#it turns out you can train yourself into liking a drawing

[jd-loves-fiction]

𝐊𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐚

❏ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Aventurine x GN!Reader

❏ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff + ANGST!!!

❏ 𝐰𝐜: 1.6k

❏ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Aventurine has been distant since returning from Penacony. He finally decides it's time to tell you all you deserve to know... or as must as he can bring himself to, for now. His real name seems like a good place to start.

❏ 𝗮/𝗻: Full disclosure, this was meant to be smutty but I got lost in the sauce (angst and Aven's incredible character writing) so all aboard the sad but fluffy train instead :)

The heavy oak door slides open smoothly, the sound of expensive leather shoes tapping against wooden floors as Aventurine sighs far too heavily. When you look around the corner at him, he’s taking off his hat before tugging off his shoes. 

“Hello,” you breathe softly, hand upon his chest while pecking his chapped lips. He offers a low grunt in response as you draw back to look him over, “Riney?”

He seems to flinch, an anguished expression there in a second and gone the next, covered by that deceitful veil of a smile, far too cheerful to be genuine, “Darling–”

Your finger meets his lips before he has a chance to pretend like nothing is wrong, along with a stern but fond look. You take his coat and begin leading him further into the apartment, urging him to sit on the couch.

Ever since Penacony he’d been… distant. Not that your relationship had ever been especially intimate before, at least not emotionally, but something had changed on that planet. You’d catch him watching you more than usual, looking away when caught unlike usual; see him reach for you out of the corner of your eye only for his hand to drop before it touched you; he’d begin to form a sentence with a strangely serious look on his face before slamming his mouth shut in obvious frustration.

The night he’d returned… you could tell there was something itching to make its way out past his trembling lips… but knowing he’d be meeting with the rest of the Stonehearts early the next morning you told him to rest instead; to tell you another time.

It’s been weeks. And with his increased workload, the subject just hasn't come up – that's what you told yourself anyway. Clearly there was something he wanted, needed to say, but your relationship had never been one where you’d be allowed to push him for an answer and vice versa… you learned that very early on.

So you dont push him for an answer, kneeling between his legs and caressing his cheeks, “Tired?”

He nods wordlessly, eyes barely open, subtly leaning into your affection. He must be truly exhausted, “Come on.”

“Hm?” The look on his face when you pull away so suddenly to stand breaks your heart – like he’d been broken out of a trance, “I’ll run you a bath.”

Your feet itch to shuffle nervously, afraid you’ve pushed too far. He seemed receptive, but what if he’s done letting you in?

“Okay…” Aventurine whispers, taking your hand and letting you pull him along towards the bathroom. You don't comment on the dazed look on his face.

The man sits by as you warm the water, softly rambling about bath salts and scents you think he’ll enjoy, and other topics he cannot bring himself to focus on as the storm that has been building since Penacony starts boiling over.

You deserve to know. He must tell you– but what if– no. You deserve to know. No matter how much he would rather keep your relationship as is instead of risking ruining everything by telling you the truth, he cannot keep it to himself any longer.

If you call him that name again, in that sweet, lovely voice of yours, he might snap.

“Water’s warm.” He snaps out of his haze, managing a small smile in acknowledgment, before standing up to take his clothes off.

The urge to turn away and busy yourself in order to keep yourself from staring is ludicrous – you’ve seen him naked more times than you can count. That's how this all started after all. And yet you give in, fiddling with shampoo bottles in order to give him space.

“What? Don't tell me I've gotten so hideous you can't even look at me?” He calls out cheekily, hoping to lift the weight that had settled in the air between you.

“No!” You answer, turning to Aventurine just as he pulls his shirt over his head, not even bothering with the buttons. Eyes yearn to linger on the hills and valleys of his alabaster skin, but they instead settle on the brand at the side of his neck; ‘slave’ it reads. That was the topic of your first argument. Or what could have become an argument if you’d pushed any further. “Not at al.”

Your eyes over him with such open fondness, knelt by the bath you prepared simply because you know he’s tired – Aventurine has to look away, lest he blurt out something he’ll regret.

The temperature of the water is just right and yet it seems to burn him, unknowingly cold as he’d become from the anxiety running through his veins, as if chastising him for taking so long to just say it; to bear it all to the person who’s cared for him the most in years; who’s seen through his lies and never pushed, gazed upon his scars and never questioned…

“...Riney?” He’s sitting in the water, straight as a rod, head down, hair over his eyes and you worry if the water’s too cold, or too hot, or if he has any injuries he forgot to tell you about. Your hand reaches to sweep his hair from his eyes, before it’s caught in his grasp, “Aventurine?”

He shakes his head slowly, his grip soft and yet trembling, “Please… don't call me that…”

“What… should I call you then?”

Silence.

A long silent moment of a million thoughts running through both your heads.

And then, like a stab through the heart, “Kakavasha.”

It’s not a word you recognize. The synesthesia beacon didn't translate it. It must be Avgin. His birth name.

“Kakavasha.” You repeat quietly, testing the pronunciation – hoping you’ve got it right.

His head snaps in your direction so quickly it makes you jump, seizing you by the shoulders, hands dripping warm water. Beauty eyes wide, pupils dilated, lovely lips agape, “Did I… say it wrong?”

“No it’s– it’s perfect. You’re just… the first person to say it in so long.” His hold on you eases.

“Talk to me.”

Kakavasha looks at you now and truly sees you, clearer than he ever has and wonders for a moment if you’re real at all. If he’s still a boy in a cage with a collar around his neck. He quickly decides that, no, you have to be real. His mind isn't so kind as to imagine something as lovely as you.

“I’m sure you know most of the story but,” his hands move through the water, scooping some onto his shoulders just to have something to do, “I’m from Sigonia-IV. I’m the last Avgin and my name is Kakavasha. There’s so much more I want to tell you. So much more you deserve to know. About my sister, my mother, how the IPC found me. But I don't know if I–” he looks down at his hands.

“You don't have to say it all right now. Just let it come out.” You get to rubbing his shoulders, processing the information and aligning it with what you’d inferred over your months together, “But… what exactly made you decide to tell me?”

He heaves a deep, tortured sigh – this is the hard part. As if admitting he’s the last of his species and giving you his real name wasn't hard enough.

“Penacony… turned into much more of a mess than I expected.” He considers his next words very carefully, unsure if it'd be more cruel to tell you or not to do so, “I was… expecting to die there.”

A sharp intake of breath passes through your lips, hands flinching away from his figure – it’s a lot to process but, somehow, someway, it’s not entirely surprising.

“Well, I’m very glad you were unsuccessful.” Your attempt at humor is transparently tinged with both love and fear, lips trembling at the thought… that he’d be gone. Without ever telling you any of this.

Without saying goodbye.

“What happened there… it’s all very confusing but it made me realize that I wanted someone to know who I am. On the inside.”

“I wanted you to know.”

“Me?” You question meekly, suddenly unsure. He’d always been a guarded man, beneath the surface that is.

His hands rise out of the water again to cradle your face in warm, wet palms, beautiful singular irises boring into yours with a sincerity you’d thought him incapable of until an hour ago.

“There’s no one who deserves to know more than you.” 

Waterline burning with tears you move to kiss his forehead amongst wet strands of gold, lips linger to ensure that he is real, he is here with you, opening up in a way so seemingly impossible it makes you a little dizzy.

“I guess we have to start somewhere… Tell me about your sister.”

The air between you is forever changed, both lighter and heavier somehow. But also brighter, warmer, like the gentle sun rising over the deserts of Sigonia-IV. 

Everytime he speaks of his family, he gets a dazzling glimmer in his eyes, like he’s a boy again, playing with his sister, carefree and gentle.

And when he speaks of what came later, it’s lost, his expression turns sour and grim, like he’s in that cage again, doing everything to get out. He’s no less handsome with that expression as any other. In fact, the more you learn, the more you realize that losing him would’ve broken you. The depth of his clever mind, the fondness of his gaze, the shining sincerity of real laugh. It would be a shame to lose it all.

He blushes red as a rose when you tell him, suddenly upon a random morning, unprepared and for the first time in a long time, unwilling to raise his walls at your assault on his fragile, vulnerable heart.

One day he’ll tell you how his heart thunders in his chest like it might burst right out and leap into your own chest to meet yours, when you say his name so softly.

Kakavasha.

[skipper1331]

Little things // Alexia Putellas

headcannons

The little things Alexia and you do while being absolutely in love with one another

car and driving around

Alexia always opens the door for you

She‘s the driver while you‘re the passenger princess

She insists on hearing your playlist, even though you both have a shared playlist (she knows you love your playlist)

you kiss her temple/ cheek at every red light

She’s getting you some flowers in the time you‘re at your appointment (she insists on driving you everywhere)

having a water bottle and snacks in the car, just in case

in the kitchen

Alexia helping you the best she can but ends up admiring you from the bar stool or hugging you from behind as she whispers compliments in your ear

when it’s her turn with cooking, she only cooks things you love

Also she lets you try everything before serving and vice versa

"The chef deserves a kiss now "

She makes sure the table is set perfectly and the atmosphere is tranquil

Dinning with you is very important to her, so she makes sure not to mention work or anything that causes stress, she likes to keep the calm and lovely atmosphere

with her family

having a hand on your thigh under table, also drawing patterns on the back of your hand when you intertwine your fingers

one time, you dropped your fork, so within seconds her hand was covering the corner of the table, so you wouldn’t hurt yourself while picking up the cutlery

She loves the bond you have with her family, even though the mocking and teasing of you and Alba can be a pain in the ass.

Kisses always make up for it

"I‘m going to marry her" she tells her mother

Her family already knows because they can see it in her eyes when she looks at you

And they also know you‘ll say yes because they see the look in your eyes when you look at Alexia

You two are the perfect match

Her mother loves you

Her sister does too

at night

You wear her clothes, she loves the sight

both of you sleep better when you‘re with/next to each other

Alexia always has an arm around you, in the need of protecting you

you cuddle into her, legs tangled together, arms around each other

sometimes she‘s the big spoon and sometimes you are, it depends on the mood

when she can’t sleep, you‘ll scratch her back and she‘s in a slumber in an instant

During off days you‘ll stay up till the early hours, just talking, giggling, stating random facts or debating the newest gossip

soft snores filling the room

Alexia often wakes up before you, though she doesn’t make any signs of leaving the bed before you‘re up

If she has to get up though, she‘ll kiss your forehead and promise to be back soon and wishing you a good day

football

you‘re not a professional footballer (you had to google the rules after Alexia had told you she’s a pro) though she likes to think you are as she puts you in goal when the two of you are training together

'training together' - she begs you to join her training routines, ends up convincing you with kisses

It‘s enough to see her pout

you can’t resist her pout

-

watching random football matches at home

Alexia puts a jersey on the bed before each home game, so you have something to wear for the stadium

'Alexia' and '11' on your back making her heart flutter

Your heart bursts with pride every time you see her walking out of the tunnel

Cheering for her

always in the stadium at home games and at important away games (champions league final, etc)

you‘re her biggest supporter

Alexia makes sure football and you are balanced - she never puts football above you but she‘s still ambitious and always gives 101% to be the best

You‘re always impressed by Alexia, her talent is phenomenal

Alexia enjoys impressing you

-

at first Alexia used to shut you out after a lost match

over time she learns to let her guard down

you make her feel loved and appreciated

She can let her walls down around you and likes to think that it‘s okay to be vulnerable sometimes (you assure her that it always is)

after won matches only happy things happen; nice dates, kisses, relaxed evening, etc

the achievement jar

One evening, after Alexia had scored two goals and an assist, you brought up the idea

It‘s been in the back of your mind since awhile but only now the mini marble footballs had arrived

won game? One marble in the jar

Alexia scored a goal? one marble

Alexia scored two goals? two marbles

Alexia assisted a goal ? one marble

won trophy? three marbles in the jar

and so on

when the jar‘s filled Alexia gets a big big surprise. Such as special days with massages, literally anything to show her how proud you were and how much she deserved

Yes, you still had date nights which were also special but the achievement-appreciation-days were just a tiny bit more special

Alexia loves it

So do you

your job

Alexia supports you on every step of the way to your dream job

After a long and exhausting day, Alexia hugs you, runs you a bath, anything that makes you feel relaxed and appreciated

She‘s your date to any work event (vice versa)

Alexia has all of your (important) meetings and appointments in her calendar

If you have to study, Alexia makes sure not to bother/distract you yet also always making sure that you stay hydrated and take some breaks

future

Both of you have your future planned together

Alexia dreams of marrying you, she has the ring hidden in her football drawer because she knows you‘d never look there

You talked about getting a dog, both of you really liking the thought. You just couldn’t agree on which breed (yet)

private proposal

wedding just like you dreamt of as a kid

happy tears spilling out of your eyes as you see each other for the first time

best day of your life

amazing honeymoon

Both of you never taking of your rings

Alexia taping it for her matches

her new celebration is to kiss her ring after scoring

kids, if you want them

The future bright and welcoming as you continue to share the perfect marriage

you‘ll never stop loving each other

[rinsthighsweat]

hi i saw your latest works and they are so good. you wrote that you write nsfw but you dont do it well so can i ask for something light if you dont mind? bllk characters who are more stoic/dominant and all that in normal life but with a very dominant s/o in bed? just headcanons if you want 🦅

Hey anon!!! Thank you so much! And sure, I tried to do it the best I could, I hope you like it, I made it like a mixture of headcanons and fanfics. You didn't name any characters so I decided to put the ones I know the most and like writing about, I hope you don't mind that! Oh yeah, also... Sorry for the delay, I had busy days.

Light nsfw! In these scenarios Rin is already an adult.

They are not dominant in everything

Rin, Barou, Kaiser, Shidou and Aiku | masterlist

۶ৎ Rin Itoshi

Rin has always been in control of his life, his training, his emotions, his career. But when you confidently take the lead in the bedroom, it shakes his world in a way he never anticipated.

The first time you pushed him onto the bed, straddling him with a mischievous smirk, he froze. His sharp eyes widened slightly before narrowing, his voice a mix of defiance and curiosity. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He tries to maintain his stoicism, but the way your hands explore his body, coupled with your commanding tone, has his breath hitching.

Rin isn’t particularly vocal, but the way his body reacts, tense muscles relaxing under your touch, the soft gasps he can’t suppress, says everything.

You teasingly call him out for being so obedient, and his face flushes red as he mutters, “I’m not… I just…” before trailing off, completely at your mercy.

Post-intimacy, he’ll try to act indifferent, turning his face away while his ears burn red. “Don’t think I’m letting you get away with that next time.” But deep down, he craves more.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Barou Shoei

Barou doesn’t relinquish control easily, and the idea of someone dominating him initially makes him scoff. “Like hell you’re calling the shots.” But when you assert yourself, pinning him down, he’s speechless for the first time.

He fights it at first, growling lowly as if to test you, but the firm, confident way you handle him stirs something unexpected within him.

Barou is a mix of frustration and desire, his breaths coming out in heavy pants as he realizes how much he enjoys being at your mercy.

You teasingly tell him he’s more obedient than he lets on, and his prideful glare softens into something almost vulnerable. “Don’t push your luck… but keep going.”

He secretly loves the way you take control, your strength and confidence drawing out a side of him he’s never shown anyone else.

Afterward, he grumbles about being “too lenient,” but his actions betray him as he pulls you close and mutters, “Next time, I’m in charge… maybe.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Michael Kaiser

Kaiser’s cocky attitude doesn’t falter easily, and when you first suggest taking the lead, he smirks and leans back, arms crossed. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, liebling.”

His confidence wavers the moment you take control, your bold movements and teasing words leaving him breathless. He tries to regain his composure but fails miserably.

Kaiser loves the way you dominate him, your assertiveness making his usual bravado crumble. His gasps and groans become more desperate the longer you keep him on edge.

He’ll try to tease you back, but his words falter as you keep him under your control. The way you smirk at his vulnerability both frustrates and excites him.

Post-intimacy, he chuckles softly, brushing a hand through his messy hair. “You really know how to leave a man speechless. I might let you take charge more often… if you ask nicely.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Shidou Ryusei

Shidou is chaos incarnate, and he thrives on unpredictability. When you take the lead, his initial reaction is pure excitement. “Oh, so you’ve got a wild side, huh? Bring it on.”

He’s the most vocal of them all, moaning, growling, and tossing out filthy comments that only spur you on further. “That’s it, babe. Show me what you’ve got.”

Despite his playful resistance, he loves being at your mercy, the way you tease and control him making his mind spin.

Shidou is all about pushing limits, so he encourages you to be as dominant as you want, his cocky grin never fading even as he’s begging for more.

Afterward, he’s sprawled out with a satisfied smirk, panting as he pulls you into his arms. “Damn, you’re good. Next time, let’s see who can outdo who.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Oliver Aiku

Aiku is smooth and confident, used to being the one in control. But when you turn the tables on him, his usual charm slips, replaced by something more raw and vulnerable.

He watches you with wide eyes as you push him down, his breath catching in his throat. “Oh? Didn’t expect this from you… but I like it.”

He’s surprisingly submissive under your dominance, his deep groans and soft murmurs betraying how much he enjoys being led.

Aiku can’t stop complimenting you throughout, his voice husky as he whispers, “You’re incredible, you know that? Keep going.”

He’s left in awe of your confidence and control, his usual suave demeanor replaced with genuine admiration.

Afterward, he’s all smiles, pulling you close and tracing lazy circles on your back. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? Guess I’ve got a lot to look forward to.”

© 2025 rinsthighsweat — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[acidblum]

babysitter!vi (g!p) loves peeping at you like a perv. MDNI +18. voyeurism.

the perfect escapism for her troubled mind was you, the sway of your hips as you walked around your house comfortably, the way you carried yourself, the print of your lipstick against the rim of the cups that she volunteers to wash, secretly planting her own lips against them without your knowledge. your motherhood, your perfume, hair, nails. it made her extremely hyper aware, sent her in a trance that's filled with nothing but you, you, and endlessly you.

you've often voiced your concern of her taking the train this late at night, this able bodied woman whom looked like she could fend for herself well enough. and then it came, what she's been waiting for since she started the job. you told her she can sleep in the guest room after she tucks the kids in their beds.

and here she is, nestled in the comfiest bed she's ever seen, and it all smells like you, the air, the bed, and the clothes you oh so willingly gave her—you said it was a friend’s and the jealousy took over her. her dick already hardening against the fabric of the trousers from the smell taking all over her senses.

slow steps trudge along the hallway that leads to your room, and lucky for her, the door of your room is left the tiniest bit open. something yelled at her to turn around, sleep it off. the heaviness of her balls was soo hard to miss and her hand slithered its way into where she ached for you most.

lust fueled her at the sight of you, getting irritably hard at your sleeping gown that rode up your waist, black lace underwear snug against your body. stroking herself she shudders, leaning her head against the wall whilst keeping an eye on you, moon illuminating the side of your neck. she revels in the thought of licking it for you, marking it for you and ravishing it all, the soft movement of her hand as she pulls and pushes at her dick. heat taking over her body, forefinger swiping against her slit.

soft whines she cannot help but release, your name glides against her tongue in tiny murmurs. a soft gasp leaving her as your body starts moving and you turn on your back, chest rising and falling softly. and oh does her mind short circuit at the vision of your body, bra-less and hardening nipples against the sleeping gown had her teeth clamping her lips hard nearly drawing blood.

her breathing halters as she picks up the speed, hips borderline fucking her own palm “u-ugh ahh fucking b-beautiful”. she heaves as she comes hard, flashes of her sucking on your perky nipples filling her brain. never loosening her hold as hot spurts of cum land against the pants that's now painted with her load. heaving she rests her cheek against the wall, catching her breath before taking her hand out, licking it clean without an ounce of shame before walking back into the guest room.

the next morning she wakes up early with a pep in her step, fiery hair all over the place and a smile blasted on her mouth as you offer her a cup of orange juice dressed in your work attire, and when you ask her if she slept good she cannot but nod eagerly.

© acidblum.

[pugh-bug]

Tease

Art Donaldson x reader

Part 1 of possibly 3

You’re Patrick’s unofficial girlfriend but Art Donaldson can only find it in him to care so much. You’re everything to him.

Warnings for this chapter: none

First fic of 2025, hope everyone’s January is going good. Let me know if you wanna be added to my Art tag list 🫶🏻

——————————————————————

Art’s life mission was to please you, it had been since you’d first met. It didn’t matter that you were Patrick’s on again off again ‘not really serious’ girlfriend and not his. It didn’t matter that you had plans to move away after graduation and would likely never return and it didn’t matter that he was supposed to be practising. With you near nothing else mattered.

“Why’d you stop?”

You cocked your head at your friend who didn’t look tired - in fact he’d barely broken a sweat - but wasn’t moving. Pat served again with a fresh ball, flashing you a ‘what’s with him?’ look which you shrugged at. Art caught the ball in his hand. “Just don’t feel like playing anymore.”

“Because I’m winning?” Pat grinned.

More than you know, Art thought in dismay. His best friend, his only true friend and yet he was harbouring feelings for you. Naively he’d assumed they’d disappear after a few dates with the many nice girls who asked him out between matches but nothing had worked. Not avoiding you entirely, not trying to see you in a bad light and certainly not sex. All he thought of when he made some girl cum was you: what you’d look like, how you’d taste and what your moans would sound like.

“Art? Help me carry this would you?”

He was tortured.

That Spring he trained almost daily with Patrick and a few other tennis friends winning half of his matches, always losing with you present. Once Spring turned to Summer the three of you were together everyday, you being in your gap year had free time, and everyone knew something was off. Even you knew after one particular game.

The sun was cooking the court and you found yourself surprised you could stand at all, let alone speak. It was Patrick’s turn to serve, he locked eyes with Art whose attention was on you and your unsteadiness.

Thwack

You watched with half lidded eyes as the pair battled it out for three sets. Your skin felt on fire, melting under the oppressive rays you couldn’t evade. Shade was out of reach. The water bottle in your hand felt cold for only moments before it heated in your sweaty palms. Patrick and Art were still playing but you only knew from the sounds. Your vision was blurring. Everything turned to static and the bench you were perching on no longer supported your body as it sank and sank and sank…

“Y/N!”

Were you underwater?

Who was speaking?

“Y/N wake up, it’s ArTh! Please wake up, can you stand - can you stand Y/N? Open your eyes. Please…”

Someone placed a bottle of ice water in your hand and something squishy, rounded off at the edges. You opened your eyes to see Patrick passing you fruit pastels whilst Art’s eyes checked you over for signs of life. The boy looked distraught, as if you hadn’t just fainted but instead had been hit by a truck or something more traumatic he didn’t want to imagine. Patrick frowned at his doubles partner, narrowing his eyes before rubbing your back and asking if you could stand. His voice was steady, he’d seen you faint before.

Once you’d downed some sprite and more sweets, you focused your eyes to see if they’d recovered. The buzzing, muffled sounds had ceased and Patrick and Art no longer looked miles away. You were okay. “Right,” Patrick exclaimed rather suddenly. “She’s fine, let’s just call that a draw.” Before you could interject Patrick pulled his friend to one side. What you then heard was whispered.

“Are you okay?”

They both shot you frantic glances you caught but pretended not to in the corner of your eye. Art looked at Patrick with glassy eyes, fearing the worst.

“Patrick I-“

“Can you control yourself?”

Art didn’t respond.

“Don’t get me wrong it’s entertaining and look…I get it but just chill out a bit.”

He flashed Art a charming smile and patted his shoulder. You didn’t have time to mull anything over much before the three of you were on your way out but one thing was clear: Art Donaldson was no friend.

——————————————————————

The following day you ran into Art whilst shopping, staring at the cheese aisle to calculate the best offer holding a lot of items. Too many. Your bare arms were coated in goosebumps from the intensity of the fridges’ air. He watched you and glanced round for a moment but saw no sign of Patrick.

“Y/N?”

You almost dropped the cheddar you were holding.

“Jesus Christ!”

Art had feather light footsteps, it was a gift for tennis and apparently also sneaking around. His eyes were wide at your reaction but he quickly adapted a facial expression that better suited talking to someone he adored. “Sorry.”

You exhaled deeply, returning your attention to the aisle of cheese. “We should get you a bell.” Art blushed at the immediate image of you adorning him with a collar and using it to pull his face towards yours.

“Art?”

He looked out of it - he was out of it.

“Should have gotten a trolley…” You mumbled, struggling to hold everything. At your words Art snapped into action, marching all the way to the entrance to fetch you the cleanest trolley available. He came back with an eager look on his face which you were growing fonder of every-time you saw it. “Thanks,” you smiled, a laugh playing on your lips.

Art stayed by your side, despite having only wanted a cereal bar, for your entire shop. He placed any item you looked at in the trolley for you and he pushed it tirelessly when it got heavy. Never patronising but always helpful. You tried your hardest not to take pleasure in his incessant helpfulness but failed. Especially when he paid.

“Art no, it’s my food I’m paying.”

Unconvinced, Art swiped his own card and bagged your groceries for you with the intensity of someone late for a wedding. Your lips parted at the sight, you were no longer breathing through your nose.

“Where are you parked?”

He followed you, bags in hand, to your humble Fiesta at the end of the lot. It wasn’t until he’d finished placing each one into your trunk that you offered him a lift home. “Or wherever you’re going.” Art was supposed to be going to a house warming party but he was already late.

“Yeah just going home, no plans today.”

His phone vibrated, flashing with messages of ‘where are you’s and question marks but he ignored each one to ask what your plans were. “Movie night. Patrick said maybe a Scream marathon.” Your eyes were fixated on the silent road in front of you whilst Art found himself wishing there’d be traffic. His mind played images of Pat sitting beside you, arm snaked around your waist and a sultry look in his eye. He tried not to picture the two of you clinging to each other, sharing popcorn and the occasional kiss that might turn into more. He tried and tried and tried.

Truthfully the three of you only ever spent time apart when Patrick was missing…certain aspects of his relationship with you. Everything else you did together, including movie marathons. Art spent the entire red light wondering if he was allowed to come now he’d ruthlessly cancelled his own plans.

“You into scary movies?” You asked, eyes shifting from the old lady at the crossing to the cyclist hurtling past. Every movie marathon the three of you had had covered every genre but horror, even on Halloween when Pat insisted you watch ‘The Meg’. It had ‘big shark’ as he had so eloquently put it.

“Not massively.”

Art didn’t want to tell you how easily scared he was, especially by the supernatural. It wasn’t that he believed in ghosts and demons as such but the idea of an otherworldly being that wouldn’t conform to physics terrified him. How could you defeat something not bound to logic? When his friends had made him watch ‘It’ he’d had to leave the theatre early. Clowns on top of his psychological fears had been too much to sit through.

“We weren’t gonna watch anything disturbing.”

Art watched you watching the road and smiled, suddenly feeling hopeful. “Like I said I have no plans.”

——————————————————————

1 hour into ‘It: Chapter 2’ you found yourself slumped against the cushions with Patrick’s shoulder digging into one arm and Art’s knee against yours. None of you had paying much attention, just talking and shovelling in popcorn at record speeds when Pat exclaimed “Fuck!”

He jumped off the sofa like a spooked cat and raced to his bedroom before returning with his keys. “I was supposed to cat sit for James I was meant to be there an hour ago. Shit!” Art raised an eyebrow, wondering when Patrick had last done anything for James that wasn’t beating him at tennis.

“Keys, wallet…”

As you watched your boyfriend grabbing tirelessly at every object in the room Art focused on how close the two of you now were without him.

“Bye!”

Door slam

“Jesus…” You breathed, trying to take in the chaos of what had just happened. “I hope they’re not too hungry when he gets there.” They Art thought, having no idea what animals James even owned. He chewed on the inside of his mouth as you took a swig of water. “I can’t imagine having cats at our age,” You played with a piece of hair that was hanging in the wrong place. “It’s like having an actual kid.”

“You don’t want kids?”

“Patrick doesn’t.”

Art took in your solemn expression for a moment, before leaning closer to you.

“And what do you want?”

Your throat felt blocked as you struggled to swallow a breath. How long had it been since you’d been asked that? Relationships were so difficult for you. Not only did you entangle yourself so disastrously with anyone who showed interest but you rarely separated your needs from theirs. You thought back to your parents questioning why on earth you were taking a gap year after always saying you knew exactly what career and degree you wanted. Patrick, it was always Patrick. His apartment, his University, his interests and his tennis dreams.

“I know it’s not really my place-“

“It isn’t.”

You’d said it without thinking and your voice, in an attempt to conceal the emotion, had sounded harsh. Cold. Art retreated into himself, turning the movie volume up to fill the room with something other than his regret.

He left as soon as it finished.

Patrick ended up cat sitting for three consecutive days that month, leaving you lost. It wasn’t that you missed his jokes, his kisses or even his company as much as you missed someone filling the silence. You hadn’t heard from Art since he’d left post credits. No texts or missed calls.

Like an unplugged appliance you dragged yourself uselessly from one shop to the other not buying anything. Aimless, directionless like you so often were. You cursed yourself for not having made more of your own friends, instead of absorbing Patrick’s to keep him happy. When it grew dark you swallowed your pride.

Hey are you busy?

Delivered 9:48pm

What’s wrong?

Delivered 9:52pm

You stared at Pat’s empty apartment, the unwashed dishes, the pile of recycling and the black screens playing nothing.

Bored

Delivered 9:53pm

The fridge groaned in tune with your stomach. There was nothing good in either.

Wanna come over?

Pizza?

Delivered 9:54pm

I’ll be there

Delivered 9:55pm

——————————————————————

Masterlist

Permanent Art taglist: @theynothem @amorisxx

[genderqueerdykes]

i just realized i have a fair amount of personal experience with assault that might also be careful just in case. so i have advice from that, if anyone does end up getting to a situation where assault occurs. tread with caution if this might be triggering.

there are lots of ways to carry something that can be used for self defense. for example, you are absolutely allowed to use a cane as a weapon if you're physically able to and need to defend yourself if you're a cane user, for example. heavy, metal water bottles is a smart idea. it won't make you a violent person to carry something to defend yourself with. defending yourself isn't bad for violent. your life is important, you don't deserve to get hurt over your gender.

iff you have a dog/s, especially a big one, people will be less likely to try to attack you, especially because dogs instinctively attempt to ward off or attack people who hurt their humans. don't encourage your dog to do anything that will obviously get it hurt, but many dogs will do this without you having to train them to or ask them to. if they're getting hurt, you do want to protect them, but keep in mind that a dog can actually increase your likelihood of avoiding assualt, or surviving it. dog bites are no fucking joke, and even small dog barks and growls are capable of drawing a lot of attention. a dog barking, snarling or growling at someone can be enough to chase them off. your dog will more than likely have your back or intimidate potential attackers, if you're able to do so, try to take them with you when you're out alone, especially at night.

try to gather as many witnesses as you can as well, if there is some type of physical or verbal assault. it puts pressure on the person doing it. the more people who stand around and stare, the better. and honest to god, even just yelling or raising your voice helps. if you're in a crowded area you can yell just about anything, like even just "what the fuck?" or "stop!" and people nearby will be able to immediately see that something is wrong. people might not instantly jump in to save you but having people turn to stare will put pressure on the person trying to harm you. this may be enough to make them leave you alone. i've seen assholes completely fuck off and leave girls alone if they're aware they're being watched. it just takes multiple sets of eyes sometimes. i've helped chase asshole guys away from girls for just being nearby while it's happening.

try not to physically freeze if possible. duck under things or people. squeeze or run past them if you have room. avoid corners and narrow spaces at all costs. push people away from you if you need to. pushing someone hard enough can cause them to bounce off of a surface, and get disoriented and very hurt, potentially hitting their head. throw objects at them or allow large objects to pass between you. jump over or under things if safe and possible. create distance between yourself and any assholes by any means necessary.

if you're capable, running like hell is always an option. do whatever you have to to avoid being physically restrained. knees are very weak, as are human feet. stomping or dropping something on someone's toes can have serious impact. if someone is going for your face or neck, bite them. humans have an insane amount of bite force, especially while full of adrenaline, and people do not expect to be bitten. seriously, fight like hell. fight dirty. fight for your life. your life matters. stay safe.

Hi, love your work

I'm a trans girl, and I have something I'd like your help with.

I don't have any of the common sense that I would get from the life experience of being raised as a girl

I'm worried that I'll end up in a dangerous situation because I was oblivious to the risks.

thank you! thanks for stopping by, that's actually a really great thing to ask about! you definitely want to know what you're possibly getting into when it comes to other people treating you. you want to know what to expect and that's good! women have it hard and people can be very invasive

i was raised/socialized as a girl/woman before i transitioned so i can give a bit of insight, since i've been there too. these are just a few tips, it's not a comprehensive list, nor is it in any particular order. just some things to keep in mind!

Safety & General Advice Tips for Trans Women:

First and foremost, try to not let too much of this stress get to you at once. At the end of the day, womanhood can be an extremely varied experience, so your mileage will vary with a lot of these. Try not to get too wrapped up in feeling paranoid of strangers if possible, while there are strangers who can potentially want to hurt you, there are also those who are minding their own business or even support you. It's definitely okay to have your guard up, but it may affect your mental health greatly if you are starting to feel endangered by most people around you.

It's good to be informed, alert and aware, but if it starts getting to a point where the way you feel about strangers is making your quality of life worse, it may be a good idea to take the time to focus on yourself and those who love you to remind you that womanhood isn't always miserable, even though it can feel like it at times. There will still be good moments, whether you're by yourself or with friends, that you can cherish to help alleviate some of the pain that cisheteronormative patriarchy can cause.

You may notice after you come out to others that they start talking down to you, condescending to you, doubting your emotions and experiences, downplaying your struggles, or even being rude and mean about things they weren't that way about before. People have a lot of internalized misogyny and tend to compulsively begin treating a woman or someone they perceive to be a woman like they're incapable of thinking for themselves. This is really common, so if this starts happening to you, try not to let it get to you. You're not too dumb to think for yourself.

People may start to doubt your capability at your job, if you are employed. You may notice a huge shift in respect and how your customers and clients treat you, especially if you work in a male dominated field. People may ask to talk to your cis man/cis man passing coworkers instead of you and it's okay to get angry about this. You may get paid less than your cishet man/cishet man passing coworkers as well and it's okay to be angry about this, too.

Come out slowly so you can adjust and gauge how the people in your life will treat you. When coming out at first, stick to very close friends and family members you have a good relationship with. You can take this as slow or as quickly as you want. But when you're first coming out and unsure of yourself, you don't have to overwhelm yourself by telling the entire world right out of the gates if you don't want to. You can take it at your own pace.

It's up to you whether or not you want to pass as a woman, either in your personal or public life. If you don't want to pass or just don't want to try, that's okay. If passing is vital to your mental health and how you want to be seen, that's also okay. You're allowed to decide how you present and appear. Keeping your safety in mind is also super important, so if you feel the stress of trying to pass as a woman would be too much or even dangerous for you to do so, it's okay to not try to pass. You're also allowed to "look trans," too.

Makeup can and does change how peoples' faces look drastically, so you may find that makeup can help you pass for safety or personal reasons. Even something as simple as eyeliner and mascara can change the way one's face looks. Highlighter & contour used on the cheeks, nose and brow can very much transform one's appearance, and if you have very visible stubble, you can utilize foundation and other products to help mask it when in public or around other people you need to pass for safety or personal reasons.

Most strangers in public generally think that long hair = woman. There are men and other people regardless of gender who wear their hair long, but for passing, safety, or personal reasons, long hair can drastically change how strangers see you.

Layers, flowy and loose fitting clothing help mask certain traits of the body, so if you feel insecure about how strangers perceive certain parts of your body, you may be able to obscure it from strangers' view by wearing a few layers or loose fitting clothes.

You may want to avoid taking long walks in dark places at night alone if possible. It is very much true that it can be unsafe to be out late at night- this can be regardless of your gender- but as a feminine person or woman, there is a genuine risk of being out late at night without someone else around, or being inside of a car. This is a little stereotypical to say, but it is a genuine danger.

If you're out in public and ever feel like someone is stalking or following you and you're alone, pull out your cell phone if you have one and pretend to take a phone call. Talk into your phone like you're speaking to another person, and if necessary, actually call someone else. Generally speaking, someone who wants to cause harm will not want there to be witnesses, especially not someone who can hear what's happening directly and can come over to the scene or call for emergency assistance. Put your best friends, family members and other emergency contacts on speed dial or favorite contacts if your phone has that kind of feature to make it even quicker and easier.

When meeting someone from a dating app, social media or other place online for the first time, do so in a public setting like a restaurant or other busy area where there are a lot of other people nearby to prevent potentially dangerous behaviors. Try to avoid meeting up with someone for the first time at your home when and where possible. Try to avoid giving out your exact location or address before you have interacted with someone in person.

Being in groups in public can drastically increase your safety levels, especially if those people are willing to stand up for you. It's also hard for people to get a close read on you if you are with a lot of other people. The more there are of you, the better.

There's nothing wrong with wanting to carry self defense tools just in case. That won't make you a violent person, looking out for your safety is crucial. It's okay to prepare for this kind of thing.

You may find that people suddenly start being needlessly sexual toward you, or sexualize your womanhood without you telling them you enjoy that kind of thing first. People may shift their view on how they feel about you and become aggressively sexual. You are not obligated to accept that if it makes you uncomfortable.

You may find that people start to doubt your physical strength and capability for no real reason.

Trans chasers do exist, though they're not every person who's attracted to trans women. Chasers will usually focus very hard on the things that make you "non passing" to them, to the point where it makes you feel very uncomfortable because you no longer feel as though you are being viewed as a person, but rather, a sexual object that fascinates them. They may also use hurtful slurs and humiliating language toward you without your consent.

I know people say this a lot but it's true, public bathrooms can be dangerous, so it's best to stay cautious when entering one. Wear a face mask if possible inside to help people mind their own business. Avoid conversation if possible. Looking nervous may draw some attention, so keeping a cool head and focusing on the task at hand can help in some situations.

You do not have to feel ashamed of your voice, but if you're noticing people getting caught up on your voice, you can do some vocal training, or choose to speak in shorter, more concise sentences and utilize body language around those people, or both. You don't have to completely silence yourself as you deserve to speak up for yourself, but using more body language may help you have an easier time with strangers who are or may become caught up on how your voice sounds. There are all kinds if women with deep voices, but some people do focus on this.

Women's support groups and spaces can potentially be very welcoming, or very hostile depending on the people involved. There are women's spaces who accept trans women, but there are also those who do not. Try not to feel too bad on yourself if you find these spaces do not accept you, because it says nothing about you and everything about that space.

It's good to have friends, lovers and family who are also women, but cis women in particular are not always inherently safe to be around and can harm you. If you feel like the cis women around you are hurting you, you're allowed to say that they are. Cis women can be great allies and friends, but they are not inherently safer to be around than any other gender. You do not have to tell yourself they are not hurting you because women can't hurt each other. You do not have to convince yourself the pain isn't real because women are incapable of harming others. If you feel as though the cis women in your life are treating you badly, it's okay to talk about it and validate yourself in that you can genuinely be harmed by cis women and you do not have to downplay any of that pain whatsoever.

If you notice a lot of these things happening to you, It's more than okay to be angry at the shitty behaviors people may start showing you as a trans woman. It's okay to feel anger towards those actions and how people look down on women. It's okay to express your pain. It's okay to express worry and concern. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to not know what to do at first or in certain situations. It's okay to take a while to adjust to how people are treating you if it changes. As long as one doesn't direct that anger at people who haven't hurt them, there is nothing wrong with any of this.

now you may have a totally different experience depending on the people around you. there's no way to know exactly how people will treat you after coming out, so take things step by step, day by day. for your own mental health, try not to let yourself get too caught up in these things. it's great that you want to look out for potential danger! it's a very real issue, but your mental health is also super important and if you find that all you can think about is being in danger, you definitely deserve to find ways to alleviate that stress. take care of yourself when and where possible to make the experience more enjoyable.

tailor your experience in your home and personal life as much as you can to your liking. being out in public can be dangerous and scary, but you do deserve to be out somewhere, even if it's when it's just you alone in your room, talking to your friends. women, especially trans women, can be in a lot of potential danger at all times, but don't let yourself get consumed by fear all the time, as you deserve quality of life and you deserve to feel proud and euphoric about being a trans girl. you deserve validation and kindness. you deserve to feel good about yourself as a trans girl at some point, you don't have to go without that because cishet patriarchal society can be dangerous and hard.

i hope you find this even remotely helpful, i may not have been as informative as i'd like to be, but take care of yourself, okay? it's very good to want to learn the risks of what can potentially happen in society and being a woman in public. others are more than welcome to pitch in as well, please do so if you have tips & suggestions for this anon! take care for now, be good to yourself and remember that there's nothing wrong with being a woman, especially a trans woman. the people who don't like you don't define you: you do. you don't have to listen to them. they don't know who you really are.

[theromaboo]

The Ninth Day of Britannicus

Today I'm doing the Horrible Histories books. Britannicus has to be in the Rotten Romans movie but I haven't watched the movie or found any picture of him online, so I don't know for sure.

Ah, Horrible Histories. I think I read every single book back in sixth grade. I also think I watched every single episode of the show at least twice. Even though Horrible Histories isn't the best when it comes to historical accuracy (fact check fact check before you believe anything you hear!), it still holds a special place in my heart.

@athelstan-anglecyning, who sent me this, said:

What do you think of horrible histories britannicus?? he looks 40. and kind of dead

I do agree that he looks 40. It's giving...

And he certainly looks kind of dead. Perhaps it is because he is dead. We will never know...

I honestly don't have much to say about this one. I love the artstyle. It's a very nice cartoony style that's always had a spot in my heart. The art itself is also kind of cute and derpy (do people use that word anymore?)

He does look quite old. He was definitely drawn with the artist assuming he was an adult.

I don't hate this one, but it certainly isn't one of my favourites.

I think what @just-late-roman-republic-things said about drawings is true. There's so little information that if I try hard enough to fill in the blanks with good information, I actually really quite like how he looks. He is starting to feel like Brit.

Uh oh. Now I really like how he looks and I think he looks like Brit. I literally unintentionally sabotaged today's post. I have made myself so biased towards this drawing that I am unable to continue. Note to self: don't do that.

But don't worry, when I go and rank them, I'm sure it would've worn off. And if it didn't, I could always just flip the canvas.

[sengoku-nadeko]

[sturionic]

Activism is not cold-calling.

Activism is not cold-calling, and this is critically important to understand.

I'm seeing a lot of posts on here about 'building bridges' and 'finding community,' and then (extremely valid) response posts saying "BUT HOW??" And I'm going to explain something that can be very counter-intuitive: there is strategy involved in community.

As a longtime volunteer labour organizer, I’ve taken and taught many trainings on the strategy of talking. Something that surprises a lot of people is the very first thing you do in a union campaign. You sit down with your organizing committee, take out pen and paper, and literally map it out. You draw a physical map of the workplace: where are the entrances, exits, break rooms, supervisor offices. Essentially, ‘where is it safe to have a union conversation.’ Then you draw another physical chart of your coworkers. You sort out who is union-friendly, openly hostile to unions, or somewhere in the middle, and then you plan out very deliberately and carefully who talks to whom and in what order.

Consider: If Vocally Leftist Jane walks up to Conservative David and says "hey what do you think about unions," David is going to shut down immediately. He's not inclined to listen to Jane. But if Jane talks to Moderate Jason and brings him into the fold, then Jason is a far more effective strategic choice to talk to David, and David may actually hear him out without an instant reaction.

IMPORTANT CAVEAT: If Conservative David turns out to be Alt-Right David, and could be dangerous to follow organizers, we write him off. We are not trying to reach Alt-Right David. We are trying to reach Conservative David, who may actually be persuaded to find solidarity with other employees as fellow workers. Jason is a safe scout to find out which one he is. It does no one any good if Leftist Jane (or even Moderate Jane who is a visible minority) talks to Alt-Right David and puts herself on his radar. Not only has she done nothing to convince Alt-Right David to join a union - she's probably actively turned him against the idea - but now she's also in danger and the entire campaign is at risk. NOBODY WANTS THIS. Jane was NOT a hero for doing this. The organizing committee was foolish and enacted a terrible strategy to everyone's detriment.

Where you can make a difference is with people who will listen to you. You having a conversation with your well-meaning but clueless Centrist Democrat Auntie, and maybe gently helping her understand some things the media has been glossing over, is way more strategically useful than you marching up to MAGA Neighbour You've Met Once and trying to "build community" or "understand" them. They don't care. They're impervious, dangerous, and cruel. But maybe your beloved auntie will think about what you said, and then talk to her friend Anna who IDs as "fiscally conservative" but didn't vote because she can't bring herself to get on board with Trump. Then perhaps Anna talks to her brother Nic who has MAGA leanings but isn't all the way there yet. Proto-MAGA Nic would not have listened to you, nor would he have listened to Centrist Democrat Auntie, but he might absorb some of what his sister is saying.

This is not a cop-out or an echo chamber. This is you spending your time and energy strategically and safely. You are not a useful activist to anyone if you’re dead. Anyone who is telling you to hurl yourself directly at MAGA assholes like cannon fodder has no understanding of the strategy behind community building, and you should feel comfortable writing them off.

Last point: If you are tired, emotionally devastated, and/or in danger: take a break. This post is for people who would feel better jumping into action, not for people who are too overwhelmed to even think about it right now. You are worth so much even if you’re not actively Doing Activism, and your rest is worth more than “a break period so you can recharge and Do More Activism.” We all deserve the individual dignity of being worthy of comfort, rest & safety just on the basis of being human, outside of whatever we're doing for others' benefit. To deny ourselves that dignity is to devalue ourselves, and that’s the absolute last thing any of us should be doing right now.

[pboogerswbb]

EARNED IT

Paige Bueckers x reader

In which reader wants a pair of shoes but instead of just buying them, Paige makes reader earn them, each orgasm bringing her $200 closer - loosely based on a request @d3arapril got and passed onto me (ty girl ily)

Warnings: SMUT (slight CNC, use of a dildo, overstim, P being a little sadistic), lowkey filthiest thing i've written so beware

Wordcount: 4.9K

A/N: SURPRISE! enjoy this little pre-game treat while I work on the prologue for So It Goes ;)

-

It had been a long day. Work had been killing you and frankly, you missed your girlfriend who had been training tirelessly in the past weeks. It was as if the only times you saw each other were when she was about to leave, coming into your bedroom and kissing you goodbye for the day, or the couple hours after she got home when you ate dinner together and went to bed. 

It was all okay, you understood the stakes, you always knew what it entailed to date the famous Paige Bueckers. That basketball was her life, that it meant a lot of lonely nights, sometimes for weeks during the season. But it was all worth it, because when she was there, you were the most spoiled, pampered girl in the world.

You could hear the shower turn off as you sat on the couch of your apartment, looking for something to spoil yourself with on your phone - you had received a bonus earlier today and thought you deserved something nice to celebrate. So naturally, almost out of habit, your finger was scrolling on the Louboutin homepage, admiring your dream shoes - the shiny leather and bright red sole of the shoe drawing you eye in. Maybe if you saved a little more, you could finally get them.

“You’d look so fine in those,” you’re interrupted by Paige, leaning over your shoulder to see what you were up to. When you turn around you find her shower fresh, wet hair still dripping and a robe tied loosely on her body. She smelled so delicious and clean you just wanted to bask in her. To throw yourself on her and have her hold you for days on end.

Paige kisses the top of your head from behind as she leans down and wraps two arms around you. Heaven is the only way to describe how that felt after days of missing her.

“Well gimme a couple months and I’ll save up,” you chuckle, tilting your head back to look at her. She smiles but scoffs a little at your words.

“I gotchu,” she laughs and yanks the phone out of your hands much too quickly for your reflexes.

“No!!” you yelp, jumping off the couch in a white top and underwear, following her around your apartment, feeble attempts to try and steal back the phone as she dodges you with ease, a smug grin on her face.

“‘S not even that much, relax,” Paige pushes your hands away gently, plopping herself down on the armchair in your living room that the blonde had reclaimed as “hers”. 

“Got that NIL money, can buy my girl whatever she wants,” she brags, leaning back in the robe that’s not doing much to cover her legs up. The sliver of white boxers on her muscular thighs electrify you, and the confident expression on her face doesn’t help when you feel the familiar ache fluttering between your thighs.

“It’s 800 dollars Paige,” you point out, sitting yourself on the blonde’s thigh, like you had so many times before. It was something about this chair that made her want to have you on her constantly. Perhaps it was the way you two fit in it just right, the way you felt small in her arms. Nevertheless, you had spent hours in this chair scrolling Tiktok, sharing a tub of ice cream, reading books or just talking after a long day.

Paige holds you bridal style, your bare legs sprawled across her lap. Her fingertips draw patterns up and down on your thighs, sending goosebumps everywhere. You loved these moments, they almost made up the fact that she was gone most days.

“That’s nothing baby, don’ worry,” Paige murmurs, already putting her card details in. 

“I’m serious P!” you groan, grabbing your phone finally from the blonde’s hands. Truth be told, you felt a little bad. Paige was always showering you with gifts, trips on your birthday, hell she had even convinced she should pay for your groceries since she was over all the time and ate most of them. She paid for every date, for gas, drove you around whenever she could. She spoiled the hell out of you and you let her. You knew she loved to do it. But still, something about it made you feel bad. To have your girl do so much for you without giving anything in return.

“I wanna earn it! I just got a bonus and if I save up some more I can get them,” you explain, the bewildered look on Paige’s face finally softening. A small grin tugs at the corner of her mouth as her blue eyes roam over your face, flickering to your lips. Her fingertips sneak further up your leg as her tongue licks over her pink bottom lip. All that was enough for you to know Paige had something dirty on her mind.

“Oh yeah? You wanna earn it?” she asks menacingly. With a confused look you nod, not quite sure what she meant.

Instead of explaining, she’s pulling you in by the back of your head, kissing you feverishly. The tension grows quickly, each kiss more passionate than the last. She wants you bad. Your hands entangle in her wet hair as you wrap your arms around the blonde. The fresh scent of shampoo, mango and guava, fills your nostrils. Paige moves her hand to your inner thighs, squeezing and caressing the soft skin, making a wet spot grow on your underwear embarrassingly quickly. 

She pulls her lips away with a struggle, attempting to catch her breath. You wince, already missing her mouth. 

“You wanna play a lil game with me baby?” She asks, hooded eyes blinking quickly as she refocuses on your face.

“What game?” Your voice is shaky from how much the ache between your legs had grown.

Paige sits up a little, clearing her throat. “Well, you said you wanna earn it,” she starts, walking her fingers up your thigh slowly. “and I really wanna touch you baby,” she adds. “How about each time you cum for me you get 200 dollars?”

The blush that sets on your cheeks is immediate, making your face red and hot. At first you want to shake your head, immediately turn it down. It felt so wrong. But then Paige’s fingertips inch closer to your core, and you can’t help but consider. She really wants to get you off after all. And if there was one thing about Paige, once she started she didn’t know how to stop.

The blue eyes roam your face, looking for a reaction. With a huff, Paige leans in and kisses on your earlobe. “Been away so much lately, need my girl,” she hums into your ear, chills taking over your body. That’s enough to do it.

“Okay,” you whimper, Paige grinning against your skin.

“Yeah? You not gon’ tap out?” She says with that arrogant lilt in her voice as your gazes meet.

“No.” 

Your tone is much more confident than you are.

“Bet.”

With that Paige’s fingertips press into your clothed core, dragging along your clit as you moan, your head already lulling back.

“You already this wet?” The blonde chuckles irritatingly, but you’re too desperate for her to do anything about it.

“Been missing you,” you whimper as her fingers rub in a circle, her lips returning to your ear as they suck on your earlobe, pulling on it with her teeth.

“Fuck I know baby, haven’t been giving you enough attention huh?” She coos, hot breath on your neck. You nod, agreeing with her, growing wetter, needier for something she wasn’t giving you yet. “Lemme make it up for you,” she whispers, nuzzling her nose against your neck. “Stand up.”

You do as she says as if in some sort of trance, willing to bend every which way for her. Paige looks up at you, spreading her legs further and reaching for your panties. With a swift movement she pulls them down, leaving you only in the tight white tank top in front of her. 

She pats her thigh, flexing the muscle there, inviting you to sit. It’s so tempting you don’t hesitate even for a moment when you straddle it. A gasp leaves your mouth when your wet cunt meets her soft, warm skin. She hisses, feeling your slick on her, licking her lips.

“Oh shit,” you whimper, Paige’s hands moving to your ass, kneading hungrily. You could already feel a fire in your abdomen, making you lightheaded. 

“C’mon,” the blonde urges you to move, her hands beginning to grind your hips back and forth. The way her thigh drags along your clit is making you see stars. Paige’s eyes are locked on the way you’re grinding on her, her cheeks turning red as she lets out loud exhales and hisses at the way your pussy feels on her skin. 

Grabbing onto her shoulders, you fasten the pace, needy for more. 

“That feels so- oh fuck baby,” you moan, feeling Paige flex her thigh underneath you, providing just the correct angle and pressure for you. Your legs are already shaking as her hands guide you, hips moving back and forth.

“Shit,” Paige whimpers as if she’s the one getting off. Leaning forward she begins to kiss your neck, sucking enough to leave a mark and a sting but it only spurs you on. Grabbing the hem of your top, she lifts it just enough to reveal your tits, eyes locked on the way they move with your body as you grind faster.

“Look so fucking good,” she murmurs almost to herself, one hand kneading your ass, the other your breast. “C’mon, you gonna get off on my thigh?” 

You nod desperately, hair falling all over your face as the coil inside you tightens, the pressure on your clit bordering on overwhelming. Your movements were turning sloppy as your orgasm approached you, desperately grinding your hips. To help you Paige’s hands return to your ass, assisting with the movements. 

“Fuck Paige, fuck,” you gasp, the burn in your core so intense it made your eyes roll back. A loud smack is followed with a sharp pain as Paige slaps your ass harshly, spurring you on.

“C’mon baby,” she groans, leaning forward to kiss your chest feverishly. As her warm tongue begins to circle your nipple, you can feel yourself starting to spill over. Hands gripping onto her shoulders, she flexes her muscles one more time, your clit rubbing desperately on her thigh as you come. 

“Oh-” you’re gasping, face scrunched up in pleasure as Paige’s hands guide your hips, soft lips sucking on your nipple to make the pleasure even more intense. Waves of pleasure wash over you as your cunt clenches around nothing, slick spilling out of you.

“That never gets old,” Paige moans as you try to catch your breath, your movements coming to a halt as the blonde keeps kissing along your neck and jaw. Your body already feels tired, worn out. But the night was just beginning.

“That’s 200 bucks for you ma,” she grins, finding your lips in a needy kiss. “You should know tho, you riding my thigh is worth a lot more,” Paige murmurs against your mouth. “Fuck, would pay millions to see that shit.”

Her words make you whimper into her mouth, giving her the opportunity to slide her tongue inside, meeting yours in a wet, sloppy kiss. Grabbing your thighs, Paige stands up from the chair and lifts you with ease, her robe falling open as she walks you to the couch. Placing you on the soft cushions, she watches you with hooded eyes.

“Wait here,” she murmurs before disappearing into your bedroom. When she returns, her robe is hanging off her shoulders loosely, chests and abs completely exposed. In her large hands she’s holding a purple, 7 inch dildo. A gift from the blonde but left unused because of how busy she had been.

You could still feel your core throbbing from your last orgasm, but the heat was quick to grow again when you see Paige holding it with a grin. As you lie on your back, waiting for her to touch you, Paige walks to the opposite end of the couch, leaning back and spreading her legs. 

“C’mere,” she says hoarsely, her fingers curling to invite you closer. Excited, you crawl to her. Paige’s impatient hands grab you and pull you onto her lap until you’re straddling her.

“You wanna put on a show for me?” She asks. Her head is tilted back as she watches you, the blue of her eyes completely blown out.

“Yes,” you whimper and gasp when her hand smacks your ass again, sharp pain following but making your pussy more soaked if possible.

“Such a slut huh?” She asks, making you only needier. Paige looks down between her thighs, holding the toy there in her hand, the plastic pressing against your stomach.

“Ride this shit,” she says, and you can tell it’s not a suggestion with the way she’s looking at you, her jaw suddenly sharper, eyes even darker. Your legs still feel shaky, but the urge to be filled up by her is so overwhelming you can’t help but lift your hips.

The tip of the toy presses against your folds, the blonde sliding it to your entrance teasingly. Your slick is already dripping down its length as you lower yourself on the tip, Paige’s hand on your hip guiding you.

A loud gasp escapes your mouth as Paige pulls you down on the length, making you take all of it. The stretch is too much, overwhelming you quickly, making your eyes roll back. However, Paige’s grounding hand grabs your jaw firmly, bringing your eyes to hers.

“Earn it ma,” she commands, leaning back and holding the toy steady with both hands. You knew exactly what she wanted.

With slow movements you begin to move up and down on the toy, letting it fill you up all the way. It feels so good it’s almost painful, and you can’t help but moan loud when it hits somewhere deep inside you you didn’t even know existed.

“Oh god,” you moan, eyes shutting in ecstasy. Paige is leaning back, watching you with hooded eyes and mouth slightly parted, moaning with you like she’s the one getting fucked.

“You’re so hot,” she groans, licking her lips. “Play with those tits for me.”

Without thinking your hands grab onto your chest, kneading as you pick up the pace, now bouncing on the toy that Paige is holding. The blonde can’t take it anymore, hand snaking around you to grab your ass hard. 

“Paige-” you gasp as she smacks your ass again, hard enough to leave marks to remind you of tonight for the days to come.

“That’s it ma, love it when you ride my shit,” she whimpers, her voice hoarse and deep. Watching you is getting Paige so wet she thinks she might come untouched, watching you bounce on the toy - what might as well be her cock. 

She can’t help it anymore, purely the way you look is getting her close enough to come. Her veiny hand moves off your ass, dragging down her stomach into her boxers where she’s met with her soaked cunt already throbbing. 

“Ah shit,” she moans as her fingers slip inside her, filling her up while you ride the toy for her. 

“C’mon, faster,” Paige commands. Whimpering and writhing, you maneuver from your knees to your feet, squatting on the toy now. Gripping Paige’s muscular shoulders for dear life, you begin to bounce on the toy, your tits in the blonde’s face.

“Such a good girl for me, shit,” she moans, her fingers pumping in and out of herself. She’s struggling not to come before you, her head lulling back and eyes nearly shutting. 

“Oh fuck,” you cry out, the burn in your thighs becoming overwhelming as you ride her, your pussy clenching around the length inside you. Leaning backwards to give Paige an even better view, you reach back to hold her thighs for support, making sure she sees all the inches disappearing inside you, stretching you out.

“Fuck baby you making a mess on my cock huh?” Paige whimpers, trying to sound together but there’s a whine in her voice that’s telling you she’s trying not to roll off the edge.

“Feels so good,” you gasp, the new angle letting the tip of the toy hit the spongy part inside you, making fire spread all over your abdomen. You’re dripping around the toy now, probably all over the couch, but neither of you seem to care.

“You like how my cock feels inside you?” Paige asks, voice breathy.

Nodding desperately, you allow your head to lull back, the squelching sounds coming out of both of you echoing around the living room. “Love riding your cock baby.”

“Aw sh- please tell me you’re close ma,” Paige cries out, her cunt throbbing around her fingers as she watches you.

“N-need to cum,” you mewl, tears filling your eyes.

“Shit- that’s right baby, earn it for me,” Paige rambles, her voice getting whinier as your pussy squeezes the toy tight, your movements on it turning rampant as you chase your high.

“Such a good girl for me, gonna make me cum,” the blonde continues, forcing her eyes to stay open as she spills over the edge so she can watch you come on her cock. All of a sudden intense pleasure takes over you, and your moans turn high pitched and desperate as you release all over the toy, the stretch making your legs shake.

“Aw fuck you look so fucking good, yeah ride that shit,” Paige moans loud as she comes with you. Plenty of high pitched cusses spill from her pink lips but you barely hear her, too focused on the ecstasy running through you. Once the feeling passes you crash onto the blonde underneath you, whole body shaking from the strain.

“That’s it baby,” Paige praises, sliding her fingers out of her cunt and carefully bringing them to your lips. They’re glistening in the light, covered in her slick. Eyes still closed and head resting on the blonde’s chest, you part your lips and swirl your tongue around them, tasting her. You wrap your lips around her fingers and suck on them as Paige pulls the toy out of you, leaving an uncomfortable emptiness behind.

“No more,” you whisper once the blonde’s fingers return to her side. She chuckles, brushing the hairs sticking to your sweaty forehead. 

“C’mon now that’s only 400 bucks,” she laughs but you shake your head. 

“It’s ok, I can save the rest,” you complain, your body sore and tired and way too sensitive to be touched.

“Well I’m not done with you yet ma,” Paige whispers. “So you might as well earn a lil sum.”

With that Paige is pushing you to your back, the robe finally falling off her body leaving her exposed, nipples hard and goosebumps covering her milky skin. Her hands grip your thighs spreading them wide and without warning, she leans down and begins to slowly drag her tongue along your cunt, taking her time.

You’re already squirming, two hands on her head ready to push her off. The two orgasms had left you sensitive and worn out. You’re not sure if you could do more. But Paige seemed to have decided for you.

She grabs your wrists, pulling them to your side against the couch. “Keep ‘em there,” she orders as she begins to lick against your puffy, swollen clit, humming contently as your body begins squirms. 

“‘S too much,” you cry out but she shakes her head, moaning into your pussy. 

“No it’s not, you can take it,” she assures, arms wrapping around your thighs to pull you closer, to hold you down. She’s lapping you up now, desperately trying to taste every inch of you. Her warm tongue swirls in your folds, moaning at your taste. If there was something Paige Bueckers loves it’s eating pussy. “Doin’ so good for me,” she praises.

The sensation is enough to make your legs tremble desperately, your third orgasm quickly building up. Every muscle in your body ached, and all touches and flicks on your clit felt heightened, making your eyes well up. You were a mess, back arching, hands grabbing the couch, the soft pillows thrown all over the floor now. Every part of you was writhing except your hips that Paige was holding down and still for her sake. She was eating you like she had never tasted you before, as if she had been starving for you.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl, grabbing onto her blonde locks still wet from the shower. As you yank Paige moans, watching you from underneath her long dark eyelashes. She’s watching for every reaction, blue eyes filled with lust and locked onto every movement, every expression. She can’t look away.

Paige lays her tongue flat against your puffy clit and shakes her head from one side to the other, your cunt beginning to throb immediately. 

“Just like that, shit baby,” you moan, pulling onto the blonde hair. Paige pulls back, buried so deep in your folds she’s gasping for air as she comes up. Her gaze moves from your face to your pussy, a mixture of her spit and your slick dripping out of you onto the couch.

“Aw fuck I can see this pussy throbbing,” Paige gasps and immediately dives back in, the strain in her jaw quickly forgotten by the sight of you. Suddenly she spits onto your folds and urgently leans back in to lap it all up. It was so hot, so dirty that the sight was enough for your muscles to begin to twitch a third time around this evening.

“Oh fuck, Paige-”

“Right there?” She asks, staring up at you from between your thighs, her fingertips digging into the skin of your hips. Her tongue lies flat against your swollen clit, circling against it making all the muscles in your body tremble desperately.

“Yes, yes yes yes yes!” You gasp, real tears spilling from your eyes. You’re teetering right on the edge, only needing permission now from the blonde between your thighs.

“Fuuuuckk ma, cum on my face, please,” she moans, fastening her movements and gripping you harder, her eyes rolling back when you yank on her hair hard. “Please,” Paige cries out, clearly desperate, needing to make you come.

“I’m coming, oh fuck-” you cry out, your whole back arching upwards but Paige’s hand presses you down as her tongue keeps working you, drinking up all of it as you crash over the edge. The sounds coming out of you are muffled from how hard the climax hits you, seeing stars as Paige keeps lapping you up.

“Okay okay okay stop,” you whine pulling her hair, the sensation becoming too much too quickly as you come down. But Paige only grabs your wrists tightly in one of her large hands, pinning them together and holding them against your stomach.

“I’m not fucking done,” Paige says directly into your pussy, not slowing down for a second. You try everything, squirming, pulling your hands free, but it was useless. She was way too strong, and clearly wanted you way too much to give in to your whining.

“Paige please,” you cry, eyes welling up again as the tip of her tongue moves back and forth at an accelerating speed.

“You’re not done till I say so,” Paige commands and from the tone of her voice you know - there’s no fighting if she had decided to have you.

“‘S too much.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Suddenly Paige has you flipped over, pressed against the soft armrest of the couch. Her strong hand quickly wraps around your hair and yanks on it, pulling your back flush against her exposed front.

“You want those shoes huh?” She asks with her lips pressed against your ear, a slight sadistic tone in your voice.

“Yes,” you answer weakly.

“Gotta earn it,” Paige says, kissing your neck before pushing you down by your hair till you’re bent over the armrest, ass high up in the air. Paige’s hands grip onto your ass and spread you wide open before you feel her tongue lick against your folds once, twice, until she dives and begins to lap you up even more hungry than before. 

“Oh fuck!” You gasp, completely forgetting about the thin walls and the poor neighbours next door. Nothing in this moment mattered except you, Paige and her plump lips sucking on your clit, still holding you wide open for her.

“Fucking love this pussy,” Paige groans, lips and mouth working hard, getting covered in a mixture of your mess and her spit. It’s simultaneously too much and so fucking hot, the way she’s eating you from behind, the way her nose is pressing against your entrance, rubbing against it teasingly.

Suddenly your pussy is throbbing around nothing, and it’s like the blonde can tell because next thing you know you feel a sudden stretch inside you. The toy from earlier suddenly pounds into you, making you gasp.

“Ohhhhhh shit P-” you can’t even form full sentences, the sudden sensation and the speed which Paige is fucking the dildo in and out of you with making you let out a cry louder than before.

“Ohh fuck ma, perfect pussy I swear,” Paige groans, pulling herself back to fuck the toy into you with more force, watching the way you’re getting stretched out. 

“‘S too big,” you cry, reaching back to push the blonde’s hands away. She grabs your wrists, holding both in one hand with ease and pinning them against your back.

“Don’t push me away,” she asserts, somehow finding a new angle as you crash flat against the armrest, making you take it even deeper. You could swear she’s in your guts now, and the loud squelching sounds your soaked cunt is making is only making your mind spin more.

Your whole body’s shaking as your front presses against the soft cushions of the couch, Paige pinning you down by your wrists as she keeps fucking into you. Your juices are everywhere, on the couch, on Paige’s face and hands, gushing out of you around the toy. 

“You gonna cum on this cock?” Paige asks, her voice hoarse with arousal. 

“Mmph-” you moan, face buried into the armrest. The blonde lets go of your wrists and smacks your ass, gripping it tight to fuck the toy even deeper, impossibly so.

“Answer me baby,” she groans, increasing her speed, the tip hitting the right spot each time to make you clench and throb so hard you could barely think.

“Yes yes yes ‘m gonna come fuck,” you cry, grabbing the cushions of the couch desperately.

“Yeah, you gonna cum for me just to get some shoes?” Paige sadistically says, kneading your ass. The wet sounds are becoming louder, your mess dripping everywhere.

“Yes Paige, please please please!” 

“Perfect girl, perfect fucking pussy huh? Letting me fuck your shit up just like this?” 

“Yes, please P-”

“Cum for me.”

She’s killing your shit, toy pounding into your guts. The stretch is so intense your eyes roll back involuntarily, and a loud whimper leaves your body as your pussy clenches around the toy, finally releasing and letting your climax wash over.

Paige is talking you through it, you’re pretty sure. But you can’t hear over your own moans, over the sounds coming from your body, over the way you felt like you might black out. Every muscle in your body is on fire, fingers gripping anything they could find. Next thing you’re being carried into your bedroom, Paige laying you down gently on your back and climbing next to you.

Finally your eyes flutter open as the blonde pulls you into her chest.

“What happened?” you murmur, and Paige chuckles.

“Just made you cum a lil too hard I think,” she laughs and kisses your forehead. Her hands are playing with the ends of your hair, stroking your arms and back, grounding you.

“Did so good for me,” the blonde coos, kissing your lips softly. You could still taste yourself on her. “You okay?”

You nod. All your muscles ache and the strain had made you exhausted, but that definitely made up for all the time Paige had spent away from you in the past weeks.

“That was hot,” you admit, which makes the blonde let out a loving giggle.

“Not you saying that, hottest thing we ever did I swear,” Paige praises, pressing kisses on top of your head again. “Let me go run you a bath baby.”

But as she moves you wrap your arms tighter around her waist, pulling her closer with all the strength you had left. 

“A little longer,” you whisper against her sticky skin. Paige couldn’t dream of leaving you alone, not like this, not when you sound like that - all of it makes her bend to your every whim, she couldn’t help it.

“Okay, a little longer,” she repeats. 

“And you’re ordering those shoes now,” you command, a slight shake to your voice from the prior activities.

“Deal.”

-

taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @bueckersfive @sierrale8ne @lovegalor333 @xxloveralways14 @vamptizm @jadasogay @paigesbabygirl

[prythianpages]

A Light That Never Goes Out | Azriel

Azriel x Rhysand's sister (reader) | The aftermath of Azriel kissing you in front of everyone in the Court of Nightmares.

warnings: angry Rhys, angry High Lord, brief mention of Tamsand, mating bond snapping

word count: roughly 3K, around 3.5K if you read the bonus scene

a/n: This is a part two to this but can be read as a stand alone. I had fun writing this but I worry this sounded better in my head. I was tempted to turn this into a crack fic bc of this trending tiktok sound.

Azriel kisses you, consequences be damned. His hand slides from yours to the nape of your neck, drawing you closer. You kiss him back with the same intensity, years of longing and love pouring into this single moment. Your mind and thoughts tangling with his, the bond between you surging with emotion. Desire and hope. He’s still in disbelief that tonight was the first night he told you he loved you.

But in truth, Azriel had been telling you all along—in every glance, every touch, every kiss that held more than words ever could.

Azriel’s shadows recoil as the two of you pull apart, breathless. The Court of Nightmares had faded away, the two of you lost in each other. It’s just you and him, as it is meant to be…Until the distinctive footsteps of your father approaching echoes throughout the ballroom. Your eyes are wide, too many emotions swirling within their depths. 

But Azriel is relieved that regret is not one of them.

“Azriel.”

The High Lord’s voice is calm and collected but the fury flickering in his violet eyes is unmistakable. He stands no more than two feet away, the authority radiating from him as cold as it is absolute. Beside him, Rhysand watches, his expression unreadable. 

Your father lifts a hand, wisps of darkness and starlight spilling from his fingertips. The orchestra resumes under the silent command and driven by some invisible force, the guests resume dancing and drinking. As if nothing had happened. 

“Come with me,” your father says, his tone leaving no room for argument. His command is directed solely at Azriel. “I’d like to have a word.”

 You try to hold on to Azriel, to keep him close, but he slips his fingers from yours, bowing his head in quiet submission to your father. Without another word, he follows after him. And though his command had been directed solely at Azriel, the weight of the situation falls on the both of you. 

So you step forward, determined to follow after them. But just as you step outside the ballroom, Rhysand grasps your arm, forcing you to a stop.

“You stupid, foolish…,” his voice trails off in frustration. “What have you done?”

You spin on him, eyes flashing with anger as you yank your arm out of his hold. “What have I done? What about what have you done? Planning marriage alliances behind my back? Like I’m some pawn on your chessboard?”

Rhysand’s gaze softens for a brief moment. “Y/n, I–”

“No.” You interrupt sharply, starlight beginning to swirl from the fingertip you point at him. You don’t want to hear his excuse, whatever justification he thinks will make this right. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Cassian and Mor making their way toward you, slipping through the dancing couples and out of the ballroom. 

The starlight seeping from your fingertip glows brighter, ready and poised to attack. However, it’s your words you speak into his mind that make the blow instead.

“You know, if you love that runt from Spring so much, why don’t you marry him yourself?”

Rhysand’s eyes widen, his brows furrowing as the meaning of your words hit him. The revelation that you know his secret. Where he’d sneak off to some nights. Why the scent of crisp rain and earth lingered on him when he’d return. You and Azriel had pieced it together after Cassian had mentioned that his book on Illyrian training and methods suddenly went missing. Given your secret, you and Azriel had kept that information to yourselves, waiting for the moment Rhysand would feel comfortable to tell you himself. 

It takes him a moment to regain his composure, for his gaze to harden again. His lips curl into a snarl–a warning.  “Y/n.”

He leans in forward but you take a step back and winnow away, only one thing on your mind. Finding Azriel.

**

The walk to the High Lord’s private office in the Court of Nightmares is silent but the sense of foreboding is nearly deafening. Azriel is tense, his shadows quiet and burrowing into his leathers. Too many possibilities and consequences storm through his mind, each one more damning than the last.

Does he regret kissing you in front of everyone? No.

That kiss was the first honest, uninhibited thing he’d allowed himself to do in years. It was freeing, exhilarating to be able to show everyone, especially the sons of Spring and Autumn that you were his and he was yours. He could face death for this—for touching the High Lord’s daughter. For kissing you so openly, so brazenly, in front of the entire court.

But why? Why should it be so wrong for him to love you? Because of his birth? The scars of his past that marked him as unworthy? He’s served loyally. Bled for this court.Tortured for this court. 

He’s watched from the shadows as lords and sons, full of false charm, have circled you like vultures, eyeing you as nothing more than a prize to be claimed.  And yet, when he—who knows you, who cherishes you—shows his love, it is considered a crime.

It isn’t fair. But Azriel has never been afforded fairness. 

The heavy doors to the High Lord's office swing open with a wave of his hand, and Azriel steps inside. The air is thick with tension, and every muscle in his body tightens. The High Lord gestures for him to sit, but Azriel bows his head, respectfully declining. Standing feels safer. Less vulnerable. He wonders if his refusal will anger the High Lord further, but the single shadow curling at his ear reports no rising fury.

He can feel the weight of the High Lord’s gaze—it’s heavy, scrutinizing, like the cold press of a blade against his skin. He keeps his eyes forward, even though his heart pounds in his chest. If there’s punishment to be had, Azriel will accept it.

The High Lord moves to his desk, positioned beneath an oculus, where moonlight spills through and dances across his features. He gazes up at the starlit sky as if searching for answers—or perhaps, waiting.

“Normally, this is the part where people like you should be begging for forgiveness, for a way to rectify your mistake.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “I haven’t made a mistake.”

“No?” The High Lord’s gaze snaps back to him, piercing as if he could peel away Azriel’s very skin to lay bare his soul. Azriel wonders, for a brief moment, if your daemati powers had been inherited from your father. Could the High Lord see into his mind, his thoughts? Have kept this power to himself all these years as a secret weapon? 

“You sound so sure of yourself,” the High Lord continues, his tone sharpening. “Tell me, how long has this... affair been going on?”

“For decades.” Azriel admits, knowing that there was no use in lying. The truth was already written in the way he kissed you, in the way he looked at you as you broke away from the kiss.

“For decades?” The High Lord repeats, his expression darkening, violet eyes narrowing. “You took my daughter’s first dance tonight of all nights.”

Azriel’s silence says everything. Both of them aware that Azriel had taken more than dances, more than a kiss.

“You’ve taken her innocence. You’ve ruined her…” The High Lord continues to seethe in that cool, unnerving tone.

Azriel’s fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the urge to reach for his dagger. Not to defend himself, but because it’s his only comfort in moments like these.

But this is not a battle to be fought with daggers or swords. This is a battle of love, of politics, of status. One he’s had no training for yet one he’s willing to fight. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fight against all odds.

“Whether she marries Spring or Autumn, she will become a lady of the highest esteem and forge a strong alliance with my court. Laden with all the riches and wonders only a High Lord can offer. What can you offer? You don’t even have a proper last name to give her, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel swallows thickly, the weight and shame of his low-born status crashing into him like the violent current of Illyria’s river. It feels like he’s sinking under it, drowning in it. He knows he can’t offer you what any son of Spring or Autumn could. He had reminded you of that—again and again. 

It’s as if you can feel his doubts creeping back in, the poison of guilt and worthlessness seeping in. Your presence—soft, warm, and steady—enters his mind. You bring forth the memory you had shared with him moments ago on the dance floor again.

“I can’t give you much,” his voice had dropped to a whisper, barely a rasp as he leaned his forehead against yours. His nose brushed against yours, his lips hovering just over your own. “But I can give you everything I have.”

“That’s all I’ll ever need,” you had replied, the words echoing now in his mind, like an antidote to the venom of doubt. That’s all I’ll ever need, that’s all I’ll ever need, that’s all—

“I asked you a question, Azriel.” The High Lord’s sharp voice cut through the memory, yanking him back to the cold, oppressive reality of the Court of Nightmares. “What can you offer in exchange for my daughter?”

Azriel’s knees buckle beneath him before he even realizes it. He drops to the floor, bowing his head low. His shadows stir, swirling around him in a frenzy, urging him to stand. To stop him.

“My life.”

“Your life,” The High Lord muses. He lets out a dark, humorless chuckle. “You love my daughter enough to give your life for her?”

“Yes,” Azriel says, his voice firm and steady, even as his shadows coil tighter around his arms, trying to pull him back from this path. But he stays rooted to the floor. His life, his soul—it all belongs to you anyway. What was it worth, if not to protect you? To be yours?

The High Lord’s eyes narrow as he studies the swirling shadows, dark and restless, wrapping themselves around Azriel’s form. Shadowsingers are rare. Their power is precious. They can see and hear things others can’t. The only known living one kneels before him now. 

Despite his low born status, the Shadowsinger had also proved himself a formidable, Illyrian warrior. A Carynthian. It’s why he appointed Azriel as the Night Court’s spymaster.  

And now this powerful and strong male is offering his life.

To have a Shadowsinger as his spymaster is rare, a gift in itself. To have Azriel’s loyalty, his strength, his skills bound by magic for life. A weapon of mass destruction, at his beck and call. No room for betrayal, no worry over him leaving his court for another.

 All in exchange for your hand in marriage? 

Now, that sounds like a deal.

He lets out a thoughtful hum, voicing his consideration. He could give Azriel a title, raise him from his bastard status. At his will, darkness begins to rise from the floor. The power of the bargain hovers in the air between them, ready to etch itself into both their skins. 

 Azriel finally lifts his head, meeting the High Lord’s eyes with no fear. Only the light of determination. He is willing to give his life to your father if that’s what it takes to be by your side. 

The cloud of darkness begins to separate, its dark tendrils moving toward him, the binding magic poised to seal his fate, to chain him to this bargain for the rest of his life.

But before it can touch his skin, before the deal can be made, a bright light erupts in the room. A sharp hiss escapes the darkness as it recoils, retreating back into the shadows where it had come from. Azriel’s own shadows seem to shudder in relief.

Both Azriel and the High Lord’s heads snap toward the source of the light. You stand at the doors, your eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, your hands glowing with pure, raging starlight.

“No!” you cry, the word trembling on your lips as you step forward, the glow around you growing even brighter. 

Your eyes lock with Azriel’s and something tightens in his chest, crawling up his rib cage. It’s sharp and breathtaking. His hand grabs at his chest and yours does the same. 

”He will not be your slave,” you say, turning to your father with the same determination flashing in your eyes. “There has to be another way.”

The High Lord’s features morph into a scowl. “Another way? My star, he is a bastard—”

“I love him!” 

That tightening in his chest finally snaps and Azriel’s breath catches. He feels that light in your eyes, perfectly reflecting the one in his. It sears into his soul, as fierce and unrelenting as the starlight glowing from your hands.

Your father doesn’t notice the shift in the air, the change in Azriel’s posture, in his chest. Or in yours.

“You think that means anything?” 

Azriel’s shadows whisper a warning into his ears, of an oncoming raging darkness. Different but similar to the High Lord’s. He barely hears his shadows, too focused on you, on the bond thrumming between you. His mind is consumed with you. 

Mate. Mate. Mate.

“You and mother—” you begin.

“Do you think your mother and I love each other?” The High Lord interrupts sharply, his voice cold and cutting. He breaks out into a laugh.

Azriel snaps out of his trance. Anger flares within him at the shock, the devastation that takes over your features. He watches as you shrink back slightly, his instincts roaring to protect you from any harm, whether verbal or otherwise. 

Because he’s your mate. Because he loves you.

 “You think I would marry your mother, a low born seamstress by choice? What your mother and I have is different. It’s complicated. A special bond.  One that gave me Rhysand and you and–”

A sound like thunder crashes through the room, reverberating off the stone walls as darkness swells in every corner. One moment, Azriel is on his knees. The next, he’s slamming into the cold marble floor, the force of Rhysand’s power pinning him down. Tendrils of Rhysand’s darkness coil around Azriel’s form, fighting with the shadows that instinctively rise to defend him.

“How long?” Rhysand's violet eyes blaze as they burn into Azriel.

“And I am beginning to think you both are nuisances to my existence rather than gifts...” The High Lord mutters followed by an exhausted sigh.

“How long have you been fucking my sister?” His words are a snarl as he slams Azriel harder into the floor, advancing toward him with clenched fists.

“Rhysand!” You let out a cry, rushing to the two males to separate them.

Your brother whips around, his anger igniting into something fiercer at the sight of you. “Stay out of this!” he snaps, his hand raising. He’s too angry, too heated. So much that he doesn't even notice the force of darkness he aims your way.

Rhysand’s magic hits you hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A choked gasp escapes as you stumble backward, struggling to keep your footing. A burst of bright sapphire explodes from each of Azriel’s siphons, a deep and low growl rumbling from his chest. He breaks free from Rhysand’s magic, standing to his feet. His wings flare behind him, shadows swirling like a storm.

The look in his hazel eyes is nothing short of feral, dark and ancient, a fierce and possessive glint that makes Rhysand falter and surprise flash across the High Lord’s features.

You fall to the ground with a thud, palms scraping against the stone and pain flaring in your hands. Rhysand turns toward you, the anger that had been simmering in his violet gaze immediately dissolving into guilt and regret. “Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t touch her.” Azriel growls, standing in between you and your brother, his shadows forming in an additional protective barrier. Some shadows flutter toward you, helping you stand and bringing you to Azriel’s side. Your hand instinctively seeks Azriel’s, fingers curling into his and you squeeze it, letting him know you’re alright. 

“By the Cauldron…” the High Lord’s voice comes out in a low murmur, his gaze darting between you and Azriel. His eyes narrow as he finally notices the subtle shift in the air, in your scents. The scent of a bond. 

“You two are mates,” he says, tone laced with resignation. Because even he, a High Lord, is not above going against The Cauldron.

It feels like a punch to the gut for Rhysand. His best friend and his sister. Fate’s inevitable design had been right under his nose all along. “What?” Rhysand breathes in shock, chest still heaving from the exertion of his magic.

Azriel’s hand tightens around yours. His gaze softens as he turns to you, the fierce protectiveness from earlier easing into something gentler. And when your eyes meet again, it’s there—the unmistakable light of the mating bond. It shines bright and steady between you. Just like your love for each other does.

 A light that never goes out.

bonus scene

Once the shock of the bond had worn off, the High Lord excused himself, muttering about damage control. “Spring will be the hardest to deal with,” he had said.

Rhysand’s body tensed as his eyes found yours. But you’d only given him a small, reassuring smile. Though it is something you would like to talk about, his secret would remain safe with you.

Your father would soon announce the bond to the Court of Nightmares, already making plans for a grand mating ceremony. You’d much rather have something private, intimate. But a public celebration seemed like a small price to pay for the lifetime you’d get to spend beside the male you loved.

Rhysand turned his gaze back to Azriel, his expression still unreadable. “You never answered my question,” he said, voice calm but edged with something darker. “How long?”

Azriel hesitated before answering, unlike the way he had with the High Lord. This was his best friend standing in front of him. The one he grew up and trained along with, survived the brutality of the Blood Rite with. Rhysand was like a brother to him and he went behind his back for years.

 “A decade.”

“A decade?” Rhysand blinks in surprise. 

A whole decade of secrecy. Of Azriel sneaking around with his little sister. It all made sense now. Why Azriel became more reserved, more private. Why Azriel no longer indulged himself with the pleasures of the females at Rita’s or the Illyrian camps like he and Cassian did. Why you spent more time at the Moonstone palace, instead of the House of Wind, where you had grown up and been raised by a handful of Priestesses. It hadn’t been to learn about the politics of the courts but to be closer to Azriel.

And then, with no warning, Rhysand swings.

The hit lands squarely on Azriel’s jaw, so swift and unexpected that neither you nor Azriel’s shadows had seen it coming. Azriel takes the blow without protest, silently commanding his shadows to stand their ground and not fight back. 

“Rhys!” you snapped, your brows furrowing into a scowl. 

Rhysand huffs, shaking out his hand from the impact. “That’s for going behind my back,” he says. He pauses for a second and then, he lets out a low chuckle. Full of disbelief and relief.

“I’m still angry at both of you,” Rhysand admits, and Azriel lowers his head, bracing for more. “Not because it’s you—though I’ll admit, seeing you together is... strange. But because you kept it from me for so long, putting both of your lives at risk.”

Then Rhysand’s voice softens, his gaze following. “But I’m glad it’s you.”

Azriel lifts his head back up in surprise as Rhysand holds out his hand.

 “You’re a good male, Azriel. Better than most. And I know you’ll protect her. Love her in a way no one else can.”

Azriel stares at Rhysand’s outstretched hand before finally clasping it, the tension between them easing. Your chest warms at your brother’s sincerity.

The sound of footsteps, heavy and hurried, echo through the stone walls. They grow louder with each passing second and moments later, Cassian and Mor appear at the entrance of your father’s study. Cassian braces himself against the doorframe and Mor leans on him, their chests rising and falling rapidly.

It’s clear they’re winded from the endless stairs they must’ve taken to reach the floor of your father’s private study. It was located between the Court of Nightmares and Moonstone Palace, warded so that only those of his bloodline could winnow directly inside.

Their eyes dart between the three of you. 

“What did we miss?”

a/n: hope you enjoyed! here’s a little HC (idk what to call it?) of Rhys’s sis & Az if you’re curious 💙

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

fic tag: @noisyinfluencerstrawberry, @tothestarsandwhateverend, @tulipbite, @kylaisra, @stressed-reader

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[princesssmars]

you sometimes forget how… slightly obsessive, violet could be. nsfw.

when you were younger you had a love hate relationship with her tendency to become so completely fixated on something. staying up for hours at night thinking about their next score, holding a grudge for years against anyone who got piss drunk and pissed off vander in the bar, planning and fidgeting over the perfect way to ask you out for weeks before you finally took the step yourself.

even if it got her into danger, got her and her siblings into a temporary struggle that made your heart stall with the thought of nearly losing them, you always reminded her that you thought her fixation on things was cute, and a useful tool about half of the time.

(you even said that the trait reminded you of powder, always blabbering to you for as long as she could talk about her new ideas for gadgets and bombs. the girl was overjoyed in sharing something in common with her big sister, immediately climbing on her back to ramble about something new.)

but then you actually you lost her. you lost all of them. and you wished you had told her that that insecurity she had, all the insecurities she had, were stupid and inconsequential to how perfect you thought she was.

but maybe you’ll get the chance to tell her (and tell jinx that yeah, you were right, i did start seeing ghosts too) because a scarily realistic replica of your ex is standing in front of you and before you can shoo it away she’s hugging you so tight you think your ribs will break.

you follow as ekko gives her the tour of the firelights base, admiring each and every way she’s changed. she’s taller, obviously stronger, wearing a prison uniform that you don’t if you’re allowed to say looks good on her and a red jacket she stole from some guy because of course she did. you stifle a laugh as she tells the story and she smiles at you, indiscreetly wrapping your hand in hers.

it’s obvious by the look on his face ekko is so going to tease you about this later, but you don’t get a chance to care when she turns to you and ask where she and her enforcer friend can sleep. and janna knows you want to offer for her to sleep with you, but it’s been years and you don’t want to make her uncomfortable so you lead her and caitlyn to the newbie dorms.

but it seems like you’ve forgotten just how damn stubborn she is, because not even half an hour later a loud banging at your draws you from your bed, her flushed and nervous face shocking you into silence.

she asks to come in, but with her it’s always more like a demand then a question. you try to ignore the burning feeling of her eyes trained on you as you lead her to your bed, rolling your eyes as she aggressively flops back onto it.

“holy fuck, i haven’t been on something this soft in years. i think i’m gonna fall asleep right now.”

“i wouldn’t be mad if you did.” well, you’d be a little upset. you have so much to talk to her about everything, anything that’s happened since she disappeared. granted a lot of it was bad but there were still a few things you think would cheer her up. she’d already told you enthusiastic she was to eat jerichos again, just wait till she found out that-

you must of zoned out for a minute because you’re shocked back to reality by soft lips pressed to yours, vi’s bandaged hand cupping your cheek like you’ll fade into dust if she lets go. you mentally kick yourself in the head for not responding quicker when she pulls away and looks at you with that sad puppy look she gets.

“i, i’m sorry. it’s just, you were staring at me for a while! and it’s been so long since i’ve seen you and i don’t even know what we are or if we’re still girlfriends but you’re even more beautiful than the last time i saw you-“

you cup both of her cheeks in your hands,(maybe a little too hard) give her a second to back away if she wants, and pull her back in. her arms wrap around your waist and she lets out a whimper when your hand travels to the back of her neck to pull her closer and closer-

and now it’s around one hour? maybe two? it’s a while later, and as her hand travels back into you for the fourth time, yeah, you’re starting to remember how obsessive she could be.

“vi, baby - oh my gods, y’know you can slow down!” your voice pitches when her fingers, her beautiful long and big fingers push up against that spot inside you, her other hand keeping your hips down when you involuntarily raise them off the sheets.

“don’t think i can, princess.” she groans into your breast as she sucks another path of bruises down your chest, slate eyes amused at how your hands grip the bed like it stole from you, how your mouth opens so cutely before you bite your lips to hold back your sounds.

her mouth finally closes around your clit and the increased sensitivity from your past orgasms combined with the almost growling sound she makes when she tastes you sends you right over the edge, thighs clamping around her head as she carries you through it.

the rubbing of her rough hands over your thighs and her gentle words of praise merry drag you into the beginnings of a soft slumber.

until you can feel the damn brute lift your legs onto her shoulders and stick her tongue inside you, laughing at your shocked squeal and resumed grip on her hair.

“besides, we’ve gotta make up for lost time, don’t we?”

writing a drabble based on the fic you’re writing instead of finish the fic i’m such a genius like 😍😍 glad her tag is coming back but i want content coming out like a factory line ok everyone get to work 🙏🏽

[sublimitymp3]

Pray for me

Pairing ✵ Gwayne Hightower/Niece!reader

Warnings ✵ Hotd season 2 spoilers, incest, littleee bit of crybaby!reader, smut (frottage, oral F receiving, fingering, and slight dacryphilia), and religious themes

Word count ✵ 2.5k

Summary ✵ Your uncle Gwayne arrives from Oldtown at your brother's call, and pays a visit to you while you pray.

"Your mother told me I might find you in here,"

You whipped your head around to see the source of the voice that disturbed you from your prayers and saw none other than your uncle, Ser Gwayne Hightower. He had finally come from Oldtown, answering your brother's call for assistance in his war.

"It is the seventh day, I thought I ought to pray. Especially now..." You explain with a small smile. You stood from your kneeling position on the cold, unyielding sept floor so you may look upon him. Your face twists into a cringe as you feel the bruises from kneeling for so long begin to form on your knees, and you are sure they'll be an ugly purple color later. Relaxing your features, you finally turn on your heel to face your uncle. It has been so long since you've seen him.

Too long.

He's as handsome as you remember, with his auburn hair, pale blue eyes, and the faint freckles that dust his face. How you wished you could map kisses along those freckles, connecting them with a trail of where your lips had been. But your faith and virtue prevent you from giving in to the desire. Besides, you are sure that if he ever found out you ever thought such things, he'd look at you with such revulsion that you'd crumble to the floor in shame.

He steps closer to you, tucking a stray hair behind your ear tenderly. "You have your mother's beauty, but your father's features," he hums, tweaking your nose playfully before wrapping you in a firm hug. It is not lost on you the slight curt tone his voice took on at the mention of your late father, but you dismiss it.

"And tell me, how have you been fairing during these trying times, hm? Don't tell me you hole yourself up in this sept all day." He teases, bringing a feeling of embarrassment over you for he had guessed correctly. Recently, you do spend the brunt of your days at the sept, praying to almost every facet of the Seven for mercy, strength, wisdom, and safety. Today, you were praying at the statue of the Mother, and after you lit a candle for her altar, you prayed for mercy and protection for your family members. It is one of the few things that brings you comfort nowadays, your faith in the Seven who are One.

"Well, there isn't much I can do," you shrug, letting a small frown tug at your lips. "It's not like I can sit in on a council meeting, and mother refuses to let me on my dragon. She seems perfectly content in keeping me idle and useless," you remark with a tone of annoyance, one that draws a low laugh from your uncle.

"Your mother means well, sweet niece. You're better suited here, getting favor from the gods as opposed to being in the midst of battle. Believe me, it is a bloody, nasty affair, and you are far too delicate to join in," he grips your chin in between his forefinger and his thumb, keeping your lilac gaze trained on his ocean-blue eyes.

You cannot even think of a response to his dismissing words, as you are too busy trying to push away the familiar ache you get between your thighs. It always comes at the most inconvenient of times, like when you watch the men in the training yard move, sweaty and shirtless, or when you spy on your brother coupling with a serving girl. All you know is that it persists for ages, and no amount of praying stops it.

But you can only try.

"S-Shall we pray, uncle? So that the Mother may grant us safety, of course," you propose, shifting nervously on your feet. Perhaps it is the light flush that has appeared on your face, or how you try to discreetly press your thighs together for some form of relief, but Gwayne knows. He always knows.

To save yourself some embarrassment, you resume your kneeling position before the statue and altar of the Mother, clasping your hands together in the standard praying position. You expect your uncle to kneel beside you, or just leave the sept all together, so you are quite surprised when you feel him loom behind you.

His firm chest swiftly presses against your back, and his larger and calloused hands come to rest over your softer ones, and you find yourself trapped in this embrace. Whether it is to your delight or misfortune, you cannot decide. You squeeze your eyes shut and silently beg for forgiveness for the unseemly thoughts that run through your brain at his actions. 'Who thinks such perverse things in a holy place?' you think, mentally chastising yourself.

"Well, go on then, sweet one. Pray for me," he whispers, and you can feel his breath fanning against the shell of your ear. Gwayne is enjoying this, enjoying this little game of denial you two play. Of course, it is wrong for him to want to take you in the lewdest positions, to have you scream his name so everyone knows who is fucking you so good, but he has restrained himself all this time. Patience is a great virtue, yes, but he wishes to reap his reward for remaining ever so patient now.

"M-Mother Above, have mercy on us all. I beg you for your protection, and for you to-" you cut yourself off with a gasp as your uncle buries his face into the crook of your neck, and gently nips at the soft skin there. He begins pressing himself against your ass, making your cheeks flush even more.

Noticing your sudden pause, he pulls back to look at your blushing face with a devilish smirk. "Well? Go on, don't mind me," he says before going right back to nipping and sucking at your neck. It is impossible for you to stay concentrated on your prayers as he continues, and you resign to praying in your head as your words fail you.

Your prayers only falter as you feel something hard poking against your backside, prodding and bumping against you relentlessly. Gwayne begins peppering kisses from your neck and to your jawline before tugging your head back gently, and letting his lips brush against yours. He only pauses as you tilt your head a little bit away in reluctance.

"U-Uncle, this is wrong. N-Not here, we cannot do this-"

"Shh, enough with that. It isn't wrong, not in the slightest. It's not wrong, not when you're meant for me. Surely even the gods will understand," he mumbles against the softness of your lips. You feel in that little moment of pause that his are a bit chapped, most likely from days of riding on horseback and camping in the wilderness. But it matters little then.

Once his lips are on yours, you cannot help the cascade of little moans that leaves you. His mouth is overwhelming and easily overpowers your rather inexperienced one, and you feel his hands move from their position over yours. One hand moves to your neck, and the other to your breast, fondling it through your dress as he continues humping you from behind.

You are thankful the sept is empty today. If word of what you do now reached your mother, of the depravity you partake in with her own brother, you're sure she'd have you sent far away to become a septa.

With a final peck to your lips, your uncle stands. He drinks in the sight of you like this; cheeks flushed, hair a bit messy, clothes rumpled, and swollen lips, all from him, of course. He swears then and there he's never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Up you go, princess," he mumbles, before picking you up with ease and setting you to sit on the edge of the altar. He messily pushes away the candles and various offerings left there to make room for you, and you cringe at the disrespect, disrespect born from lust and hastiness.

The new position allows for you to be relatively level with his face, and he soon hikes your dress up and stands between your parted thighs. As he begins to rub his erection against your clothed cunt, you grab onto his forearms to ground yourself.

His erection rubs against your dampened smallclothes, brushing against your bud and your folds. With each grind of his hips, you feel something like a fire burning through your bones. But with your clothes acting like a barrier, and the slightly awkward angle, it's not enough for you. Even with your unfamiliarity to such actions, you still know it is not enough.

"M-More, more. Uncle, I need more." you whine, pulling him closer by the laces of his breeches, eliciting a sly smirk from him.

"Well well, I never thought I'd see the day where my own niece was begging for me like a whore." he teases, making you frown at the crude and cruel word.

A cruel word indeed, and you feel the familiar sensation of your eyes watering, and your nose instinctively sniffling. Gwayne's smirk falters for a moment as he watches little tears spill from your eyes, but only for a moment.

"Aw, come now sweet girl, don't take offense. It was all in good fun, yes?" he coos to you, and you feel him begin to lick your tears away, catching the salty evidence of your crying on his tongue. "But oh, darling one, how pretty you look when you cry. Are you gonna cry more with what I do to you, little princess?" he asks with a mocking little pout, before kissing back down your neck.

You've always been a bit of a sensitive girl, everyone knows this. The smallest hint of frustration or anger to you, or even words spoken to you all in jest send you easily into tears. What you were not expecting was for them to be met with something other than the typical annoyed shushing you are used to receiving when you begin to cry.

Soon, Gwayne is kneeling before you, and pulling your wet smallclothes down. His lips pepper light kisses along your soft inner thighs, teasing you once more. "So wet...all for me, little princess?" he asks before nudging his nose against your bud, making you jolt with pleasure. He inhales your sweet scent. 'The scent of a wet virgin', he thinks crudely to himself.

You keep yourself propped up with your arms, and you look down at him between your thighs. Both of your legs have been thrown over his shoulders, and the instinct to wiggle your core closer to him grows. With a knowing gaze, Gwayne looks up at you with a smirk, before his tongue darts out and he dives in.

He eats you like a starved man.

His tongue licks stripes along your core, lapping up your arousal hungrily. His mouth works expertly, and all you can do is sit there helplessly and moan. Your little squeals and high-pitched whines sound adorable to him, and he laughs against your cunt. The vibrations, of course, make you jump again.

"My my, little niece, aren't you quite the sensitive one? Is your cunny as sensitive as your heart, hm?" he teases, as he continues to lick and suckle you. You cannot respond, too incapacitated by the pleasure his mouth brings you. It is nothing like you've ever felt before. Even your pillow or your hands don't feel as good as this.

"U-Uncle, uncle Gwayne, it feels s'good," you practically babble out as the lewd sounds of him slurping against you echoes around the sept. Your hand comes down to grip at his auburn hair, tugging him closer to your cunt. You care not anymore if this depravity is sullying a holy place, or if the gods watch with disapproval. There's always time to repent, after all.

The little pain you yanking his hair brings him makes him groan against your puffy folds, adding only to the stimulation you feel. "Yeah? Feels good? Oh, baby, you have no idea..." he murmurs, leaving you a little confused at his choice of words.

But you soon find out what exactly he means.

His mouth moves to focus only on your sensitive bud, sucking on it gently while he introduces two fingers to your wet folds. His fingers dance along your slit, dragging up and down in a slow, almost torturous manner.

You cry and squirm against him, greedily pushing his face right against your cunt. He heeds your signal, and finally pushes his fingers inside your velvety walls.

The stretch and feeling of something penetrating you are new and utterly foreign, but with the added stimulation his mouth still gives, the uncomfortableness of it all soon washes away to make room for pleasure. He begins pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, careful to not hurt you as he works you open.

Once he is sure you are ready, only then does he move his fingers faster. Your thighs squeeze around his head with the intensity of it all, and he has to wrench them back apart. "I can't move if you're trying to block me, sweetling," he chuckles, earning a sheepish "sorry" from you.

As he continues his ministrations, his fingers finally brush against and find that spongy sweet spot hidden up you. He begins to nudge against it with his fingertips, making you gush your arousal all over his face. You've never felt such an intense and yet wonderful feeling in your life, and soon you find it all beginning to build up and crescendo.

His free hand massages and strokes your hips gently, and rubs circles over your belly a little, just to soothe you. He can feel your walls tightening up, and how your thighs tremble and shake around his head. "You can do it, baby, you can do it. Go on, sweet niece," he coos, finally sending you over the edge.

With a loud cry, you tremble and feel such intense pleasure crashing over you like the waves during a tumultuous seastorm. You chant his name, worshipping him as if he were a god.

Once your peak washes over you, you slump against the base of the statue of the Mother. Gwayne promptly stands, his mouth and chin dripping with your juices. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted. Perhaps I should have you every night instead of wine." he smiles, before thumbing stray tears that rest on your flushed cheeks away.

He wipes his mouth with his forearm, before kissing you once more. You can taste yourself on your tongue. "I have to go now, sweet one. Pray to the gods for me, will you? And when I come back, we can pray together again. Wouldn't you like that?" he grins, cupping your face in his hands.

A knowing smile forms on your kiss-swollen lips as you understand the insinuations of his words. As he rides off to fight your brother's war, you will remain praying in the sept, longing for the day he will return and come to pray with you again.

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[bitchimasnake-sss]

hii! i really love how u write like.. I ALWAYS GET EXCITED EVERYTIME U POST!! if it's okay can i request rin itoshi with a size kink.. like the reader is just too small for his own good. Thank you so much!!!!

don't look at me, i'm high on the praises. here you go queen, here's your filth mwuah mwuah :)

☆ adorable!

rin itoshi thinks you're adorable.

he thinks you're adorable when you compare the size of her hand to his randomly, or when he can only really see the top of your head when on a walk.

he thinks you're adorable when you wear a hoodie of his, and completely get drowned under the fabric. or when you snuggle next to him during a movie-night and he can feel just how well you fit against his chest — the slow rise and fall of your chest synced to his.

he thinks you're adorable when you pout and he can squish your cheeks together with one hand easily, or when you need something from the topmost shelf and you need his help — even if you throw a fit about it.

rin itoshi just thinks you're adorable. that's it. it's innocent.

it's just every once in a while that his mind... it races.

rin itoshi thinks of how well your small hands would feel against his cock as you jerk him off, or how he could just lift the hoodie you had borrowed from him and bunch it on your waist as he fucks into your pliant cunt from behind.

rin itoshi could so easily press his achy, pre-smeared tip to the back of your throat, right? could you even take half of his length, or would you cry? doe-eyes so tearful as he would make it fit within your mouth?

shit, rin itoshi could probably catch both of your hands in one of his and have you however he wants.

what would you be able to even do? try to shake him off? or perhaps, try to shimmy off his grip from yours as he makes you cry with the relentless pace of his cock ramming into you? what could you even do beside take it..?

and fuck, maybe rin itoshi could fuck you in one of his jerseys.

that itoshi tag would look so pretty sticking to your back as he would smack his pelvis against yours in a lewd rhythm, pulling your hair back, drawing out such pornographic moans out of your wrecked body. that tag would look so pretty as your wobbling lips would chant his name and your helpless hands would try to grasp onto the sheets under — grasp onto your slipping sanity.

what about the fact that he could easily carry you from one place to the other? rin itoshi can almost imagine how easily he'd be able to toss and turn you — manhandle you into whatever position he'd like.

even with jittery limbs and pussydrunk thoughts, he is sure he'd be able to first have you against the couch, then the floor, the the kitchen counter, maybe the bedroom next, and lastly, in the shower...?

and, god, rin itoshi could probably feel his erection bulge within your heat, see it with his own two eyes.

what would he even do when he sees the impression of his cockhead slyly against your stomach? would he press down on it, make you see stars with each dragged out plunge of his cock, or would he squish your cheeks with one hand and make you look at the obscene bulge yourself?

rin itoshi could almost just cum from the thought of having you—

"—rin?" your soft voice breaks his train of thoughts, "you okay..? you look dazed."

"do i?" rin plasters on a smile, suddenly remembering about the utterly stupid movie playing on his t.v. screen, and you — his bestfriend — slumped next to him. he shakes his head with the same smile, "sorry. jus' started thinkin' about something."

you stare up at him, looking so confused, "about what?"

"hah, nothing in particular." rin just shrugs, burying the topic well-before it could even start. "focus on the movie."

"okay...?" you mutter in return, confused at the way he was behaving.

but what could rin itoshi even confess? after all, you weren't even his girlfriend yet.

a/n: pervert!rin is so dear to my heart. nobody can take him away. wrote this one in a hurry so sorry about any mistakes :p tagging: @5hoe1 @scara-simp69 @moodswing101 m.list

[snowballseal]

hihiiii I adoreee your writing, it’s so good! genuinely so fun to read. if it’s not too much trouble, could I possibly request some sylus fluff?

maybe something along the lines of MC craving lots of affection/being a bit clingy towards him and just wanting to be near him after a while of being apart?

absolutely no rush or obligations if this doesn’t exactly pique your interest!! have a lovely day ❤️

Soft

Sylus X Reader (LaDS)

Summary: Just a little fic of you and Sylus reuniting after a while apart. You doesn't want to be apart from him and he obliges.

Word Count: 818

Note: Hi anon! I know this isn't super long, but I hope you like it! I love describing how soft Sylus can be for MC, and it felt like a cute, simple piece. I can write something longer if you'd like, just let me know!

---

“Sylus!”

The man lets out a low chuckle as you practically throw yourself at him. He catches you with practiced ease, arms wrapping securely around your waist as he spins you around. It’s like one of those cheesy romance flicks, other travelers rushing around you to greet their own waiting families, a bubbly yet tired kind of mirth warming the frigid, fall air.

It had been a month since you’d seen Sylus. A long, grueling, horrible month. While you love your job, you hate the extended training camps you have to attend every few years. Always in the middle of nowhere. Always with limited contact with the outside world. Limited contact with Sylus.

You don’t know how many nights you spent staring at the blank walls of your tiny dorm room, sleep nowhere to be found when all you could think about was how much you missed his touch, his warmth, him. It was like being terribly homesick, and all you wanted was to be back in his arms.

And now you are.

Even when your feet touch the ground again, you don’t want to let go. And neither does Sylus. His arms stay curled around your waist, face tucked against your hair as he pulls you impossibly closer, just breathing you in. You all but melt into his warmth, nuzzling against his chest with a happy, content noise.

“My, my, it seems my little kitten missed me,” he murmurs, low and teasing against your ear. You can practically hear the smirk curling his lips.

“Can you blame me?” You draw back a fraction to pout up at him. Those vermillion eyes glint down at you with a smug amusement, but you don’t mind fanning his ego a little right now. “We barely even got the chance to talk on the phone. It was awful and cold and exhausting. I don’t know why they wanted us training in the north, we were all just a bunch of sad popsicles.”

“Mm, sounds quite tragic,” Sylus hums, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly. Your theatrics are endearing, and who is he to not play along? Hands tracing slowly up and down your waist, Sylus gives you a look of teasing sympathy, “Poor kitten. Perhaps I should take you home and find a way to warm you up, hm?”

Home. God, you love the sound of that. You’re home. With him. The thought fills your chest with a fluttering sort of excitement.

“Home sounds perfect,” you sigh, nuzzling back into him with an absolutely giddy smile. “Just, don’t let me go, mkay?”

The man softens and for a moment, he’s not Sylus the leader of Onychinus. He’s just Sylus. Your Sylus.

You make him different. You turn him into something soft, something tender, with your love. Like a balm soothing his sharp edges, his harsh nature. He never thought himself capable of such gentleness until he held you, until he felt the plushness of your body in his hands. Even though you are one of Linkon’s most capable hunters, something in him desires to treat you like porcelain, something otherwise vicious and bloody. Like a feral dog, licking your chin, body curved to be small and nonthreatening despite the sharpness of its fangs pressed against your skin.

And you never once flinched. Never once pulled away from his hands, even when his grip would edge on painful, even when his teeth would sink into your skin with a sinful need to possess something so soft, so sweet.

Though, he’ll play nice tonight, seeing as your body curls so tiredly into his, practically all your weight in his arms.

“Alright, sweetie,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, “I accept your conditions. You won’t have to worry about anything tonight, I’ll take good care of you.”

You hum your approval, though it sounds more like a purr. A smirk dancing across his lips, Sylus leans down and curls an arm under you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. He grabs your bag with his other hand, and starts back towards his motorcycle.

You forget all about the cold that night. Even the soreness in your muscles seems to fade away as you lay curled against Sylus’ side on his couch, a large, fluffy blanket thrown over the both of you, some movie humming quietly in the background.

And Sylus keeps his word. Not once does he let you go. Even when you start to yawn, eyelids heavy with sleep, Sylus simply lays out across the couch and drags you over his body, until you can stretch out like a cat over his chest. He keeps an arm locked around your waist, making sure you won’t fall as you finally, finally give in to the sleep your body so desperately needs.

It’s perfect.

He’s perfect.

And you hope you never have to go on another blasted training mission again.

---

I'll be real, I think my personal headcannon is that Sylus is like a feral yet loyal dog. I use the comparison a lot, I feel. Like, he can be vicious and wild, but he'd bow for you, he'd get himself killed for you (if he could lol). He would have a loyalty so unwavering, and that's terrifying in a way. But also? Kinda sexy 👀