you back.”

You laugh, dryly. “You called me Alysanne last night… Do you remember that? No… I suppose you were too drunk. You never would have touched or cared for me like that sober.”

He says nothing, but his hands grip the side of the tub and his face is contorted with anger. You rise, hiding any sort of emotion on your face.

“The dead don’t need lovers. Only the living.” You said. He threw his rag at the door as you walked out, not even granting him a second glance.

The memories of last night flooded back to him, and he rested his face in his hands, crying at his behavior. He had let down Aly, his son, and you.

He did care about you, he did love you in his own way. He just didn’t know how to show it. He didn’t want to show it. If he had shown it, he only would have betrayed Aly even more.

You went down to the crypt, somewhere you had never gone before. You had no reason originally, no people to mourn.

You stood in front of her plot, staring at the statue of her. She had been a skinny girl, with long dark hair and ‘plain’ features. You thought she was a beauty in her own way. You saw why Cregan loved her.

You cried. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help him.”

Your hand touched her statue, then you stood and left the crypt.

You said goodbye to Rickon, Sara, and then you left with your brother on dragon back, ready to be home with your true family.

———

“You’re a fucking fool, brother.”

“You think I don’t know that? Gods.” Cregan rested his head in his hands. He had sent every raven in Winterfell to Dragonstone, yet not one had responded in the weeks since you’d left.

“We’ll be lucky if the bloody queen doesn’t declare war on us for you scorning her daughter.”

“I am trying here, Sara! I’ve sent my ravens, I’ve sent men to retrieve her. There is nothing more I can do!”

Sara slammed her hands on the table. “Go and get her your bloody self, Cregan. The trip to Dragonstone will give you plenty of time for reflection.”

Sara turned to leave, and Cregan knew it was his only option of getting you back here. He would go and get you and make things right. He had to.

You had your own time for reflection, riding home with Jacaerys made you realize how much you missed being on dragon back.

Your mother of course welcomed you with open arms, but was wracked with guilt that you and Cregan’s union was not working. You paid it no mind however, spending your days patrolling Dragonstone on Silverwing.

Cregan had taken his horse and a few men to retrieve you from Dragonstone. The trip by horse was long, more than several weeks.

The entire time he rode in silence he thought of you. He thought of your last conversation and the final words you had said to him. The dead don’t need lovers. And you were right. Alysanne would not have wished to see him treat you how he had, she would not have wanted Cregan to spend his time sulking or being angry. He only wished he had realized it before he left.

He loved you. If only it hadn’t taken you leaving for him to realize. You were kind, gentle, beautiful. Traits Alysanne didn’t have but it was what seperated you from her. It had been how he was able to find his own kind of love for you, even when he didn’t consciously realize it yet. His own bitterness from losing Aly had made forget his honor.

Cregan arrived about two moons after you had left. He was aching, frustrated, and desperate by the time he reached Dragonstone.

It was dark, pouring rain, and you were playing with your brothers Viserys and Aegon when he arrived.

“Your Grace!” A knight came into the room shouting. Your mother looked up from her book. “Cregan Stark of Winterfell has arrived and requests an immediate audience with you and the princess.”

Your mother looked at you, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Your heart sank and your face went pale, but you nodded.

You met him inside the council chambers with your mother and his men. He was soaked, shivering. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, that was how nervous you were.

“Cregan.” You said, walking towards him and pushing him by his arms to the hearth to warm him up. It was another thing he loved about you, your protective nature, so he said it.

“I love you.”

“Cregan…”

“Love her?” You both looked at your mother, whose face was angry. “You love my daughter?”

“Your Grace.” Cregan said, removing his sword and bending his knee. “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”

She walked towards you both. “It is not mine you need to beg for… I sent my only daughter to you, and you spurn her for your dead wife?!”

“Mother!”

“You will not interrupt the Queen when she is speaking.” She commands you. “What do you have to say for yourself, Lord Stark?”

He stands. “I have nothing to say, Your Grace. You are right. My behavior was unacceptable. The princess deserved none of it.”

“Why are you here?” Your mother asks him.

“I’ve come to ask the princess to return home.” Your mother scoffs at him.

She looks at you, then back to him. “You are lucky it is not my decision to make.”

She turns and exits, leaving and commanding his men to wait outside the doors so you both could be alone.

You were even more nervous with just the two of you in there. It is silent for a few moments before you speak.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” You ask Cregan.

“It took you leaving for me to realize I love you.” He says, taking your hands in his. You roll your eyes, taking your hands back and stepping away.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, starting to sob.

“I know, I know.” He steps closer to you again, taking you in his arms as you cry into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved you, Cregan.” You say, crying. “Since I was a girl I loved you. I thought you were different from other men. But, you’re just like the rest.”

Cregan cries into your hair. “I’m so sorry, my princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

You both stand there, holding each other and crying.

“Please come home.” He says. “Let me take you home.”

“Rickon misses his mother, Sara misses her sister… I miss you, you my wife.”

You pull away to look at him, trying to read his normally stoic features. You can see he means it.

“Okay.”

———

You returned to Winterfell on Silverwing, no longer having the strength to remain apart from your dragon.

Cregan had to endure another long and grueling trip back to Winterfell, which you enjoyed knowing he was suffering while you road through the skies.

Rickon had cried tears of joy when you returned, and a week later when Cregan arrived Rickon cried again.

You and Cregan had remained in seperated chambers while you still navigated your marriage, but Cregan made a point to spend every moment of his free time with you.

But you had been keeping a secret from him.

After you returned home to Dragonstone originally, your blood never arrived. The maester determined you were with a babe, which would arrive several moons away in the dead of winter.

Your thick furs and dresses made it easier to hide from Cregan, as you were not ready to tell him.

The babe had complicated things. If you had not been pregnant, you might not have returned to Winterfell when Cregan came for you. But you knew you had a duty, and you believed if Cregan could love you then you could fix your union.

Cregan had indeed put the work in the second he arrived home. He attended to you, conversed with you, ate with you, laughed with you, but gave you the space you needed and gave you the option to be intimate with him when you were ready.

It was strangely like falling in love all over again. You blushed around each other, got nervous and flushed, made each other’s hearts race, shared a first kiss when you were both ready.

Cregan had undoubtedly fallen madly in love with you, and he regretted not taking the time to do it sooner. He couldn’t make up the time he lost being afraid. All he could do now was love you without guilt, love you without fear, love you without shame.

Normally Cregan always knocked on your chamber doors before entering, but for some reason this time he hadn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t knock, he didn’t know if it happened unconsciously or if he was too busy wrapped up with his thoughts.

Either way, he entered without knocking and by that point the cat was out of the bag.

He said your name, greeting you with a smile, only for it to fall off his face as if it had never been there.

You were in the bath, relaxing in the burning water, but that wasn’t the problem. He’d seen you naked, although it hadn’t been for a few months by this point, but him accidentally invading your privacy wasn’t the problem either.

It was the bump in your belly that was a problem.

Your head turned sharply, covering your chest quickly. “Cregan!”

“Sorry.” He said quickly, turning around to avoid disrespecting you.

“It’s fine.” You said, dropping your arm from your chest. “You just gave me a fright.”

He said nothing for a moment, only continuing to face the wall.

“What is that?” He finally asked. You sighed, stepping out of the tub and into your robe.

You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face you now, and his eyes fell down to your other hand resting on the small bump in your stomach.

“Perhaps it’s time we talk.”

“You think?” He spits at you, immediately apologizing after. “I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be cross with you.”

You said nothing, walking over to the seats by the hearth hoping he would follow.

He did, and he sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your belly.

“Can I?” He asked, gesturing to your stomach. You nodded, untying your robe so that you were bare. You grabbed his hand, bringing it to the small bump.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have accommodated for you, made sure you were comfortable.”

“Truth be told it’s been hard for me to accept I’m truly with a child.” You say, “The reality had not set in until… well until you just now found out... I am sorry, Cregan. I should not have kept it from you.”

He chokes back a sob. “Feels like just yesterday Alysanne had Rickon.”

“He will be overjoyed to know he will have a little brother or sister.” You tell him. He looks at you, his face full of emotion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and before you can even finish nodding your head, you’re already leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you. I love you so much, my wife.” He says in between kisses.

His hand did not move once from your stomach the whole night.