#its WAY more interesting than if it had only been in one language even if i can't follow the nonenglish parts

[hoshigumayuugi]

really love the detail in reverse 1999 when characters will speak in their native tongue.

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

FIRST TIME

PAIRING : teenage!dean winchester x teenage!fem!reader (au)

SUMMARY : reader finally decides to give her virginity to dean

WARNINGS : young love. fluff. smut. horniness. cunnilingus. fingering. under-aged sex. rough sex. semi-pubic sex. unprotected p in v. aftercare. attentive dean. strong language. praise kink.

A/N : this oneshot is a prequal to homework [if you haven't read it yet, go check it out!] thank you to everyone who's read and supported it, it means the world. i plan on making a few more oneshots (that could be read on its own) in this universe. let me know what you think 😆

Your eight-month anniversary with Dean was today. In a (good) way, it felt longer. Growing up, you were taught to respect your body. You were told to wait for marriage before having a man worship at your temple. It was "the best gift you could give your husband," at least that's what they said. Until now, you haven't had a problem waiting. Sure, you had urges from time to time like any teenager, but no one had made you feel how you felt with Dean.

The longer you spent with him, the more you craved. It wasn't just his physical attributes but his personality, too. Every exchange of words, every shared moment, and every heartfelt conversation only entrenched your love even further. It was the way he protected you, cared for you, and loved you that made you feel safe. Until you, he had no interest in dating. Why would he when all he wanted from girls was something they offered him freely?

You had been the first girl ever to deny him, and that's what drew him in. He wasn't looking for a relationship, but hearing the word 'no' intrigued him. Suddenly, finding ways to get your attention was his priority. Whether it was meeting you at your locker every morning with flowers, seeing you after school to offer you a ride home, or even cornering your best friend for help winning you over, he didn't stop. It wasn't until you overhead your peers discuss how Dean dismissed any girl who engaged with him that you took him seriously.

And there he was again, at your locker, with the brightest bouquet of tulips, your favorite. His charming smile beams towards you, filling you with joy from across the hall. Students pass by, talking amongst themselves about you. "Watch, she's going to blow him off again." "How could she do that? He's so hot." "He's only trying to win her over to get in her pants. She's not even that cute." Even though it wasn't in your nature to ignore them, you chose not to cause a scene, not with them anyway.

A smile lit up your face as you focused on Dean. "Hey," You greet once you're standing before him.

"Hey, beautiful," You couldn't help but blush at the pet name, loving how it sounded coming from his mouth.

He hands you the flowers, and you happily accept them. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He leans against the locker beside yours, watching you open your own. You inhaled the bouquet before gently placing the tulips inside. "I'm sure I know the answer to this, but would you like to go out sometime?"

You close your locker and stare into his dreamy eyes as you reply, "I'd love to."

His face lit up like a kid on Christmas. It seemed he was ready for you to turn him down again, and as much as he wanted, he didn't expect you to say yes. He leaned away from the lockers as a smile stretched across his face. His infectious smile brought one of your own. You always imagined saying those words to him, and now that you did, it was better than you had dreamed it would be.

"Really? T-that's great! Does tonight work?"

"Yeah, tonight's perfect."

"Awesome, I'll pick you up at eight."

You weren't a bold person, but you couldn't resist standing on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. Your hand rests against his arm, maintaining your balance as your lips press against his face. Even though your gesture was small, he closed his eyes and enjoyed your lingering kiss. You slowly pull away and lean back on your heels. The passing crowd seemed to still at the publicly displayed affection. Hush conversations began as everyone gawked at you two. Before doubt could seep in, Dean grasped your attention.

"Don't listen to them."

You nodded, listening to his words and ignoring the others. "I'll see you tonight."

The Impala comes to a soft halt in the middle of the grassy field like it did all those nights ago. A smile appears when you realize he's recreating your first date. Dean had taken you to his favorite diner in town as the sun had set before coming here. The pur of the engine ceases, and his door creaks open. You've learned over the months to wait for your boyfriend rather than exiting Baby by yourself. Despite your protests, he insisted on being the gentleman his parents raised him to be, someone he was, only with you.

Dean helps you onto the hood, then joins. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side. Your backs lean against the windshield, heads tilted towards the night sky. Stars litter the dark canvas above, shining as bright as the first time he brought you. A warm breeze blew through the trees, over the open field, and towards the Impala. Crickets play their song as the rustle of leaves hum from afar. It was a scene out of a romance novel.

A content smile found its home on your face. You didn't need to talk to feel comfortable with him and were confident he felt the same. Being in his presence alone filled you with a sense of safety. Dean has had his share of fights defending you, whether you wanted him to or not. He never gave you a reason to doubt him, and you knew deep in your soul that wouldn't change. That's why you decided tonight was the night you'd give yourself to him completely.

Tearing your gaze from the stars, you direct your admiration towards your boyfriend. Feeling your stare, he turns his undivided attention towards you. You lean forward and connect your lips with his. He doesn't waste a moment to kiss you back with just as much passion. His hand runs through your hair, sending tingling sensations across your scalp. You breathe him in, quickly accepting his tongue. He leans over your body, deepening the kiss. Eager for more, you push him back against the windshield and straddle his hips. Your ass grinds against his lap, and he pulls your hair, breaking the kiss, only to attach his mouth to your neck.

Small moans escape your peppered throat, the light breeze carrying them away. The feeling of Dean's growing member rubbing against your entrance made you apathetic toward the marks he was leaving behind. You'd happily deal with the evidence later. Your eyes squeeze shut as the friction becomes overwhelming. Shallow breaths leave your lungs as tension quickly builds in the pit of your stomach.

With one hand on the back of your head and the other at the bottom of your spine, he lays you across on the hood. He hovers over your body before continuing the actions from before. Dean harshly rubs his bulging jeans against yours, and your legs wrap around his hips to pull him closer. Your body clings to his, only encouraging him to grind harder. Desperation gets the best of you when your walls clench around nothing.

"I need you," You breathe out.

Dean stops his movements and stares into your eyes, asking, "What?"

"I need you—I want you."

"A-are you sure?" He inquires as he rises to a seated position.

"Yes, D." You sit too and reassure him. "I've been thinking about it for a while now. What better time than on our anniversary?"

He hesitates but says, "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't expect—I would've planned it out if I knew you were ready. I imagined our first time—your first time—to be perfect. Not in the back seat of my car; You mean so much more than that."

"I know, but it can still be perfect."

"How?"

"Well..." You take his hand in yours, squeezing gently. "I think losing my virginity to the boy I love under the stars sounds pretty perfect to me."

"That sounds great, but the 'where' part is still an issue."

You glance around your surroundings before settling with, "Right here."

His eyebrows draw together. "On the hood?"

"Beats the backseat for my first time. And, I don't know, having sex on the hood of the Impala sounds sexier."

A dry chuckle escapes his lips as he shakes his head. "Does it now?"

"Mhm," You hum as you scoot closer.

He inhales sharply once you gently press your lips against his throat, instantly finding his sweet spot. Because your relationship hadn't gone further than second base, you both had gotten pretty good at teasing each other. You had to admit, there were a few times when you almost caved out of sheer lust. But tonight was different: you were ready. A grin plays on your lips as your other hand trails down to his tightening jeans. Groans fall from his mouth as you palm his erection and sink your teeth into his sensitive skin.

Your hand undoes his pants, and before you can slip your hand in, he lays you back down. His lips capture yours, and you quickly move in sync. You pull his shirt up, hinting you wanted it off. He complies and pulls it over his head, tossing it to the ground. As he kneels in front of you, you pull his jeans down and see his boner through the fabric of his boxers.

After discarding his pants, he reaches for yours to peel them off. As he did that, you quickly took your shirt off. You were both now in your undergarments, staring hungrily at one another. He hovers over you and kisses down your neck towards your chest. Your body goes hot, growing hornier by the second. His fingers drag the straps of your bra off your shoulders as his mouth places wet kisses on the top of your breasts. You arch your back, giving him access to unhook your bra.

The outline of his cock presses into your clit, distracting you from your unruly thoughts. His warm tongue finds your left nipple, licking it before taking it into his mouth and gently sucking. He doesn't leave the right one unoccupied for long. His fingers lightly pinch and twist your hardened nipple. You close your eyes, enjoying the pleasure his mouth, fingers, and dick are creating. The intensity of his member grinding against your clit and the stimulation of both your nipples were driving you to the edge. Suddenly, his mouth unlatches itself from you, causing you to open your eyes in confusion.

Dean's large hands run down your thighs, sending goosebumps along your skin. His fingers loop around the waistband of your underwear, and before he goes further, he silently asks if it's okay. You nod and watch as he pries your soaked panties from your body. Instinctively, you try closing your legs, feeling insecure. Flush ran throughout your entire body. You had never been this intimate with someone, and it was frightening. He detects your lack of confidence and promptly makes you feel comfortable.

"You're so beautiful." He praises. "So much better than I ever imagined."

His fingertips lightly ran over your skin as if he were afraid to hurt you. They cupped the back of your knees and gently lifted until they bent. Dean slowly kisses down your thighs, and between each peck, he compliments you. You feel your insecurity disappear the closer he gets to your most intimate area. Without wasting another moment, his face devours your pussy as if he were a starved man. You arch your back as he licks your cunt clean, skillfully working through your folds. Your eyes roll back once his nose presses against your clit. Before you knew what was happening, you came all over his tongue.

"Oh, God," you pant with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to—I didn't know I was gonna cum so fast."

Dean lifts his head from between your thighs, the area around his mouth glossy with your juice. "Don't ever apologize, you got it?" After you nod, he dips down again, slurping up every last trace of your arousal, humming, "You taste so fucking good, princess."

You tug at his hair, squirming underneath his face. His thumb finds your bundle of nerves, rubbing it in circles, making your body unexpectedly jerk. You watch as he removes his countenance and trails kisses up your body. He lays on his side next to you before tucking his arm around your shoulders. The beating of your heart quickens as he applies the right amount of pressure you didn't know your clit needed. Your hips buck upwards while a whine slips past your lips, wanting more.

His fingers travel further down, running through your glistening folds. You knew what came next, the anticipation deafening. Slowly, he slides his index finger inside you. A content sigh falls from your mouth, enjoying how his digit drives in and out of your cunt. Dean sees your pleased and lazy smile, and a smirk emerges on his lips before adding another finger. You inhale deeply, feeling the difference between one and two fingers. It doesn't take long before his thick fingers pleasure you once again.

You bite your lip to stifle your moans, not wanting to annoy your boyfriend with your uncontrollable squeals. He notices and mumbles against the side of your mouth, "Let it out, princess. I want to hear every little sound you make."

That was all you needed to hear. Dean's fingers worked faster, taking you near the edge, and your moans told him so. They grow louder with each thrust, but the moment his fingers curled, you lost it. Your hand grabbed his hair, holding on as he fingered your g-spot. The muscles in your stomach contract, and you get that feeling again; your climax begins. You close your legs, thighs wrapping around his arm, making the high intensify. His consistency doesn't falter, and his digits fuck you, only taking you higher. Once it ends, your legs fall, and he pulls his hand away.

Your chest rises and falls, trying to catch your breath. Dean brings his drenched hand to his mouth, his eyes finding yours before closing his lips around his fingers and pulling them out at an agonizingly slow pace. Fuck, you thought. Watching him suck your fluids from his digits alone could've made you cum again. Your left-hand slips into his boxers before wrapping around his erection. A small groan falls from his lips, having never been touched like this by you. Without having to see his length, you felt it was rather long. You pumped his silky soft cock a few times and felt him twitch. His previously soaked hand pulls off his remaining clothing, freeing his large member. Your eyes widen; He's much bigger than you imagined.

How was he going to fit? You wonder. He saw the worry in your eyes and ran his fingers through your hair, pushing it away from your face before kissing the tip of your nose. Dean gently grasped the hand that held him and intertwined your fingers together as he hovered over you. He nudges your knees apart, and you happily allow him between your legs. This was it. This was what you both have been waiting—what felt like anyway—an eternity for. Your mind was ready, but you weren't sure if your body was.

"It's going to be okay, sweetheart," Dean reassures. "I'll go as slow as you need."

You nod, intoxicated by his affectionate attentiveness. "Okay."

His lips connect with yours, kissing your nerves away. He rubs his tip through your folds, coating it with your wetness. You break apart and angle your head to watch his cock disappear in your awaiting pussy. The pain as he stretches your walls rips through your body, forcing your eyes shut. Your face scrunches in discomfort as he pushes in further. Whines come from your mouth as he slowly bottoms out. Dean stays still, kissing your forehead as you adjust to his size.

"I know, princess, I'm sorry. I promise it'll feel better."

You nod in response. Soon, your eyes open as the pain becomes tolerable, whispering, "Okay, you can move."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Dean's eyes scan over your countenance, trying to detect any lies. When he saw none, he began to move. You inhale sharply as the pain rushes back. His hips stop their retraction, but you quickly shake your head in protest.

"Keep going," You say through gritted teeth.

Without question, he pulls back until his tip threatens to slip out. Slowly, he drives back in. You squeeze his hand and wrap the other around his shoulder as your legs cling to his torso. His lips pepper your face with kisses as he continues to thrust the discomfort away. Over the months, you've seen the womanizer everyone knew Dean as vanish. He always took care of you—physically, mentally, and emotionally. You couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend, especially right now. His effort to soothe you seemed to have worked. The pain turned to pleasure, and you ached for more.

"Faster," You murmur into his ear.

He bit his lip, trying to distract himself from spilling his cum so soon, but the way your walls squeezed around him made it nearly impossible. Dean picks up his speed, playing his own game of russian roulette. You felt his cock twitch inside you, prompting a moan and the tightening of your insides. He buries his head into your neck, attempting to postpone his climax. The pleasure began to build in your stomach, and per his earlier request, you made it known.

"Fuck, babe. If you keep it up, I'm going to cum." He groans.

You giggle, "Isn't that the point?"

He thrusts deeper, answering, "Not until you do."

A new wave of satisfaction washes over your body, making you moan louder, begging, "Harder."

Dean complies, bucking his hips into the back of your thighs. His name fell from your lips like a prayer. You untangle your hand from his and dig your nails into his back. Sure, you had daydreamed of having sex with your boyfriend hundreds of times, but you never imagined it being this mind-blowing. His member deliciously bruises your g-spot, causing pain and pleasure to fight for dominance. Sounds you never thought you could make fall from your mouth, encouraging him to quicken his pace. The Impala rocked side to side, utilizing the suspension's swaybar with each vigorous thrust.

"Fuck, Dean. Just like that, baby. Don't stop." You beg between moans.

The tension in your belly threatened to snap any second. The area just under his waist rubs against your clit, coercing your chest to arch into his. He presses you into the warm hood, keeping your squirming to a minimum. Tears flood your eyes as your immense climax approaches. Your body tenses as it braces for your last orgasm, squeezing Dean's phallus for dear life.

"Cum on my cock, princess." He urges as he fights off his own release. "I know you can do it. Mm... 'Want to feel you come undone on my dick. C'mon, sweetheart, do it for me."

His words were all you needed to fall over the edge. Except you didn't fall, you flew. Your fluids gushed on his member as you screamed into the night air. His thrusts began to falter, but he forced himself to ride you through your high. Your toes curl while your eyes roll back, your climax taking control of your body.

Unable to fight off his orgasm any longer, he hurriedly asks, "Where do you want it?"

You can barely form words as your body shakes uncontrollably. "D-d-does-n't ma-tter."

The weight of Dean's body lifts from yours as he sits back, pulling himself out and grabbing his wet member. Your eyes refocus in time to see him accidentally ejaculate on your folds. His cock twitches again, this time spraying across your upper body. A breathy groan falls from his parted lips as ropes of hot cum coat your skin. You feel his seed drip towards your entrance, daring to breed life with you. The thought of carrying his child brings a smile to your face. No, no. You're too young, you remind yourself. Can't start a family with him yet. He bends over your body and kisses your lips. He presses his softening dick against your wet folds as you kiss him back.

"As much as I love bathing in your cum, I think I wanna clean up so we can cuddle." You pant, trying to catch your breath on the way down from your high.

He chuckles against your lips before sitting up again. "I'll be right back."

Dean climbs off the Impala and opens the back door. You lay still as the fluids threaten to leak onto the hood. He shuts the door, returning with a blanket in one hand and napkins and a water bottle in the other. He sets the blanket on the windshield before hopping next to you. He wipes the mess away and uses the water to remove the stickiness left behind. Once he finished cleaning you up, he tossed the dirty napkins off the car. He lays beside you and wraps his arm around your shoulders. You snuggle into his bare chest, listening to the beat of his heart as he pulls the blanket around you two.

He stares at the night sky, gazing at the stars, when you confess, "I love you."

Your boyfriend kisses the top of your head, mumbling against your hair, "I love you too, sweet pea."

"Thank you for being my first."

His hand gently lifts your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. "Thank you for trusting me to be your first."

Your lips curl into a smile, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO JAYS-BONNIE-ON-THE-SIDE

: do not steal, plagiarize, translate, and/or republish any of my works* on here or another platform

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[pearlywritings]

Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife. PART 2

pairings: Capitano, Kaveh, Tighnari, Zhongli x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort; hybrids, unwelcomed courting, kind of female objectification (all in Tighnari's part)

word count: 6.9k+ words

a/n: part 1 can be read here!

Capitano

Fast elegant fingers of a pianist run across the keys of black and white and the violins in the hands of other musicians are there to serve together with the chorus of beautiful voices, selected by Lady Columbina personally. The music infiltrates the souls of the nobles present, filling them with the sense of grandeur and glory, touching even their harsh unfeeling hearts.

The atmosphere of the gathering is gratifying, would’ve even been endearing if not for the stately figures of the Harbingers standing on both sides of the throne, where the Tsaritsa would've been seated had she not decided to refrain from attending it altogether. She has more important matters to take care of, and nine of her most loyal servants can definitely fill in her place on that yearly event.

Sure, this year it is more important since the two Harbingers are missing and the seats stay vacant - it's been the talk of the nation. Who is going to be nominated? Can it be influenced? Will they claim the names today?

Is the mysterious Commander, whose arrival became the topic of multiple speculations, be the one? A fierce warrior many heard of, but almost none saw face to face. The man was believed to be as powerful as the 11th Harbinger or maybe even the 10th! Having an army and an establishment of his own on the farthest line of the Snezhnayan border, he still is under the command of Lord Capitano, which makes it even harder to fish any more information than what is already known to the public.

"I only heard about him. He and his troops are protecting our borders from the monster's invasion in the North."

"Ew, who would've wanted to live in the North! It's much harsher than all the Snezhnaya."

"Shush, the Commander is wealthy and respectful, you can bear some cold."

"What do you imply?"

"The Commander is unmarried, there is no way he isn't, not with a life like this. But it can always be changed, and the woman he takes as wife would be one of the luckiest ones!"

"You are right… Maybe he is actually handsome. Maybe he'd be even willing to buy a whole mansion for his promised one and not take her with him to that awful place. Maybe…"

Maybe, maybe, maybe. It travels through the crowds like a storm in its wake, eventually reaching the Harbingers, who, for the first time after appearing and greeting the already arrived, stop resembling the statues. Eyes shift among the people and each other; some gazes hold interest, some - annoyance. Only Pantalone has an ever present smile on his face, fingers clasped in front of him and sapphire rings sparkle in the ballroom light.

"Looks like Capitano's estimated soldier caught everyone's attention. My, my, how curious and nosy the people can be…"

"I understand the curiosity though," admits Childe, arms crossed to prevent laying even a finger on his blade, that is resting on his hip. "This person sounds like an interesting specimen… I've heard of his talents in both strategy and tactics, and it seems like his strength is a legend. I'd love to spar with him."

"Oh you, thinking only about fights, young man," Pulcinella disapprovingly shakes his head and raises his cane to point in the gingerhead's direction. "I highly doubt our guest will have time to spare, considering the period of time concerning the stay that was mentioned in the letter we received."

"And I believe the majority of that time would be spent with Il Capitano, isn't it right?" Columbina's soft voice must be drowning in the music, but everyone hears her loud and clear.

"..." The Harbinger stays silent and nothing can be read from his body language since he is the only one remaining still in his place, his huge looming figure resembling one of the full-set armor nobles like putting in their halls as a part of interior. Except this one isn't empty.

"So much potential to become my test subject, to be perfected... Yet lost to the lands of Northern regions," Dottore huffs in disappointment, his sharp teeth peaking when he clicks his tongue. "Say, Pierro, can't things be rearranged? I'd happily have our dear border protector as my underling."

The silence between the nine suddenly becomes thick. There is something indescribably tense in the air and only Childe can't understand why some of his colleagues seem to be more interested in how the Captain would react and not the 1st of the Harbingers..

"You know why this can't be rearranged, Dottore," the stare of an icy blue eye would pin everyone to the ground, destroying their will and order to obey, though doing little to scare the Doctor. "And it was favored by the Tsaritsa herself."

The finality of the short statement makes the scientist back down from the proposition he's been bringing up every time the topic touches the Commander, yet ending up the same way as always - with an ultimate rejection.

Three heavy thuds make everyone in the room fall silent. Many heads turn to look at the ceremonial staff hitting the floor the last time and staying still in the hand of a tall, thoroughly dressed man.

"The protector of the Northern border, the glorified and esteemed warrior of Her Majesty Tsaritsa, The Commander has arrived," the master's of ceremonies voice carries like a thunderclap, cutting off the quite leisurely music the orchestra was playing for the dances and entertainment.

The rustle of note sheets is fleeting and not a moment later the musicians straighten in their seats, taking a deep breath. Trumpets boom in a spacious room and make nobles shiver in surprise, some especially susceptible women even lean on their partners for support. The choir and the violins join the triumphant song the brass instruments sing, signaling that the time has come.

Everyone holds their breath as the tall heavy doors leading to the ballroom are being pulled open. Everyone has their gaze glued to a slowly growing gap. Everyone keeps their eyes wide open, afraid that even one blink can cost them missing the legendary sight.

Everyone gasps.

The tall figure enters, posture straight and shoulders squared, confidence evident in every step. Black satin clothes are adorned with golden chains and intricate patterns. The white military coat stayed resting on the shoulders - showing off the position, the closeness to the Harbingers. And then there is the face - a scar crossing the left brow, calm bored eyes, not sparing anyone a glance, which do not fit the other female features of your face.

Yes, the Commander happens to be a woman.

Stopping by the steps leading to the throne, you bow - not kneel, bow, - holding your open palm by the heart and respectfully closing your eyes. Music stops.

“Greetings, my lords. Let Tsaritsa bless you and your mission.”

“Let Tsaritsa bless you and your service to her,” Pierro says, raising his hand. “Lift your head,” which you do, looking him right in the eyes, yet still holding your hand by the chest. “There is time for duties and there is time for entertainment. And tonight, given your rare visits to the capital, I suggest you enjoy the latter.”

“Much obliged, Lord Pierro.”

And with a wave of the older man’s hand, the orchestra starts a new composition, waking up the ones who were in a daze, reminding others they are here for drama.

And the first one to take action is the 11th Harbinger.

“Commander, Sir- I mean, Lady?” The gingerhead is the closest to you out of all his colleagues, having only to descend a few steps to be on your level. “I’ve heard a lot about you, many admirable things. How do you look at sparring?”

“Right in the middle of a ballroom? Quite positively, young man,” your lips twist in a half-smirk, baring a sharp pearly canine. “But I believe the nobles have already had enough shock to take and rumors to create. Maybe another time. Haven’t seen you before though. Are you new?”

“Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, Lady Commander.”

“Ma’am would be enough,” you click your tongue, glancing behind and noticing how slowly, but surely some of the aristocrats are inching towards you, clearly interested in conversation, Well, you are not. “On second thought, starting a duel right now and here doesn’t sound like a bad idea…”

“I’ve always known you are quite insane,” Arlechino butts her way in the conversation, giving you only a small nod as a greeting. You simply glance at her.

“For years I’ve been hearing of my insanity, think of something new,”

“How about, ‘the one who knows no limits’?” Pantalone’s smile is as dazzling as it’s fake and sometimes your hands are itching to strangle the man. Maybe even go all the way out and bite his head off. Literally.

“The only ones who know no limits are the wind and the stupidity. I’m neither. Who I am though,” your gaze travels higher, to the steps closest to the Tsaritsa’s throne, to there Pierro and the first three Harbingers are standing, “is a wife. And I’d like to have a dance with my husband.”

Not many heard your words, but the ones who did, gasp loudly, staring at you with wide eyes. Which get even wider when Il Capitano, a seemingly motionless statue before, turns in his place and, without a pause, steadily descends to you. Now, as you are standing so closely it becomes evident how obviously your outfits match. The chains, the patterns, even the precious stones - everything. Perhaps it is terrifyingly cute. Perhaps it's cutely terrifying.

“Husband,” your smile again, offering him your hand, which he immediately envelopes in his big clawed one.

“Wife,” is the first word the big figure rumbles for the evening, the void of its helmet staring at you. And that’s all you speak to each other, hearing the beginning of another melody and turning to join the dancing pairs.

“...What was that?” Childe voices what’s been plaguing the minds of the attendees. “First the Commander appears to be a woman, and now she is married to the Lord Il Capitano?” He glances at Pulcinella, who joins his side and decides to watch the pair that caused a commotion have their fun. “Do they not use their names?”

“They find no sense in them,” the Rooster answers just the last question. “And,” he lowers his voice and the ginger has to bend down to hear the next words, “I didn’t tell you that, but the Captain really loves calling her his wife. So be quite cautious while seeking a fight with her. You might end up impaled. By either of them.”

Kaveh

With a soft smile you watch a group of children merrily leaving their classroom, interrupting each other in attempts to tell everyone how exciting the lesson was. They do not forget to grin and wave at you, passing by, and you return the sentiment, contently observing their happy faces and sparkly eyes.

Every time this happens, a strange sense of fulfillment overtakes you - supporting and sponsoring Kaveh was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made. The greatest architect of nowadays is offering his guidance to the young generation, teaching them everything about beauty and practicality, helping them to develop their own creative vision, and at the same time boosting the confidence of kids of all ages. And you couldn’t be prouder of him.

Him, who meticulously prepares for every single lesson. Him, who is oh-so-gentle with his words and precise in his speech. Him, who teaches both Sumeru citizens and people coming from abroad. Him, who is as passionate about it, as he is about his designing job, telling you every single detail of how the lessons went on your way home or over the dinner. Him, who is happy and who makes you happy too with that fact alone.

When the last kid leaves, marking the ending of the final class for today, you glance at the clock. Now Mister Meticulousness will need half an hour to tidy up the classroom and put all the tools away. Tomorrow is free from classes at his (he always corrects your as in the both of you) school, so you can collect your stuff as well - after all, being the manager of this establishment and Kaveh specifically requires your presence. You can be strict and unyielding whenever he can’t and this partnership proves to be successful every day.

Just as you are writing down some financial staff, there is a soft knock on the doorframe. Immediately lifting your eyes you hum, observing a very good-looking woman and a boy, shyly holding onto her hand.

“Hello, how can I help you?” With a quill laid on top of your accounting book, you stand and round the table, offering the two to step closer.

“Ah, hello, miss…” eyes with long, pretty lashes flit to the name tag attached to your clothes, “...Y/n. This is master Kaveh’s artistic school, am I correct?”

“Yes, you are. Are you here to sign your boy up for a class?” You offer her son a sweet smile and he answers you with a small lift of his lips.

“Mhm. You see, he is a big fan of master Kaveh and his works - can study the pictures of his designs taken by Kamera day and night.”

At that, the boy lowers his gaze and blushes a little, digging a hole in the ground with the tip of his shoe.

“Oh, really?” A gasp that escapes your chest is one of excitement. “That’s marvelous! I am sure your hopefully soon-to-be-teacher will be very interested in hearing your opinion of his works, young connoisseur,” he giggles, lifting his eyes at you again, and there you see undisguised delight. “Oh, but my bad, I didn’t ask your names…”

The woman’s lips bare two rows of perfectly white teeth as she smiles at you, introducing herself and her son.

“We are from Fontaine actually. But my parents wanted to spend some indefinite period of time in Sumeru for their health and we decided to join them. So while we are here, I thought I’d make my son’s dream come true.”

“That’s so nice of you,” you can’t help but admire her a little for that. “I can tell you first a little about our school, you’ll ask all the questions you need to, and then I’ll show you around. Kaveh should be done with cleaning by then, so there’s a big chance you’ll even talk to him personally.”

“Really!?” That’s the first time throughout your entire interaction when the boy opens his mouth and actually makes a sound. “Master Kaveh is here right now?”

“He is. But can’t promise a long conversation - there are still blueprints waiting for him back at home.

“Ah, right… He is the great architect after all,” the woman hums, staring to the side as if in thought. “Between the commissions he takes and this school he must be making good money. Not to mention so handsome…”

Oh… What a familiar tone, what a familiar look in those eyes. Suddenly that ounce of respect you felt for her disappears.

“Money is irrelevant to him as long as he reaches his goal,” is your restrained response. 

“Ah, of course! Handsome, sweet, kind, good with kids and is not a snob. Sweety, you ought to charm him for me!” She pinches her son’s cheek. “Imagine Master Kaveh as your daddy!”

Oh Archons, again?

There is absolutely no doubt that the light of Kshahrewar is not only well-known and popular among kids, but is thirsted after by women. In a half of a year your school has been existing, there were numerous times when moms of little students made comments alike or some single females trying to schedule private sessions with the architect. What a sagacious decision it was to make group studying only, it saves you some drama, once the legal document is shown. Though there are exceptionally persistent examples…

But this time you pity the kid a little, because he genuinely seems to admire Kaveh. And his next words make you internally cheer for the little guy.

“Master Kaveh as my dad? But mom, I have a dad already,” the boy pouts, rubbing at the pinched cheek. You notice a red mark and two little crescent moons that her nails left on a tender skin. “I love him and don’t need another one.”

“Sweety, you just don’t understand how great it would be to have such a dad! Just trust my word-”

“Ahem, Madame, I kindly ask you to deal with your family affairs once you are out of here. As for the school - I am open for discussion.”

The displeased way she glances at you doesn’t go unnoticed, but you do not show it anyhow, calmly staring back at her, while your hand reaches up to your chest. As if finally remembering her initial reason for coming here with her son, the woman sighs and puts a palm on the boy’s shoulder.

“Of course, miss- I’m sorry I forgot your name…” And her eyes flit to the name tag again.

Momentarily the woman squints from the light reflecting on the metal, and when she blinks the bright spots away, there is a beautiful golden ring on your hand. The hand that is holding the flipped tiny plate with just two words engraved in it.

"Kaveh's wife"

With widened eyes she stares back at your sweetly polite smile. Not saying a word as if letting the notion sink in, you walk to the wall. Grabbing the backs of two chairs you drag them to your table so they could sit, and take your rightful place in front of them. 

“If you are here for something aside from or instead of signing your son up for classes, I believe my name should be irrelevant to you. My status though,” you knock a nail twice on the badge, “must. So… what are you here for, Madame?”

The boy climbs onto his chair right away, while his mother tarries a little, still shocked by the revealed fact and your suddenly changed demeanor. She needs a couple more seconds to compose herself, but eventually she too sits down.

Despite what happened earlier, your conversation proves to be fruitful and fifteen minutes later you are showing around the school, sharing some additional information and answering every single of the kid’s questions. 

When in the last room you find your husband, closing Mehrak and looking ready to leave, the boy lets out a gasp. The sound attracts the man’s attention, and he turns to the three of you with a soft smile.

“Oh, hello there, little guy!” The blond waves at him, breaking the blissful stupor of a child that immediately turns red and hides behind his mother. Surprised, Kaveh looks at you for explanation but, instead, takes notice of your name’s replacement. Oh wow, this again. What was the last time you did that? Two weeks ago?

“Ah, Master Kaveh!” The woman charmingly smiles, batting her lashes at him, which would’ve made you cringe had it never happened before. “You see, my son-”

“Pardon me, Madame, give me a moment,” the male softly interrupts her and reaches for a similar metal plate on his chest with his own name to flip it. It’s almost comical how sour the temptress’s face got in a second.

And there is what for. Now two words are proudly matching yours, engraved in an equally beautiful cursive to remind the world who the two of you become once stripped of your names.

Just his ”Y/n’s husband” to your “Kaveh’s wife”.

And like that one more kid takes part in your lovely school and one suitor less is after one of its founders.

Tighnari

With each passing day of your team’s research in the desert you found it harder and harder to control yourself. Some days you were even on the verge of clawing and biting, tail and ears twitching in annoyance and pupils turning into wild slits, making your hybrid nature more obvious.

Was it because of the research? No, it couldn’t be farther - your colleagues have been making so much progress, heeding your advice and following your lead. Was it the location perhaps? A little, but you learnt how to deal with heat and dryness. Was the process taking too much time? On the contrary, you are on your way home already, having finished the job 4 days earlier than you estimated in the beginning.

Then what on earth could possibly trigger you like this?

Well…

“Hey, forest foxy, want me to catch the Consecrated Flying Serpent for you?”

Ah yes, him.

Never again will you trust the higher ups at the Akademiya to sponsor your team with the bodyguards. Out of every possible candidate, your Herbad-titled colleague concluded that hiring five descendants of Valuka Shuna would be a marvelous idea. 

“They are the desert kind - they’ll be good guides.” “Look how much stronger they are, they’ll definitely protect all of you.” “They are of the same kind as you, Y/n. Don’t you think it’ll be easier for you, as the leader, to have someone akin with you?”

No, it absolutely would not!

Desert fennec hybrids are different from the forest ones - and it’s not even the case of your green and their sandy brown fur or their more brutal physique against your more delicate one. It’s their character and world perception. You’ll never call them barbarians, but they really developed more of the animal nature than your kind did.

And from day one it was a pain in the butt. 

One of your five new bodyguards was clearly the leader - he was bigger and broodier, with more scars littering his body, and his whole stance was screaming of a higher position. When you were introduced for the first time, something lit up in his grayish eyes, which were looking you over appreciatively. You ignored that, more focused on the discussion of the upcoming expedition and making sure the five were aware of what was required of them.

Luckily they were, and, admittedly, they did fulfill their task meticulously, proving to be great help. If only one of them wasn’t so diligent.

You lost count of how many times the leader tried to get into your personal space and you had to move away. Of the numerous invitations to hunt together. Of the endless displays of his strength and abilities. Of the many conversations you didn’t even try to eavesdrop on (they talked pretty loudly) around the topic of when will your shell be cracked and you’d accept the male’s courting attempts.

The answer was obvious, but he just never got it. Even when you called him for a serious conversation on the turning-into-an-issue matter.

“With all respect I must ask you to stop with whatever you’ve been doing to woo me. I have a husband.”

You still remember how he blinked at you dumbly, clear lack of understanding written on the sun-kissed face.

“...and?”

“The heck do you mean ‘and’?”

“Well, you don’t have a mate?”

It was your turn to stare at him speechless, ear twitching and tail curling closer to your legs. It was getting worse than just ridiculous.

“If we are speaking in such terms, then my husband is my mate. So, please-”

You nearly gasped when the male immediately leant closely, violating your personal space and practically stuffing his nose against your neck. Shocked by such lack of shame, you lost the ability to talk or move for a moment, gaping at him sniffing around and humming upon the discovery.

“You don’t wear anyone’s smell on you.”

You were not proud of yourself at that moment, but you absolutely lost it. Sharpened claws dug into his chest and with an angry snarl you pushed him back.

“Get away from me!”

You must’ve been a sight - canines bared and fingers twitching, ready to attack; fur standing on both your ears and tail, signaling your distress and eyes slitted in pure rage while directed at the man in front of you. The worst part? The idiot seemed to like it even more.

“What me and my partner do must be of no concern to you. I told you ‘no’ and I mean it.”

But bold of you was to assume he’d stop. Oh no, it’s gotten worse. Now he was actively calling you a ‘forest foxy’, absolutely abandoning your name and even trying to scent you. It was suffocating - the desert aridity was lighter in comparison to the male hybrid’s pheromones. 

Never in all your academic practice have you wanted to return home so badly.

Fortunately, your colleagues quickly caught on to what was going on and always helped you to escape the unwanted interactions. Plus they were equally as mad as you were, because his individual scent irritated their human noses - and that was the main reason why you and Tighnari, both spending a lot of time around other people, did not practice it. Partly, you are sure, this whole situation was the reason for your earlier return - and you were grateful for their understanding.

However, your stubborn suitor did not dream of giving up. Killed desert animals were still offered to you, stories of his legendary battles with monsters were told for the hundredth time (even though no one was interested in listening at that point) and attempts to lure you with the musky smell once again made. Archons, and the green-furred fennec girls from your teens used to dream of that.

Maybe Lesser Lord Kusanali would be merciful and you’ll meet your husband somewhere on your way?

“Herbad Y/n!”

…wow, that was quick. Not Tighnari, but incredibly welcome too.

“Collei!” For the first time in days there is a reason for your soft smile. Which the young girl mirrors, waving at you from not so far away. You notice a couple more of the Forest Rangers at her side, and that sight alone makes you finally exhale in relief. You are so close to being home.

“Master is here too! Want me to get him?”

Oh, Dendro Archon, thank you.

“I’d really appreciate it, dear!” With a quick nod the green-haired apprentice disappears in the bushes, and you turn back to the scholars of your group. It’s time to abuse your power a little. “We are almost at the Devadaha Pool. Since all of you live in Sumeru City I hope you’ll excuse me for staying behind. As for you five,” your gaze moves to the bodyguards and it’s so hard not to rejoice - soon they’ll be just a memory, “I ask you to accompany the rest of my team to the Akademiya. Then you can consider your job done and be free. Keep the payment for the last three days that didn’t happen - think of it as a bonus for a good job.”

All but one eagerly nod and bid you farewell with wishes of getting home safely. And frankly speaking? You couldn’t care less for that one when you spot familiar and oh so dear big pointy ears with an intricate golden earring adorning one of them.

“Tighnari!” You didn’t want to sound so desperate, you really didn’t. But when those forest-like lovely eyes look in your direction, it becomes clear to you - the yearning has gotten unbearable.

“Y/n…” His smile is dazzling and the way his body immediately pushes to walk to you almost makes the memories of the last weeks’ events go away.

The key word - almost.

Someone grabs your elbow when you want to meet him halfway. Oh right, you already forgot about him.

“Let me go, you, imbecile!” And again you have to snarl and be rude, ripping your arm out of the strong hold and quickly darting into your husband’s embrace. The natural smell of the leaves, the flowers, the sweet and bitter concoctions he makes in his home laboratory, comfort you and your whole body goes nearly limp in his hold. It’s been weeks and you are tired of fighting with the brick wall - this time you want your lover to handle it for you.

“Y/n, my lotus, are you alright?” Gentle fingers comb through your hair and scratch at the base of your ears - a whole ass adult, that you are, wants to tear up. But you can only shake your head a no. “Has this man been bothering you?” This time it’s a yes. “I got you, dear.”

“So,” the browny green eyes sharpen upon staring at the cause of your current state, when it starts speaking, “you are that ‘husband’ the foxy has been talking about? I thought you’d be stronger. Or at least taller. Now I see that I was right and you really can’t be her mate.”

“Oh but I am. Not that we have to prove anything to a stranger. Y/n,” he carefully pries your face from his shoulder, caressing your cheek with a beanie pad, “let’s go home. You must be so-so tired.”

“I am, ‘nari. I am exhaus-”

“There’s no smell of you on her and vice versa,” the desert descendent of the Valuka Shuna seems to not be planning to stop. “Her neck is not marked. You let her wander by herself for weeks? And you keep calling her by the name. Her name should've stopped mattering once she became your mate!”

The hand around your waist tenses and you can feel the claws threatening to tear through the gloves he always wears. You don’t need to look at the face of your lover to know how pissed he is. And if Tighnari decides to attack him and tear his tongue out? You will not stop him.

“I am going to say it once and only once. She is not just a mate, she is my wife, by the Sumeru law and by the blessing of the Dendro Archon. And this fact must matter to you more than the case of her name. So fuck off and leave my wife alone. And if you don’t get it in a civil way - this woman is taken. And this territory is mine.”

With that, the Forest Watcher effortlessly lifts you in his arms and, holding you as if a precious bride, turns around to leave. You haven’t looked back once.

“You can’t imagine how much I missed being called your wife,” you quietly confess, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Especially after he didn’t listen when I said that I am.”

Tighnari hums sympathetically, leaning close to rub his nose against yours.

“Will it be okay then if today I address you as my wife only? When we join the other rangers, I mean.” 

”...if you think I will be embarrassed - make it a whole week.”

With a soft chuckle your husband plants a kiss on your lips, sealing the deal and promising you tranquil days at last.

“As you wish, wife.”

Zhongli

"...and so Rex Lapis takes the form of a dragon, a majestic creature he was born as - the one of whom the fair maiden would never be scared of. Lady Guizhong's robes flutter in the tender wind traveling among the mountain peaks and caressing the earthly scales of the God's enormous body. His eyes, shiny as gold, gaze at her with an unfamiliar softness as she holds a gentle flower - a delicate gift from her lover, the one that proves that under all that armor is a stone heart capable of love. Heart that is beating for her."

To loud applause the Iron Tongue Tian bows his head, drawing the legend of the gods in love to its end. You cannot bring yourself to clap even politely, both hands on your lap, hidden under the table, twitching when a man beside you lets his gloved palms meet each other a couple of times.

It’s the second time you had to sit and endure the baloney from the very beginning to the very end, not to count all those times you overheard it in passing. From the moment you settled in the Liyue Harbor together with your husband, to live the rest of your incredibly long lives together among the humans, you've been painfully aware of their interpretation of Rex Lapis and his relationship with other immortal beings. Before that you rarely accompanied him during the walks, busy with helping Yakshas and other adepti protect the said humans to grant them a peaceful life - as immortal guardians grew fewer, every single one counted.

Never have you ever imagined that knowing so little of the citizens’ folklore would backfire so hard. It seems that people got somewhat bored listening to the stories of Liyue and Rex Lapis, no matter how many interpretations existed. Literature became more diverse in genres and romantic novels were on top of the list, so street narrators started losing their audience little by little. Before it could grow into something more drastic the new side of history was presented to the public - stories about love among immortals appeared and its freshness and uniqueness caught people’s attention immediately.

In their searches for new material, speakers dug through hundreds of volumes. The main interest was the Lord of Geo, of course. If you have a story of a presumably stone-hearted creature ever having fallen in love with someone - that’s pure gold! But who could you present as a love interest of the Archon? It must be someone very close to him and, obviously, no one is more well-known for that than the deceased Archon of Dust.

You sigh, reaching for your cup and declining Madam Ping’s offer to pour you some more tea - for an unclear reason the fellow adeptus joined you two tonight. You have thousands of years of life behind your existence, a soul hardened by constant battles, and mannerism as polished as a jade statue, yet for a moment you feel concerned that the woman would notice a pang of hurt in the smallest of your features.

Zhongli definitely noticed the first time. It was meant to be a date night - simple, but sweet, with the evening lights, delightful aroma of the finest tea and the tales pouring from skilled tongues reflecting the atmosphere of what your nation really is. However, the luck of the land of trades wasn’t on your side, as someone requested the “Guili legend” as they called it. At first you were confused. Then in disbelief, almost turning to look at your mate, with whom you were bonded long before he became allies with the ash-haired woman. In the end you felt something you thought was beyond you - bitterness.

When you left the restaurant, slowly walking back to your house, Zhongli’s fingers gently touched your elbow, asking for your attention.

“Does it bother you that much, my love?”

Bother you? Well… It does feel insulting when someone speaks of your husband having been in love with someone else, but mortals can’t possibly know the truth for many reasons.

“I can’t say it doesn’t,” you admitted calmly, stopping and turning fully to him. He did the same, gazing at you with a hint of worry in those golden eyes you loved so much. The ones, you knew, always looked only at you. “But it can’t be helped, right? There was a reason and mutual agreement why you, as Rex Lapis, made our union unknown to your people, and now, since you are “dead”? There is no one to tell our story. Don’t worry though,” you put a hand on top of his and smiled, when his other one was laid on top of yours in a gesture of comfort. “I can deal with it. I know you love going to the storyteller’s performances. I’ll just try to ignore what they say about you and Lady Guizhong.”

Sometimes Zhongli thinks he does not deserve you. Ever so patient and understanding, you always had your husband's best interest at heart. Marriage, however, in its basis is a form of a contract, and a good contract is all about both sides being equal in everything. And if you must know one thing about Rex Lapis - he never makes bad contracts.

When the audience calms down, the man decides to make his presence and intentions clear by raising a hand. From the corner of his eye he notices you slightly turning your head to glance at him, and he catches a glimpse of puzzlement in your gaze. He can't help but think how adorable you are, even if you deny it again and again, claiming that nothing can be adorable about a several millennia-old warrior. Maybe not, but his wife definitely is, and he thinks with a primordial pride igniting in his chest, that mating with you was the best decision his past self had ever made.

Reaching under the table he rests his free hand on top of yours, gently squeezing it in reassurance, offering you the warmth of himself, seeping through his glove. Just as your shoulders relax to his delight, the raised hand adorned with rings is finally noticed.

"Ah, Mr Zhongli! Such an honor to see a regular, especially someone as wise as yourself!" Iron Tongue Tian beams with a wide smile, closing his fan and focusing his full attention on the history connoisseur. "I doubt you have questions, given your vast knowledge, and I can't wait to hear what else you can add to this already heart-felt story."

You force your lips not to twitch, hiding behind the tea cup again. Suddenly it tastes bitter. But another squeeze your husband gives your hand doesn't let you dwell on it too much.

"You are correct, I do have some knowledge to offer. However, it might disappoint you, as it will completely destroy the story of the Geo Archon and the Archon of Dust."

The whispers ran through the crowd like a powerful wave, and you can see confusion written over every single face. But also, there is intrigue.

"I took it upon myself,” Zhongli however continues, “to invite Madame Ping to back up my story, as she was the witness to it," the elder woman - a well-known Adeptus that doesn't hide her existence among mortals - nods with a soft smile.

"I read this in legends a long time ago, but remembered only when the 'Guili legend' became popular. Rex Lapis indeed had a lover, however it was not Lady Guizhong," the gasps are almost deafening. Just as your quickened heartbeat.

And for the next hour the man by your side and the elderly-looking woman that joined you tonight proceed to tell the story of the adeptus, who was the first and only to ever bring the Geo Archon to his knees, to be worshiped like a goddess by his eyes, by his words, by his very heart. Of a warrior, whose fierce eyes and valiant nature made a dragon in Rex Lapis roar in delight. Of the woman, who entranced him with her beauty, caring soul and motherly attention directed to other adepti - Madame Ping adds with a laugh of how the two created a parent-like dynamic even before they became official (at that you find it so hard not to turn bashful).

They tell the legend of the silk flowers - the ones you might see everywhere in the vast lands of Liyue. How the Geo Archon personally asked the Dendro Archon for guidance to cultivate the tenderest of flowers, how he taught his people to make the delicate fabric out of it, but even then it couldn’t compare to the skin of his immortal mate.

They tell stories of how annoyed she was when the god turned into a dragon to fall asleep somewhere in the depths of the earth for years without telling her prior, and how he returned with the purest stones and metals and with his own hands forged the pair of matrimonial rings (yes, the ones wrapped around your fingers to this day).

Madame Ping fondly speaks of all those thousands of years of protection the said adeptus spent to make sure that her godly spouse’s people were safe and maybe just a tiny sliver of pride rushes through your heart at the public acknowledgement.

“But she wished not to be known,” the woman sighs and you know she glances at you reproachfully. Well-deserved, given the circumstances you are in right now. “Thus it’s not much of a surprise people made a mistake like that. Besides, you won’t find much information in written sources about her either way.”

 “But she must have a name at least!” Someone from the fairly grown crowd exclaims.

“That she does,” Zhongli nods, lacing his fingers with yours under the table, lips tugging in a calm smile, when you squeeze his hand in return. “Though I am afraid it would be pointless to try and find out now - we wouldn’t want to disturb her mourning the departure of her husband, would we? After all, they must’ve loved each other so much.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” golden eyes are on you, catching yours, pulling you in, whispering for your soul and heart to get lost in them, “I can understand how this love was born and got to bloom. My wife showed me that.”

[mattnott]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐔𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄

lorenzo berkshire x fem reader

SUMMARY. enzo knows how to push buttons, and what better way to get under his girlfriend’s skin than by flirting with someone else? WORDS.+5.8K. english it’s not my first language.

WARNINGS. smut, +18 mdni, porn w//plot, reader and enzo are 18, sub!enzo, oral! f receiving, pnv, dick riding, lick kink (?), unprotected sex, making out, established relationship, whipped enzo (kinda), flirting, jealous reader, pussy drunk enzo, finger sucking.

A chilling fog hovered over the vast castle of Hogwarts. The dense, almost spectral mist curled around the school’s tall towers and spiraled down to cover the surface of the Black Lake, spreading like a curtain across the landscape and blurring the boundaries between sky and earth, creating an endless sea of gray that made it nearly impossible to discern the horizon.

Outside was eerily silent, and the usual sounds of bustling students seemed muffled. The hurried footsteps, the distant laughter—everything seemed softened, silenced by the thick, damp air. Even the castle’s imposing stone walls, usually so solid yet welcoming, felt colder, more rigid than usual, enveloped by the heavy, damp fog that crept into every corner and corridor.

Within the castle, the torches flickered faintly, casting long shadows across the stone corridors. The few students who remained moved swiftly, their voices hushed, as if they didn’t want to disturb the heavy silence that had settled with the fog and cold, which seemed to cling to the walls, making them wrap themselves in cloaks and scarves in a nearly futile attempt to escape the biting chill.

In contrast to the school’s corridors, the Slytherin common room filled the air with an almost eerie yet comforting calm. The soft glow of green-tinged torches reflected gently off the leather and velvet armchairs, and the fire crackled in the large fireplace, though its warmth was still a bit weak, barely enough to drive the lingering chill from the stone walls. Not that it mattered much; most of the students had already gone to bed, leaving only a few by the fire, chatting quietly among themselves.

Lorenzo Berkshire was one of them.

Enzo was lounging by the fireplace in an old velvet armchair, the soft firelight casting shadows over his handsome features, highlighting the lines of his face and the playful glint in his gaze. He held his usual casual, almost lazy posture, yet there was a subtle mischief in his expression that contrasted with his apparent relaxation. A faint smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he watched his friends, Mattheo and Theodore, who were seated a little further in front of him.

Beside them, a small group of girls giggled at their conversation, though they seemed more interested in everything except the words being said, eyeing the slytherin trio with an almost obscene manner.

On the other side of the common room, you stood, almost concealed in the shadows, the soft glow of the fire casting a faint light on the pages of the small book resting in your lap. Yet, the book had long been forgotten, with only your fingers tightly gripping the pages as a reminder of its presence. Your attention, however, was completely focused on your boyfriend, Enzo, who was now dangerously close to a girl, her smile too provocative and wide, her laughter too loud for your taste.

It was torture.

You kept a distance, your heart skipped a beat as you watched them, and you could feel your body growing sick. The girl leaned in slightly, her hand brushing against the armrest of Enzo’s chair, and her laughter sounded too sweet in a way that made you want to tear your ears off and her tongue out. She was enjoying flirting with him far too much, way too much. Her eyes sparkled with the attention she thought Enzo was giving her, and it made your blood boil, almost as if your veins were about to melt. 

Still, you tried to keep your composure.

You could see the way his lips curled into another smirk, this time a more confident one—the kind that always made you want to reach out and wipe that annoyingly perfect face off. He was clearly toying with her, and while you knew you were the one who truly held his heart, that didn’t change the fact that you could feel your veins burning with anger. And what made it worse was that it was happening right in front of you, with him fully aware you were watching.

Every fake laugh he let slip with her made your ears ache, and every fake flirtatious glance he shot her way made your almost eyes bleed. But what twisted the knife was how everything he did felt intentionally exaggerated, as though he was either sending a message—or even worse, provoking you until you cracked.

And the worst part? It was almost working.

Enzo always loved doing that. He always loved drawing attention, but it wasn’t just for fun—it was almost like a weapon. Every gesture, every smile, every word, every step, it was all calculated, all part of his game. Nothing was spontaneous. He knew exactly what he was doing, how to manipulate the atmosphere, twisting every ounce of his charm to ensure all eyes were on him.

And it wasn’t just about being seen, it was about controlling how others saw him. Enzo was always one step ahead, and he knew exactly how to make everything he wanted fall right into his hands. Sometimes he just seemed to forget how that game didn't work with you most of the time.

You sighed sharply, flipping open the book again and trying to read, but the words blurred under your gaze. Your fingers dug into the pages, pressing harder before you could realize it, too furious at the scene playing out in front of you. Every muscle in your body tensed as you held yourself back from doing something reckless, forcing yourself to keep control so he wouldn’t feel like he’d won.

You wanted to scream in frustration.

You sighed sharply, flipping open the book again and trying to read, but the words blurred under your gaze. Your fingers dug into the pages, pressing harder before you could realize it, too furious at the scene playing out in front of you. Every muscle in your body tensed as you held yourself back from doing something reckless, forcing yourself to keep control so he wouldn’t feel like he’d won.

The girl seemed to be enjoying herself even more, too oblivious to sense the insincerity in his actions, too thrilled with the attention she was getting. She leaned in closer, her hand settling on his arm with an irritating confidence, her fingers now tracing along his sleeve. At her touch, Enzo shifted slightly, moving a few millimeters away, offering her a lazy grin, though you could detect a flicker of irritation behind it as he murmured something low, meant only for her ears.

“No touching, yet.” You read his lips, aware that Enzo was always the one to initiate contact but never the one to welcome it; you were the only one who held that privilege. ‘Yet’ felt like a hollow promise, one she’d never be able to do.

Unfortunately for you, she was too clueless to notice, and her irritating giggles grew louder as she pushed her hand on herself, convinced that he would give her what she wanted at any moment.

He wouldn’t, yet you still wanted to rip your eyes from your face, or perhaps tear out theirs.

Your grip tightened around the pages as her loud giggles echoed in your ears, the edges of the pages biting into your skin, leaving red marks behind. The temptation to march over there, to yank Enzo away by his hair and remind him that you were the only one allowed to touch him, was overwhelming.

You wanted to remind him that you, his girlfriend, were right there. But when his eyes finally met yours, that flicker of amusement in his gaze froze you in place. He knew. You knew he knew. And worse, you knew he was doing it on purpose.

Your relationship was always this way—small, calculated moves to unsettle each other, to test who loved the other more, who could push the other further, who felt more. Little games meant to sting, to spark jealousy, all leading to the same end: you finally giving in, begging him to be inside of you. But this time, you told yourself, would be different. This time, you wouldn’t beg.

No matter how much you loved him or how deeply you craved him, this time you wouldn’t give in. Still, the urge simmered within you, a desire to remind Enzo that he was yours just as much as you were his. The thought alone made you bite your lip in frustration, struggling to keep yourself from getting up and putting an end to this nonsense.

Enzo’s smile widened slightly when he noticed the frustrated look you cast in his direction, watching him intently. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes told you everything, he loved the power he had over you. The way your frustration was slowly eating away at you was exactly what he wanted.

As you refused to give in, he almost let out a tired sigh, bored by your resistance, until a wicked little idea flickered in his mind, making him drape his arm over the top of the sofa, and the girl's giggles grew louder as she stepped closer, gazing up at him like he was her next prize. She was practically begging for his attention, and though Enzo only offered her a fake smirk, you felt your blood boil once more.

You took a sharp breath, pulling your gaze away from the scene in front of you. You did your best to control the jealousy and possessiveness rising inside you, struggling to keep your anger from spilling over. But there was something about his nonchalance that made your resolve begin to crumble, the way he seemed perfectly at ease with what he was doing to you and your jealousy, making you feel like you were overreacting.

That was maddening.

But still, you stayed where you were, with an almost unreadable expression. You were no stranger to the games Enzo liked to play and the way he loved getting a reaction out of you, as if he was proving to himself that you cared.

The girl, too distracted to notice the tension between the two of you, leaned in even closer to Enzo. Her fingers lightly brushed against his arm again, a gesture that would have meant nothing to anyone else. But to you, it felt like a physical blow, and you couldn't help but clench your jaw, your fingers digging into the pages of the book again as you fought to maintain your self-control.

This time, he couldn’t win. You wouldn’t let him win again.

Enzo noticed your reaction—he always did. His smirk deepened, filled with satisfaction at seeing your discomfort mirrored by the irritation simmering within him.

He let the moment drag on just a bit longer, holding your gaze just long enough to make it clear he was fully aware of how you were reacting, before finally turning to the girl. An irritated smirk played on his lips as he leaned toward her. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with acidity.

You recognized his behavior instantly. He’d never liked it when anyone besides you tried to touch him; he didn’t care for anyone’s attention as much as he cared for yours. You knew he was drawing a line, not because of her, but for of you, because no matter how far he went, his love, however twisted it was, was yours.

Only yours.

The girl, however, didn’t seem to take the hint, and you couldn’t help but wonder how anyone could be so stupid. Even Mattheo and Theodore exchanged looks, cringing at her annoying persistence.

But she only smiled wider, clearly convinced his words were part of some flirtatious game, part of the charm he was known for. She leaned in closer, determined to close the distance between them, as if she could break through the invisible wall Enzo had put up around himself, a wall that only you were allowed to pass.

Still, you were on the edge, feeling the rational part of you slip through your fingers, but you forced yourself to stay seated. Your nails dug into the fabric of your pants, the book now discarded on the floor as you kept watching them, the jealousy eating you alive.

You tore your gaze away from him for a moment, focusing on the cover of the book, desperately trying to calm the storm raging inside you. But then you felt it—his deep chocolate eyes on you again, the weight of his gaze pulling you back to him.

He was staring at your face, a frown tugging at his brows, but it was the fucking smirk that made your blood boil. It was as if he could sense every reaction you had and could read every thought that flickered through your mind. And the worst part? Enzo could.

And now, every time the girl giggled even louder in an exaggerated manner and grabbed your boyfriend’s arm with even more confidence, it wasn’t just jealousy anymore, it was something more insistent, something sharper. Your blood wasn’t just boiling anymore; it was exploding, almost tearing through your veins.

Enzo was pushing you, testing your limits to see how much you could handle before all hell broke loose. He knew exactly how to make you squirm, how to make you feel small or powerful, even without trying. And yet, somehow, you were still clinging to your composure, even though the final straw was closer than you realized. You were going to lose it, you were definitely going to lose it.

Then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Enzo’s gaze sliced through the air like a blade. His lips moved lazily. “She’s just playing,” you read his lips, the words meant only for you, his posture softer than you had ever seen, his eyes never leaving yours. “Nothing serious, princess.” You read his lips again, your hands gripping your pants harder. But deep down, you knew if he had said it aloud, his voice would be dripping with mockery.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay still and cling to the little dignity you had left, refusing to let him get under your skin any further. You had been holding your ground, resisting his game—until now.

But then, as if sensing your resolve cracking, Enzo shifted slightly, discomfort flickering across his face at her touch, but the smug relaxation in his posture betrayed the satisfaction beneath. He knew exactly what he was doing, pulling you back in.

His arm still draped over the back of the green sofa, casually claiming the space, as if he had all the time in the world. The girl, still completely unaware of her role in his twisted game to have you, leaned in even closer, her lips inches from his ear.

That's when it happened. The final push.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Without a word, you stood up abruptly, your steps heavy on the floor, the sharp echo reverberating through the communal room, drawing the attention of the few students still lingering. Their eyes followed you, tracking every swift, angry movement.

You ignored the shifting shadows behind you, finally accepting that you’d lost and making your way toward your boyfriend. 

Enzo’s eyes followed your every step, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as you reached his chair. Without giving him a chance to say a word, you grabbed his tie, not gently, but with a force that made him falter for a second. You drove him to his feet, dragging him away from the girl in one fast gesture.

His friends exchanged knowing glances, amusement dancing in their eyes, but none of them dared to interfere, too entertained by whatever was happening. The girl blinked, her flirtatious smile quickly fading as she watched you drag Enzo toward the dorm stairs. The way he didn’t resist.

He never did when it came to you.

Your hand stayed clenched around Enzo’s tie, gripping it with a possessiveness that radiated a silent claim as you reached the stairs, your eyes scanning the path ahead, oblivious to the satisfied gaze he kept locked on you. His smile widened when you gave his tie another firm tug, his eyes gleaming with a dark, consuming hunger, pleased that you’d put an end to the scene, pleased that you’d proven exactly what he wished.

As you reached your dorm door, you spun to face him, frustration and anger simmering in your gaze, your breaths shallow and unsteady. Your hold on his tie tightened, possessive and unyielding, as you pushed him inside, disregarding the smug smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. The dark glint in his eyes only made your blood burn hotter; he’d been waiting for this, savoring every second, but you would not give him what he wanted, not yet.

Once you were both inside the room, you released your grip on Enzo’s tie, shoving him into the chair with an intensity that matched your boiling anger. You could still feel the heat of jealousy coursing through you as you moved, your steps quick and agitated. Enzo, though taken aback for a brief moment, quickly regained his composure, his smirk transforming into a playful, charming smile.

He watched you pace the room, his eyes gleaming with amusement, as you pressed your hand to your forehead, trying to control the anger you felt.

“You seemed a bit... tense back there, princess.” Enzo’s voice was smooth, teasing, as he settled into the chair, his gaze dark and unwavering on you. “Need any help?” he continued, his tone still playful, but the edge in his smile faltered when you shot him a sharp, cutting glare. He knew you were angry. He could feel it.

“Don’t even try, Enzo!” you snapped, your voice laced with frustration. Normally, you would have played along with his games, but tonight, you were beyond furious. Maybe it was the stress of the day or just the suffocating weight of everything, but this time, he’d gone too far.

Enzo’s smirk faltered for a brief second, but it was enough for you to catch it—the flicker of regret that crossed his face before he masked it. He was trying to read you, testing the waters, but something seemed to shifted.

“That girl… What the fuck were you trying to prove?” you demanded, stepping closer, your hands balling into fists at your sides as your frustration flared.

He didn’t want to upset you like this; you knew that. He loved you too much for that. He always showed it with sweet words, declarations, and little gestures that made you feel like you were everything to him.

But underneath it all, there was that part of him, the part that couldn’t stop playing his games. He had always been the center of attention, drawing people in with ease, but when it came to you, it was different. You were the only one who held his heart, and yet, in his own way, he still craved the control.

Pushing boundaries, testing limits, he couldn’t help it. Not because he didn’t care for you, but because, in some twisted way, he needed to know just how far you would go for him.

Yet, Enzo sometimes seemed clueless to the fact that he already held your attention completely and that was his mistake. He always thought that his way of loving was the only right way, always wanting you to meet his standards.

“I wasn’t trying to prove anything!” he defended himself, though his voice faltered slightly, a crack betraying him as he watched you intently, that was not the reaction he wanted. 

“Oh, right, of course you weren’t!” You rolled your eyes, noticing how Enzo flinched just slightly at your reaction, his gaze fixed on the way your fists clenched as you tried to hold yourself back. “Is that why you let that fucking girl throw herself at you?” You shot back, not really waiting for a response, as you took a step closer.

Enzo held your gaze, and for a moment, his usual charming smile faltered, replaced by something more vulnerable. But he quickly masked it with his familiar defiance, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes met yours with that challenge you knew all too well. 

“Oh, come on!” He said, standing up from the chair with a bit of awkwardness, his eyes following you as you got closer, his throat tightening as he swallowed. For a moment, it was hard to tell if it was vulnerability or eagerness in his gaze, or maybe both. “She didn’t mean anything, and you know that,” he muttered, his voice dropping as he watched as you moved closer, his usual confidence flattering. 

“That’s not the damn point, Lorenzo!” you snapped again, your frustration building as you stepped even closer, refusing to acknowledge the way his gaze lingered on you.

“It’s the fact that you let it happen, knowing damn well I was right there. You wanted me to get angry, just to see if I’d snap.” You stood before him now, your eyes burning into his, not ready to lose once again.

Enzo was beginning to get frustrated, hating how his mistakes and sick games were coming back to bite him, but that wasn’t what upset him the most. Under the surface, there was a part of him that wanted you to react like you always did—letting him take control of the situation, giving him the pleasure he craved. But another part of him couldn’t help but enjoy this side of you—the bitter, sour side.

It made him wonder how far you would go before it broke you or what you would do before that happened.

He continued to watch you carefully, his eyes flicking over your face as if searching for the reaction he so desperately craved. A hint of hesitation lingered in his posture. “Maybe I want that,” he admitted, barely above a whisper, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d fight for me. If you'd... show me that I mean enough to you to get that reaction, like you always do.” Enzo continued, and you furrowed your brows.

You took another step closer, closing the distance between you, feeling your anger morph into something darker—something raw and almost intense, your heart racing. “You think I wouldn’t care?” you said, your voice low, but with a sharpness that even surprised you. “I’m your fucking girlfriend! You really think I’d just stand back and let you play your games without reminding you who you belong to?” You snapped, your words barely a whisper, fighting to keep control, but the edge in your voice betraying you.

A flash of surprise and excitement crossed Enzo’s face, and for a moment, it seemed like he was about to say something, to defend himself. But instead, he bit his lip, clearly satisfied with your response. His eyes darkened as he looked down at you, his hands gripping each other, as if holding himself back.

He wanted you so much in that moment that it made him feel sick with need.

You took another step, your chest now pressed against his, feeling his warm breath against your skin. “I don’t want to play games every day, Enzo,” you admitted softly, but your eyes mirrored the hunger and craving in his. As much as you loved the games, they were starting to tire you out. “I want you. All of you. Without having to fight for it every time.” You watched as he swallowed at your words.

He was starting to get heavier, his rational instincts slipping away, as if his brain was losing control. His hands were sweating, gripping each other tightly, his neck and body trembling, and his throat went dry as he fought to keep himself together.

Enzo didn’t know how much power words could have over him, how they could excite him to the core and strip away his rational thoughts. A part of him hated himself for how he used to take action instead of simply listening to what you had to say. He was sure his heart and veins might explode at any moment.

“Fuck, princess,” he muttered, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek, his touch almost tender. “You already have all of me.” He admitted, his breath ragged.

“I do?” you asked, your eyes lingering on his lips, the moment feeling almost obscene. But Enzo seemed too distracted.

“Heart, body, and soul,” he whispered, his voice steady but low, his breathing growing heavier with each word. “You can have me anytime. I’m yours to ruin.”

With that, you couldn’t take it anymore. Before he could say another word, you gripped his neck, pulling him toward you and kissing him with such intensity and dominance that he was sure he was losing himself in it.

The kiss was rough and erotic, like an inferno consuming you both from the inside out. Your boyfriend couldn’t help but gasp as he felt your nails scratching down the back of his neck, pulling him even closer against your body. You could feel his hard length pressing against you, but you didn’t care.

You continued to kiss Lorenzo, tongues tangling and teeth grazing each other as any hint of restraint vanished moments ago. Your bodies pressed together, harder with every second, until he could feel his pants growing painfully tight around him. You both savored the familiar flavor of each other, but there was a nostalgic hunger in this kiss, one that left you both drunk with need, as if it were the first time all over again.

You dragged your nails down his neck, marking his skin with fierce intent, and he felt himself surrendering further to your control, a thrill he hadn’t expected but now craved. It was as if he were letting your pent-up anger devour him, wild and unrestrained, leaving him utterly at your mercy.

And God knows he was loving every second of it.

The way you were consuming him felt maddening, and he clung to you desperately, as if you were the only thing keeping him alive. He’d forgotten how your tongue was the one that stole the air from his lungs, how your hands gripped and scratched at his neck. He was so lost in the sensation of your body against his that he didn’t even realize when you were both completely bare.

It wasn’t until your hard nipples brushed against his skin that he froze, a deep groan escaping him as he pulled away from the kiss, his tongue slipping from his mouth as he gasped for air.

Enzo looked at you, ignoring the pain in his neck as his eyes devoured your body with a familiar hunger. His tongue still hung from his mouth, and another moan slipped from his lips. Without warning, you moved closer, your tongue flicking out to tease his, dragging a slow, deliberate lick across it, making him groan again, unable to hold back.

He couldn’t help but feel his cock throbbing harder, knowing that if he looked down, he’d see it straining, bigger than it had ever been before.

But Enzo couldn’t help it. You’d never done that before. He’d never felt your tongue lick his, at least not when you weren’t kissing or tangled in one of your make-out sessions. This was different. You’d only given him a taste, and Lord knows how much he craved another. It was like you’d woken something deep hidden inside him.

“Again,” he almost begged, his voice thick with need. You looked at him, watching as he pushed his tongue out again, desperate. “Again, please,” he begged, his voice barely a whisper. You couldn’t help but smirk, grabbing his neck and pulling him closer, your tongue meeting his in a slow, teasing lick. You devoured his tongue, feeling the slickness of his muscle against yours, swallowing his moans as your tongue dominated his. 

His hand gripped your ass, holding you against him as if he were trying to keep himself from collapsing. He let out a breath against your tongue when he felt your nails dragging over his skin, a sharp reminder that no matter how much he touched you, tonight he had no control over you.

And you couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction.

You kept licking his tongue with yours, savoring every bit of his taste, staying just far enough to keep from kissing him but close enough to feel the heat of his tongue. But now, it wasn’t just your tongues that were rubbing together. A moan escaped you, just like Enzo’s, as you felt his cock sliding against your bare pussy, his hips grinding, desperate to press himself deeper into you.

“Enzo,” you moaned, pulling your tongue from his and ignoring his desperate protest, too consumed by the way his cock pressed against you, even though he wasn’t inside yet. “Shit, Enzo, I need to ride you, fuck.” You moaned again, grinding your hips against his, your rhythm rougher, more demanding than his, taking control.

He moaned at your words, “Do it, oh please, do it.” Enzo gasped, letting himself be guided toward your bed, sitting at the edge as he gazed at your body, his legs growing weak from the soft blankets beneath him. But the softness of the sheets did nothing to ease his anxiety when his eyes locked on your glistening, bare pussy, soaked with desire. “Sit on me, please... Just let me be inside you,” he begged, his voice trembling, almost pathetic in its desperation.

You sat on his lap, both of you moaning as you felt his cock teasing your entrance, yet you didn’t let him inside—at least not yet. You let yourself play with him, grinding your hips against him, listening to his moans as his cock slid through your wet folds.

When he was on the edge of begging again, you finally gave him what he wanted, moaning as you sank down, feeling him stretch your walls, filling you completely.

“Fuck!” He screamed in a moan, his hands gripping your thighs as he felt you riding him, your hips moving back and forth, squeezing his cock in a way that made him gasp. “Your pussy feels so fucking good, princess,” he groaned, his voice broken. “So fucking tight… so good.”

You could see the tears in Enzo’s eyes, and it only made you ride him harder, faster, your hips grinding down on him with more force. You arched your back, feeling him get impossibly tighter inside you, your walls clenching around him as you moved.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body shaking as you rode him.

He was moaning loudly, unable to remember the last time you two had such passionate sex, but he was loving every fucking second of it. He didn’t care that he’d begged for you to ride his dick like this—what mattered was the way your cunt squeezed him, how your thighs wrapped tightly around his torso, the way your back arched as you moaned, and how close he was to fucking cumming.

It was too much; he needed to let go, to cum inside you.

“Princess, fuck… I need to cum, please, let me. He begged, tears slipping from his eyes as he spoke. But you pulled him closer, your arms tight around his neck, bringing his face to your hard nipples, letting him kiss and suck on them.

“Me too, me too,” you moaned, breath hot against his ear as you felt his mouth teasing your nipples, the sweet contrast to the filthy act you were both caught in. With each moan, his cock slid deeper, pressing harder into you. “Let’s cum together, okay?” you asked, and Enzo nodded eagerly, pulling you tighter against him as his hips ground against yours.

The pace quickened, rougher now, and soon you both came together, your bodies shaking as you reached your release. Breathing heavily.

Enzo looked up at you, breathing heavily, his eyes filled with tears. You had to fight the urge to come again from the sight of him, so you stayed silent, watching his desperate gaze. You could feel the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through both your bodies as his hands roamed your back, his eyes still full of hunger, the desire never fading. But you didn’t speak, letting him take the first step.

“I...” he began, his breath ragged as he struggled to speak. “Princess, let me clean you up, please,” he asked, almost whining. You blink softly, trying to process his request. “Let me eat your pussy; I’ll be quick, I promise,” he pleaded, his desperate chocolate eyes locking with yours. Seeing the need in his gaze, you couldn’t help but nod, giving in to his request.

Enzo let out a relieved sigh when you nodded, lifting you carefully off the bed and sitting you back where he had been. You felt his cum from the sheets smear against your thighs, a shiver running through your body as the sticky liquid made contact with your skin, making you gasp with the sensation.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you look so fucking good from here,” Enzo whispered, his eyes locked on you as he knelt between your legs. “Your pussy’s so damn pretty,” he murmured to himself, his hands slowly spreading your legs apart, making a shiver run through your body.

“Enzo,” you murmured in anticipation, feeling your throat salivate with need.

“Just a moment, I just need to look a little more,” he said, his eyes fixed on your pussy with pure craving, his chest rising and falling with each breath. “So fucking pretty,” he muttered, leaning in closer to your folds, his pupils dilating as he took in how wet you were. He couldn’t help but let out a groan, his fingers moving to touch you.

With his touch, you moaned, his fingers moving slowly from top to bottom as he felt your arousal from your first orgasm coating his fingers. You could feel his other hand on your thighs, his fingers teasing, almost reaching your ass.

Enzo brought one of his fingers to his mouth, sucking your release off with obscene eagerness, and you couldn’t help but grip the sheets tightly as you watched his tongue circle around his finger, savoring every drop. The other hand grabbing your tight again.

“Oh, princess, you’re so sweet,” he groaned, his face inching closer to your cunt. But before he could take his first lick, he paused, extending his arm and placing his fingers, still coated in your wetness, in front of your mouth. “Can you suck them for me, sweetheart? Please?” You nodded eagerly, sucking his fingers clean, and once they were coated with your saliva, he buried his face between your legs, the first lick merging with the next as he devoured you hungry.

That was heaven.

“Enzo!” you almost screamed as he licked and sucked your folds with feverish intensity, his nose pressing against your folds as his tongue plunged into your wet core. It was messy—so fucking messy—that he seemed lost between your legs, as if he wasn’t trying to escape, he wanted to stay there, devouring you, tasting you, being dragged into madness.

And you didn’t mind; your fingers tangling in his sweaty hair, pushing his face harder against your pussy as you screamed his name. You didn’t want him to stop, and even if you did, he wouldn’t. Not with the way his tongue was relentlessly devouring and penetrating your cunt with perfect precision. It was messy—wild—but he didn’t care, and you even less. He was lost in the sensation, giving everything he had to please you, and he loved every second of it.

Your taste was making Enzo moan, making him drunk with the flavor. He couldn’t help but moan against your pussy, the vibrations sending shivers through your body, causing you to moan uncontrollably. “Oh, princess, you have such a pretty moans,” he murmured against your pussy, savoring every drop of your previous release.

Without warning, you came hard against his mouth, screaming his name with fervor, and he swallowed everything he could, savoring all the screams, while the rest of your cum mixed with his own release, soaking the sheets beneath you both.

You could had cum again with the sight.

Enzo pulled away from you, your arousal still on his chin, breathing heavily as he stared up at you with his usual mischievous grin, all his begging going away. “You know, I think I should flirt with other girls more often,” he teased, his voice warm as he sat on the floor, his eyes locked on you still perched on the bed.

“Shut up!” You playfully kicked him, causing him to laugh. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but there was no real bite behind your words.

He laughed again, his gaze softening as he looked at you with love. And for the first time, you seemed to be looking forward for his next mistake.

Loving Lorenzo was intoxicating, but nothing made you feel more alive than he did.

© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

this is my first lorenzo berkshire one-shot, so please be kind and respectful! also it’s 4 am so might have grammar mistakes.

thanks for being my fav beta readers: @bucksplum & @earth4angels love you both (a little) 🐣 < 3

[satinestales]

❝self destructive tendencies❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

● this is a 3rd pov, if you want to read 2nd pov, here●

summary: A week has passed since the battle on Khofar and the startling reveal of her former friend. Qimir, the man behind the mask and the murderer of her comrades took her to a remote island, far away from the Republic's surveillance, after she sustained severe injuries. She's been keeping her distance from him, trying to ignore her hidden feelings. Yet, when his thoughts merge with hers, the vow she made to herself becomes almost impossible to keep.

warnings: english is not my first language, sexual tension, lots of sexual tension, corruption, sexual themes/dreams, E Y E C O N T A C T, qimir, mentions of blood and injuries

author's note: I could not be a jedi I'd turn into aquaman if he asked me to join him

now playing, love in the sky by the weeknd

*:..。♡*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ·*:..。♡౨ৎ 🍓｡˚🍰♡ ˚..。♡*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ·*:..。♡ ︎

The moon hung low over the horizon, casting an eerie glow on the waves that lapped against the shores of the ghostly island. Qimir’s silhouette stood out against the backdrop of the night sky, his presence a constant reminder of the blood and carnage he left on Khofar. As she lay on the rough sand, the pain from her injuries pulsed faintly, and she could not shake the mixture of fear and thirst that his proximity stirred within her. The island was a planet unknown to her, and as much as she tried to examine the surface, its location remained elusive. She supposed it might have been somewhere in the Outer Rim or beyond. Somewhere where the Republic would have a difficult way of finding her. World away from the Republic’s watchful eyes, and here, with only Qimir for company, she felt both vulnerable and strangely contented.

She decided to relax on the beach, further away from Qimir’s constant presence that melted her thoughts. However, luck wasn't on her side; minutes after settling in, he walked past her to his favorite bathing spot, smirk on his face as he acknowledged her presence. It was late at night, her legs and arms sore from the repetitive training she put herself through. The island offered few diversions. Waiting for Qimir’s next move or for Sol to find her wasn’t her idea of a perfect day. The injuries covering her body were difficult to ignore, and she refused to let Qimir get close enough to her to heal them. She told herself she would rather bleed out than feel his touch on her skin. Deep down, though, she knew the real reason for keeping him at bay.

So, she lay there, absentmindedly playing with a rock she found, irritated by his presence but too weary to consider moving again. She had to admit her fault; she had set up camp right in front of his favorite spot. Over the past week, she had seen him bare many times. First unbothered but lately it had gotten under her skin. She had been friends with Qimir for some time before discovering his true identity behind the mask and his responsibility for her friends' murders. Their deaths pained her, but the betrayal and realization of his deception cut deeper. After many years, she thought she found herself a friend outside the temple. One that she could share her interests and secrets with, without the fear of being judged by the Jedi. She told him about her fears and likes. Her doubts in the order and her wish to help people as much as she could. About her hate and desire. The Sith emotions. Now he’s using them to lure her in and trap her on the other side.

She wasn’t the most perceptive, but his intentions were clear. He knew her feelings, her likes, and dislikes; she had shared them with him when she believed he was her friend and a supplier. Even a blind person could see his thoughts, and her strength in the Force allowed her to delve into his mind, revealing more than she wished to know.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away as he slowly shed his clothes to enter the water, a routine he seemed to relish. Despite her experiences in battles and missions, witnessing the horrible conditions and lack of hygiene, even her comrades didn’t bathe as frequently as Qimir did before her. She considered herself fortunate; at least he smelled good, even if the scent of sandalwood mixed with citrus fruit drove her mad. She smelled it when she woke up, during meals and training, and before sleep. She felt him everywhere. She wasn’t sure for how much longer she could endure it.

She studied the muscles of his back as he swam slowly, admiring them from her vantage point. He was undeniably strong, scars marring his skin a testament to the pain he had endured. She observed how his dark hair moved with his motions, how he ran his long thick fingers through it while washing it gently. His biceps tensed as he splashed water around his neck, and she noticed the way he caressed his chest, attempting to cleanse away the day’s dirt.

It was only when she accidentally crushed the rock in half that she realized the intensity of her stare. Clearing her throat, she sat up and leaned against the mossy bank behind her, feeling shame wash over her. She was convinced his own dreams had started to corrupt her.

One of the curses of being a Jedi was the ability to read minds, and Qimir was no exception. She saw his thoughts vividly, filled with bright colors that sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. She wondered if he wanted her to delve into his mind, to make her believe he desired her, or if he simply didn’t care. She feared he could read her thoughts too, despite her lifelong ability to block out others with ease.

She lied to herself, convincing herself that she was immune to his ideas, desires, and magnetic charm. But every time he looked at her, towered over her, or she smelled him in the air, her knees buckled, her stomach tightened, and she fought against the need to press her legs together. She felt sick, and his mind brushing against hers didn’t help.

She felt it every time he drew near. He visualized her hands in his mind, how they caressed his scars and shoulders. She saw his hair falling down as he towered over her, gently pushing her against the cold floor of his cave. She felt his breath against her neck, his fingers pulling her hair, his skin pressed against hers. In his dreams, she never resisted. He was corrupting her in his dreams, and she never once objected in them. She was embarrassed he got her mannerisms right.

She was so lost in their shared thoughts that she didn’t notice Qimir making his way out of the water, his eyes fixated on her with dangerous intensity. He carefully leaned down to grab a towel, amusement playing on his lips. He didn’t want to wake her from her thoughts, whatever they may have been.

As he gently dried himself with the soft cloth, not taking his eyes off her, he tried to read her mind, even if he failed millions of times before. He never had difficulty reading someone; one look at them and he could see their whole past. But with her, he had no idea what she was thinking or planning, or what images played in her head. She was strong, stronger than the ones he had met before, and he admired that. He praised her strength in the Force and her ability to protect herself from her nemesis. Like him.

But he could read body language. He noticed how she tensed around him when he walked past her. How her chest started rising faster whenever he stared her down. Her goosebumps when they brushed against each other. How she pressed her legs together when he towered over her. And how she was now crushing the rock in her hand, gazing in his direction.

“You can always join me, you know that.” He breathed out, letting the cloth fall to the ground, replacing it with his long blouse. She almost wanted to take the top from him just so she could continue her view, but when she finally recollected her thoughts, she wanted to slap herself. “It would help with your wounds when you don’t let me heal them.” He uttered, dressing himself, not breaking eye contact with her. He liked her stare. He liked how she fought with her emotions and how they reflected in her eyes. It pleased him.

“I’m okay,” she faked a smile, swallowing the ridiculous amount of saliva in her mouth. She forced herself to look somewhere other than his strong forearms or how he dragged the pants up his muscular legs. She found a cute shell, admiring it from afar.

She didn’t catch the grin on his face as her face turned pink and she clenched her fists. He was amused with her reactions, but her ripped bandage and the blood revealing itself underneath caught his full attention. His face froze, along with his movements while buttoning up his shirt. He would never touch her unless she wanted him to, but her leg was nowhere near being healed and with the lack of medical supplies on this island, she’d lose it long before she’d be able to leave the island.

“Let me help you.” It wasn’t a question, more of a subtle order. She didn’t miss it. A week ago, on Khofar, Qimir had stopped himself before fatally hurting her, but he still landed a strike on her leg that had trouble healing. She was stubborn enough to push him away when he offered his help, and now she started to slowly regret it.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she hissed at him, catching a glimpse of his unbuttoned blouse.

“You’re a powerful Jedi, and I don’t doubt you’d be still as fierce as you are now without your leg,” he murmured, making his way towards her, leaving his bag and shoes near the water. “If you want to risk it.” She watched him tilt his head as he slowly approached her. She could only see the images in his mind, his plans and ideas. But underneath it all, he didn’t mean it in a bad way. He wanted to help her. In his own way. He was her friend; he knew her weaknesses and strengths. He knew what she wanted, and he was willing to give it to her. But she couldn’t erase the lying and murder of her friends. She wanted her friend back. Maybe something else this time, but her trust in him had faded. Now it was just Qimir, confusing her thoughts and making her rethink her morals. She felt as disgusted with him as she felt with herself. But she understood him. Or at least tried to.

So, she didn’t oppose, letting him kneel in front of her, his hands carefully reaching out to her ripped bandage above her knee. He was so close she could smell him again. His hair fell into his face, covering his eyes that were focusing only on her wound. His fingers worked fast but tenderly as he lifted her thigh to unwrap the bandage. She swallowed hard, feeling his veiny hand below her leg. She was scared he could feel her burning skin, hoping he would mistake it as a result of the injury.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you on Khofar,” she heard him whisper, gripping the sand below her as he threw away the bandage, the cold air kissing her open wound. She almost heard pity in his voice. She was certain she imagined it.

She begged herself to look away, but her eyes betrayed her as they glared down at his hand that was almost as big as her thigh. He covered the wound, not touching it fully, concentrating on restoring her cells.

She was fascinated by how quickly the wound closed up, leaving only a small scar across her thigh. She had wanted to learn how to force heal ever since she lost her friend to a fatal injury as a kid, but the Jedi never taught her. No matter how hard she pleaded. Whenever she asked, they gave the same answer: only dark side users possess this power. She always felt it was ridiculous.

“How do you do it?” she managed to ask, ignoring Qimir’s confused stare as he picked up his head and drew his hand away from her. But he didn’t move position and kept kneeling between her feet. “How do you force heal?” she felt embarrassed asking, but he was one of her only chances to learn.

A soft smile crept to his lips as he moved his eyes from her face to her hands. She suddenly became aware of her vulnerable position.

“In order to heal someone,” he started, softness in his voice, no signs of mockery. “You need to focus on your own energy, imagine it and visualize it. Imagine its color, like you do with the Force.” He continued, his hands moving in motion with his words.

She could feel the warmth radiating off him as he sat centimeters away, his wet hair framing his sharp features. His eyes were dark, only the light of the moon reflecting in them. His lips were full, stretched as he shared his knowledge with her. She didn’t move a muscle and returned his stare. It was only the two of them.

“The Jedi teach only one way. Physical way. Taking your physical energy and giving it to someone who needs it,” he whispered, leaning his head to the side, giving her a view of his sharp jaw. His neck was thick, his collarbones defined. “But there is another way.” He stopped to look at her, examining her expression. She was listening intently, breathing fast, and her eyes bored so deeply into him he was certain she could read everything he was thinking. He let her.

“Below the surface of consciousness are powerful emotions. Anger. Fear. Loss.” He started listing, his eyes twitching between her eyes and her lips. “Desire.”

Her leg muscles twitched, her core burning up. She wanted to bury herself.

“Only Sith feel those emotions,” she whispered back, denying herself. She saw a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth before he lowered his gaze.

“You can draw energy from them, direct them in any way you want,” he purred, looking back at her, letting her feel his emotions. “However, whenever you want.” He lowered his voice as he stretched the last words, reading her face.

He knew she read his mind. He knew she saw the images that kept him awake and his wishes. He had had them since he met her months ago, and when he sensed her attraction toward him, they only intensified. He wanted her and was simply waiting for her to admit the same to herself, no matter how long it would take.

[rationaliity]

cat parents | dr. ratio & aventurine

!! polyamory !!

caritas, poker, and snuggle.

anyone could tell who named what cat, and which cat cake was who's favorite.

.

caritas was veritas' favorite, the name being an old language word meaning ' love ' although he wouldn't really admit to it. he'd told you that the cat's original name - or rather, it's classification, was lambda's friend, with blue skin and black and white filling. but the cat cake had a little gold flower on the side of it's head, too, which reminded him of himself.

caritas loves to chat with the other cat cakes. its the kind of cat that makes friends with other really quickly, so it's always chatting with poker and snuggle about something throughout the day. their conversations can range from anything about how warm the bed is to the best spot in the living room to see the three of their owners dancing together in the kitchen with music while you were trying to make dinner.

ratio absolutely loved to note down their conversations whenever present. it surprised him that such a creature was so articulate, even able to properly express its desires. he'd concluded that the cat cakes had the intelligence of a young toddler with a rudimentary but understandable grasp on language. you and aventurine liked to tease him sometimes for treating the cat cakes as children sometimes, trying to teach them as a parent would, although this was something that ratio would deny wholeheartedly.

" they are an interesting new species. they are ruan mei's creations, and yet she doesn't seem to understand their full potential. i believe it's imperative that we study them and possibly teach them things they otherwise wouldn't know without our interventions, " ratio reasoned, while he was holding the little cat cake, cradling it like it was something precious to him.

.

poker was aventurine's, the name coming from one of his favorite card games to play, even though he rationalized it by saying that the cat was particularly swatty and liked to cause trouble by batting at things off of the edge of tables. " it likes to poke things until it drops off of the table, so the name poker makes sense, doesn't it ? " yeah, okay aventurine, whatever you say.

poker loved to meow in the dead of night and startle everyone out of sleep in the most inopportune times. ratio has a lecture early in the morning for the intelligentsia guild ? poker is making it's boredom everyone's problem. aventurine has a meeting with the other stonehearts ? oh boy, poker is right there sitting on his face meowing incessantly. if you've got something important to do, well, sorry to say you won't be getting very much sleep that night no matter how early you go to bed. it was bratty, sure, but it was ultimately just an average grey cat cake with nothing special about it, and seemed to have an overwhelming fear of being left alone.

no matter how annoying the cat cake was being that particular night, there was only one way to stop it from meowing. of course, ratio tried to reprimand it and teach it other ways to relieve its boredom at night, but nothing proved effective. you would just try to get it to calm down by playing with it for a little while, but that really only worked until you left it alone, and then it went right back to meowing. aventurine, however, had the magic touch. he would grab the cat cake and bring it into bed, and he would just.. talk to it. in a quiet voice, just chatting about whatever popped up into his head. he'd talk for an hour or more. sometimes it was about sigonia, sometimes it was about his job as a stoneheart. sometimes it was just different gambles and how he ended up winning them.

" so, of course, i had to prove that i was much more than he gave me credit for, " aventurine had been yapping for about an hour now, when he looked down at the cat cake in his arms and realized that it was sound asleep, purring against his chest. " ah, looks like i've done it again. you're welcome, you two. "

" thank you, 'churine, " you mumbled, half asleep as you leaned over to him and pressed a kiss on his cheek, your head falling back down to rest on his shoulder, already falling back asleep. ratio didn't say anything, and when aventurine looked over at him, he couldn't help but smile. he'd put ratio asleep while just chatting, too.

.

snuggle was your trash cake cat, and there was really no deeper meaning behind the name. it was a snuggly cat, and loved attention. loved anyone and everyone who was willing to give it attention. sometimes you would wake up with it resting on your chest, sometimes you would see ratio lazily carrying snuggle around, and other times aventurine was playing with it making it chase a feather around. snuggle was the attention whore of the trio.

snuggle loved to follow you wherever you walked, especially to the bathroom. whether you were getting ready for the day or just trying to spend a few minutes doing human business, you had a pair of eyes watching over your ever move, making sure that you were never far from its sight, almost like it was protective over you. you couldn't help but compare it to your two partners, lord knows how often they were checking up on you in their own ways. ratio wasn't afraid of shooting you a text whenever he had a free moment while you were away to make sure you were okay, and aventurine was constantly on the phone with you through his headpiece.

" snuggle, i'm just going to the bathroom ! it's okay, really- " you gently protested, earning a small mew from the cat cake as it followed behind you into the bathroom, sitting patiently at the doorway, waiting for you to get finished with your business.

" hey, darling, i'm home from work ~ guess who i dragged back home with me after his lecture. " aventurine called out for you almost immediately, followed by the quieter voice of ratio announcing his presence as well.

you rolled your eyes at your partners immediately calling for you, your heart swelling with love for them, washing your hands as you walked out of the bathroom, snuggle hot on your tracks. " welcome back, guys. all of the cat cakes have been taken care of, and i started dinner. "

" thank you, i'm sure dinner will be pleasant as always, " veritas hummed, his briefcase still in his hand as he leaned down to kiss you on your lips.

" what would we do without you ? " aventurine weaseled his way in between you two, mostly because he also wanted to get his after work love from you.

.

a chatty cat cake with more intelligence that it originally seemed, a cat cake that needed to be calmed down when everyone left it alone with its thoughts, and a protective cat cake that enjoyed attention and making sure that those around it was okay.

maybe these were the perfect cat cakes for you three.

[i-cant-sing]

I can’t get this scenario out of my head with yan!batfamily in which Bruce worms his way into a depressed reader’s life by marrying their mother and slowly taking over the role of parenting reader while dealing with the depression.

No because Bruce would do that. In his head, its just another mission to "save Y/n" and sure, your mother isn't exactly his type, and your depression isn't exactly her fault- the poor woman just works day and night for you both to survive in this outrageous economy, she doesn't have had enough time to see you not doing so well mentally.

Bruce and his sons, by whatever sequence of events, are now infatuated with you. What started as concern for your well being has now turned into obsessive need to control your life to make it better. So, yeah... Bruce decides to marry your mom, who is more than happy to finally find a chivalrous, handsome man... who just happens to also be very rich.

Meanwhile, you hate him. It's stupid, but you hate how filthy rich he is and even though you know that he donates a lot to charities, you still hate him because Bruce thinks money can solve everything (and in your case, it almost can), but you can't help but feel insulted everytime he offers you a cheque, a wad of cash to pay off your bills and loans, or even a $20 bill to get yourself some snacks. It feels... abnormal. You're not a charity case.

Perhaps your socioeconomic status isn't the only reason you're depressed. Maybe it's just you missing your father (could be dead/murdered/suicide/just moved far far away).

The moment Bruce finds out that your dad is the reason why you're so depressed, oh it's "I WILL FATHER ANOTHER CHILD IN NEED OF PROFESSIONAL HELP" time. He's doubling down on his paternal instincts and he's just mentally smacking himself like "ofc you need a father figure in your life. Who better than me????"

And it just makes your skin crawl at how nonchalant Bruce is about all this- about incorporating himself into your and your mother's life. Treating you both, especially you like you're actually related. Like he's been around with you two his entire life. You lose your appetite when he stays for dinner, but you sit at the table for your mother. You try to make excuses when your mother tells you that you have to go with her at the Wayne Manor because "Bruce wants to spend a day with family". You can't help but look at your mother in wonder at how she is comfortable when you both pull up at the manor. You thought things would be easier if Bruce's sons were also uncomfortable or even hated you and your mother (or thought that your mom was a gold digger), but no, they're just as worse as Bruce. Dick being particularly the worst in the sense that he's more affectionate and his love language is physical touch, so you get squished to his chest everytime he sees you, with a small cry "my baby!" Sometimes, "sis" would be added.

You didn't like either nickname.

Then there's Jason, who is the most normal one of them all, perhaps because he isn't around much and when he is, he just makes small talk.

Tim doesn't talk much either, but he stares a lot. Somehow you feel like he knows something about you, at least more than he's letting on.

And lastly, there's Damian, that pompous little shit. You know he's being amicable for Bruce, but his eyes look at you like he's judging you- thinks you're beneath him. Which is true, in the sense of finance. Despite all of that, Damian still wants to show you off his interests/things around the manor. He's still being arrogant ofc, "Look at this oil painting- it's a Van Gogh original. Van Gogh is a famous painter- he's dead though. I'm sure you aren't familiar with his works. I can take you to the Gotham gallery to show you more paintings. Father owns it, so it can be just us two without other people bothering us." He's nice but also not nice. But at least he's not doing it intentionally.

Then there's Bruce. Who is always looking at you with a small smile, but his eyes are always analysing you, even when he's not looking at you directly, you know that he's watching your every move like a hawk. He tries spending time with you, often he succeeds, only because your mother makes you go. He's a good man, hasn't done anything exactly inappropriate, but... even something as small as making you walk on the inner side of the sidewalk so that you're safe from the cars... it doesn't sit right with you. Why is he being so paternal? You certainly have been rude to him on purpose. Always giving him one word answers when he asks you how your day was.

Then one day your mother returns home with a beaming smile.

"Bruce proposed to me! We're getting married!"

After only 3 months of dating? It's what you wanted to say, but you held it back when you saw how happy she was.

The next day, Bruce held a dinner at the manor to celebrate the engagement. Surprisingly, that was the first time you saw Damian looking mad at you and your mom.

It was a reasonable reaction. Acceptable to you, instead of the overly excited yell of Dick "WE'RE GOING TO BE SIBLINGS! That means we can have slumber parties and pillow fights and-"

Your mother and Bruce were shopping for the wedding, looking at dresses and venues and all the shenanigans while you were at the manor, moving your and your mom's stuff in with the boys. It was the last thing you wanted, but your mother.... she insisted on it. Or at least that's what she says, you know Bruce insisted.

Doesn't matter because by next year, you'd be moving away to college anyways.

You just need to put up with this for a little longer and see your mother finally be happy.

You didn't expect your mother to be dead a week before the wedding.

It was out of the blue. You were sitting in the library at the manor because Dick refused to let you be alone in your room all the time, so he was making you some cookies while you read. Then he and Bruce came together, their faces pale as they looked at you.

"Y/n... your mother, she... she got in an accident."

She was driving to some restaurant, wanted to get you your favourite fried chicken and spend some time with you alone. But on her way, a truck crashed right into her car.

She died on the spot.

Whatever little improvement you had on your mental health went straight down the drain. You locked yourself in your room and just cried quietly. They left you alone the first few days, but then Bruce and Dick tried to persuade you to come out, that they were concerned for you. You did come out the day the funeral was held. And it hurt you... it hurt you so deeply when you found out they were burying her at the Wayne cemetery.

She wasn't a fucking Wayne.

If you had any strength, if you had any energy at all, you would've taken your mother and buried her someplace else.

But you didn't.

When you returned inside the manor, you went straight to your mother's room, which was also Bruce's room but you didn't care if he saw you in there or not. You just started packing all of your mother's stuff, her clothes, her jewellery, her photos, everything she came here with, which wasn't much to begin with but still.

"Y/n?" You stiffened when Bruce called you, but you didn't pause on packing. "What are you doing? Looking for something?"

You sighed. Might as well get this over with.

You turnd around, not looking him in the eye.

"I'm moving out. And I'm taking mom's stuff with me. You can check, I'm not stealing anything that belongs to you."

Bruce looked at you in confusion. "Moving out? Where are you going?"

"College. I'll be going there soon anyways, so I'm moving to an apartment with some friends."

"Oh, but you don't need to move out. You can stay with us. Youre family-" you cut him off.

"Bruce, let's not." You finally look at him. "We're not family. I never was, I never wanted to be. Mom's gone now, and I have no reason or desire to be here. Thank you for letting me stay here for as long as you have, but I will be moving out by tomorrow, if not tonight." You said picking up your mother's bag of stuff and walking out of the room. Bruce followed you to your room.

"But I don't want you to move-"

You dropped the bags. "I don't care what you want!"

Bruce looked at you with his brows furrowed. He didn't get why you were acting like this. Your yelling had gotten the attention of the boys too, all looking in confusion at the bags.

"I don't want to be a part of this family. I never have, and I never will. I never liked you or anyone in this family. And if you're concerned about me speaking to the media about you guys, don't worry. If it helps you, you can make me sign an NDA!"

Damian narrowed his eyes at you. "Dont talk to father like-"

"Shut up!" You yelled harshly. You didn't care who you were hurting. Your mother was gone, you had no reason to be amicable to them anymore.

-

They left you alone that day, and by the next morning, you were ready to leave. At 6 am, you walked down to the main door, with your bags. You weren't expecting them all to be waiting for you, but here they were. You took a step towards the door, but Dick stopped you.

He cleared his throat. "Um, this is the NDA... if you'd just sign it here." He handed you the papers.

Unbelievable. They actually drew up a contract. You took the pen from his hand and signed at the dotted lines.

"Bye." You took another step, except Damian and Tim blocked your path.

"What now?"

"Where are you going?" Tim asked.

"Do we have to go over this again?" You grumbled. "College." You answered.

"You can't." Damian said smugly. What's he smirking for?

"You're gonna break my legs?" You scoffed.

"No, you just signed a document saying that you're a part of this family, and Bruce Wayne is your guardian and has authority over all decisions concerning you like going to college, or even... going out of the house." Damian replied.

You looked at Bruce, because there's no way Damian is being serious. But there were no signs of joking. You looked at Dick, at Jason-

They were all dead serious.

"You cant- you can't be- you can't keep me here." You said.

"You signed the documents. It's your fault for not reading them." Tim said.

"Bruce-"

"I really do believe that it'd be better for you to stay here." Bruce said, taking ahold of your shoulders. "At least until you're doing better mentally."

"I'm fine-"

"I don't think so. And I could even take you to a psychiatrist, they'd agree with me." Bruce cupped your cheek as you flinched away. "You'd be happy here. I promise you that, you'll be safe and happy with us."

You'd try fighting, but you already knew you were outnumbered.

Besides, even if you weren't, even if you were alone with the smallest one of them, you still wouldn't be able to leave. You have no idea what Damian is capable of.

After all, he's the one who had your mother killed.

[santaasi]

raison d'être

pairing: james potter x shy!reader

summary: james potter never thought that the most terrible day of his life could give him a new reason for existing

warnings: muggle au, fluff, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i’m alive!! but i feel like with all my uni and graduating stuff i just lost inspiration. but i promise that very soon there will be more fics! love u all. have a good time readings my new work <з

JAMES POTTER HAS NEVER BEEN A LOSER. On the contrary, his life has always been like an endless lottery win. Ideal and loving parents, who provided him with everything he needed and supported him at every step. Friends who were always there for him even in the worst. A perfect career in sports that was only going uphill every day and promised to take James to new heights. James Potter was a golden boy who always seemed to be surrounded by a halo of luck. In all his twenties, he didn't know what failure and lose were. Troubles avoided him and it was something familiar to him. That's why when everything went wrong on one of the most important days of his life, James was taken aback.

It was one of hundreds of other summer days when the weather in London was pleasing with its sunshine and warmth. And that was the day James Potter overslept for the first time in his life. And it would be fine if he was late for training or a regular meeting about plans for the week, but… James Potter overslept and was late for a meeting with their future sponsors, who would decide the fate of the team and its entry into a more perspective professional league.

But apparently this was not enough for fate (if it ever existed). The fate decided to mock James more by taking all his luck and replacing it with failure. Because as soon as he left the house and got into the car, it didn't start, although last night, when he returned from another get-together with Sirius and Remus at the bar, everything with his car was fine. He had to ride in a completely packed bus, breathing in sweat fumes and feeling someone's elbow dig into his lower ribs. By the time he got to the bus stop, the air in his lungs was starting to run out. And besides all that, James had to walk the long way to the sport base to protect his ass and buy coffee for everyone at the meeting, to pretend that this was what he had planned from the very beginning. It was Sirius's plan, which, to James' great surprise, sounded really good for the first time in what seemed like forever. But instead of going to the usual café on another street, James ran into a new coffee shop, which was right next to the sports base, which decently helped to shorten his time.

A bell rang over James's head as he entered a softly lit, bright space with a couple of tables and guests who were sitting here, working and drinking pleasantly smelling coffee. For a very recently opened place, the coffee shop probably really had a lot of popularity in the area. James covered the distance from the door to the cash desk in a couple of steps and opened a dialogue with Sirius, quickly rattling his order to the barista, whom he did not even deign to look up at.

"’m sorry, could you repeat the order more slowly? This is my first day and..." you whispered softly, biting your lip uncertainly, and James looked up. His gaze is full of anger, which made you swallow a lump in your throat.

You've never been good with people. Large crowds scared you, and even with your close friends you preferred to message rather than call. But when life shook you up and the deadlines for paying for college were already burning, you had to get over your fear and be interviewed at a new coffee shop near your house, where an employee was urgently needed. A week ago, you were over the moon when you were accepted. The job didn't seem difficult and learning the basics of barista work was even interesting, and most importantly, the customers were all friendly. And you even have a hope that working with people won't be so bad. But as soon as you were faced with James Potter's eyes full of irritation, all hope for something good immediately disappeared, replaced by fear and nervousness.

"Or... or I can call another more... experienced specialist..." you began softly, stumbling through the words.

When James Potter entered the café, he was really annoyed because of the plans that didn't go the way he wanted. But as soon as his gaze meet your frightened doe eyes, his face immediately softened and all the emotions that he had experienced before faded into nothing but pure adoration.

You were beautiful. No. You were lovely. You looked like a small frightened deer that has met a hunter in the forest. Innocent. Sweet. Elegant. James Potter didn't know that there were perfect people in this world, but looking at you, he was convinced of it. His world seemed to stop for a second, concentrating only on you and on awkward lowering of your stunning eyes and how you bit your lip and how your thin fingers was nervously fidgeting with the bottom of your apron.

You cleared your throat and said something. James didn't hear it. He was consumed by you. He wanted to get to know you. Beautiful pictures were already playing in James's head, like movie stills of how he would ask you for your phone number and how you would smile and hand him a crumpled tissue, which he would, of course, keep all day as the apple of his eye. He has already imagined your date. How he takes you to one of those silent film festivals that were taking place in London right now. How you will chat for days on end without thinking about anything. How at the end of the evening he will take you home and slightly bending down, the distance between you will be reduced, and then…

As soon as you turned around to leave, James immediately fell out of his fantasies, quickly trying not to let you leave. He reached across the counter and grabbed your wrist, forcing you to pay attention to him again. But as soon as he realized how uncultivated he was by violating your boundaries, he immediately took his hand away, stuffing them into the pockets of his jeans, guiltily lowering his eyes to the floor. It was not typical for James Potter to blush, but he could feel the heat rising up his neck, scorching his cheeks.

"Um... sorry... I-I can repeat the order," James said nervously, and you noticing his change of mood and awkwardness relaxed a little, listening attentively to his order once again.

You quickly handed him the check and asked him to wait next to the pick-up counter, smiling sweetly, which made James's heart skip a beat. He nodded wordlessly and swallowed, still feeling the tingling in his hand where your fingers touched his skin.

Waiting for his order, James couldn't take his eyes off you. Everything in him screamed that he should come up and ask you out or ask for your number, as he had done hundreds of times.… But he couldn't... something was stopping him. And so when his name came off your lips (he didn't think that his own name uttered by someone could make him almost faint) and you handed him a bag with his order, all he could do was whisper a quiet "thank you" and leave the coffee shop without even turning around.

He spent the rest of the day as if in a dream. James was sitting in a meeting trying to concentrate on the important things, but all he could think about was your smile, which made his heart skip a beat. At practice, James was also distracted, as if hearing your sonorous but soft voice everywhere, the memory of which made his body goosebumps.

James Potter spent the whole day in a daze until a bell rang above him and the door closed behind him with a thud. The cafe was empty, the chairs were raised on the tables and the one who completely confused his thoughts stood with her back to him, quietly humming some remotely familiar song playing on the radio. You slowly swayed your hips, moving backwards, mopping the white tile floor until your back hit James's hard chest. You suddenly screamed loudly and turned around, covering your mouth with hand in shock. James ran a nervous hand through his hair and frowned slightly.

"Sorry, I thought you were still working, I came in... to buy something to drink," James quickly rattled on one exhale, meeting your gaze.

You blinked quickly a couple of times, trying to move away from the shock that you experienced from an unexpected meeting with a visitor. In him, you immediately recognized the guy James, whom you first dubbed the last jerk that came to ruin your first working morning, and then you noticed how cute and sweet he was when a blu sh appeared on his cheeks and immediately melted away.

"No, no, we are still working... there were just no visitors and I decided to start cleaning early… But you can order... it's okay," you assured him, giving James a soft smile before turning around and standing behind the counter, putting the mop aside.

James looked at the menu carefully, and then at you. There was silence in the coffee shop for a couple of seconds, and you felt your cheeks start to burn from the piercing gaze of his coffee eyes. You slowly lowered your gaze, trying to hide a silly smile.

"What do you recommend?" clearing his throat, James asked without taking his eyes off you. He wanted to stay in your company as long as possible and get to know you better. At least for a little bit. "What's your favorite drink?"

"Hmm... I'm not a big fan of coffee," you thought, looking over your shoulder at the menu. "That's why I would recommend herbal tea with raspberries and mint..." you nodded, concentrating on the guy standing in front of you again and smiling. "Well, it's also my first day and I'm not sure I can make you a good coffee... so tea would be the safest option," you joked, biting the inside of your cheek.

James laughed hoarsely, throwing his head back and you shyly lowered your head, hiding the blush that became even brighter on your cheeks. James was the epitome of what the perfect man looked like in your fantasies. Slightly curly hair, warm brown eyes that when he smiled seemed to be able to warm the whole world and round glasses that brightened his face and gave him even more charm. Such a handsome guy must have had an equally beautiful girlfriend. You thought, but quickly pushed these thoughts away from you. He was just a client, you shouldn't have worried about these issues.

"Then I'll have tea... yeah... I'll have tea with raspberries and mint," James said, calming down a little, adjusting the rim of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, which had slipped off.

You nodded and turned away, brewing James your favorite tea, making yourself one cup along the way. He was lost in thought again, watching you do your job carefully and with concentration. Your finger was slowly sprinkled with herbs, mixing them with mint leaves and dried raspberries, along the way he noticed how you brought the herbs to your nose, inhaling their fragrance and gently smiled to yourself. You looked more relaxed and peaceful than you did this morning when James scared you with his impetuous words.

"Herbal tea with raspberries and mint for James," you announced the order as if there was someone beside the two of you, and James smiled brightly at you.

His hand lingered on yours for a couple of seconds longer than necessary, and you felt your heart begin to beat faster in your chest. There was not enough air in your lungs, and it was only when James took the cup of tea from your hands that you were able to take a ragged breath that did not pass James by. The guy grinned, sipping a drink from his mug.

"Wow, this is really good! I like it," James said enthusiastically, looking right at you. His brown eyes seemed to look straight into your soul, and you swallowed nervously again, licking your lips, feeling how for a second his gaze dropped just below your eyes.

"Thank you..." James tilted his head slightly to the side, looking at you expectantly.

You said your full name softly, and James seemed to echo it, tasting it. You were quickly caught again, feeling your fluffy eyelashes tickle your cheeks. James shook and lowered his head, trying to hide his spreading grin. Apparently, he was not the only one in this cafe who was fascinated by his interlocutor.

"Well, thank you for the delicious tea. See you tomorrow, love," he winked at you before leaving the cafe.

The endearing name came out of James's mouth so easily that for a second you were taken aback, standing rooted to the spot behind the cash desk with your mouth open, like a fish jumping onto dry land. But at the last moment, a quick goodbye escaped your lips, more like the creak of a door, and the ringing of a bell announced James's departure.

Through the big window, you watched him walk slowly along the street lit by lanterns, smiling like a madman and slowly sipping his tea, and something jumped in your chest.

You put your hand to your chest, feeling your heart beating hard against your rib cage, and then wrapped both hands around your cheeks, which pleasantly cooled your heated skin. And the only thing you could think about, standing in an empty coffee shop, looking at the door through which James came out, was that the barista's job might not have been so bad. At least as long as James appears in front of you, it definitely won't be bad.

And in order to see him again tomorrow, maybe you'll switch shifts with Marlene.

But only 'maybe'.

thankx for reading <3

for the first time in month, I had so much fun writing these one shot. so I hope you enjoyed it too. you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

- your santi 🪐

masterlist

[luviestarz]

yang jungwon fic recs!

★ the language of flowers - @soobnny (jungwon’s just every bit in love with the student council president who keeps visiting his flowershop OR in which you find solace in a flowershop, and its owner’s grandson finds solace in you.)

★ GARDENING CLUB MASTERLIST - @snowbabys (you heard jungwon isn’t one of many friends, a silent and closed guy, and it’s not a surprise when he barely blinks in your direction when you join the gardening club. it is a surprise when he starts to show interest in you and does anything to be close.)

★ ❣︎ ⎯⎯ you’re mine . - @goldenhypen

★ infrunami - @jennaissantes (PROMPT: ‘fixing their tie’)

★ LOVE NEWS ! — YJW SMAU - @hanniluvi (BREAKING NEWS! valentine’s is right around the corner, yet you still had no partner. you didn’t think too much of it, you probably thought it was just another year where you’ll be single again. not a big issue at all. however, your favorite gossip account proves you wrong! what if you find out someone actually likes you? after gathering all the hints you’ve been given, you narrowed your list down to one person. that one person ended up being yang jungwon, one of your crushes. there’s no way, one of your crushes actually liking you back? will you believe it’s just fake or actual love news?)

★ ADMIRING YOU ! - @hanniluvi (You've never had good luck with dating. You just couldn't seem to make it work. You were led to believe that was how things would always be. You had no idea but, Jungwon, one of your classmates has been crushing on you for a long time. But because you are you, you never paid attention to him in class. After seeing him staring at you for a time, you finally identify him as a barista at the aroma café. Will anything ever change for you? Will you be able to establish a committed relationship at last?)

★ nice to meet you, boyfriend!◞♡ ⃗ y.jw - @delcakoo (when a strange man approaches you at the grocery store, you call for your "boyfriend", who has just cluelessly entered the store, unaware of his new relationship status with you, a complete stranger. hopefully he plays along…)

★ scaring a guy away - @delcakoo

★ cat boy - @jaeyunverse (yang jungwon is pissed his cat likes you more than him. or, in which jungwon’s cat plays cupid and sets you up.)

★ i’m your cat, meow - yang jungwon - @en-dazed (in which jungwon is jealous of a cat)

★ classmate au | yang jungwon - @soobnny

★ Baked with Love - @demusewriter (You once dreamed of having your bakery where everyone could use it as a safe refuge from reality, similar to the shop from your childhood. It seems to work as one of the famous boy groups uses it to hang out to temporarily escape the spotlight, especially by one member who seems to be fond of the place.)

★ in my head - yjw - @j1nniee (you’ve hated jungwon ever since you two met on the train to hogwarts back in first year; he’s self-centered, lazy, and always coming out for you. now in your seventh year, you’ve been named head girl (woohoo!). unfortunately, the head boy position was given to the one and only yang jungwon (boohoo…). with no other choice, you’re forced to face the annoyingly attractive boy and work with him for the rest of the year - if you can even last that long.)

★ A PIN STRAIGHT TO MY HEART - @snwpcktz (the famous decelis academy confession board is where students pin their written feelings on an anonymous sticky note in hopes of their crush reading it. for y/n, this is the perfect opportunity to finally come to terms with the feelings she has for her classmate--yang jungwon. she has everything planned out, from the color of the sticky note she would be using (blue, it's jungwon's favorite color) to the location she would pin it on the board (smackdown in the middle of the decorative heart the student council put up for valentine's day ages ago). but what happens when y/n sees jungwon pinning his own confession note mere seconds before she planned to?)

★ ⌗ attractive things jungwon does ⨾ - @aakomii

★ super shy - yang jungwon - @en-dazed (jungwon isn’t used to having company when he’s studying - especially when the company is one of the most popular girls in school)

★ ♡𓂃 START NOW ! - @loveywon (you and jungwon never really got along, but one morning you're in bed with him and you both don't recognize the room that you're in.)

[theenchantresx]

Under the Prince’s Gaze

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen & fem! maid reader

Word Count: 1,150

Trigger Warnings: 18+, MDNI, prince/servant relationship, light coercion, dominance/submission themes, explicit sexual content, rough language, mild degradation

All images used here have been downloaded from Pinterest: credits to the original owners

The flickering candlelight danced across the walls of Prince Aemond Targaryen’s chamber. The hour was late, and the Keep had grown silent, save for the distant echo of footsteps and the rustle of servants finishing their tasks for the night. Within the room, Aemond sat on the edge of his bed, a small mirror before him as he cleaned his sapphire eye with a damp cloth.

His jaw was clenched, the muscles taut with concentration as he delicately wiped around the empty socket. The sapphire gleamed in the low light, a brilliant contrast to the shadows that played across his face. He exhaled softly, setting the cloth aside and picking up a vial of cleaning solution, preparing to finish the nightly routine.

A gentle knock on the door drew his attention, and his sharp eye turned toward the entrance.

“Enter,” he commanded, his voice low, yet carrying the authority of a prince.

The door creaked open slowly, and you stepped inside, your hands nervously clutching a bundle of clean clothes. You kept your gaze respectfully lowered, though you could still feel the intensity of his single eye upon you, its scrutiny like a weight pressing down on your skin.

"My prince," you said softly, bowing your head. "Your bath is ready, as you requested, and I’ve brought fresh clothes for you."

Aemond's gaze lingered on you for a moment before he set the vial aside. He was used to your presence by now; you were often the one tasked with seeing to his needs in the late hours. Still, there was something about you — the quiet, respectful way you carried yourself, the way your eyes never lingered on his face longer than necessary, the way you seemed to know exactly what he needed without him having to ask — that piqued his interest.

"You may set them down, there on that table" he said after a moment, his tone clipped but not unkind.

You stepped further into the room, your footsteps barely making a sound on the stone floor as you moved to place the clothes on a table in front of his bed. When you straightened, you found yourself stealing a glance at him — at the way his long, silver hair fell over his shoulder, at the tension in his shoulders, the rigid line of his back. You could tell something weighed heavily on him, though you would never dare to ask what.

As you turned to leave, Aemond’s voice stopped you.

"Wait."

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Slowly, you turned back to face him, your hands clasped in front of you as you awaited his command.

"Come here," he said, his voice softer now, though still carrying that edge of authority that made your pulse quicken.

You hesitated only for a moment before obeying, stepping closer until you were standing just before him. Up close, the intensity of his presence was even more palpable, and you had to fight to keep your composure under the weight of his gaze.

"Look at me," he ordered quietly.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you lifted your eyes to meet his. His eye studied you, searching for something you couldn’t name. His face, though handsome in a sharp, almost cruel way, held a vulnerability in this moment, his sapphire eye catching the candlelight and gleaming with a strange kind of beauty.

He raised a hand, and your breath hitched as his fingers lightly grazed your cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost hesitant, as though he wasn’t used to such things. His thumb brushed the corner of your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You don’t look at me with pity," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Why?"

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to answer. "I… I would never presume to pity you, my prince," you said softly. "You are strong. Fearsome. There is nothing to pity."

Aemond’s lips twitched, a shadow of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate line along your jaw, his touch growing bolder as he seemed to consider your words.

"And yet, you tremble," he observed, his tone both teasing and predatory. "Do I frighten you, little one?"

Your breath came quicker now, your heart pounding in your chest. "No, your grace," you whispered, though the way your body reacted to his closeness betrayed the truth. It wasn’t fear that made you tremble — not exactly. It was something deeper, something more dangerous.

Aemond chuckled softly, a vibrant sound that sent heat pooling low in your belly. His hand slid down to your throat, resting there lightly as his eye bored into yours. "You lie well," he mused, his voice dark and velvety. "But I can feel your pulse racing beneath my fingers. You are afraid… but not of me."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. The scent of him — leather, smoke, and something uniquely his — filled your senses, making your head spin.

"I think," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "you are afraid of what you want."

His words sent a shock of heat through you, and your knees nearly buckled as his hand tightened ever so slightly around your throat. You let out a shaky breath, your body instinctively leaning into him, drawn to the dark allure of his presence, to the raw power he exuded.

Aemond’s free hand slid around your waist, pulling you against him in a possessive grip. The contrast between his firm hold and the delicate way his fingers traced your skin left you breathless, your body tingling with anticipation.

"I could have you," he murmured, his lips ghosting over your neck. "Right here. Right now."

The promise in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you bit your lip to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape.

"Would you let me?" he asked, his tone daring, yet almost tender. "Would you submit to your prince?"

Your head swam with the intensity of the moment, with the conflicting emotions that warred within you. Every instinct screamed at you to pull away, to maintain the boundaries that separated servant from prince. And yet… every fiber of your being yearned to stay, to give in to the fire that burned between you.

"Yes," you whispered, the word escaping your lips before you could stop it.

Aemond’s eye darkened with satisfaction, and in a swift motion, his lips claimed yours. The kiss was fierce, possessive, filled with all the pent-up desire and tension that had been building between you. His hand tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, while the other tangled in your hair, holding you to him as though he feared you might disappear.

You melted into him, your body responding to his every touch, his every command. The kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that sent your heart racing.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your bodies pressed together, your skin tingling from the intensity of his touch.

"Good girl," Aemond whispered against your lips, his voice a dark, seductive purr. "Now… let’s see how well you obey your prince."

Aemond’s grip on your waist remained firm, grounding you even as your head swam with desire. Every inch of you was aflame under his touch, a mixture of fear, anticipation, and raw need.

His fingers traveled down to the laces of your bodice, toying with the ties as though savoring the power he held over you. He paused for a moment, his eye locking with yours, a question unspoken between you. You gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and that was all he needed.

With a flick of his wrist, he began to undo the laces, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he enjoyed watching your skin gradually being revealed to him. Each tug of the fabric brought a fresh wave of anticipation, and the cool air of the room made your skin prickle as your bodice loosened. His touch, though teasing, was methodical, precise — like everything about him.

You couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips when his hand slid beneath the fabric, fingers grazing your bare skin. He smirked at the sound, his eye never leaving yours as he lowered his head to place a heated kiss on your collarbone. You gasped at the sensation, your knees trembling as his mouth continued its descent, lips brushing over your chest, each touch more possessive than the last.

“You tremble so easily,” Aemond murmured against your skin, his voice a deep, husky whisper. His hand cupped your breast through the fabric of your dress, his thumb brushing over the peak with deliberate slowness. “Have you thought about this? About me? I think you have.”

You swallowed hard, the truth burning on your tongue. You had. How could you not? Every night spent in his presence, watching him from the corner of your eye, feeling the weight of his gaze on you even when you weren’t looking. You’d tried to push it away, to bury the desire that stirred within you whenever he was near, but now, with his hands on you, his lips marking you as his… there was no hiding it anymore.

“Yes,” you whispered, barely audible, your confession making your body shiver against his.

Aemond’s smirk deepened, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he spoke again, his breath warm and intoxicating. “Good. Then there will be no need for restraint tonight.”

He pulled back just enough to shrug out of his own shirt, tossing the fabric carelessly aside. You couldn’t help but let your eyes roam over his body, his lean muscles flexing as he moved, the scars of past battles marking his skin. His chest was as chiseled as the stone walls of the Keep, every inch of him a reminder of the warrior he had become, of the deadly precision that defined him. Your gaze was drawn to the blue sapphire nestled in his eye socket, gleaming with an otherworldly light, a symbol of both his power and his pain.

And yet, here he was before you — vulnerable in his own way, baring not just his body but his desire for you.

Aemond took your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Do you know how many nights I’ve thought of this?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “How many times I’ve watched you, imagining what you’d look like beneath me?”

The confession sent a jolt of heat straight through you, your breath hitching in your throat. His lips claimed yours again, this time more urgent, more demanding. His tongue swept into your mouth, exploring, tasting, as his hands moved to rid you of the rest of your clothes.

Your dress pooled at your feet, leaving you exposed under the candlelight. You stood there, vulnerable and trembling, as his eye raked over your body with unabashed hunger. Aemond reached out, his fingers skimming over your waist, your hips, before pulling you flush against him, his heat searing against your bare skin.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, the admiration in his voice sending a thrill through you. “Every inch of you… mine.”

His hand slid between your thighs, and you gasped at the intimate touch. He moved with deliberate slowness, teasing you, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips as he explored your body. His other hand moved to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads rested against one another.

“Look at me,” he demanded softly, his voice edged with a possessiveness that made your core tighten.

You obeyed, meeting his gaze. His eye burned with intensity, his focus solely on you, as if the rest of the world had faded away. The weight of his stare was both exhilarating and terrifying, as if he could see right through you — to your very soul.

Without warning, he pushed you back onto the bed, his hands guiding you until you lay beneath him. Aemond hovered over you, his long silver hair framing his face like a veil as he looked down at you with a mixture of hunger and awe. His lips curved into a smirk, and he lowered himself, his body pressing down against yours, his heat mingling with your own.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice both a command and a plea. “Say it.”

Your breath came in shallow gasps as his body pressed against yours, his hands exploring your every curve. Every nerve in your body was alight, burning with need, with want. You parted your lips, your voice trembling with desire.

“You,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I want you, my prince.”

Aemond’s lips curled into a feral grin, and in one swift motion, he claimed you completely.

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (1)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Rating: Mature

Square filled for @stuckybingo Round 5: free space - mafia au

Square filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Free Space

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of illegal activities/mafia business/murder, strong reader, mentions of breeding/surrogate, wish for children, shady deals, shitty boyfriend, reader doesn't take shit from no one, tension, sexy mobsters

Words: 1,5k

Indecent Proposal masterlist

“Babe, how do I look?” Your boyfriend asks, almost stumbling over his words as the men he was hoping to meet at the fancy party walk inside the room. 

Well, they don’t walk like normal people. They are stepping inside the room, stopping in their tracks to look at the people in the room. It looks like the crowd parts like the Red Sea to form a path only for them.

Steven Grant Rogers. James Buchanan Barnes. – Two names you must know if you ever heard of New York City and its mob.

They are as good-looking as they are dangerous. A deadly combination of beauty and the beast hidden behind blue eyes.

If you don’t want to end up six feet under, you don’t mess with them. Or even look their way too long.

“Did you put on the underwear I told you to?” 

“What has this to do with the party?” You sigh, as you still don’t know why Scott brought you here.

You’ve been dating for a few months, and you had hoped that tonight, he’d do more than the bare minimum. He’s not a bad guy, but an awful partner.

A criminal too. Not a criminal mastermind, but you already figured out that the small business he runs is far from legal.

“It’s important, babe,” you roll your eyes at the awful pet name. You hate it and told him so before. “Okay, don’t say anything stupid. Or, just look pretty and don’t say anything at all.”

“What?” Now you square your jaw. You don’t understand what has gotten into Scott until you lift your eyes off him to meet two pairs of blue ones. “Oh…”

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes,” Scott looks pathetic when he bows for the heads of the mob in town. “I’m honored to meet you again. Thank you for having me.”

The men ignore Scott and his offered hand. Instead, they look at you. Steve almost shoves your boyfriend aside as he holds out his hand to take yours.

“I see you followed our invitation,” he lowers himself to press a kiss to the back of your hand. You shiver. He seems so polite, and kind. But behind his blue eyes, you can see the beast wanting to break free.

“Stevie don’t scare her off right away,” you are a little overwhelmed when James Barnes turns his attention toward you. He takes your other hand and kisses your knuckles, glancing at your ring finger. “No ring, doll? He didn’t ask you to be his forever?”

“No-“ You’re usually not shy, or meek. But these men crowd you like prey and have their hands on you. You know they are in a relationship, but right now, they look at you as if you are their latest meal. “We’re only dating for a few months.”

“A shame,” Steve cups your chin, making you whimper. You never felt like this before. Confused and aroused at the same time. These men are strangers, but oddly you feel safe in their presence. “What do you say? Shall we lead this to a more private area?”

You don’t know why they are interested in leading you and your boyfriend to a private area, but this can’t be good. People like them never have good intentions, and you assume Steve and Bucky are no exception.

“I’m good here…I mean. You should enjoy your party. Don’t you have to greet all the people you invited?” You nervously babble. 

“Doll, they don’t care if we greet them or not. They are only here to show respect to us,” Bucky runs his index finger up your arm. He smirks as you involuntarily shudder at his touch. “Let’s lead this to our office.”

“Scott,” you dip your head to glance at your boyfriend. He looks up at Steve as if the man is carrying a halo on top of his head. “Scott!”

“Babe don’t be rude. We should follow them to the office,” your boyfriend is no help. He’s wringing his hands while staring at Steve Rogers. God, he’s such a pathetic little boy. You just see it now when you watch him interact with two real men.

“Fine,” you snap at Scott if only to end his pathetic act. “Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, please lead the way.” 

“Do you want a drink or a canapé doll? We can ask the maid to get you something you’ll like,” Bucky sits next to you on the couch, one hand running up and down his thigh, the other creeping toward your thigh. He brushes his metal finger over your exposed skin, barely listening to what his partner has to say.

“Buck, did you listen?”

“Seal the deal,” the brunette clicks his tongue, “I’ll take care of the main act in the meantime. You know I don’t care about the conditions. We already negotiated them. You can take care of the details.”

“I want to take over more important tasks,” Scott suddenly says. He glances at you, and then he looks at Steve. “Sir, I agree on the terms. I’ll do anything to prove that you can trust me.”

“Does she agree on our terms too?” Steve dips his head to watch you stop Bucky’s hand from stroking your thigh. “Buck, we are talking here.”

“I know,” Bucky huffs. “All you do is talk to that slimy little bastard. Give him what he wants so we can get what we want.”

“Mr. Lang, you know that if we seal the deal, that you cannot break it. We have rules for a reason.”

“She will agree,” Scott hastily says. You snap your head toward your boyfriend, wondering what he’s talking about. “Right, Y/N? You’ll help me with the deal.”

“I told you that I’m not going to do anything illegal,” you hiss at Scott. “I looked the other way when you sold stolen phones to my colleagues, but I won’t actively help you. I’m not a criminal.”

“You didn’t talk about the deal with her?” Bucky suddenly jumps up to fist Scott’s jacket. “You dare to come to our house and lie to us?”

“I didn’t lie, Sir…Mr. Barnes. Y/N said she finds you hot, and all. She even talked about ending up between the two of you to her friend.”

“You sick fuck spied on me and Maria?” You growl at Scott. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes…I’m sure she’ll help you have a baby and all…”

“Baby what?” You furrow your brows. “Okay. This is getting ridiculous. What is going on here?”

“Well, we want you to become our surrogate. Bucky and I love each other dearly, but I cannot give him what he needs, nor can he give me what I want. A baby…an heir. We were looking for the perfect woman, with the perfect bloodline.”

“I-what?” The room suddenly caves in. You feel dizzy and grab the edge of the couch. “You want me to be your breeder?”

“No, doll,” Steve walks toward the couch to crouch down in front of you. “We want you to spend time with us…or rather between us.” He grins. “I want you to have my baby. And then you’ll have Bucky’s. We haven’t figured out whose allowed to breed you first.”

“Breed me?” Oh. God. Your pussy just clenched around nothing. If not for the anger taking over, you’d gladly jump Steve’s bones to have all the babies he wants. “Are you fucking insane? I’m not a piece of meat you can just buy!”

“We believed he talked about the deal with you, doll. Please, don’t be mad at us,” Steve purrs, and runs his hand over your cheek. “We only wanted what we deserve. The perfect woman having our babies.”

“She will agree…” Scott nervously says. He looks at you, hoping you’ll agree to whatever the two men holding his fate in their hands want. “Right babe?”

“I hate it when you call me that,” you jump up, and push Steve aside. “What did you believe will happen when you bring me here to offer my uterus and pussy to these two? Huh? That I’ll just bend over the desk and let them have their way with me!”

“I-uh…kinda…yes…”

“Pathetic,” you click your tongue as you glance at Bucky. He cracks his knuckles, ready to rough Scott up a little for messing with them. “I knew you were no good. I should’ve listened to my gut instinct.”

You dip your head to watch Steve walk toward his partner. They are looking at you, like lions ready to pounce. Those two men set their eyes on you, and you are not foolish enough to believe that they’ll leave you alone.

If you end up in their clutches, you’ll make sure they only get their hands on you to your conditions. “You want me and my womb?”

“More than anything,” Bucky purrs. He steps behind you to place both of his hands on your belly. “And I can tell, Stevie, and will love filling you up.”

Scott hopefully looks at you. This is the moment he was waiting for. He’ll be a made man soon, and his ex will see, he's more than the loser she sees in him. 

You look at Steve, holding his gaze, “I’ll be yours if you get rid of him…”

Part 2

[spncvr]

HIII I kinda suck at writing so maybe you could take my idea and use your amazing writing skills and make something of it? (Only if you want ofc!!) hear me out yk how Spencer rambles about random facts and everything at the bau imagine if he had a partner (was a profiler as well) and that knew a lot about musics or movies and would ramble about it to him?

Ignore this if it sounds stupid 😭

rambles | s. reid

summary: you talk a lot, spencer doesn't mind.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: okay so idk if this counts as gn!reader?? but reader wears a dress lol. drinking, and again my terrible english,, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: hey beautiful!! this deffo does not sound stupid i had fun writing it but this is so bad im sorry i didn't do u justice *crying emoji* also im so sorry this took me forever to finish LMAOOO

masterlist

YOU CAN FEEL it.

In your spine, in your ears. The song’s quiet but it had you in its grip, tight and firm—music’s always been like that to you. It didn’t matter if it was Hendrix, Queen or even Chopin; it has always been the one thing to make you stop dead at your feet. It’s a feeling you can’t quite put your finger on. There wasn’t a word in the English language that could possibly describe how it made you feel. Perhaps, you think humorously, you ought to learn another language, or two. 

You’re wearing this dress. This sweet, white silk thing that sweeps against your knees each time you take a step. The taste of expensive wine sits against your lips, lingering. The glass rests idly around your hand and your grip is careful. Expensive red wine and a cheap dress don't usually mix well together. 

“You okay?” 

You smile, teeth and all. Spencer who’s found his place next to you, furrows his eyebrows worry painted against his soft features. He looks tired. But he’s here, with the rest of the team; he always is.

“Fine,” you say, blasé. “You, Dr. Reid?”

His eyebrows raise slightly, “Yeah, fine.” then, “nice dress.” It’s a small whisper. 

You brush your tongue against the wine on your lips. The comment catches you off guard—especially when he’s dressed like this and looks at you like that. So, all that leaves your wine-stained lips is a small: “Oh.” then, because you remember your manners you say, “Thank you.”

The song changes, and Spencer smiles, “The songs—” he says “they’re nice.”

“I—” You stop yourself from rambling because really, they’re more than nice. It’s Elle Fitzgerald. She’s—Her voice, her instrument is clear as a bell, with diction that’s almost impossible to misunderstand. Her rhythm is— well it’s, you can set her as the metronome for her own band. Which, well, isn’t exactly easy to do. The way she’s able to scoop and bend her pitches with such precision is, beyond, nice. So the song, really it’s, more than nice, it’s a masterpiece it’s—

“Uh, yeah, s’nice.” you pause, “More than nice, really.”

Spencer smiles, amused, “More than nice?” he echoes.

You clear your throat, “It— yeah. I mean, it’s Fitzgerald, you know…”

“I don’t know,” he says simply.

Figures, you think. “No, yeah. She’s, like, got this tone in her voice, you know? And it’s like she’s the one leading the band— with the rhythm, I mean. As in like, instead of the drummer, which isn’t exactly easy to do. You know, actually, some people say she — she’s got the voice of an angel. Or something along the lines; can’t really remember and—” you pause, slightly embarrassed at how much you’ve been talking.

“Er, sorry,” you mumble sheepishly. The edge of your shoes had suddenly become increasingly interesting. “didn’t mean to go on a tangent.”

Spencer kisses his teeth, and you look up to find him grinning. “No, uh,” he scratches the edge of his eyebrow. “You don’t need to apologize for talking about something you like.” He seems to think about his next words as he brushes his hand against your arm. It sends a shiver that lingers longer than the touch itself. Spencer Reid could be so cruel sometimes. 

“I love listening to you talk.”

Your dress ends up wine-stained, anyway.

as usual my inbox is always open for requests (or just to talk lol) but it will take 192374 years to actually finish it,, reblogs are soo appreciated !! (u guys r always so kind idk why im asking for them) so is feedback btw!! (despretely in need of some)

[wileys-russo]

hi! laura freigang, 'can i use a picture of you as my phone's background?', locker room please?

lockscreen II l.freigang

you woke up to a flash in your face, ducking your head beneath the covers with a groan. "go away lau!" you moaned kicking out at your best friend who only grinned, tugging the covers away from you.

"it was for the collection!" laura explained as if that was completely normal as you tiredly glared up at her. "get out of my room, its not even eight yet!" you realised with a groan, shoving her a little harder than intended as she went rolling backwards off the bed.

you sat up with a start, covering your grin with your hand as the blonde moaned clutching her head which had collided with the carpet.

"sorry?" you tried with an innocent smile as she sat up and fixed you with a venomous glare. "idiot!" she huffed unappreciative of your efforts. "in my defense i have warned you before about not waking me before nine unless its an emergency." you reminded with a shrug.

"i was waking you because i made breakfast but now i think i will go give it to that cranky lady next door, she would be more appreciative!" the blonde grumbled standing to her feet with a shake of her head, stretching out her back.

"no no, no need! thank you." you shot up from bed, kissing her cheek in thanks before racing off toward the kitchen too fast to see the way the girls face burned beetroot red at the tiny gesture of affection.

laura had been pining over you for months now, and it was painful that it was obvious to absolutely everyone but you, even her teammates teasings only causing you to roll your eyes and dismiss them with a wave when they joked you were secretly dating.

laura could only wish to be so lucky, and only wish you'd finally see that all the little things she did for you was because she was crushing on you hard.

ever since you'd moved to the club the girl felt her knees wobble a little when you were introduced to the team, the first to put her hand up to show you around and within a couple of weeks the two of you were thick as thieves and laura had offered you her spare room while you hunted for a place of your own.

it was an offer which beat the pull out sofa you were currently sleeping on in an old school friends one bedroom loft who'd moved to germany for university and just never come back.

you'd be lying if you said without laura you'd have lost your mind and probably quit to move back home. she helped you set up everything, get better at the language, offered friendship and a comfortable bed beneath your back, cooked everyday for you and showed you around new places each weekend between matches.

you hadn't realized it just yet but you were also crushing hard on the blonde, only you'd grown up with four older brothers and attributed nearly every strong feeling you had toward a woman as just a longing for friendship.

it was idiotic how blind you were really.

"so." you looked up from your spot at your cubby, training finished for the day as you were icing your ankle you'd rolled, most of the team having already left for the day laura was kindly waiting around until the physio came back to check you over, currently in a meeting.

"as you know i've been making my phone look nicer." laura started as you chuckled, amused by her sudden interest in aesthetics which was spurred on by a late night tiktok doom scroll as you lay together 'hanging out' in complete silence in her room the other night.

"i found a lockscreen-" she turned to show you a photo she'd taken at the markets on one of her film cameras, smiling at the familiar setting. "-but, can i use a photo of you as my phone background?" she asked hopefully as you groaned.

"what!" she huffed, a little offended by your reaction. "not if its one of those awful pictures you always take of me sleeping, or eating, or at that gross zoomed out angle but super close and-" you started to protest making her frown switch to a grin.

"no schatz, not a bad photo." she patted your knee reassuringly, sliding closer to you as your head fell to her shoulder, missing the way she tensed up a little, clearing her throat.

"i have nice ones. i will even let you choose!" laura promised as you hummed and she clicked into her camera roll, selecting an album with a little sun emoji.

"see? look these are all candid ones of you. at the farmers market, out at dinner, cooking at home, when we went to ikea, when we went to the night festival, getting coffee-" as she scrolled slowly through, something suddenly clicked in your mind.

in nearly all of these you and laura had been hanging out, but always just the two of you. you took turns paying for things, you were always laughing, she was always surprising you with little adventures or taking you to new places and forcing you out of your comfort zone.

but it was always just with laura, and then it clicked for you, it was laura, you loved laura.

the girl was too busy recounting the story behind one of the hundreds of photos in the album with a soft smile on her face to notice you pull your head away to look at her, finally seeing the slight blush on her cheeks and not missing the twinkle in her eye.

so maybe, just maybe, laura loved you too.

"lau." you interrupted, cutting her off mid sentence as she looked up and caught your eye, blush intensifying as she did. "was i rambling? oh god i was rambling wasn't i? i told you when that happens to snap me out of it or tell me to shut up or-" she started again making you smile.

"lau?" "yeah?" "shut up." you grinned as she did too, tips of her ears flushed pink which you found quite cute, suddenly now noticing a lot of little features you'd taken for granted.

"do you trust me?" you asked softly and the blonde nodded without a moments hesitation, but in her most wild of dreams she'd never expected what came next as your hand moved to settle on the back of her neck and you leaned in until you were barely a hairsbreadth away.

"is this okay?" you whispered, checking one last time as all the german could do was nod, dumbfounded and unsure if this was actually happening until you leaned in just that tiny bit further and pressed your lips to hers.

this was really happening, and as laura dropped her phone into her lap, tugging you even closer and kissing you back like you were her last breath of air, you realised that yeah, your laura did love you back, and this was the start of a brand new adventure together.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

request for a logan x reader where logan comforts the reader after they come home from a mission all bloodied up? i see a lot of reader comforting logan fics but im curious to see how itd be the other way round :)

me? responding to a request like three weeks later? it's more likely than you think. also sorry it's so short. originally it turned into smut but i didn't know if you'd want that given the request was for hurt/comfort. (if you guys want i can publish the alternate smut version of this fic too).

solace

summary: you come home from a mission gone wrong and logan helps you through it.

warnings: death (offscreen), blood, non-sexual intimacy, nudity, reader has hair, pet names (logan canonically calls his love interests "darlin'" and this is me pushing that agenda), english is not my first language so please do not be rude

word count: 1004

you’re splattered in blood and grime, grey ash streaking your skin from the fire created by a little boy lashing out at the world. he had set his own house on fire, his parents dying in the most brutal of ways, burned alive.

“oh princess, c’mere,” logan pulls you into his arms. you’re in too much shock to argue, letting him manoeuvre you like a doll.

you don’t like going on missions, don’t like hurting people. you’re only ever sent on the easy ones, the non-violent ones, where you try to convince mutant kids to join the school. you’re good at talking to children, at getting them to admit their fears to you, at soothing their worries. but even the easy missions don’t always go well.

charles could sense that this particular child was powerful, and far worse than that, he was angry. he’d lashed out when he’d seen you, screamed in anger when his parents expressed a desire for him to go to xavier’s school, to learn to control himself before he came back home again. his parents were frightened too, scared of what might happen if things continued the way they were.

they’d all died in the explosion of his power.

he was so scared. he never meant to hurt anyone, you could see it in his eyes when the fire continued to burn despite him letting go. it was out of control, no longer a part of him that he could control like an extra limb, but something with a mind of its own.

it reminds you of yourself when you’d first discovered your abilities, scared and alienated from the rest of the world, from the non-mutants around you. you see yourself in every kid you save, and in every kid you lose.

you stay in logan’s arms for a long while, the only sound in the room his steady breathing contrasting with your ragged, choked out sobs. his chest rises steadily against yours, a rhythm that you try to imitate but you can’t, and with every failed inhale you feel your frustration grow, your panic increase.

he picks you up easily, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, clutching onto him so as not to fall. he would never drop you, you know that, but it’s always a slight surprise when you’re not expecting him to lift you from the ground.

he leads you to the bathroom where he helps you strip out of your clothes, so gentle with your shaking form. his hands trace each new sliver of skin revealed to him, keeping a firm pressure on you always, grounding you, reminding you of where you are. not in a burning house watching a child’s corpse go pitch black from the flames, but in the house that logan bought the two of you, not too far from the school but enough to give the two of you privacy.

in the shower, the blood rinses off your skin, pink rivulets swirling down the drain. yet you can still feel it, thick and sticky and warm. you want to scrub at your skin until its red and blistering, until you have to grow a new layer of skin, a fresh one that hasn’t been touched by death.

logan doesn’t let you. he catches your hand and whispers, “let me take care of you, darlin’.”

you lean into his bare chest and he massages shampoo into the roots of your hair, over your scalp until it foams, and then rinses it away. he runs your conditioner - the one he always claims is too expensive and why would you spend so much on hair products - through your hair, tugging gently at the strands when he notices you disappearing into your mind.

afterwards he pats you dry, and kisses every inch of your skin, reverent, on his knees before you. and then he rises to his feet and finally presses his lips to yours, soft and intimate, not rushed or heated, just reassurance that he’s here, he’s got you, and he’s not going anywhere.

“do you want to talk about it?” he asks eventually.

you shake your head, “he was just a kid.”

“i know,” logan says, rubbing his large, rough hands over your arms, up and down, “but it’s not your fault, you know that. you can’t control what other people do. d’you blame storm for what happened?”

“no!” you exclaim, eyes wide at the implication that one of your best friends could have caused the boys death.

“but she was on the mission with you,” logan comments, and you shake your head, “if you don’t blame her, you can’t blame yourself. neither of you knew, you couldn’t’ve stopped it.”

“maybe,” you say. you don’t really believe it, but logan knows it’ll take you time to get back to your usual happy self, and he’s fine with staying by your side, whispering praise and reassurance until you start to believe him again.

afterwards, he puts on your favourite movie. he spends the whole time making fun of the characters and their decisions, grumbling about how movies will base their entire plot progression on actions no real, rational person would ever do, until you giggle wetly and slap him in the arm, telling him to shut up and let you watch the film.

you lean back into the circle of his arms and he holds you tight, occasionally wiping stray tears that run down your cheeks. there’s less tension in your muscles now, but you’re not quite relaxed, so he shuffles the two of you around until he can massage your shoulders and back.

you moan at the feeling, sinking into the sensation of his large hands working at the knots, until you’re putty for him. you feel warm and fuzzy by the time his hands start to stray down, massaging your thighs.

“feelin’ better?” he asks as the end credits roll, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“yeah,” you sigh, “thank you for taking care of me.”

[nkjemisin]

Hello NK Jemisin! I'm a huge fan of yours, and I wanted to thank you for writing all of the books you've written, and doing all that you do. You're really awesome and you are doing important work! :) I had a long question, if you have time to answer! What's your commentary on creating fantasy cultures, using real ones as inspiration? You've done this before in your stories, and I wanted to know if you had any guidance on doing it well. I'm writing my first novel right now (fantasy!) and am dealing with a surprising amount of guilt regarding using real cultures as a basis for my fake ones. On one hand, I want to create a really unique fantasy world, not the bog-standard European stuff. It's not only more interesting to me, but I also admittedly want to use my story to help introduce people to concepts that might be helpful in the real world, help readers understand what these real people go through and perhaps inspire change. On the OTHER hand, I don't know if it's 'my place' to do so (I'm Black btw, but I'm not just writing about Black-coded fantasy characters). And I'm worried about representing people in a harmful way, even if it's by accident. I'm even hung up about names! Should I use names from real languages related to the cultures I'm inspired by, or should I just make them up to emphasize that, while yes these people are clearly inspired by real cultures, they are ultimately *their own* thing. I'm really conflicted on this and am hoping you can offer some feedback and/or commentary. Sorry for the long ask. Either way, have a great day and I look forward to whatever work you do next!

If I can rephrase what you're saying here, it sounds like you're concerned about cultural appropriation -- specifically, which cultures you get to "borrow from" and "remix," how much remixing you can do before you've done damage, how to depict people from cultural backgrounds other than your own, etc.

If that's what you're asking, then there are whole schools of thought on how to "appropriate appropriately." A lot of thinking on this has evolved in the past few years, for good and for ill; Own Voices, for example. (The short version: the Own Voices hashtag movement started as a grassroots attempt to get marginalized voices telling the stories of their own cultures, because there's been a nasty trend of only white/Western/Anglophone/etc. authors publishing books about those cultures. The problem? Some publishers and readers started acting as if marginalized writers weren't allowed to do anything but stories in their own cultures -- a restriction, instead of an inclusion/correction. Worse, publishers, etc started using it as a marketing shorthand, in ways that were just... not good. They made it weird, basically.) But I'm still fond of the approach that's in Writing the Other, by Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward. It's centered on ethnicity/race, but a lot of its approach can be extrapolated to culture. There's too much good stuff in this book to summarize it easily, but you should read it instead of a summary anyway -- it's short.

I don't see the point of guilt, when it comes to something like this. Guilt is what you feel when you've done something wrong, and admiring another culture enough to want to tell a story featuring it isn't wrong. However, there are things you need to do -- research, conversations, considerations of power dynamics -- to reduce the harm you might end up doing by telling that story as an outsider. And note that no matter what you do, though, you might still end up doing harm. (Even people writing about their own culture can end up doing that.) If you fuck up, apologize, figure out what went wrong, and try to do better next time. That's really all you can do.

And then write whatever the hell you want. There's a persistent pressure on Black writers to only cover certain subjects, certain settings; nah. We get to have range, too. You've just got to put in the work to do it well.

Good luck.

[that-one-p00k1e]

Just Like a Movie Scene, Table for Two

Their love language towards you - Obanai, Giyuu, & Sanemi x reader (separate) | part 1

TW: most likely OOC

Been getting lazy lately, might start writing for Mashle Idk😞 Also Giyuu's part ended up being wayy longer than intended😢

Obanai Iguro - Gift Giving & Quality Time

Not much needed to say here tbh, it's quite obvious from how he treats Mitsuri.

Due to his traumatic past, he nurtured a distaste for women. To add to that, most females in the Corps were weak and lacked physical strength, furthermore skills in hunting demons. Thus, he looked down upon them even more. But once he finds a girl who could light his candle, he'll pour every ounce of himself to give her the love he thinks she deserves. It'll take time for him to open up to you, but the signs wouldn't be discreet.

He'll give you gifts from time to time, offer you to hang out with him or have lunch together. He'll listen to you talk your heart out, admiring the way your face lights up as you tell him how your day went. You mostly did the talking, he just occasionally hummed or nodded to indicate himself paying attention. If possible, he'll take every chance to spend any unoccupied time with you. Your bright and beaming presence had become one of his escapes from the dark and bitter reality of this world. 

During those times together, he'll take mental notes of all the things you mentioned you like, and always put it into consideration when deciding on a gift for you. He'll find a way to combine the different things you adore into one form of a present. It may take him quite the effort and time to put his mind into it and figure out a conclusion, but it never goes to waste as long as he could bring out that beautiful smile in you.

Giyuu Tomioka -  Acts of Service & Quality Time

He is no less than a man of few words; having difficulty interacting with others. Thus, when it comes to commitment in a relationship, he'd prefer to execute it through physical effort rather than going vocal. Other than not being able to express his feelings verbally, he believes actions tend to speak louder than words. He would be the kind of person that pays attention to the smallest details of your body language. Had you made subtle gestures of discomfort, he'll take notice of it rather quickly and immediately tend to it.

Once, he was in the middle of listening to your daily rambling when he saw how you kept rubbing your hands together and occasionally placing it on your neck, presumably seeking warmth. Without much thought, he took off his haori and placed it around you, making sure to cover your hands with its long sleeves. “You're cold.” If he could, he would've cupped your hands by now to provide further comfort. Unfortunately, he knew well that his hands were no less colder than the weather itself; not to mention how unaccustomed he also was to physical contact.

Being in the position of a Hashira means holding many great responsibilities; the more responsibilities to bear, the less time available to be spent together alone. Hence why Giyuu tries his best to see you whenever he can. If he had an empty schedule for the day, his first thought would be spending it with you. He'd take you out on a walk around town and market at night, and get you things he noticed your eyes have taken interest upon (despite your resistances and denial). If not in the mood for a crowded environment, you two would sit together somewhere more  secluded, like a pond located in the woods.

He was glad that you were the one who always started the conversation, knowing how he could only do otherwise. Though even if there were to be silence itself between the two of you, no sense of awkwardness could infiltrate the comfort you both had by simply being in each other's presence.

Sanemi Shinazugawa - Physical Touch

He may not admit it, but he's often touch-deprived.

It was agony for him to hold back the urge to come up to you and just circle his arms around your waist whenever he saw you; his ego and pride refusing to let his guard down. He didn't want to seem weak, to let his well-known indifference falter and be viewed as soft in the face of others. Yet, behind closed doors, he clings to you like his life depended on it. He's been craving your touch for the whole day, especially after having to put up with lower-ranked slayers who drained his mental energy (berating them to death).

He'd come home falling into your arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he finally could let his muscles loose. The two of you would tell how each other's days went, with him laying on your abdomen as you played with his hair. He tried his best to stay awake and keep listening to you, really, but the feeling of your fingers skillfully easing the nerves in his head through the scalp was driving him to the edge of falling into slumber. Eventually, as the fatigue was too strong to be fought back, he finally surrendered and let his mind drift off to sleep, all in the while of your melodic voice.