#rare-pair gone wild

[fanonvscanon]

i'm concerned

2025 rare-pair bingo is going to go willlldd

also TITUS/DAMIAN

crack sales are through the roof /j

the batcest/general incest/pedo/wally abuse gives me an ick though

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVENTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of mental and physical health issues.

In a matter of days, your bump decided to take on a life of its own.

You'd looked the same for months —nothing that screamed months pregnant. Then, last week, something inside you had clicked into place, your belly suddenly rounded out. There was no denying it now; there was no more wondering if you were bloated.

You looked pregnant. 

Seven days ago, you were still able to fit into your regular jeans, brushing off the snugness as a result of a big lunch. And now, your belly recognized the timeline and proudly announced, there’s definitely a baby in here. 

It was wild how everything changed overnight. Shirts that fit fine last week suddenly rode up like crop tops.

You were already at the hospital every week—more than most—hooked up to IVs, getting poked and monitored. You were exhausted, but better, lightheaded on good days. The bump showing up so suddenly only added to the fear. You found yourself blurting out questions to your doctor, "Is this normal? Because it doesn't feel normal." 

She always said yes. Or some version of it. A nod, a glance at the monitor, everything was textbook. But your chest stayed hurting long after the appointment ends.

You haven’t left the house in five days, except for your hospital visits.

You haven’t sat on the steps or cracked open a window wide enough to feel like you're still part of the outside world. You were hiding from the looks, the questions. From yourself. From the surreal curve of your stomach that had hijacked your reflection.

Sarah hasn’t been able to come around—work, shifts, life—and you haven’t let her see a single picture. On the rare occasions she brings up the baby, you change the subject. You say, "Fine," and send a blurry photo of your hand instead. You don’t want her to see it.

You haven’t seen anyone.

Rafe checked in every other day, like clockwork, texting. He asked if you needed anything. You said no. You always said no. If you didn’t want him at your appointments then, it was worse now. You couldn't stomach the idea of him seeing the bump. Of him looking at you and the thing growing inside you, forming a shape under your skin, and yanking you out of the life you once knew.

You knew it was stupid and weak. And kind of pathetic, honestly.

You told yourself that a dozen times a day, a mantra meant to snap you out of it: You couldn't hide forever. But the thing was—there were still months left, and you already felt like you’d hit some breaking point.

You’d been ordering food and whatever else you needed. Groceries, toiletries, overpriced juice you didn't like—anything to avoid setting foot in a public space. The idea of running into someone you knew, or locking eyes with a stranger in the cereal aisle, felt like a nightmare.

Your staff hasn’t been around much since you found out you were pregnant. You paid them like nothing’s changed. They came once a week now, and you made sure you were nowhere to be found when they’re around—either gone or locked in your room, a lonely ghost in your own house.

But today, it changed.

You woke up and the sun felt less hostile through the curtains.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for too long, hoodie lifted enough to see the curve of your belly. It was bigger than yesterday. Or maybe you were looking harder. You pressed a hand there and decided you were done being scared like this.

You were done letting the fear do the driving. You couldn’t stay locked away until your water broke or one of you died—God, no. Even if it was just for groceries, you wanted to try. You needed to.

So you called Sarah.

You didn’t overthink it, which was new. You chewed on your sleeve while it rang. She picked up, breathless, with loud background noise.

"Hey babe! What’s up?"

“Hi.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, and the background noise started to fade; she was moving somewhere quieter. “You sound weird. Tired-weird. Sad-weird.”

You half-laughed, eyes burning. “That obvious, huh?”

“Kind of,” she said gently. “You’ve been MIA. I figured you were nesting or something, but…” She paused. “Is something wrong? With you? With the baby?”

You shook your head before you remembered she couldn’t see it.

“No. I'm fine. He's fine too, as fine as he can be when I’m the one growing him."

“Hey,” she scolded, not unkindly. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m not—” You stopped mid-sentence, rewinding. Trying again. “I’ve been hiding. A lot. I haven’t been out.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that. You don’t text back or answer my calls.”

“I’m sorry.” You sighed, rubbing at your face as the guilt settled on your shoulders. “I want to go outside. The store, something normal.”

Sarah brightened instantly. “That’s great!”

“But I… I don’t want to do it alone.”

Her voice softened. “Of course. I’ll come with you. When do you wanna go?”

You bite your lip. “Now. If you’re not too busy.”

There was a pause, and you knew the answer before she gave it.

“Shit,” she groaned, clearly torn. “I want to so bad, but Poguelandia is slammed. We’re short-staffed, JJ fucked his leg up, and there’s already a line out the door. I haven’t sat down since eight a.m. I’m so sorry. I literally haven’t even peed in four hours.”

You tried not to let the disappointment win. “Oh. No, it’s okay. I figured.”

“I can try,” She insists. “If I leave now, maybe I can swing it—if I skip lunch and—"

“No,” You cut in, “Seriously.”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll get someone to cover—”

“Sarah.” You took a breath. “I love you, but please. Don’t stop working because of me. If you drop everything, I’m gonna feel worse.”

“You sure?”

You smiled, even though your eyes were burning again. “Not even a little bit. But I think that’s okay.”

“I hate saying no,” She muttered. “I hate that I can’t be there. But…”

You tensed up, pulling the sleeve of your hoodie over your hand.

“…I do know someone who can.”

You go quiet.

“Sarah…”

“Hear me out. He’s been texting me, asking if you need anything. He’s been trying to respect your space, but also losing his mind because he doesn’t know how to help. If you called and said you wanted to go walk into traffic, he’d probably volunteer to drive you.”

You let out a dry chuckle. “That’s comforting.”

“I mean it,” She insisted. “He’d show up in a heartbeat.”

You leaned your head against the wall. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” you repeated, “My bump. It’s showing now.”

You could practically hear her blinking through the line.

“Wait. Since when?”

"Last week," You let out a breath. “I woke up and—bam.”

“Oh my God,” she gasped. And then again, breathier this time. “Oh my God.”

You could picture her hand flying to her mouth, the half-spin she probably did when she got excited. 

“I wish I was there,” she breathed. “I want to see you.”

You shut your eyes, fighting the sudden tears. “It’s not cute, Sar.”

“I didn’t say it was cute,” she scoffed. “I said I want to see you.”

You didn’t want to be seen like this, swollen and pale, hoodie hanging off your frame. And your stomach—this round, undeniable thing you couldn’t suck in or pretend away anymore.

“I thought I had more time. To ease into it.”

“That’s why you’ve been inside.”

It wasn’t a question.

You sank further against the wall, socked feet curling on the floor. “I’m falling out of my skin.”

“It’s okay that it freaks you out. You’re allowed to feel whatever you want.”

You finally exhaled. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do this.”

“One step at a time,” she said, warm even through the phone. “Starting with this one. Groceries. Hoodie on. Sunglasses if you want. One aisle.”

You closed your eyes, “If I call him… if he comes… he’s going to look.”

“If you wanted him to rip his eyes out, he would.”

You blinked.

“I’m not kidding,” Sarah added, “He’d walk with his head down the whole time, hands tied behind his back, take a vow of silence, whatever. If it made you feel even a little safer.”

Your throat closed up, a laugh tried to force its way out but died on arrival.

“I don’t want him to have to do that,” You said quietly. “I don’t want to feel like a freak show.”

"You are not a freak show," Sarah said, sounding insulted. “You’re pregnant. And scared. And beautiful, by the way, but I won’t push that one right now.”

Your hand drifted to your stomach without thinking.

“I don’t want to go with him.”

“I know.”

“But I want to go.”

“I know.”

You were quiet for a moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek, unsure if agreeing to this made you brave or desperate.

Sarah seemed to feel the hesitation swell on your end of the line, so she added, “If I could send one of the Pogues, I would.”

 “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” She said. “But… they don’t know.”

“Oh. Right. I didn’t tell them.”

“It’s a lot. And they love you, but—yeah, it’s a lot.”

You rubbed your temple.

“It’s not like this is something you just drop in a group chat.”

You snorted. “Guess not.”

You swallowed, eyes moving to the mirror across the room—a sliver of your reflection visible, your shape under the hoodie. You didn’t want to shut people out. But every part of you had folded inward the second your body started changing, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

Sarah’s voice came back. “So… Rafe?”

You closed your eyes.

“Yeah. Fine. Tell him.”

Cameron Development. 3:17 PM.

Rafe was two seconds from throwing his fucking clipboard through the drywall.

"That doesn’t go there," He snapped at one of the newer guys on site, not looking up. His pen scraped across the paper harder than necessary, carving through the thin report sheet. "Jesus Christ, y’all can’t read labels now? It’s marked clearly, in red—RED, Sean.”

Sean stammered something behind him, but Rafe had already turned, muttering under his breath about incompetence, how he couldn’t keep babysitting everyone to get basic shit done.

His shirt clung to his back from the heat, his boots were caked in mud from the storm last night, and his patience was nonexistent. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. 

He hadn’t seen you in days.

And it was killing him.

You were always good at acting fine over text, but Rafe knew the difference between your fine and “fine.” He couldn’t tell through a screen if you were tired or biting your nails again. 

“You okay, Rafe?” someone asked cautiously, probably Dan or Tyler—he didn’t care who anymore.

“No,” he bit back without missing a beat. “But thanks for asking.”

He hated this version of himself, that let everything build up until it spilled onto the wrong people. He disappeared back into the trailer and slammed the door behind him so hard the hinges rattled.

He leaned over the desk, head hanging between his shoulders, taking a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to help. His hands were gripping the back of his neck.

This was exactly what Dr. Sanders warned him about.

The outbursts, the impatience.

How his frustration got in the way of everyone who didn’t deserve it. No one should be punished for his shitty mood—especially not some fresh-hire kid just trying to do his job. He’d been doing so good, with weeks of keeping his voice level, reminding himself to step away when things got too loud inside his head. And now here he was again, snapping over labels and yelling at people who were trying to help.

His phone buzzed.

Sarah.

He stared at it for a second before answering. “What?”

“Chill with the attitude,” She snapped right back. “I’m calling for a reason.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose. “Sorry. Bad day.”

“No kidding,” she muttered. “You’ve been biting the head off everyone down there?”

Rafe didn’t deny it.

He sighed, annoyed, eyes on the ceiling. “What?”

“I need a favor.”

His stomach dropped so hard it made his head swim.

“Did something happen to her?”

“No,” She added quickly. “She’s fine. She...she’s not doing great.”

Rafe sank down into the chair. “What do you mean not doing great? What’s that mean? Be specific, Sarah, I swear—”

He bit the inside of his cheek. He’d tried. Called, texted. Waited when you didn’t answer. Backed off when Sarah told him to give you space.

“She’s okay?”

“She’s okay,” Sarah confirmed. “She wants to go out. Grocery store or something and she doesn’t wanna go alone.”

He sat forward. “She said that?”

“Yeah,” Sarah replied, “I can’t go—Poguelandia’s insane right now. There’s a line out the door. But I figured… maybe you could?”

He was already grabbing his keys. “Where is she?”

“She’s home,” Sarah confirmed, “Don’t pressure her, okay? She almost didn’t call. She’s been going through it. Be gentle.”

“I am gentle,” he snapped.

Sarah snorted. “Tell that to whoever you just yelled at.”

“They can’t do shit, Sarah.”

“Rafe.”

He sighed, dragging his palm down his stubble-covered jaw. 

“I’ll be cool,” he muttered.

“You better be.”

Rafe didn’t bother to hang up properly; instead, he shoved the phone in his pocket and dashed out of the trailer, boots crunching gravel as he headed for his truck. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. Let Dan or Tyler or whoever pick up the slack for once.

You hadn’t answered his texts with more than one-word replies in four days. 

It’s insane to remember, back when things were good, you would leave voice notes in the mornings, call him out of the blue to complain about traffic, shitty coffee, or the weird commercial you saw.

Now, you didn’t want to go to the grocery store unless someone was with you.

You never asked for help, not when your car wouldn’t start, not when you had a fever, not even when you got a flat tire at midnight.

You were stubborn, hyper-independent. The fact that you asked for company meant that something was wrong.

None of this knowledge, however, prepared him to see you.

Oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder and the swell of your belly—your, his baby, right there, growing—so obvious now that you weren’t hiding it behind hoodies or blankets or clever angles.

Rafe stood there, blinking like a fucking idiot.

Holy shit.

That was his kid.

It didn’t feel real until this second. Not even when he felt it for the first time. Seeing your bump—round under that stretched cotton tee—sent him down a rabbit hole between awe and panic.

You squinted at him. 

“If you’re gonna stand there and stare the entire time, you can leave.”

That got him out of his stupor.

“No—sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice came out fast, defensive, hands already up. “I wasn’t—I mean. I didn’t mean to. I just… wow.”

He had to drag his gaze back up before it got disrespectful. You looked good. No—you looked insane. He wanted to compliment you, tell you how fucking unreal you looked right now, how bad he wanted to walk up behind you, press his hands to your stomach and kiss your neck. But that would get him a punch and a restraining order against him.

Your brow ticked up.

Rafe scratched the back of his neck, stepping inside when you didn’t slam the door in his face. 

“You look…” His lips parted, closed, parted again. “You look—pregnant. Not bad. Not bad pregnant. I mean, you look—you look good. You look like—like a mom.” He made a strangled noise. “I’m screwing this up.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

“I meant that in a nice way,” He mumbled, defeated by his brain.

“I’m sure you did,” You brushed past him toward the couch.

Rafe wasn’t staring in the stunned, silent, holy-shit way anymore. He was watching how you moved a little slower, hand resting under your bump as you loweredto grab your purse. Your breath faltered a little when you adjusted it on your shoulder, pressing the edge of your thumb into the small of your back without thinking.

He’d missed so much.

You looked at him expectantly. “Let’s go.”

“Oh—right.” He stepped back, forgetting how doors work. “Yeah. Grocery store. Got it. Let’s go.”

You arched a brow at him as you locked the door behind you.

“Seeing you like this.” He gestured vaguely at your stomach, still not looking directly at it like it might cast a spell on him again. “It’s—I don’t know.”

You opened the passenger door and shot him a tired look. “You gonna cry in the produce aisle?”

Rafe snorted, almost indignant. “What? No.”

In a matter of seconds, he was already by your side, hand out, ready to help you into the passenger seat.

“I got it,” You brushed him off with a roll of your eyes.

Rafe didn’t back down. “You shouldn’t have to.”

One of your dainty hands was already gripping the doorframe as you started to hoist yourself in.

“Watch me.”

He hovered anyway, hand out so he could catch you midair if you so much as wobbled.

“Stubborn,” He grumbled under his breath, not loud enough for a fight but loud enough for you to hear.

You settled into the seat with a small wince—barely noticeable unless someone was paying very, very close attention.

Rafe was paying attention.

Your eyes flicked to him. “See? Fine.”

“Mmhm,” He wasn't convinced, reaching in to buckle the seatbelt before you could swat him away. 

You narrowed your eyes in annoyance.

“You gonna bubble-wrap me next?”

“Don’t tempt me.” 

You shook your head, settling into the seat with a wince. 

“Wait—does it hurt?” He crouched, hand halfway extended toward your stomach, but hesitating. “Sitting? Standing?”

“Rafe,” you warned.

“What?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “I’m just asking.”

“Drive.”

He backed off, hands up again like you were pointing a loaded gun at him.

“Okay. But you gotta tell me if something’s wrong, alright?”

You sighed as he closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side. Once you were on the road, Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye every five seconds.

“You sleep at all?”

You shrugged.

Rafe tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. “Do you need anything around the house? How's the treatment?"

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

His face dropped.

This was why he didn’t push. You had a way of cutting through bullshit with a single sentence, and even now, with your delicate tone and your eyes on the horizon, it still hurt like a bitch.

He was jittery and wide-eyed the entire drive. This was more than a ride to the store, this was you not shutting him out. This was you, in his truck, after so long.

“I’m not trying to,” he said quickly. “I’m not. I swear.”

Rafe drove with one hand on the wheel and the other twitching in his lap, dying to reach for you but knowing better.  He put on your old playlist, passed the turn to the fancier store on the north end and drove straight to the quieter one near the marina, where you wouldn't have to deal with crowds.

Once he parked, he turned toward you fully.

“Do you want me to come in with you, or—?”

Your eyes flicked to him. Finally. 

He saw it. 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Please.”

That please just about ripped his spine out.

He would've gone even if you’d called him every name under the sun. Would’ve shown up if you told him to eat shit and die. He’d crawl through glass if it meant he got to be near you like this—You were here, and you’d asked him for something.

This alone felt like a second chance he didn’t deserve.

He opened the door without another word, rounded the truck, and reached your side before you could try to climb down on your own.

This time, you let him help. His hands were warm under your arms as you eased onto the pavement.

“Okay?” he murmured.

You nodded.

This was the type of shit he used to dream about in silence, lying awake at night with his face buried in your old pillow after crying more than he’d ever admit. Wondering if he’d ever be allowed back in ordinary parts of your life again. The boring stuff—the errands, the grocery runs. The seatbelt arguments. The way you pointed out the weird snacks he always bought.

"There's not a lot of people this time of day," Rafe said gently, clocking your silence. “But if it feels like too much—”

“I’m fine.” Your voice sounded flat.

Even if the store was mostly empty, there were people. And people had eyes and mouths.

As far as everyone knows, Rafe and you broke up months ago. You pulled your hood lower. That instinct to hide didn’t surprise him, but it crushed him all the same. 

He fell into step beside you, arm brushing yours sometimes on purpose. Inside, there were a couple of older folks milling around. A teenage boy stacking cereal boxes. A woman with a crying toddler.

You tugged your sleeves over your hands and went straight for the carts. Rafe snagged one before you could, wheeling it behind you without a word. You glanced at him, eyebrows adorably pinched.

“What?��� He cocks an eyebrow. “Let me be useful.”

Eggs. Milk. The prenatal vitamins you forgot last time. He didn’t flinch when he saw the label on the bottle, and dropped it in the cart for you with a nod.

You moved slowly, partly because your legs ached and because you were stalling. You didn’t want to rush when no one had paid you any attention yet. 

Rafe walked behind the cart, guarding it, you. Shoulders squared, eyes always flicking around the aisles, ready to throw hands with anyone who so much as whispered something sideways. He caught how clutched your purse tighter, the sharp breaths you tried to hide.

At one point, a woman walked past, gave Rafe a long look, and then looked at you. She didn’t say anything, but you stopped. Went still.

Rafe was at your side in a second. “Hey.”

You swallowed. “She looked at me weird.”

He hated that you had to feel like this—hide so much.

“She looked at me weird.”

He kept close, shadowing your steps, the tension in his body never fully easing. Every time someone glanced at you, at the swell of your belly, he felt oddly overprotective. 

It was no longer just about being in love. It was turning into something primal; his heart, his very soul, had been hooked and tangled with you and the little life growing inside you. And fuck if he wasn’t going to guard you both with every ounce of strength he had.

He caught up when you paused again in the juice aisle.

“Need help?”

You reached for a bottle on the top shelf—cranberry, your favorite—but it was behind a stack of other ones. You stretched, finger grazing the edge, a grunt slipping from your lips as you rocked onto your toes.

Rafe moved fast.

So fast, it startled you when he was suddenly behind you, one hand sprawled on your lower back, the other bracing your hip. He reached over you with ease, snatching the bottle like it was nothing, but he didn’t pull away immediately.

Your breath hitched.

“Easy,” he murmured, right next to your ear.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks hot. “I had it.”

“Sure you did,” He muttered, passing you the bottle. His thumb brushed your spine. “Not lettin�� you bust your ass in a juice aisle, alright?”

“I wouldn’t have,” you retorted.

When you turned to face him, you were closer than you anticipated. His hand dropped, but he didn’t step away. His gaze dipped to your mouth.

Dangerous territory.

Rafe’s throat bobbed.  “You smell the same."

Your lips parted, surprise blooming behind your eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Rafe had been this close before. That night at the gala. When everything went sideways and his lungs felt like they were filling with cement. He hardly remembered how he got outside, but you were there—hands on him, voice killing through the noise in his head.

He remembered your touch. But he hadn’t been able to get a whiff of your scent, not with a clear head and a heart pounding for an entirely different reason.

Now he could.

Your breath was mingling with his, and God—the same scent that used to cling to his shirts when you stayed over, it haunted his pillow for weeks after you left.

Warm. Familiar. Completely fucking overwhelming.

He swore your eyes flicked to his lips for the briefest second.

Rafe couldn’t look away. Wouldn’t, even if he should’ve—for your sake. Your chest rose and fell in measured breaths, and he stupidly hoped you felt it too. That same unbearable pull between two people who had been here before. Who had known each other too intimately.

Your mouth was parted a little, glossy. He remembered what it tasted like, how your breath hitched when he kissed the corner first, the way your fingers always knotted in his shirt—

Fuck, he wanted to taste it again.

Just one kiss. One slip.

His hand twitched at his side, inches from your waist.

One step closer, and he could feel you. The curve of you now, fuller, warmer, carrying something that belonged to him—

“Excuse me, young man?”

Rafe’s soul nearly left his body. Both of you jerked apart, like you were sixteen again, getting caught making out in church.

An old woman in a lavender sweater and orthopedic shoes was peering up at him, one hand on her cart, the other gesturing at the same damn top shelf.

“Would you mind grabbing me one of those apple juices?” She asked sweetly, oblivious to the tension thick enough to butter toast with.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, sure.” He cleared his throat, grabbing one for her.

Second juice save of the day.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, tucking it into her cart with a nod.

Rafe managed a polite smile, still in a daze. “No problem.”

The woman rolled away, humming to herself.

He turned back to you, but you were already looking anywhere but at him, biting your lip in a way that was going to make him lose it.

Neither of you said a word. He wanted to—shit, he wanted it so bad, for you to meet his eyes again, to look at him like you felt it, too. 

Rafe stepped back and let his hands curl around the cart handle.

“You need anything else?”

You dropped the juice in the cart like nothing happened, face shuttered, voice absent as you said, “I still need rice.”

No softness. There was no trace of you, pressed against him just a second ago. You turned away, and he followed silently, shoulders tensed, feeling it slip.

That sliver of closeness now gone.

The wheels of the cart squeaked as they rolled over the linoleum, the only sound between you. Rafe kept behind you by a step, scared that getting too close might spook you. You only added things to the cart in silence. He observed how your fingers curled around the boxes and how your lips pressed together when you had to crouch or twist too far.

He meticulously catalogued everything. 

Useless instincts—stupid, protective, tender ones—that wouldn’t shut the fuck up inside him. He wanted to reach for your hand in the spice aisle as if it was still his to hold.

But you weren’t looking at him anymore. He despised that he had been hoping for it—that desperate, pathetic twitch in his chest every time your head moved even slightly in his direction. Just like a dog waiting to be called. Fuck.

“Think that’s everything?” he asked, ignoring how his palms were sweating.

You nodded. 

Alright. He’d wait.

At the checkout, he paid without hesitation. You didn’t argue.

Neither of you spoke as the cashier scanned your groceries, though Rafe handed you the bag with the eggs without asking—muscle memory. By the time the trunk was shut and you’d both slid into the car, the tension had mellowed down.

He started the engine, pulled onto the road.

A few minutes passed before he spoke.

“So… did you talk to Topper?”

He wasn’t looking at you directly.

His eyes were fixed out the windshield.

He knew. Topper had told him earlier in the week, he was his best friend, there was no universe where that conversation hadn’t already happened.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he repeated, like he hadn’t heard you the first time.

“We talked,” You said simply.

A stoplight turned red ahead, and he eased the truck to a crawl. He should’ve left it alone. But his mouth was already moving.

“He told you about Sofia?”

Your turned toward him instantly, startled.

“What?”

He glanced over, admiring how beautiful you looked when you furrowed your brows.

“You know?"

Rafe nearly laughed. It wasn't funny—okay, it was a little—but the sheer absurdity of it, the disbelief in your voice took the cake. Did you still think she meant something to him?

Rafe ran a hand down his face as you studied him, all wide-eyed and wary.

"Why wouldn't I know?" 

Your brows creased further, "She's your ex."

"No," He clarified, "She's not."

He hated even saying it out loud, it sounded real fucking dumb now.

A half-assed attempt to feel something when he was trying not to think about you.

Rafe blew out a slow breath.

“You thought I’d care?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. You get weird about shit sometimes.”

“I don’t care that they’re talking.” His thumb tapped the steering wheel. “I care that you thought I would.”

"Can you blame me?"

No, he couldn’t. Of course you were going to assume the worst after the shit he pulled.

“Right,” Rafe bit down on the inside of his cheek.

The light turned green, but he waited before easing on the gas. You kept your face turned to the window, it was probably easier to talk to your reflection in the glass than to him.

You used to talk to him, say things. It was a sacred language, just for him. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, not to a beat, just to do something.

You moved beside him, adjusting your seatbelt so it didn’t dig into your stomach. He clocked that instantly.

“Seatbelt too tight?”

A small shrug. “It’s fine.”

Bullshit.

You shouldn’t be sitting like that. You should be lying down, with pillows under your knees, and someone taking care of you.

“I could buy one of those, uh, extender things,” he offered, “For next time.”

“I’m not asking for anything."

He kept his hands at ten and two, eyes fixed on the road. Every other second, he’d steal a peek, catch the side of your face in the window’s reflection, how your arms were folded across your chest even though the A/C wasn’t blowing.

“You cold?”

“I’m fine.”

It wasn’t true.

Rafe knew you were uncomfortable; you kept fussing in your seat, three times already.

“They got the good ice at that place. The chewy kind. You want me to swing back around, steal a cup?”

You gave him the smallest, driest laugh. “Gonna rob a Sonic now?”

God, he missed hearing your laugh, even like that.

“If you wanted it bad enough.” He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “We can talk, you know."

You clicked your tongue in annoyance.

“We’ve already talked about it.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t keep talking.”

You scowled at this nerve.

“And say what, Rafe? What could you possibly say that hasn’t been said?”

“I—fuck, I don’t know. I’m trying.”

A sound of disbelief escaped you.

“You weren’t trying when you left.”

He recoiled like you slapped him. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re right. You know what is fair?” You said, bitterly. “You walking around like this thing isn’t growing inside me. Like I don’t have to carry it and feel it and decide—”

You stopped yourself, biting your tongue hard. Closed your eyes.

Rafe’s voice dropped. “I didn’t walk away from that.”

You stopped yourself. Bit your tongue hard. Closed your eyes.

“I didn’t walk away from that. I’ve been showing up. Every day. I know that doesn’t erase how I left, but I’m trying. I want to be here. However you’ll let me.”

He heard you inhale—tight, restrained. Then you turned to him, eyes red-rimmed. You were still pissed, guarded. But you were looking at him.

And fuck, finally.

That stupid part of him—the one that wagged its tail every time you threw him a bone—lit up. He could live on scraps if it meant you’d look at him like that again.

Rafe meant it with every fiber of his body.

If you asked him to drive across the country for a specific brand of prenatal vitamins, he’d do it. If you wanted him to sit outside your door and not come in, just so you’d know someone was there, he’d do that too.

“I’m here. Even if it’s just to grab apple juice off the top shelf or to punch Topper in the face if he says the wrong thing.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“There she is,” he teased, squeezing your leg gently. “Was starting to think I’d hallucinated that smile.”

“Don’t push it.”

He smirked, couldn’t help it , even if you were half-ready to rip his head off, it was better than that cold silence. He didn’t miss the way your eyes softened, that split-second slip where you didn’t hate him.

Or you still did, but not fully.

Rafe’s hand lingered on your leg before he cleared his throat and pulled it back, gripping the steering wheel again like his life depended on it.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m not really good at doing what I’m supposed to.”

You gave him a look, that familiar, flat stare. He knew you'd rather bite glass than admit he was charming sometimes.

“And what are you supposed to do, huh?”

Rafe glanced at you from the corner of his eye, not trying to hide the smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Thought that was obvious,” he said, casual, “Love you."

You scoffed, disbelieving—he was the one being ridiculous.

“Oh, go eat shit.”

He fucking loved you.

The laugh burst out of him before he could stop it, all teeth, not mocking, only helpless. You turned your face to the view again, but he saw the corner of your mouth twitching like it wanted to smile.

“You’re so—” you started, cutting yourself off with a frustrated noise.

You looked so fucking beautiful. That expression on your face, that shit wrecked him.

"Charming?"

You were flushed from the heat, cheeks warm, hair frizzy from the humidity, and still, all he could think was how unfair it was for you to look like that and not be his anymore. 

“I was gonna say insufferable.”

“That too,” Rafe said, grinning. “Multifaceted.”

“Wow. You’re actually proud of that.”

“Course I am. You used to like that about me.”

"No, I tolerated it. Big difference.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth, turning onto the long road that led toward your neighborhood.

“Coulda fooled me. Especially that night after Barry’s party.”

He was feeling bold, sue him.

“That was a lapse in judgment.”

He bit back a smile, but it was in his voice when he said, “Pretty long lapse. Five-hour lapse.”

“Oh my fucking God."

He glanced over at you, head tilted. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m grimacing,” you corrected, poorly. “Because this is painful.”

You stayed still, only the sound of the tires on the road and the distant hum of the A/C between you.

But it wasn’t that bad anymore. He snuck a glance at your profile, the curve of your cheek, how you leaned into the door, but didn’t flinch away from him like earlier.

He wanted to tell you again—that he loved you, that he still loved you, that he wasn’t going anywhere—but he knew better than to say it twice in a row.

The phone buzzed on the dashboard, Rafe saw Sarah’s name lighting up the screen.

He held it out toward you. “Here. You wanna talk to her?”

You took the phone, and as you pressed it to your ear.

“Hey, Sar."

He missed the nicknames you used for him—the ones that made his chest warm. Those little names that made him feel like he was the only person who got to hear them.

“Hey! So you two haven’t killed each other yet. That’s nice!”

"Shut up."

"I can stop by later! JJ's doing better. You want to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes, please. I could use that.”

“Alright, I’ll be there.” Sarah signed off with a promise, and the call ended, "Call me if you need anything. Love you."

"Mmkay, love you too."

The way you said it—automatic—made something burn to ashes inside him. He wanted to be the one you said that to the most. He wanted to hear it from your lips; it meant the world.

He used to be the one you said that to without thinking.

"Here—"

He noticed you stop mid-sentence, inhaling, then you turned slowly to him. Then the screen on his phone lit up, showing the lockscreen—unchanged since last year. That picture of your 18th birthday, the two of you caught mid-laugh, arms thrown over each other.

Rafe squeezed the wheel gently, thinking to himself how lucky he was—even if you didn’t say it aloud—to be the one you looked at that way once.

"It's a nice picture," He offered.

"Yeah."

"You ever miss it?”

Your shoulders pushed back, your body catching the question before your brain did. Your mouth tensed and he braced himself for the worst.

"Missing something doesn’t mean it still fits.”

You handed the phone back, not bothering to wait for a response or caring if there was one.

Doesn't mean it still fits—he deserved that.

But it wasn't going to stop him from wanting to try it anyway, even if it tore straight through him.

[ha-rinrin]

A Chance at Something Better

summary: Jinx's brings a little girl to your home, hoping to give her something better than what she had.

Pairing; Jinx x fem!reader ( they're married)

wordcount: 3.1k

Authors note: I saw on TikTok this one video saying that Jinx adopted a child, soo thats what I tried to do even if I have zero knowledge of whaat going on🤞🏻. If you want more married content just tell me and I'll do it, I kinda liked the idea of you and Jinx adopting a kid so, tell me if you want more of it.

masterlist

You’re in the dim glow of Jinx’s hideout, the familiar hum of metal and machinery filling the air. Her workbench is littered with tools, scraps, and half-assembled parts, each piece part of a weapon you’re carefully crafting for her—a small, sleek pistol that packs a powerful punch. The faint scent of gunpowder lingers in the room, and you can hear the quiet drip of water echoing from somewhere deep within the cavernous walls.

The two long braids and her purple eyes come into view before she does, Jinx’s shadow moving just a second ahead of her as she slips into the room. She grins, her smile sharp yet playful, watching you like she’s seen her favorite person in the world—because you know, deep down, that’s exactly what you are.

The moment Jinx steps into the room, a prickle of awareness slides down your spine. You sense another presence. Instinct kicks in before reason, and in one swift motion, you reach for a pistol on the workbench and whip around, aiming it directly at the darkened corner just beyond Jinx.

Jinx’s eyes widen as she realizes where your attention has landed, her mouth parting in surprise. “Whoa, whoa! Easy there, sharpshooter,” she says, her tone a mix of amusement and shock. She holds up her hands. “Drop the gun, okay? There’s… no need for that.”

You keep your stance firm, the pistol steady in your hand. “Why is it here?” you ask, eyes narrowed, keeping your gaze locked on the shadows in the corner.

From the darkness steps a small, timid figure, her steps cautious but curious. She’s barely up to Jinx’s hip, with wild blue hair that nearly mirrors the shade Jinx once had. The girl peers up at you, big eyes full of a mixture of awe and trepidation.

Jinx glances at her, then back at you, her expression shifting to one of guilty excitement. “She’s here,” Jinx corrects, her voice softening as she looks at the girl. “I know I was gonna… ease you into this, but, well…” She shrugs, her mischievous smile returning. “Surprise?”

You keep your gaze steady, the girl’s shy eyes darting between you and Jinx. The situation feels surreal, and though you’ve lowered the gun, the tension is far from gone.

“Jinx,” you say, voice firm, ��can we talk… in private?” You emphasize the last word, giving her a look that says you’re serious.

Jinx’s grin wavers, a flash of nervousness crossing her face. She glances down at the girl, patting her shoulder gently. “Isha, stay here, alright? Just for a second.” Her voice is soothing, trying to keep the girl at ease as she leads you further back, just out of earshot.

Once you’re out of Isha’s line of sight, you cross your arms, keeping your voice low. “Jinx, we agreed… if anything this big was gonna happen, we’d talk about it first.”

Her fingers fidget with the edge of her sleeve, and she bites her lip, a little sheepish. “I know, I know. I just… I couldn’t leave her there. She looked so scared, y/n. Like she’d seen the worst of the Lanes in one day. I tried to picture leaving her, but… it felt too close to everything I went through.”

You sigh, the frustration melting into something softer as you watch her, seeing the hint of vulnerability she rarely lets anyone glimpse. “I understand that, Jinx. But bringing someone into our lives like this—it’s… it’s not just about a good heart, you know?”

She runs a hand through her braids, glancing down, trying to meet your eyes without completely meeting them. “Look, I know I rushed it. But she’s got nobody else. No one who understands. And if I’m honest… I thought maybe, with us, she could have a chance.” She glances up at you with a hopeful, almost pleading look

You let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you glance back toward Isha, then back at Jinx. “We make weapons, Jinx. Bombs. There’s nothing about our lives that screams ‘safe’ or ‘stable’ for a kid. Adding her into this… it’s not exactly ideal, you know?”

Jinx bites her lip, visibly torn but resolute. “I know what we do isn’t exactly kid-friendly, but it’s not like we’re blowing things up every single day. We’ll be careful. And… maybe she doesn’t have to see all that. We could keep that part separate. We’d figure out a way.”

You shake your head, though a small part of you understands where she’s coming from. “It’s not just about keeping her out of the crossfire. You know as well as I do that our lives are unpredictable. We’re not exactly… parental role models.”

Jinx crosses her arms, her brows drawn as she stares at the ground. “Maybe. But I think we could be. I mean, we’re not the monsters the world sees us as.” Her voice softens, barely above a whisper, “Isha deserves better than what I had. She deserves a chance. And we’ve got each other, y/n. Doesn’t that count for something?”

You let her words sink in, feeling the weight of her solve. The idea still feels overwhelming—foreign, even—but the determination in her eyes, that unbreakable hope, reminds you why you love her.

You take a deep breath, glancing from Jinx to the tools and parts scattered across the room. “Look, Jinx, we’re married, and yeah, we’ve talked about a family someday. But this?” You gesture around the hideout, with weapons and half-finished bombs lying out in the open. “This isn’t exactly what I’d call a safe space for a kid. It’s dangerous—everything about what we do is dangerous.”

Jinx’s gaze doesn’t waver, her fingers laced in yours. “I know it’s risky. But I also know we’re more than the things we make here. We’ve made a life together, y/n. Maybe it’s not perfect or normal, but it’s ours. And Isha… she could be part of that.”

You sigh, feeling her conviction but unable to shake your hesitation. “Jinx, we can’t just decide this overnight. It’s not just about us anymore.”

Her grip tightens slightly, her eyes softening. “She needs us, y/n. We can give her a place where she’s not alone, where she doesn’t have to be scared all the time. We’ve got each other… isn’t that enough to try?”

You look down at your wedding ring, feeling its weight more than usual. The decision ahead is heavy, and Jinx’s fingers tracing the edge of the ring only intensifies that feeling. She meets your gaze, her voice soft. “I know we didn’t plan this, but when I saw her, I couldn’t walk away. She’s like me… like us. And she needs someone.”

You exhale, still unsure. “I know, but we’re not exactly the perfect environment for a kid. We’re surrounded by weapons and bombs, Jinx. This life... it’s dangerous.”

Her touch lingers on your wedding ring as she looks up at you, her expression sincere. “I get that. But when I was a kid, I had Silco… and he was all I had, even if it wasn’t perfect. I thought maybe we could give her something real—something better than what I had.”

You rub your forehead, feeling the weight of it all. “It’s not just about helping her. It’s about how much it’ll change our lives. Are we ready for that?”

Jinx squeezes your hand, her voice steady. “I don’t know, but I want to try. I want to give her a chance.”

You watch as Jinx’s eyes glisten, the faint shimmer of tears threatening to fall. Her usual bravado is gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. You can see the weight of her words sinking in deeper than she lets on, the fear of repeating the past, of making the wrong choice.

Without thinking, you reach out and gently cup her face in your hands, your thumb brushing away the tear that escapes the corner of her eye. The action is tender, your touch grounding both of you in the midst of the storm.

"Hey," you say softly, your voice low but firm. "We don’t have to do this perfectly. But we need to know what we’re getting into, Jinx. It’s not just about the heart—it’s about everything that comes with it. The good, the bad… and the ugly."

Jinx sniffles, nodding as she leans into your touch. “I know. I just… I don’t want her to end up like me. Like I did back then.” She swallows, her voice trembling. “I just want to give her a shot at something better.”

You hold her gaze, your hands steady as you keep her close. “You’re not alone in this,” you say again, the words sounding stronger this time. “You won’t be doing it alone. And neither will she. We’ll figure it out together. No matter what.”

Jinx’s lip quivers, but she manages to hold your gaze. “I never thought I’d have a family. Hell, I didn’t even think I could be a part of one.” Her voice cracks, but she presses on. “But when I saw her, I saw that little version of me—someone who’s been left behind, someone who just needs a place to feel safe.”

You can’t help the tightness that forms in your chest as you listen. You know she’s right. It’s like a mirror to her past, the girl standing there alone, hoping for someone to care. You pull her into you, your embrace warm and solid. “We’ll make sure she has that. Safety. Love. A chance to be something more than what this place wants her to be.”

Jinx clings to you, a quiet sob escaping her. You can feel the depth of her emotions, the mixture of fear and hope swirling within her. She’s vulnerable right now, in a way you’ve rarely seen, and it makes everything feel more real.

"I don’t know if I can do this, but I’ll try," she murmurs against your chest, her voice muffled but full of determination. "I need you by my side. I need you to help me figure this out."

You hold her tighter, pressing a kiss to her hair. "We’ll figure it out, Jinx. Together. I’m not going anywhere."

You hold her close, letting the silence wrap around you both, the weight of the conversation settling between your hearts. Jinx’s breaths come a little easier now, though you can still feel the trembling in her body. Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, grounding herself in the safety of your presence.

After a moment, she pulls back slightly, enough to look up at you with those wide, purple eyes. “You really mean it, don’t you?” she asks, her voice a mixture of wonder and vulnerability. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

You gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I mean it. I’m not going anywhere, Jinx. We’ll do this together. We’ve always figured things out, even when it’s been tough.”

She nods, her lips quivering into a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "I don’t want to fail her. I don’t want to mess this up." Her voice drops lower, almost a whisper. "I just… I don’t know how to be a mom."

You lean in, brushing your forehead against hers, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you both. "And you don’t have to know how to be one right now," you reassure her. "But you’ve got a lot of love to give. You’ve got that. And that’s a hell of a start."

She lets out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "I guess we’ll learn as we go, huh?" There’s a trace of her old mischief in her voice, a glimmer of that familiar spark.

"Yeah," you say, your hand gently cupping her face again, “we’ll learn. And we’ll do it together. One step at a time.”

Jinx leans into your touch, her eyes closing briefly. “I never thought this could be my life... but maybe... maybe it could be.” She looks up at you, a new kind of determination in her eyes. "I want to make sure she has a chance to be better than I was. We can give her that.”

You nod, the weight of the decision no longer feeling quite so heavy. "We will."

And for the first time, there’s a real sense of hope, something unfamiliar yet comforting, settling between you both. You kiss her forehead softly, reassuring her once more that you’re in this together—no matter what comes next.

You both stand in the silence, the hum of the hideout settling around you. The girl, Isha, is still standing a few feet away, her eyes fixed on you both, her small frame tense but not entirely withdrawn. She’s looking at Jinx one moment, then at you, almost like she’s waiting to see how you’ll react, unsure of how this new chapter will begin.

You take a cautious step toward her, the floor creaking lightly beneath your feet. Isha doesn’t move, her posture defensive, but there’s a hint of curiosity in the way her blue hair flutters slightly with every slight movement you make.

You crouch in front of her, your knees sinking just enough to meet her gaze without overwhelming her. “Hey there,” you say softly, trying to keep the tone light. “I’m not going to bite, promise.”

Isha’s eyes flicker to your face, her lips parting slightly as if weighing whether to trust you. It’s quiet for a moment, and then, after a long stretch of silence, she hesitantly reaches out, her small fingers brushing against yours.

You give her a small, encouraging smile and gently take her hand, your grip light, offering her the space she needs to pull away if she wants to. You feel the chill of her hand against your skin, the coldness of someone who’s been through too much too soon.

“You’re safe here,” you say, voice low and reassuring. “You don’t have to be scared.”

Behind you, Jinx shifts, her usual chaotic energy subdued for once, her gaze trained on the interaction. There’s a look in her eyes—part gratitude, part uncertainty—that makes you pause for a moment. She’s watching, almost as if she’s holding her breath, waiting for something.

She takes a small step closer, her voice quieter than usual. “Thanks,” she says, the words tumbling out before she can stop them, more to herself than to you. “For not running off.”

You glance over your shoulder at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes. “I told you I’m not going anywhere, Jinx.” Your voice is firm, steady, grounding. “We’ll figure this out. All three of us.”

Isha’s small hand tightens in yours, a soft, tentative pressure that feels like the first sign of trust she’s given. You smile, a little more genuine this time, and shift to stand beside her, giving Jinx a glance that holds a promise.

Jinx looks back at you, her expression softening, and for the first time, you see something almost like hope flicker in her eyes. She steps up beside you, her presence a quiet reassurance to Isha.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jinx echoes, her voice quieter now. She glances at Isha, her fingers nervously twitching but keeping steady. “We’ll make sure she has a chance.”

Isha, though still cautious, seems to soften just a little in response. Her gaze shifts from you to Jinx and back again, like she’s beginning to believe that maybe—just maybe—she’s found something worth trusting.

Jinx’s eyes flicker toward the workbench, her gaze catching the sleek pistol you’d been carefully crafting. The change in her demeanor is almost immediate, the air around her crackling with a familiar energy. Her lips curl into a mischievous grin, the kind that only she could pull off. The uncertainty from moments ago seems to evaporate, replaced by a spark of excitement.

“Well, well…” she mutters, stepping over to the workbench and running her fingers along the edges of the half-assembled weapon. “Looks like someone’s been busy.”

You watch her, her movements quick and sure as she inspects the weapon. “I was making it for you,” you say, your voice holding a touch of amusement. “Had to give it some personal touches.”

Her grin widens, and she picks up the gun with a careful but almost possessive gesture, weighing it in her hands. “I know, I know… You always make the best toys.” Her voice drops a little lower, a mischievous twinkle in her purple eyes. “But I could use something like this, especially if I’m gonna be a good role model.”

You raise an eyebrow, your hands resting on your hips. “Role model? Are you sure you know what that means?”

Jinx gives a playful shrug, flipping the gun in her hands and inspecting it. “Hey, maybe I don’t know everything about being a ‘good’ role model… but I’m pretty damn good at keeping people entertained.” She gives you a sly wink, her usual wild energy creeping back into her voice.

For a brief moment, the weight of the situation seems to lift as Jinx takes a shot at her old self. The chaos, the thrill—it’s all there, in her eyes, in her grin. But beneath it, there’s something different. A protective edge. She’s not just planning her next move—she’s trying to figure out how to be something else, something more.

You sigh, crossing your arms, and take in the sight of her, the wild spark still there but now tempered with something else. “Just don’t get too carried away, alright?”

Her eyes narrow in playful challenge. “Who, me? Never.”

You shake your head, but the corners of your mouth lift slightly, the tension between you easing as you watch Jinx’s usual self return, in all her unpredictable, fiery glory.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” you mutter, though it’s more affectionate than anything.

Jinx’s grin softens a bit as she looks over at you, the weapon still in hand, but her attention fully on you now. “Hey, thanks for sticking with me,” she says quietly, her voice softer than before, but the familiar edge is still there. “I know this... this is a lot. But I’ll do everything I can to make it work.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the moment, of the decision ahead. “I know you will, Jinx. Just don’t let this turn into another one of your schemes, alright?”

Jinx’s eyes sparkle as she steps closer, her lips curling into another grin. “No promises,” she teases, then lowers her voice to something more sincere. “But I’ll try.”

[thehighladywrites]

Disciplinarian

pairing: bodyguard!azriel x spoiled, rich, partygirl!reader

summary: You have never been disciplined a day in your life; your parents are too kind and overlooking, so you get away with everything. When your parents have to leave for a year on business, you're assigned a bodyguard to look after you. What do you do when it is someone you can't stand?

warnings: 18+, smut, reader is kinda stuck up and spoiled, brat taming, enemies to lovers-ish, forced proximity, drug use, alcohol, questionable substances, grinding on random men in clubs, intoxication, azriel acts like he'd never touch you but he will, best believe

amara’s note: alright gang, let’s try this one more time. and tumblr pls don’t delete this🫶🏽

Azriel can't fucking stand spoiled, rich, entitled girls like you. Seriously, you have it all – jewels, status, servants at your beck and call, enough money to buy a country, and a family name that practically scream elite and untouchable. Your parents never say no to you, and they make sure you know it.

You adore your parents and they love you, and in a court where genuine love is rare, you hit the jackpot. Their approach to discipline is nonexistent, which means you practically have a free pass to everything you do. You might here the occasional sigh but never any real repercussions.

All that, and you still manage to fuck it up and waste your fortune and good luck on trashy things.

You fucking love your life and live to the fullest, diving headfirst into hookups, trying questionable substances, sipping drinks, fucking everyone with a pulse, flaunting your body in slutty clothes, dancing and splurging on shopping sprees until your arms can’t carry more bags.

To Azriel, you are like a walking, talking embodiment of everything he despise about the privileged members of Hewn City. You live in a bubble of luxury, completely disconnected from the real world. It drives him up the wall to see someone who has never faced a single challenge or hardship, someone who probably can't even spell "struggle" if their life depends on it, act so mindlessly stupid and oblivious.

You can't fucking stand Azriel either. He is an annoying, obnoxious, attention-grabbing loser with a mouth that could make a sailor blush, and manners that were more suited in a battlefield than in a refined courtroom. The way he acts all mysterious and unbothered, pretending not to notice his effect on people grinds your gears. He is nosy, annoying, and you are pretty sure he thinks personal space is just a suggestion, like ew.

And your dislike doesn’t lessen when your parents ask Rhysand for someone to guard you while they are away on business. And of course, Rhys can’t say no because your father practically funds Hewn City with his money.

—

“Rhysand, we need to discuss my daughter's safety while we're away on business. Could you arrange for someone to guard her at all times? We will be away for a while and we wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”

Rhysand nods, knowing he can’t refuse. Your family weren’t the typical mean and evil family in Hewn City. Your family had been wealthy for generations, a family from a long line of very influential faes.

“I understand your concern. But may I ask why the sudden need for extra security? Is there something wrong with her current guards?”

“Well, as you might now, our daughter is somewhat of a wild card. She is just going through a phase but she is still my babygirl and I need someone to look after her so she doesn’t get hurt while we’re gone. Sure, her current guards are fine but I need someone who keeps her in line.”

Rhysand supresses his smile and clears his throat. Wild card was certainly an understatement and he was pretty sure that not even The Mother could keep you in line. “I see. I'll make the necessary arrangements.”

After your parents leave, Rhysand shakes his head, knowing the challenges that lie ahead. He asks Azriel to meet him at his office, reluctantly asking him to take on the role of your bodyguard.

“Azriel, I need you to do me a favor. I have someone in my court that has requested extra security for his daughter while they're away, and I can't refuse. I need you to guard her.”

Azriel narrows his eyes at him, skeptical at the sudden request. “Guard duty? Really, Rhys? You know i have more important things to do than babysit some rich kid.”

Rhys sighs and grips Azriel's shoulder firmly. “I wouldn't ask if it weren't important, Az. Her safety is at stake, and her parents trust us to protect her.”

Azriel's suspicion is evident. Rhysand would never ask so nicely and calmly. “Who am I guarding?”

Rhys bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh, knowing Azriel , he’d refuse if he sensed any hint of amusement. “It’s Y/N. I know you two don’t get along, but it’s very important. Her parents are very worried she’ll do something to herself.”

Azriel frowns and grits out. This was the absolute last thing he wanted to do ever. Like literally the last thing. “Fine. But you owe me big time for this, Rhys. And best believe, I will cash in.”

With a heavy sigh, Azriel walks out, mentally calculating the headaches and eye rolls that await him.

—

So he becomes your personal bodyguard, having to follow you around everywhere, and he certainly doesn’t make an effort to hide his dissatisfaction with his High Lord’s decision. He’s always so fucking close.

The other day you had brunch with your friends and had to cut it short since he was scaring them with his presence.

Of course you don’t make it easy for him either. Sneaking out and meeting people for secret hook ups while he looks all over Velaris for you. But he always manages to find you before anything real starts.

Tonight, feeling rebellious, you made the daring decision to sneak out while Azriel was tied up in a meeting with Rhysand and Cassian. Clad in a barely-there black minidress and your nicest heels, you snuck out to hit the club with your friends.

As the pulsating music enveloped the club, the beat flowed through your veins, heightened by the drugs coursing through your system. You found yourself surrounded by a group of men, their hungry eyes glued to you as you grinded in one of their laps. With the hem of your dress pushed up to reveal your black thong, you felt a rush of exhilaration as their hands roamed freely, exploring every curve and contour of your body. Their touch sent shivers down your spine as you gave in to the euphoria.

Suddenly, one of them pulled out cash, showering you with bills. They fluttered around you, each one a temptation. More men joined in, adding to the pile of crumpled notes at your feet.

As the money rained down, adrenaline surged through you. With each bill, you felt their attention, relishing the power it gave you.

You had no need for the money, you simply enjoyed the sensation of it raining over your body. Basking in the attention the men gave you, you felt invincible, loving every moment.

But perhaps it was the drugs whispering in your ear, distorting reality. Lines of white powder adorned the fancy oak tables, drinks on every surface and questionable pills lay everywhere. Yet no one dared to utter a word or report your group of high-spenders; after all, you practically funded the club with your outings. And if worst comes to worst, you can always sweet-talk Cassian who handles all arrests and oversees the city’s safety.

Azriel seethed with annoyance as he discovered once again that you had slipped away while he was preoccupied. Fuming with frustration, he used his shadows to locate you. Determined to bring you back safely, Az brought Rhys and Cassian with him to retrive you.

Following Rhysand’s lead, the trio made their way to the filthy club famous for its debauchery and depravity. With every step, Azriel's fury just became stronger, fueled by the fear of what dangers you might encounter in such a place. If you were dead, it would be such an inconvenience.

Azriel's shadows sensed you up on a table, stripping your dress off little by little, like it was nobody's business. They clocked you right away, noticing how you moved all smooth and slippery, and how your eyes darted around like you were up to no good. Your pupils were wide as saucers, and your gaze was vacant. You were swaying on your feet, barely holding it together, like you were one step away from crashing down.

With a frustrated huff, Azriel closed the distance and hoisted you over his shoulder in one swift motion, your limp form draped over him like a sack of potatoes before you could strip completely. Meanwhile, Cassian and Rhys stood nearby, barely containing their amusement, a smirk playing at the corners of their lips as they watched the show unfold.

Furious, you pounded your fists against Azriel's back, demanding to be released.

“Put m’down, you stupid fucking bastard! What the fuck, get your hands off me! How dare you put your lowly hands on me!” you shouted, your voice laced with anger and defiance. Despite your protests, Azriel held firm, his grip unwavering as he carried you away from the chaos of the club.

Spotting Rhysand’s handsome self, you suddenly shifted gears, your influenced state blurring the lines between defiance and flirtation. “Heyyy, Rhysie!” you slurred, flashing him a lopsided grin and throwing him a kiss.

“Long time, no see. You... you lookin' really fucking fine tonight, wanna cme home with me? I can p-promis’ ya a really fun nigh’.” you slurred, your words dripping with exaggerated seduction as you glanced down at him from Azriel’s shoulder, your attempts at seduction hindered by his fast pace.

Rhys couldn't help but grin at your intoxicated attempts at flirtation, amusement dancing in his eyes. “If you want to have fun with me, you need to sober up, darling,” he replied with a chuckle, his grin widening as he played along with your intoxicated antics, though his gaze held concern beneath the amusement.

Although you were high as fuck you weren’t stupid. You had grown up with Rhys as children of the most powerful people of Prythian. Rhys was an absolute catch and you heard the High Lord had a wicked side to him, but he was someone you hadn’t dared to try.

Yet.

You bit your lips at the idea of him on top of you. Surely he’d be a fun little distraction while your parents were away. Well, anything to get you away from Azriel. He was a real party pooper and you’d speak your mind if he just put you down.

“Wher' ya takin' me? I demand ya put me down, I wasn't finished dancing! Oh, I hate you s’much, just wait ‘til I tell my daddy!”

Azriel snorted at the weak threat,

“Your daddy gave me full permission to keep your ass in line.”

Rhysand winnows everyone to just outside The House of Wind before you can scream. Azriel, with wings spread wide, prepares to fly you up, the movements almost making you vomit. Rhysand and Cassian shout words of luck before flying off to their respective homes.

Azriel dumps your body onto the couch with a bit more force than necessary, his arms folded across his chest as he glares down at you, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“What did you take?” he demands, his deep, comanding voice edged with worry.

You shoot him an annoyed glare, irritated by tonight’s potential cockblocking, and decide to play with him a bit.

“Oh, you know. Just the usual. Coke, heroin, meth, xanax, percs, ecstasy, ketamine, acid and molly,” you respond cheerfully, your words slurring together as you exaggerate the list of substances.

He narrows his eyes, clearly not amused by your attempt at humor, and waits for a more coherent answer.

Rolling your eyes at him, you marvel at how someone can be so uptight.

“Oh, please, take the stick out of your ass and relax,” you retort, your words tinged with sarcasm. “I did shots and smoked mirthroot. And maybe I also took some weird pill, so what?”

You shoot him a challenging look, daring him to continue interrogating you.

“The next time you try to sneak out or do something like this under my watch, I’ll chain you to your fucking bed.” he says coldly.

You shoot him a daring look, refusing to be intimidated. “Chain me up? Careful, Shadowsinger. I might just like that,” you tease, a mischievous glint in your eye.

As Azriel’s jaw clench, he grabs your arms and leads you to your temporary bedroom. Struggling to keep up with his hurried pace, you nearly trip over your own feet, prompting him to scoop you up in his arms.

As Azriel pulls back the covers on your bed and drops you onto the mattress, you shoot him an irritated look before launching into a fit about the poor quality of the bed.

“Seriously?” you complain, gesturing to the flimsy mattress beneath you. “What is this, a-a fucking joke or somethin? I can't sleep on this... thing! I know for a fact that Rhysand doesn’t sleep on this so-called bed. Give me a good room or take me home and guard me there instead. I refuse to spend the night in this offensive excuse for a bed.”

Your frustration is palpable as you express your disdain for the accommodations, unimpressed by the sleeping arrangements.

Azriel's lips quirk into an amused smile as he listens to your out of touch complaints.

“You’ll live,” he taunted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

His tone shifted, becoming more wickedly excited. “And you're going to have to lose that nasty little attitude of yours,” he continued, his voice firm. “I know you haven’t been properly disciplined, like ever, but don’t worry. I’m here to keep your ass in line,” Azriel says with a promising voice.

With a swift motion, Azriel reaches into his shadows and retrieves a bright orange vial containing a mysterious and glowing liquid. Without hesitation, he brings it to your lips, forcing you to drink the bitter concoction.

As you swallow, a worried expression crosses your face, but Azriel sighs and reassures you. He explains that the drink is meant to reverse your intoxication, soothing your concerns. You might have some slight memory loss but you’ll be fine.

“Girl, please. You're not dying on my watch,” Azriel reassures you bluntly before rolling his eyes. “Gods know my reputation would be completely destroyed if people found out I couldn't keep a mouthy little diva alive.”

Before you can retort, he turns on his heel and exits the room. As the door clicks shut, exhaustion washes over you, and you realize just how tired you are. Your head sinks into the disgustingly flat pillow, and the thought of discussing the cheap bed with Rhys can wait until tomorrow.

Right now, all you want to do is sleep.

—

The harsh rays of the sun rudely awaken you, and immediately your mood sours. A throbbing headache accompanies your groggy state as you toss and turn on the stale bed. Confusion washes over you as you take in the unfamiliar smell of the room, the questionable quality of the sheets, and the height of the bed.

This wasn't your bedroom. Where the hell were you?

Sitting up, you curl into a ball, forehead resting on your knees. Your throat is like sandpaper, swallowing feels impossible. The details of last night blur in your mind; right now, all you can focus on is the need for water. Ignoring the mystery of where you are, you struggle to summon the strength to stand.

You grab the edge of the bedpost and wobble before landing backwards on the flat mattress. Without being too sad about not being able to stand up on your own, you just slip back under the covers. You’d just sleep for a few more hours.

“Pathetic.”

A deep, disgusted voice echoes through the room as a dark figure emerges from the shadows. Azriel looks so buff, dressed in a sinfully tight shirt, his wings hanging proudly behind him as he looks down at you with his arms across his chest, dark tattoos decorating rippling muscles.

“How dare you speak to me like that?! Do you know who I am? I should have you punished for this, just wait until my father comes back, you kidnapping son of a bitch.”

“Absolutely pathetic. It’s almost 4 in the afternoon and you’re still in bed?” he scoffs, totally ignoring you.

Irritation fills you as you start to remember yesterday. He had practically kidnapped you from the club to bring you to this dinky place. This was so fucking beneath you and Gods know someone will hear your complaints.

“Stop fucking talking to me. I’m still tired, and your annoying voice isn’t helping,” you retort sharply, your annoyance evident in your tone as you push back against him.

“Sucks to be you, now get up. Your father expects a healthy, happy, safe daughter, and that's what you'll be,” Azriel commands.

You raise your eyebrow challengingly, meeting his gaze head-on. “You really think you're gonna controll me? Daddy said you’re here to guard me not boss over me.”

“I'm not as lenient as your daddy, so yes, I do. As long as you’re under my care, i’m in charge,” he retorts firmly, ripping the comforter off you, leaving you exposed to the chilly air. He then leans down and pick up your curled body up, walking over to the bathroom before he very rudely puts you down.

“Get yourself ready. I’m coming back in exactly 10 minutes,” Azriel states blankly before leaving, leaving you simmering with annoyance.

Despite your irritation, you realize you need a shower and something to eat. To make Azriel's life more difficult, you decide to winnow outside instead of waiting for him after finishing a much needed shower. Why would you need his permission to walk around your own city? If you wanted breakfast, you’d go out and get some before he most likely forced you to drink eggs or whatever he called breakfast.

The sun shines beautifully, birds sing, and everything feels serene as you head back to your own house. This is exactly what you need, just a sunny morning and beautiful day. But suddenly, the clouds darken, the birds go silent, and the air turns chilly. Of course, Azriel stands right in front of you, blocking your path.

“Are you annoying on purpose, or are you actually just stupid? Was I not perfectly clear when I told you to stay put?” Azriel pulls you to the side of the road as he glares. Wow, he really can’t stand you.

“Am I a dog? So what if you did? Listen, I’m going home because I have something called free will and working legs, so excuse you,” you retort, pushing past him defiantly.

He grabs your arm, his grip firm and unyielding. “You’re not going anywhere without me, so I suggest listening.”

“What, you’ll force me to stay? What could you possibly do to make me listen?”

His eyes travel over you, lingering on your chest for a moment. All of a sudden, you were glad you weren’t wearing a bra. “Don’t push me. I have my ways.” he says, his voice low and rough before commanding you to walk infront of him.

As you walk back to your house, you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you. His words echo in your mind, making you truly wonder: what would he do if you misbehaved?

—

Out of sheer curiosity and perhaps a bit of horniness, you started to annoy Azriel throughout the weeks. Casually picking on him, rolling your eyes, ignoring him. You desperately wanted to know what would happen if you reached his limit. Would he yell, murder or fuck you?

Azriel’s freaky bedroom activities were no secret to anyone in Velaris. You knew his dick made people go insane. It was not strange to hear people who had been pleasured by him go on and on about him.

“He actually tied me up and fucked me. It was the most exciting thing I had ever done!”

“I got bent over and spanked until I couldn’t walk for days!”

“His dick is so big, I thought I was going to choke to death…”

—

Azriel was sitting at your kitchen table, sharpening his knife. The rhythmic sound of metal against stone filled the room as you strolled toward him, dressed in a little black nightgown, hoping to catch his attention.

“Hey, Az,” you purred, trying to sound casual. “What do you think of my outfit?”

He glanced up briefly, his eyes lingering for just a moment before returning to his knife. “It's fine,” he said flatly, not giving much away.

Your eye twitched in annoyance before you leaned against the table. “Just fine? I was hoping for a bit more enthusiasm.”

It was a very, very slutty little gown you had on. Like, if anyone in court found out you were parading around in scraps of fabric that made your tits almost spill over infront of the bastard-born Shadowsinger, there would be extreme consequences.

Yeah. That’s how whoreish you looked.

He sighed, finally setting the knife down. Gods, he was at his limit. Day in and day out, you were doing something new. “It's not my job to comment on your fashion choices. My job is to keep you safe.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a step closer. “But can't you do both? I’m sure a smart, handsome guy like you have room for compliments.” Your tits brushed against his bicep as your nails found his arm.

He narrowed his eyes at the way you stroke his arm with a manicured hand, tilting his head slightly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing. I'm simply bored. Entertain me,” you commanded, hiding your smirk as you stepped back, hands on your hips. Surely, he'd get angry at you ordering him around and finally snap.

Azriel's gaze darkened, but instead of snapping, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You think ordering me around will get you what you want?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You tilted your head, maintaining eye contact. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like seeing how far I can push you. Will you punish me, Azriel?”

He stood up slowly, closing the distance between you. “Don’t push your luck.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you held your ground, chin lifting defiantly. Just one last push. “I'm not afraid of you, Shadowsinger,” you spat, eyes narrowing. “You’re just hired muscle, here for my protection. There’s nothing you can do to me,” you added, your voice dripping with faux disgust as you look him up and down.

Azriel didn’t flinch, didn’t rise to your bait. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. The calm confidence in his expression only made your blood boil more.

“I understand it now,” he said, his voice low and amused, his tone casual like he had you all figured out. “You want some dick. And since you’re not allowed outside without me, you're not getting any, are you?” His eyes gleamed with mocking amusement, like he was enjoying watching you squirm.

You hated how your pulse quickened, despising even more that his words hit far too close to the truth. “Then let me go outside and fix my problem,” you snapped, lifting your chin in defiance.

Azriel raised a brow, pretending to think it over before shaking his head with a smug grin. “Don’t think so. Who knows what kind of riff-raff you’d drag in here?”

Well, there’s no use hiding it anymore. You huffed, crossing your arms. “Well, if I can’t go out, then you should help me. It’s the least you can do.”

“Is it?” he asked, arms folded, eyebrow arched, fully aware he was in control here.

“Yeah, I’m a woman who has needs.” you said, narrowing your eyes.

Azriel’s smirk deepened, eyes flashing with amusement. “If you want it, you’ll have to beg. And make it real pretty. Let’s see how bad you need it.”

Your anger flared. Who the hell did he think he was talking to? “I’m not begging you for anything,” you snapped, voice sharp.

He shrugged, turning on his heel. “Your problem, not mine. Guess you’ll just have to pleasure yourself. And I know it’s nowhere as nice as just laying down and taking it like a good slut.”

Your eyes widened in lust, hating how much you needed this, hating even more that you had to ask him for it. “Fine! Okay, just-Azriel, please,” you grumbled.

He cupped a hand to his ear, faking confusion. “What? Didn’t quite catch that.”

Your jaw tightened as your thighs rub together. This was really fucking humiliating but you were only a woman and he was a hot man who you wanted to fuck real bad. It was a waste of time trying to play hard to get or act like you didn’t want to get bent over. “I said, Azriel, please fuck me.”

He finally turned around, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he took a step closer. “That wasn't so hard, was it?”

—

His dick is life-altering.

He actually managed to dumb you down, leaving you a drooling, mumbling mess. Your little brain was all mush, all scrambled. You couldn’t formulate anything. All you knew was how good you were feeling.

God, he was really mean but his strokes were even meaner. They were carnal, desperately deep ones. The kind of ones that forces your whole spoiled princess act into the back of your mind.

Wads of milky white was oozing out of your swollen cunt as Azriel took his time appreciating the way you were tightening around nothing, just throbbing for more of him.

“C’mon, p-please don’t stop.” You manage to whine out for him, pushing your hips back to him in an attempt to get him back in.

Azriel’s cock is disciplinarian. It’s fat and veiny and slides right back into your needy cunt. He bottoms out with a grunt as hot cum drips down your weak legs.

For what seemed like forever, he was breaking down you walls of defiance and turning you into this obedient and submissive thing.

He leaves you cross-eyed as he starts to drag his thick cock against your sensitive walls, deliciously fucking you. “remind me again, what do you not do?,” he asks in a husky voice.

The slight curve of his dick hits your g-spot deliciously, it makes your arms give out so your whole chest is scraping against your pricey cotton sheets, pebbled nipples getting a real nice stimulation.

“oh my godd, fuuuuck, right there, r- right thereeee, Az.”

You couldn’t have answered him if someone had hold a gun to your head, there was too much pleasure, too much of his big dick just filling you out so fucking good.

“aht, aht. we’re not doing that. don’t go all dumb on me now, I want answers.” He jackhammers into you, sneaking a hand down your pants as he rubs circles on your clit as the other hand grabs your throat and pulls your back flush against his chest.

“u-um, i’m—” your eyes are rolling into the back of your head. this new position is too deep, your cervix feels every jab of his cock, every intentional stroke.

“That’s not really an answer, dummy. I’ll ask you one last time, or I’m leaving you like this,” he warns, voice low and dangerously firm as he slaps your sensitive pussy once, twice even three times until you’re not as hazy. “What do you not do around me?

Your breath catches, frustration mingling with need as your head turns to look at him. “N-No! Don’t leave—fuck,” you stammer, heat flooding your face. “Um, no attitude. A-and I listen to you! I swear I will—just let me cum again, please.” The words come out so desperate, trembling on your lips. Any sort of self-respect just flew out of the window.

Azriel’s lips curl into a slow, wicked smile, dark amusement flickering in his gaze. “sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice smooth as silk, “you say that now. But I’ve seen that mouth of yours. a sharp little thing, always pushing your luck. How do i know you’ll be a good girl?”

You shake your head quickly, eyes wide, feeling utterly undone. “I’ll be good, s-so fuckin’ good for you Azriel,” you whisper, breath hitching. “I promise. I’m never gonna disobey you, just p-please,” your eyes wide with submission, with a promise you’re willing to let go for him.

Azriel’s breath stutters, his heart thudding harder in his chest. He was only supposed to put you in your place, nothing more but the way you instantly gave in, soft and eager, promising to be good for him, made his control slip.

His jaw clenches as something twists deep in his stomach, hot and restless. What the hell was this? Just one look into your fucked out eyes and he wanted to keep you as his forever.

“Careful,” he mutters, voice rough and strained. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m not sure I’ll stop there.”

Before you can say anything he flips you around so you fall onto your back before putting you into the meanest mating press, your knees are pushed back, legs dangling over his shoulders and all you can do is hold onto his tattooed biceps.

Your whiney moans filled the room as his weight pressed into you, thrusting in and out in a fast pace. Azriel’s view is unbeatable. You’re on display — hair messed up, heated cheeks, teary eyes rolling back and a pink tongue damn near lolling out in pleasure.

He is fucking you so stupid.

he’s holding you in place and using you as he pleases, spreading your legs so that his long, thick cock reaches so deep inside you. you’re so helplessly on edge under him and so fucking happy.

“gonna cum pretty for me, yeah? gonna give me what I want? gonna let me cum in that tight, pretty pussy?” you don’t answer them because you will- and he’ll make sure that you do.

“Yes, i will! P-please… t’s too much! I can’t, ahhh—” you tighten around his cock before your whole body shakes as that tight coil finally snaps and you go limp.

Azriel’s hips don’t slow down at all, his groans and crude words filling the room as static noise plays in your ears.

“Cum inside, please. Need it inside.”

Your mindless babble, erotic, fucked out voice and nails digging into his biceps is enough to make him shoot ropes of cum inside, his weight settling over you.

You can’t even catch your breath before he flips you over and let’s you know you’ve barely started the night.

—

“Honey, we’re home!”

Your mother’s voice barely registers — not when Azriel’s lips are moving against yours, slow and commanding. His warm hand traces down your back while the other grips your hair, anchoring you firmly against him. Everything else fades away; it’s just his touch, his presence, and the heat spreading through you.

Maybe you should’ve gone down to greet your parents after their long trip but right now you couldn’t care less. You were sooo into making out with Azriel that everything else became background noise.

Azriel pulls back first, and you let out a frustrated little whine.

“No, no, nooo—why are you pulling away?? Keep going, kiss me again,” you pout, trying to close the space between you again. But all he does is stick two fingers in your mouth.

He tilts his head, a smug smile tugging at his lips before he presses a loving kiss to your forehead instead. Thst was something he started doing a fee months ago, forehead kisses. and you loved the way it made you feel like a princess.

“No whining, baby. You know better by now. We’re going down to your parents because they’re back and you’ll behave, yes?” His fingers slip out after he explains and you nod. Sometimes you needed a physical gag instead of just shutting up and it was a comfort knowing the way you ran your mouth.

Your lips part, but no sass slips out, just a breathy little exhale as his words settle over you. He’s right. He always is, and you hate how much that makes your stomach twist with heat. Damn it, you were down bad for him.

Azriel had spoiled you rotten in some ways but stripped away your brattiness and horrible attitude in others. You never ever speak to him like you used to. The man had you under his control. It didn’t take much — just a firm hand and that piercing gaze when you got out of line. Just one look and you usually stopped whatever you were doing.

Still, he indulged you more often than not. And gods, you lived for the praise when you behaved. Azriel loved it when you listened to him, when that submissive side came out and you completely gave yourself up to him.

It was wild how, in just a year, the bitter tension between you had melted into something far more dangerous — a possessive, all-consuming love that neither of you planned on letting go of anytime soon.

“Okay, fine. Let’s go downstairs then. But don’t touch me, my parents don’t know. Or should i tell them?”

Azriel arches a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Tell them, huh?” His voice dips, teasing. “Go ahead, princess. Let them know exactly who keeps you in line.”

Your face flushes hot. “Shut up,” you grumble, swatting at his chest. “I'm serious. No touching, or l'Il-”

“You'll what?” he cuts in smoothly, leaning down just enough to make your breath hitch. “Whine about it later when you're begging for me to touch you again?”

Your glare falters, and Azriel's smirk only grows before he kisses your plush, swollen lips again.

“Thought so,” he murmurs, brushing past you toward the stairs. “Come on, baby. Let's play nice for mommy and daddy, hmm?”

You walk after him, muttering under your breath, “You're the worst.” Words that earns you a slap to your ass.

—

“So, babygirl, how have you been? I assume The Shadowsinger treated you well?” your dad pulls you into a warm hug, his tone light but curious.

You glance at Azriel, who stands tall and composed, though his sharp gaze flickers to yours. Now, you could either lie or tell the boring truth.

“Sure,” you say with a playful smirk, “he was a real pain in the ass at first—an overbearing shadow who insisted on following my every damn move. But… he took care of me nonetheless.”

Your dad chuckles. “That right, Shadowsinger? Well, you do seem calmer. Did the Shadowsinger set you straight, honey?” His eyes gleam with curiosity. The wild daughter had finally calmed down? The day no one thought would come was here at last.

Azriel’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Yes, Lord L/N. Though,” his gaze shifts to you, dark and heavy with unspoken promises, “it seems I may not have set her completely straight just yet.”

Your father laughs, oblivious to the double meaning, but your heart races. That subtle edge in Azriel’s voice, the warning gleam in his eyes—you were so going to pay for that later.

And gods, it would be worth every second.

[fireinmoonshot]

PART 0.25 OF A BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS JOAQUÍN x READER. Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Warnings: I don't think there are any. Word Count: 892 A/N: So, this is a part 0.5 of the jealous Joaquín fic that I've been working on. I have had a few requests that sort of fit this same kind of vibe so I thought it'd be fun to write a few little drabbles that are sort of leading up to the main fic using requests you've been sending in. This is the first one based on the prompt "So what? You're dating them now?" which a couple of people requested. I will add links to the other drabbles and the main fic when they're all posted! 💗

Despite the fact that Joaquin hates hearing all about the dates you go on, he always listens in whenever you talk about them. You rarely ever talk about them to him – mostly because you sometimes get a little intimidated talking to your best friend about the men you date when you find him so attractive. But he always listens. 

His worst nightmares seem to have come to life tonight, though.

After years of failed dates and Joaquin hoping that maybe he’d get the courage to admit his feelings to you or maybe you’d suddenly admit to him that you liked him as well, you’re talking about how your last date had gone perfectly. 

Kira, one of your mutual friends, squeals in excitement. “Oh my god, that’s incredible! I knew that there were good ones out there somewhere. They’re clearly just hidden very deep in the wild. But babe, he could be the love of your life!”

Joaquin, sitting in the drivers seat of the car as he drives you and Kira back to your houses after spending the night out at a bar, tries not to say what he’s thinking out loud. Are you sure that he’s the love of your life? How perfect was the date exactly? I’m sure there are some red flags. Yeah, they’re not things that you’d really like to hear. 

When he drops Kira off at her apartment, though, and then it’s just the two of you in the car, he can’t manage to keep his mouth shut. “So what? You’re dating them now?” He asks, glancing over at you as he drives.

You look at him from your spot in the passenger seat, trying not to notice the way the muscles in his arms look as he holds the steering wheel or how much you’d love to reach out and touch his jaw just to see if it’s as sharp as it looks. 

“Yeah, I guess I am,” you shrug. “Why?”

He shakes his head. “From what you said, I just don’t know if he’s the right guy for you.”

His words surprise you. Joaquin never weighs in on your dating life. As far as you’re aware, he doesn’t like to hear about the dates you go on, but apparently he does listen when you talk about them. You’d assumed he’d been zoning out and focusing on the road while you’d told Kira about the date, probably trying not to ask you to stop talking.

You couldn’t be further from the truth.

“You don’t even know anything about him, Joaquin,” you say, a little defensively, though you’re not sure why you’re that defensive. You even agree with Joaquin a bit. He’s definitely not the love of your life like Kira had suggested he might be but he was a nice enough man and after the dates you’ve been on, a nice man is hard to come by.

“Well, are you happy with him?” He shoots you another look. You notice that his hands have started gripping the steering wheel a little tighter and feel thoroughly confused. 

Sighing, you nod. “I mean, I’m not not happy with him. He’s sweet. He makes me laugh. He’s the only guy I’ve dated lately who’s offered to pay for dinner. He walked me to my car after the date and he texted me to ask if I’d gotten home safe.”

Joaquin scoffs. “Oh, so all the things that even I do for you?”

He regrets the words the second they come out of his mouth. Is it possible to rewind time? He’s pretty sure he can find someone that can do it. Sam would know someone. Even just erasing this moment from both of your minds would do the trick.

You stare at him for a moment, a little bewildered. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, loosening his grip on the steering wheel.

“Joaquin.”

He shakes his head again just as he turns on the indicator and pulls over at your house. This is one of the only times he’s glad that you live so close to Kira – there’s no reason to continue this incredibly embarrassing conversation now that you’re home.

For a moment, you stay in the car. He can feel your eyes staring at him and he can’t bring himself to look away from the road in front of him to look at you. 

He clears his throat. “So, this is your place.”

“Joaquin,” you attempt to try again, but it fails. With a sigh, you undo your seatbelt and grab your handbag from the floor. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek – something you’ve been doing since the early days of your friendship and something you’re not about to stop doing just because he’s acting weird. “Text me when you get home, please?”

“I will,” he nods, trying not to focus on the way your lips had felt on his cheek.

He only tears his eyes away from the road once you’re out of the car and walking up the front steps to your apartment building. He’d usually walk you all the way inside but tonight, with how embarrassed he’d been, he hadn’t even thought about it. He lets out a groan and lets his head fall into his hands. 

Crushing on you is going to be the death of him.

Joaquín Torres Tag List (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@sidkneeeee @dead-inside-but-happy @lay-lay-5 @marchingicenotes7 @phucboy @davinashifts333 @lomlbuckybarnes @laurenjbb @chansburgah @blackwidownat2814 @mischiefmanaged71 @madzlovez @marvelwitchergilmore @brittnicki @rheas-ripley @bcystar @victorsbathroomstall @giona45-5 @voodoo-tofu @happypopcornprincess @antixsocialx2 @innazra @lllucere @moonxnite @peacefangirl @ahoodgirl @ssinphetel @hiireadstuff

[milfsloverblog]

hola!! I would like to request larissa x reader where they broke up years ago and when larissa sees reader again she finds out reader has a daughter who looks just like her 👀 lots of angst please

All the Quiet Things

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Ngl, I usually wouldn’t write fics where a kid is involved, but reading this request my brain was immediately flooded with angst ideas…. I hope you’ll enjoy it, I sure enjoyed working on it! Oh and happy pride month!

She tells herself it’s the books.

There’s a stall in Greymoor Square that sells rare volumes. Bindings cracked from age, typefaces long since faded. The woman who runs it speaks only in riddles and won’t haggle for anything less than a poem. It’s charming, Larissa tells herself. Worth the hour’s drive, if only for the atmosphere.

That’s why she’s here.

She repeats it like a mantra as she steps onto the cobbled main street of the town just past Jericho. Her heels click sharply against stone. The air smells of baked bread, cherry blossoms, and something sweeter underneath. Something she refuses to name.

It’s early yet. The market is just waking.

Sunlight stretches pale across the awnings, catching on glass bottles filled with syrup and honey. Someone’s tuning a fiddle in the corner. Wind stirs the edges of paper signs.

Larissa inhales. Exhales. Keeps walking.

She should be back at Nevermore, revising staff evaluations, fielding calls from the board, dealing with that absurdly smug fencing instructor who’s started teaching metaphors alongside parries. Instead, she is here, in a town she once passed through and never returned to.

The lie still holds.

Barely.

She stops at a table of marmalades, nods politely to the vendor, pretends to study the jars. Her gloved fingers pass over labels—plum-rose, blackberry-thyme, fig and burnt orange. The colors are rich and glimmer faintly in the morning light.

She does not buy anything.

Instead, she drifts. Watches the life of the market unfold in pieces. An elderly man arguing about tomatoes. A pair of girls balancing loaves of bread between them. A woman with a sleeping child tucked against her chest, the tiny hand curled in soft trust.

Larissa’s stomach turns.

She pauses at a flower stall. The scent is almost overwhelming: lilac, sage, and freshly cut mint. She remembers the smell. Not the exact one, but the shape of it. You once carried mint on your fingers, tucked wild herbs into your pockets. You used to tell her she smelled like winter, and you were determined to warm her up.

She hadn’t thought of that in years.

Hadn’t let herself.

But now the memory presses forward uninvited, and she cannot push it away.

Because someone said your name.

It had been nothing, really. A casual remark over coffee in the staff room. One of the teachers, cheerful and unobservant, had mentioned passing through the Greymoor market the weekend prior.

“Oh, and I could swear I saw a woman who used to work at the Academy years ago… What was her name? The one with the clever mouth. You know, the one Principal Weems was always—well. Never mind.”

Larissa had smiled. Tilted her head. Raised one perfectly plucked brow.

“You must be mistaken,” she had said.

But her tea had gone cold in her hand.

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

And this morning, after the groceries, her car somehow veered west instead of north.

And now, now she is here. Pretending not to search for something she has no right to find.

She rounds a corner and sees the bookseller’s stall in the distance.

Her breath stutters. Not because of the books.

Because someone just turned away from the herbs stall, and she would know the shape of your shoulders anywhere.

There are moments the mind saves for after the fall.

Not the arguments. Not the leaving. Just the quiet before it all began to end.

It comes to her now like mist curling through an open window. Soft and familiar, tinged with the ache of what she never gave.

You used to come to her only after dark.

Never earlier than midnight, never later than two. The hours when the halls of Nevermore slept, and her corridors belonged to no one but ghosts. You never knocked. You didn’t have to. The door was always unlocked, cracked just slightly as if her restraint had slipped at the last minute.

She remembers the sound of your steps.

Barefoot on stone. Careful. You used to hum to yourself on the nights you thought she wasn’t listening.

She always was.

Her quarters were colder than they should’ve been. A high-ceilinged thing with windows far too large, draped in velvet so deep it swallowed moonlight whole. You hated the curtains. She used to watch you wrinkle your nose at them, mutter something about feeling like a kept secret.

And you were.

She made you one.

Every time you touched her, she felt seen in ways she didn’t know how to bear. You peeled her open with fingertips and laughter and soft, unrelenting trust. And what did she give in return?

Nightfall. Shadows. Silence.

You’d crawl beneath the covers beside her, skin warm from sneaking across cold floors. Your body always found hers instinctively, one knee slipping between her legs, one hand brushing her hip like you had every right. You’d smile into her collarbone and call her headmistress in that irreverent way that made her shiver.

She let you shift her. Literally, sometimes. Those were nights she gave in to the instinct buried deep in her kind, the one that allowed her to change shape and body, to take on something heavier, harder. You liked that. She did too. Not because of what she became, but because it was still her, and you never flinched.

But even then, in the dark, there were boundaries she never let you cross.

No hand-holding outside.

No pet names. Not where anyone could hear.

And always—always—you left before dawn.

She told herself it was protection. That if the wrong person knew, your job would be in danger. That you didn’t want that kind of attention. That the board wouldn’t understand. That she was sparing you.

But the truth lived deeper.

She didn’t want to risk herself.

It was easier that way. To keep the thing sacred only in secret. To let love bloom behind curtains, never in daylight. She convinced herself you understood. That the way you curled closer afterward, pressing your forehead to her sternum like it was the only place you slept well, meant you were content.

But she remembers the last night.

You’d said it like it didn’t matter.

“I won’t do this forever, you know.”

Your voice had been soft, almost sleepy. You were lying on your side, hair mussed from her pillow, fingers tracing idle circles over the inside of her wrist. Larissa had stilled. Not enough for you to notice, not enough to seem afraid, but she had felt something tighten.

You didn’t look at her when you said it. You looked at the drawn curtains, the ones you always hated, as if they were the ones holding you captive.

“I can’t keep being nothing in the daylight.”

And Larissa, she didn’t answer.

Not with anything that counted. Just touched your hair, pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, and pretended the moment hadn’t happened. She thought, maybe, if she stayed quiet long enough, you'd stay too.

But you didn’t.

You left before dawn, as always.

Except you never came back.

She had told herself it was for the best. That you’d moved on. That some bright-eyed suitor had offered you a life that didn’t involve shadows and silk-draped secrets.

That it was easier this way.

It’s what she clung to—until now.

Because now, in the center of the market, the crowd parts for just a moment—and you’re standing not ten paces away.

Older. A little.

Your hair is longer. Or maybe shorter. She can’t tell. Her breath has stilled in her throat like a bird caught behind glass.

You haven’t seen her yet.

You’re studying a jar of jam like it contains the answer to something complicated. The sun lights your cheekbone in the exact way it used to when you turned toward her bedside window. She feels the past stretch toward her like an echo trying to find its source.

It hits her all at once:

You’re real.

You’re here.

You suddenly lift your eyes.

And the world stops.

Larissa doesn’t remember stepping forward. Only that your face is exactly as she remembers, and nothing like it at all. Softer around the edges, perhaps. More tired. Or maybe just sharper, carved by five years of silence and everything they didn’t say.

Your expression changes.

Not shock. Not warmth.

Something colder. Something closed.

Her breath stumbles. She swallows it.

“…Hello,” she says.

It lands with all the grace of a stone dropped in water.

You don’t smile. Don’t look away. You just set the jar down on the table—deliberate, controlled—and straighten.

“Principal Weems,” you say, voice dry as paper.

That stings more than she’ll let show.

She gives a small nod, trying to hold herself upright beneath the weight of her own cowardice. “You… look well.”

“Do I?”

There’s no warmth in your voice. No invitation. But you don’t walk away.

Larissa seizes on that small mercy and steps closer. The space between you is measured now, not by feet, but by regret. The kind that yawns wider the longer it’s left untouched.

“I didn’t expect—” she starts, then stops herself. She can’t say she came looking. Not like this. Not when she barely deserves your gaze.

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect to see me? Or didn’t expect to see me here?”

The market bustles around you, oblivious. Somewhere nearby, a fiddle begins to play. It’s light, cheerful. Out of place.

Larissa draws in a breath. “I heard your name. A colleague mentioned seeing you. I… didn’t believe it at first.”

Your jaw tightens, just slightly.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back this way,” she adds.

“I didn’t,” you say flatly. “Not until recently.”

A beat.

She wants to ask everything. Where you went. What you’ve done. Who you became without her.

But you speak again before she can find the words.

“You look exactly the same,” you say, tone unreadable. “I guess time doesn’t touch you the way it does the rest of us.”

Larissa flinches inwardly. “That’s not true.”

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”

Her throat closes.

There are a thousand things she could say. Apologies she’s rehearsed in the silence of her chambers, explanations that don’t excuse but still try to make sense of her choices.

But you glance to the side. Just slightly. As if checking for someone. Your posture shifts, not in fear, not in nerves, but in the guarded way of someone who has something precious nearby.

A little girl—no older than five—comes sprinting toward you across the square. Pale curls bouncing, face alight with joy. You bend slightly as she flings her arms around your waist, and you catch her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like you have always done it.

Like you are her mother.

Larissa can’t breathe.

The child turns and looks up at her. Wide blue-grey eyes. A dimple in her left cheek. The shape of her nose, her chin, the curl of her lashes…

Larissa staggers a step backward.

“She looks like me,” she says.

You don’t answer right away.

Larissa can’t move.

Because suddenly, the past five years shift. They realign. Every breath, every sleepless night, every echo of your body in her bed.

It all collapses into this one impossible truth:

She hadn’t just left you behind.

You hold your daughter a little tighter.

It’s instinct. Not fear. Just the kind of silent tether a mother keeps when the ground starts to tilt.

You don’t look at Larissa. Not right away.

Because you can’t.

Not when her eyes are locked on the child like she’s seen a ghost. Not when her voice trembles with that awful, fragile kind of disbelief.

“She looks like me,” she says again.

You breathe through your nose. Slow. Measured.

You’ve practiced this.

You’ve practiced everything.

The way you kept your voice steady through the morning sickness. The way you signed the birth certificate without a second name. The way you buried that old photograph, the one where you lay half asleep, curled into her bare chest, her fingers still tangled in your hair.

You buried it all.

But it still breathes.

Your daughter shifts in your arms, resting her head against your shoulder. Her curls brush your cheek. You close your eyes.

She smells like sun-warmed linen and lemon soap and the apricot pastry she insisted on having for breakfast. She smells like home.

You open your eyes and finally meet Larissa’s.

She’s pale. Paler than you’ve ever seen her. Her lips parted. Her hands slack at her sides.

You don’t want her to look at your child like that. Like she’s a riddle. Like she’s an answer. Like she’s a revelation Larissa didn’t earn.

So you speak. Soft. Sharp.

“Don’t.”

It stops her cold.

Her mouth opens. Maybe to ask. Maybe to apologize. But you cut in before she can do either.

“You don’t get to look at her like that.”

Your voice doesn’t shake, but your fingers do.

Just slightly.

Larissa notices. Of course she does.

“I didn’t know,” she says. “God, I didn’t—I didn’t know you were—”

“Pregnant?” You exhale. “Neither did I. Not when I left.”

The words sit heavy between you.

“I wasn’t hiding her from you,” you add. “I just didn’t know she existed yet.”

Larissa stares. Frozen. Like if she breathes, the world will split open.

You look down at your daughter. Your voice softens without meaning to.

“I left because I was tired of being a secret, Larissa. Not because I stopped loving you.”

She looks like she might fall over. Like the ground has opened and nothing is holding her up anymore.

“I would’ve stayed forever,” you say. “If you’d let me exist in the daylight.”

The silence that follows is raw. Almost sacred. The kind that only lives between people who were once everything.

Your daughter stirs, blinking up at you.

“Everything okay, Mommy?”

You brush a strand of hair from her forehead. Smile, soft and instinctive. “Everything’s fine, sweetheart.”

You glance back at Larissa. Her face is shattered.

You should walk away. You know you should.

But something stops you. Not pity. Not cruelty.

Just history.

Just love. Old and threadbare, but not quite dead.

So your voice gentles when you speak again.

“I didn’t plan to hurt you.”

You shift your daughter higher on your hip, thumb smoothing the back of her dress.

“I didn’t plan any of this.”

You start to turn away. Then pause.

And when you meet her eyes again, something quiet lingers there. Not forgiveness. But not quite blame, either.

“If you’re wondering,” you say, “I named her Solene. she’s kind. And she’s bright. And she likes to sing when she thinks no one’s listening.”

A breath.

“She got that from you.”

A silence.

A heartbeat.

Then you’re gone.

The car door slams harder than she means it to.

Inside, the silence is too much. The stillness. The absence.

Larissa grips the steering wheel with both hands, but it’s pointless. Her palms are damp and shaking. The leather is warm under her fingers, but she’s cold. Icy, bone-deep cold.

She stares straight ahead.

The market is still busy. Families move between stalls, children tugging their parents toward sweets and painted wooden toys. Laughter floats through the air. Bread, flowers, the sharp salt of feta samples. It all smells like life continuing. Like nothing has happened.

But something has.

You.

And the child.

Her child.

Larissa shuts her eyes.

“She looks like me,” she had said.

And it was true. God, it was true. Those wide grey-blue eyes. The dimple. That nose. That mouth. It was like someone had taken the smallest, most human parts of her and carved them into new life.

A daughter.

Your daughter.

She presses her forehead against the steering wheel.

You didn’t tell her.

Not because you wanted to hurt her. Not because you meant to hide it. You just… left.

Larissa feels the ache of it now. The terrible symmetry of what she did to you—hiding you behind drawn curtains and late-night shadows—and what you had to do in return. Raising a child alone. Bearing the weight of both your griefs in silence.

She had no idea.

All these years, she thought you walked away out of pride. Out of anger. That you’d found someone new. That the pain she’d tried not to feel was mutual, deserved, symmetrical.

But you didn’t know you were pregnant.

And you still chose to walk away, because Larissa never once gave you the sun.

She breathes through her teeth.

Something hot and acidic swells in her chest. Grief, yes, but something else too.

Longing.

Want.

Not for the past.

For now.

For that child who looked up at her like she was no one. For that child who should’ve known her. For the curve of your voice when you said she sings when she thinks no one’s listening.

She should’ve heard that.

She should’ve known that.

Larissa shoves the door open and climbs out.

She doesn’t think. Doesn’t lock the car. Doesn’t glance at the market square. She just walks—quickly, eyes darting, scanning for any glimpse of your silhouette, your hair, that soft blue dress your daughter wore.

She doesn’t care how foolish it looks. How desperate. How loud.

She needs to see you.

Not to apologize.

Not to explain.

To ask.

To beg.

Let me try.

Let me meet her. Let me know her name. Let me hold her just once. Let me be the thing I never thought I was allowed to be.

Let me be her mother.

She turns a corner and sees the crowd begin to thin.

Shops give way to cobblestone alleys and quiet cafés. She slows slightly, eyes searching every step ahead.

She has no idea what she’ll say when she finds you.

But she knows she won’t let it end in silence again.

She sees you half a block ahead.

Near the bakery. That little one with the peeling paint and the lavender hanging in the window.

You’re slower now. Your daughter’s hand is wrapped tightly in yours. She’s walking on the low stone edge of the path, carefully balancing herself as you guide her. You glance down every few steps, steadying her with just a brush of your palm.

Larissa doesn’t call your name. She doesn’t think she could if she tried.

She just walks faster.

You hear her steps before she’s close enough to speak.

You stop walking. Don’t turn around—just stand still, spine straight, hand still curled protectively around your daughter’s. You murmur something to the little girl, and she hops gently off the stone ledge. You gesture toward the bakery door.

“She’s hungry,” you say as Larissa slows to a stop behind you. “We came here for bread and I let her get distracted. She loves the cheese twists.”

Larissa swallows. “You do too.”

You almost smile.

Almost.

“She’s five,” Larissa says, quietly.

“Four and a half,” you correct. “Birthday’s in November.”

There’s silence. A breath too long. A breath too charged.

You sigh.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Larissa’s voice is hoarse. “Because I didn’t get to say anything.”

You don’t turn around. Not yet.

“She asked who you were,” you say. “I told her your name. That’s all.”

“And if she asks more?”

“She won’t. Not today.”

Larissa nods. She deserves that.

You shift slightly, just enough to glance at her over your shoulder.

Your eyes are tired. Not just from today. From years of it.

“She doesn’t know,” you say. “Anything. She doesn’t know you exist.”

The words land with a weight she can barely bear.

“And it wasn’t to punish you,” you say again. “I didn’t do it out of spite. I did it because I didn’t want to give her a ghost.”

That’s what Larissa had become, after all.

A name unspoken. A grief unshared. A memory too sharp to explain to a child with nothing but questions.

“But now I’m not a ghost,” Larissa says. “I’m here. And I want…”

You turn fully now. Still holding your daughter’s hand. Still standing between them.

Larissa’s voice cracks.

“I want to know her.”

You say nothing.

“I want to learn her favorite color. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to know she came from something… from someone who would have loved her so much if she’d only known.”

You blink, and something shifts in your face. Not forgiveness, not yet. But a fissure. A place where something old has started to melt.

“I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Larissa steps closer.

“I’m asking you not to shut the door. I’m asking you to give me a chance to meet my daughter. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. Just…” Her voice breaks again. “A beginning.”

Your daughter tugs lightly on your sleeve.

“Mommy,” she says. “Is she sad?”

You crouch to her level, brushing a curl from her face.

“She’s someone I used to know,” you murmur. “And maybe… maybe someone we’ll get to know again. What do you think about sharing your cheese twist?”

The little girl looks at Larissa.

Then nods.

Larissa doesn’t move.

You rise slowly and tilt your head toward the bakery. “Come in, if you want.”

Larissa breathes. For the first time in minutes. Maybe in years.

You’re not promising anything.

But you’re not walking away.

Not this time.

————————————————————————

taglist: @weemssapphic , @im-a-carnivorous-plant , @dingdongthetail , @gwensfz , @erablaise-blog , @rainbow-hedgehog , @renravens , @kaymariesworld @niceminipotato , @witchesmortuary @notmeellaannyy , @weemswife , @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 , @redkarine , @women-are-so-ethereal , @opheliauniverse , @willisnotmental , @raspburrythief , @fictionalized-lesbian , @geekyarmorel , @h-doodles , @cxndlelightx , @m1lflov3rrr , @winterfireblond @nocteangelus15 , @aemilia19 @spacetoaim22 @vendocrap8008 8 @jkregal @gela123 @lilfartbox1 @xuukoo @bellatrixsbrat @sadsapphic-rose @dumbasslesbi @larissalover3 @friskyfisher @fliesinmymouth @imprincipalweemspet @forwhichidream11 @amateurwritescm @imlike-so-gaydude @sugipla @lvinhs @http-sam @gweninred @a-queen-and-her-throne

[andy-15-07]

You Can Let Go

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1266 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Moonlight traced the contours of the ceiling as you woke to the sound of Joel’s ragged breathing. His body was tense beneath you, shoulders rising and falling with staccato jolts. You flicked on the small lamp beside the bed, its warm glow cutting through the darkness, and saw him there,eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched, skin pale.

“Joel?” you whispered, voice soft but urgent. He didn’t answer. His lips trembled as if he were mouthing words you couldn’t hear. You slid an arm beneath his chest, careful not to disturb him too sharply, and gently rolled him toward you. His chest heaved against yours, and he moaned.

“Hey,” you murmured, pressing your lips to his temple. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

His eyes flew open, wild with terror. You caught a glimpse of something horrific,smeared blood, his own voice screaming, and a flash of Sarah’s face dissolving into nothingness. He gasped, fighting to breathe, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close.

“It was just a dream,” you said, rocking him slowly. “You can let go.”

His knuckles dug into your back. “No,” he whispered, voice raw. “I… I saw her again.”

“Who?” you prompted softly, running your fingertips through his hair.

“Sarah.” His voice cracked. “She… she called my name, and then…” He shook his head, as if shaking off the memory. “It’s stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” you said firmly. “Go on, tell me.”

He inhaled shakily. “She was… she was there, like she was still alive. And then…” He swallowed. “Then I heard the shot. I saw her fall. And I woke up,feeling her.” He pressed his face into your shoulder. “I felt her body gone.”

You tightened your arms. “You can let go,” you repeated. “She’s gone, Joel. You don’t have to carry that anymore.”

He shook, silent for a long moment. Finally, he lifted his head and looked at you, eyes glistening. “I haven’t… I haven’t held someone like this in years.”

“I’m here,” you said, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes against the weight of his grief. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice muffled.

“For what?” you asked.

“For… for losing it. For waking you up.” He sounded small, vulnerable in a way he rarely let show.

“Don’t apologize.” You slipped your hand under his chin, tilting his face to yours so you could see him. “I’d rather have you wake me up than not be here at all.”

He closed the gap between you, pressing a kiss to your lips that tasted of salt and something broken. “You make this easy,” he said when he pulled back, voice hoarse.

“Easy isn’t the word I’d use,” you teased, pressing your nose to his. “Comforting you every time you crumble,that’s not easy. But it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, though it cracked on the edges. “Worth what?”

“Worth it,” you repeated. “I love you, Joel.”

He was still for a heartbeat, and then he kissed you again,slow, deep, as if he was trying to etch the moment into his bones. When he finally drew back, he rested his forehead against yours. “I love you, too.”

You stayed like that, foreheads touching, breathing each other in until his heartbeat steadied under your palm. The tension in his muscles loosened, and he leaned back into the pillows, exhaling a long, relieved sigh.

“Go back to sleep,” you murmured, stroking his arm.

He hesitated. “Stay?”

Your heart clenched. “Always.”

He reached for you in the dark and found your hand, lacing fingers with yours. “You know,” he said quietly, “I never thought… I thought after… After everything, I’d just be alone. Not… not like this.”

You squeezed his hand. “You deserve someone who stays.”

He turned onto his side to face you, his free arm wrapping around your waist. “I’m scared,” he admitted, voice low. “Scared to lose you like I lost her.”

Your heart broke. “You won’t lose me,” you promised. “We’ll face it together.”

He closed his eyes. “Together.”

And then silence fell. The storm inside his mind had calmed, and only the gentle rise and fall of two breathing bodies filled the room. You stroked his hair, memorizing the way the moonlight danced across his face,how even in pain, his features were strong and beautiful.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in gold. You stirred and opened your eyes to find Joel already awake, propped on an elbow watching you with that familiar intensity that always made your heart skip.

“Morning,” he greeted softly.

“Morning,” you replied, sliding out of bed and stretching luxuriously.

He chuckled at your theatrics and swung his legs off the bed. “Coffee?” he offered, grabbing your hand and tugging you after him.

You wrapped your arm around his waist as he led you to the kitchenette. The old coffee machine sputtered to life under his skilled hands, the aroma filling the small space. You pulled him close, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Feeling better?” you asked, leaning against his back.

He dropped a mug into your hands. “Much.”

You took a sip, warming your palms around the cup. “Tell me about Sarah,” you prompted gently.

He closed his eyes, navigating memories. “She was seven, birthday party next week. Smart kid tough, even at that age. Always had this… glow. And I remember the exact shade of the dress she wore.” He opened his eyes, met your gaze. “I haven’t thought about that dress in years, but I saw it in my dream last night.”

You set your mug down and turned in his arms, folding him into you. “I’m sorry.”

He pressed his cheek to yours. “Thank you,for holding me. Even when it’s ugly.”

“You’re not ugly,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Your grief… it makes you more human, more real. I love you for all of you.”

He smiled, that rare, soft smile that made your chest ache. “You’re something else.”

You laughed. “I try.”

Joel pressed his lips to yours, lingering. “I’d walk through hell again if it meant I could come home to you.”

“I’d wait at the other side,” you whispered.

He tugged you closer. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He dipped his head to kiss you again, and for a second, the world tilted on its axis,two broken souls finding solace in each other. The nightmare was gone, replaced by the steady warmth of love and the unspoken vow that neither of you would ever have to face the darkness alone.

Later, when the day was in full swing and patrols and scavenging loomed, you found a moment just before you both stepped out into the ruined streets. Joel paused at the threshold, looking back at you.

“Don’t get yourself killed,” you teased, though your voice trembled.

He grinned, tucking his gun at his hip. “No promises.”

Your hand found his and squeezed. “You’re mine.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “Mine.”

He shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him. Then he bent to kiss you properly, deep and steady, before straightening and turning toward the door.

“Stay safe,” you called after him.

He looked back once more. “Always,” he mouthed, and then he stepped into the daylight, your heart following him out into the world.

You watched him go, knowing there would be more nightmares, more nights like last night, but also knowing you’d be there each time, steady, warm, refusing to let him go. And in that certainty, you found a strength neither of you knew you had.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

It may seem unthinkable to us today, but once it was normal for the response to hearing a species was in danger of extinction to be "Let's go shoot a few before they're all gone!" This wasn't just among trophy hunters and wealthy collectors who felt entitled to acquire any species they wanted regardless of the impact, but biologists, museum curators, and other naturalists of varying sorts. Today conservationists and scientists have a much more enlightened and informed view of how to respond to a species' impending extinction, but this attitude has been hard-won over the past century.

Arthur Augustus Allen may not be as well-known as John James Audubon, but this ornithologist was incredibly instrumental in getting people to stop shooting rare birds with guns--and shoot them with cameras instead. As chairman of the American Ornithological Union's Committee on Bird Protection, he used his role to establish ethical resolutions that prohibited the taking of rare birds from the wild (in violation of the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, no less) and emphasized the observation of live birds in the wild over killing more for preservation and study.

We would do well to emulate Allen's example. Today there are still greedy people who look at a forest and only see dollar signs, or whose only interest in an open area of wilderness is the mineral rights under the soil. They see a pair of antlers as a trophy (and leave the meat to rot), and consider any inconvenient animal like a gray wolf or prairie dog only fit to exterminate. Yet Allen is a symbol of resistance against the purely acquisitive, extractive approach to nature, and how education can change minds and hearts.

So to those of you working to inform the general public about the value of nature in its own right, and not just for what we can get out of it--keep up the great work! Arthur A. Allen certainly wasn't the only person who worked to get the word out about the need to protect dwindling species and their habitats, but I think his efforts deserve to be added to more popular knowledge of conservation.

[rmadridcore]

NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Requested

Word count: 2.3K

Warning: Smut! (Minors DNI)

Author’s note: Another request I had on my list that came just in time lmao 🤍 Enjoy, anon!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Aftercare with Jude is practically a ritual. No matter how intense the moment, he makes sure you end the night feeling cherished and at ease. He’s meticulous — cleaning you up with a warm cloth, whispering soft reassurances as he gently wipes away any lingering mess. If he’s gone rough, you’re guaranteed a warm bath where he’ll tenderly wash every inch of you, his touch as gentle as his words, massaging your skin with care. Jude gets extra affectionate afterward; he wants to be close, savoring the post-intimacy warmth with his arms wrapped tightly around you. For him, holding you is almost like another way of saying "I love you" and he needs you to feel that just as deeply.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you, Jude is truly torn. He adores your eyes, especially how they’re filled with love, but also how they look when he’s making them roll back. Then there’s your hair — soft and fragrant, perfect for his hands to pull when he’s got you on all fours or on your knees. Naturally, he’s captivated by your body, your curves, but if he had to pick a favorite, it’s your lips. Those soft, inviting lips that kiss him tenderly, speak words of love, and do...other things that drive him crazy. The way your lips look wrapped around him or just lightly kissing his fingers, or how they brush over his sensitive spots; it’s irresistible.

For himself, it’s between two: he loves his hands, for what they can do to you — massaging, exploring, or lifting you closer when you’re arched back. And, well, his other favorite…take a lucky guess. But those hands of his? They’re his pride and joy when it comes to you.

C = Cum (anything to do with come, basically)

Jude’s favorite place to is definitely inside you. It’s like he’s on another level when he feels your warmth around him, holding him close — he loves how intimate and possessive it feels, and nothing compares to hearing you ask for it. That alone drives him wild. But if he’s feeling extra smug, he’ll finish on you, usually your face. He loves seeing his release on your lips or the stray drops on your lashes, and the way you look with him still covering you leaves him in awe.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Jude loves marking you, even if he rarely admits it. Knowing the hickeys he left are hidden away on your thighs or chest makes him feel smugly possessive. When he’s in a more playful mood, though, he’ll leave them somewhere visible and watch you try to hide them the next day. Seeing you subtly covering up the spots, his love bites just barely hidden, makes him lose his mind.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jude’s had his fair share of experiences, he’s learned a lot over time and he definitely knows what he’s doing. But with you, he’s dedicated to learning you — he’s incredibly observant and pays attention to all the tiny details about what you like. Every sigh, every shiver, he notes it down mentally, building a whole guide to pleasing you specifically. His experience shows, but he doesn’t coast on it, he’s always looking to make each moment even better, to discover new ways to make you feel good. He’s invested in making every time together feel like it’s just for you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves anything that lets him see you. Whether it’s missionary, or having you on his lap facing him, or you riding him, Jude is addicted to watching you. Seeing your face flushed and eyes struggling to stay focused on him? It’s everything he wants. The way your expression changes when he’s deep inside you, seeing every little reaction up close — it just drives him to keep going, to watch you unravel bit by bit under his touch.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous etc.)

Jude’s mood is flexible, sometimes he’s lighthearted, laughing softly and whispering silly things to make you giggle. Other times, he’s intensely focused, his full attention on you, dead serious about making you feel every inch of his passion. But no matter the mood, his smugness is always there; he can’t help those teasing remarks and that cocky grin, even at the height of intimacy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is definitely a man who takes pride in keeping himself well-groomed. His hair on top is always styled and maintained, and it’s no different down below. He keeps everything tidy and natural, making sure he’s clean and presentable for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

With Jude, it’s all about intimacy. He knows that true intimacy is about genuine connection, and he feels that connection with you. His favorite moments are when he’s as close to you as possible, his gaze holding yours if you can keep your eyes open long enough. He’s deeply romantic, telling you all the things he adores about you as he kisses down your body. His intensity and passion grow when he’s with you — nothing matters more to him than making you feel cherished and loved.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jude likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? When you’re not around, he’ll definitely take matters into his own hands, but he much prefers if you’re on the other end of a phone or FaceTime call with him. If that’s not possible, he has a stash of Polaroids he’s snapped of you, his favorites that he keeps hidden away to help him out when he needs it. To him, nothing compares to the real thing, but he’ll make do when he’s missing you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This man has the most obvious praise kink. When you tell him how good he’s making you feel or how much you love what he’s doing to you, it’s all he needs to melt into a mess. The more you praise him, the more he ramps up his efforts, practically obsessed with hearing your approval. There are moments when your compliments even make his cheeks heat up, and that vulnerability drives him to work harder, making him practically feral in his need to satisfy you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

While he’s up for a lot as long as you two have privacy, his favorite place will always be the bed. It’s where he can fully take his time, exploring you without limits. The bed gives him the freedom to do whatever he pleases with you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It’s honestly everything about you, he’s helplessly attracted to every detail. However, nothing drives him crazier than seeing you in his jersey, with his name and number on the back. He can’t get over the sight of “Bellingham” and “5” emblazoned across your shoulders; it’s a powerful reminder that you’re his, and he’s yours. If you wear it around the house, you’re almost guaranteed to end up pinned against a wall, bent over a counter, or pulled onto his lap as he can’t resist making the most of the moment.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s quite open-minded and loves experimenting with new things together, but he has hard boundaries, and bringing other people into your sex life is a firm no. He’s fiercely protective over your bond and can’t even stomach the idea of sharing you with anyone else. Naturally, anything that might hurt or make you uncomfortable is off the table; that goes without saying.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jude’s mouth was made to worship you — or so he often tells you with a smirk. He’s got serious skill, and he knows how to use it. When he’s between your thighs, it’s his favorite place, and he’s almost desperate as he laps you up, savoring every moment like it’s his last. He’s obsessed with making you come on his tongue and has to physically restrain himself from keeping his mouth on you for hours.

As for you going down on him, that’s a whole different high. Seeing you on your knees, with that gleam in your eyes and your tongue teasing him, brings him to his limit almost instantly.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

His pace varies with his mood, and he loves mixing it up. If he’s been yearning for you all day or feeling a bit possessive, he can get lost in a faster, rougher rhythm, his need for you overpowering everything else. But when the moment’s tender, like on your anniversary or after he’s missed you, it’s slow, steady, and dripping with affection. Every thrust is measured, intimate, filled with soft kisses, whispered promises, and hand-holding. He knows exactly when to be soft or rough, and it keeps things electric between you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Though quickies can be fun, Jude doesn’t favor them. He loves savoring every moment and finds it hard to rush through it; he’d much rather have the time to build up and bring you to the edge slowly. For him, foreplay is essential, and when he doesn’t have the time for all that care and buildup, he’s usually happier waiting until you can fully enjoy each other. That way, the anticipation only makes everything feel even more intense.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

You and Jude are both open to some risks, but you two tend to prioritize safety and privacy. The thrill is there, but he’d never want you both to risk getting caught in any real trouble. However, that doesn’t mean he’s a complete angel: he’s sneaked a hand under your dress at a fancy dinner, given you that mischievous smile, or pressed his hand over your mouth in rooms where you could easily be overheard. Those little thrills are more than enough for him, and they make every private moment afterward even more cherished.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Jude’s stamina is borderline legendary. He’s trained as a top athlete, and while he’s only human, you might be convinced he’s superhuman with how long he can last. He has a strict rule of making you cum at least once before he even thinks of reaching his own high, ensuring you’re completely taken care of. He’s always ready to go for more rounds than you might expect, coaxing you to “give him one more,” until you’re out of breath and only his name remains on your lips.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He enjoys keeping things interesting, so he has a few favorites like handcuffs, a blindfold, and a vibrator for when he’s in the mood to tease. But more than anything, he loves relying on his own body, his hands, mouth, and everything in between, to make you scream his name. He believes his personal touch is more satisfying than any toy could ever be.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jude is, without a doubt, the king of teasing. This is because he has learned all the tiny, almost unnoticeable things that turn you on and he exploits them like a motherfucker. He’ll make you flustered with a single look, drag out the anticipation until you’re practically begging, and won’t even touch you until he knows you’re fully aching for him. He loves seeing you on edge, desperate, and completely at his mercy.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He knows how much you enjoy his sounds, so he doesn’t hold back. His deep, husky grunts, the way he moans in that accent, and his whispered, filthy words keep you coming undone. He’s vocal because he knows his sounds drive you wild, and he loves to let you know exactly how good you make him feel.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s got a thing for mirror sex. He loves watching you watch yourself as he has his way with you, making you see just how needy and beautiful you are. It’s a game for him — if you close your eyes or look away, he’ll slow his pace and tease you until you’re back to looking at the reflection. It’s a control thing, and he absolutely relishes seeing you struggle to keep your eyes open.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

“Impressive” doesn’t quite do him justice. Jude’s perfectly large and proportional, the kind of fit that has you thinking about him hours after he’s left. When he’s fully hard and deep inside you, it’s a feeling you never get used to, almost as if he’s about to split you in half.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jude’s sex drive is fairly high, almost perpetually ready to show you how much he loves you. If he’s not dealing with major stress from his career, he’s pretty much down anytime, anywhere. Just a hint of flirtation or a touch from you is often all it takes to get him started.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As much as Jude loves sleep, he never nods off until he knows you’re completely settled. Watching you fall asleep in his arms, seeing your breathing slow and your face at ease — it gives him his own kind of peace. Once he’s sure you’re comfortable and content, then he lets himself drift off, happy to have you curled up beside him.

[dollfacefantasy]

Can't Help It

pairing: dbf!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: your dad's coworker needs a housesitter, but the house isn't the only thing you'll be sitting on (haha pls laugh)

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, masturbation, oral (m receiving), age gap (i imagine early 20s/late 30s), both reader and leon are kinda pervy but not in a skeevy way <3

word count: 5.3k

a/n: hi hi i am back! this was such a pain to write for no reason, but as always, i hope people enjoy. i'm not sure what trope this really falls under, it's probably more accurate to say dcw (dad's coworker), but we'll go with dbf for convenience. i might make a part 2 of this idk. also, i know the header images are really giving graphic design is my passion but... it is what is lol. as before, thank you for all the support on my last fics. if you reblogged or commented, i'm giving you a smooch rn. and just wanna say that i do take requests. if anyone is interested, don't be shy ;) any who, feedback, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! <3

When your dad’s new coworker asked if you’d be interested in housesitting for some easy money, you couldn’t find a reason to say no. Agent Kennedy, like your father, traveled for work a lot. Often gone for weeks at a time, he needed someone to watch the place and take care of menial tasks like getting the mail and watering the plants. It paid well and all you had to do was basically live in his house.

You had met him several times in passing before he offered you this job, and he was always nice to you. He would say hi when you’d come down for a snack while he talked to your dad in the living room. He’d ask how college was and about the different classes you were taking. One time he even told you about some old band he liked that he thought you would too. And that was all great.

But what was even better was that he was fine as fuck.

You had a fat crush on him from the moment you were introduced. The way his eyes pierced right through you but in the softest way. How his lips curled into a knowing smile while his hand gripped yours in a firm shake. The way he said “pretty name for a pretty girl” when you told him your name. From any other middle-aged man, that would have been so corny and had you internally shriveling up. But from him… you had to fight the urge to get on your knees then and there.

He’d approached you about watching his house, saying something about how there had been some nearby break-ins in empty houses and it would be a good way for you to get some spending money and blah blah blah. You were on board as soon as the opportunity to have more of him in your life presented itself.

Unfortunately, it was the nature of housesitting that you rarely saw your employer. You would see him when you showed up and when he came home and that was it. But those moments were enough to sustain your delusion.

The first time you came over, you walked into the house, glancing around the den of the man who enraptured you. It was pretty basic, but you figured that not being home a lot would be the reason for that. When you were done trying to psychoanalyze him from looking around his house, he gave you your own set of keys with a wink that had you blushing an embarrassing amount.

“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” you said softly.

“Call me Leon, Sweetheart,” he replied.

You had to look away to conceal your giddy smile. You didn’t think he noticed the effect he had on you. Or if he did, he didn’t care about your pitiful infatuation. But other times, you could have sworn he did this kind of thing on purpose.

Your first stint in the house went smoothly. You made sure to do everything he asked and even cleaned up the place a little bit. When he returned from wherever his work had taken him that time, he seemed impressed to your delight. He looked around, making small talk with you before writing your check.

“You get up to anything crazy while I was gone?” he said, smirking as he scribbled his signature on the small rectangle.

“Yeah, I was real wild - I brought out your vacuum for probably the first time.”

He laughed, handed you the check, and teasingly purred “good girl.” 

Now, he may have been joking, but your panties nearly soaked through with arousal regardless. You yet again hid your revealing expression as you said a timid goodbye and headed out to your car. You were shifting your thighs together the whole ride home, fantasizing about being a good girl for Agent Kennedy so he would relieve that ache between your legs that clouded your thoughts.

Honestly, all of this made you feel pretty pathetic. Lusting after your father’s coworker, now technically your boss, who was a good fifteen years older than you. Blushing and squirming every time he said something more than ‘hi.’ Weren’t you better than this? But then you’d see those thick biceps and mysterious eyes, and the answer in your mind would be a resounding no.

Because honestly, you weren’t better than this, you were so much worse. After the good girl incident, you decided that if he didn’t want you yet, he would. You would make sure of it. From then on, every time you were housesitting, you wore your most revealing outfits, did your hair all pretty, and even tried special perfume so you’d smell extra nice.

But none of it seemed to work. He kept up his regular teasing and charm, but to your dismay, he hadn’t railed you on that sad leather couch in the living room. You tried to convince yourself that his gazes lingered longer and that his touches were more strategic, but that felt like reach even for you. 

It was so frustrating. What more could you do? You touched his arm while he spoke. You laughed harder at his corny jokes. You even hugged him once or twice when you could justify it. You tried to drop hints every way you could without literally just trying to seduce him, and he did not seem to care. You nearly gave up. You decided that maybe you should just cut your losses and spare yourself the humiliation. Leave yourself with some dignity and resign to just being his housesitter.

You would have done this if not for the fact that he lets you sleep in his bed while he’s gone.

His house was meant for one person. It didn’t have a guest room. He told you on your first gig that you were obviously allowed to sleep in his bed since the alternative was the aforementioned sad leather couch in the living room. He told you to bring whatever you needed to be comfortable - sheets, blankets, pillows - since you’d be there for weeks at a time.

At first, it was too weird. It made you feel dirty, sleeping in his bed while harboring your secret carnal desires. But goddamn, that couch in the living room was uncomfortable. You stuck it out for the first time, but the second time you housesat, you relented and dragged your belongings back to the room you’d forbidden yourself from knowing. 

His bedroom, like the rest of the house, is pretty blank, but there’s a little more personality here. It made you feel like such a stalker, but you couldn’t help making observations, right? You got to see the type of cologne he wore, the few dusty books he kept next to his bed, what kind of stuff he crammed in the nightstand drawers. It sounded creepy, but you just had curiosity, right?

You set yourself up in his queen size bed, draping the plush blanket you brought with you across the mattress. The bed was comfy enough, but the absolute best part, the part that kept your fantasies alive and well, was the way the sheets smelled like him.

You nearly moaned when you took a deep breath, filling your nose with that familiar scent. It gave you such a rush pushing your face into those smooth gray linens. It was so wrong, but you couldn’t help shamefully slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts to play with your swollen clit. You clutch the sheets in your fists as you writhe on the bed, whining as you fantasize about your special agent.

Leon had gone years leaving his house desolate without an issue. All that nonsense about potential burglaries and spending money for you had been total bullshit. It’s not like there was anything of value in his house anyway. Those excuses served only as a way to get more of you in his life. He thought housesitting was a happy middleground, a tether to you without being obvious about his motivations.

Ever since he saw you for the first time, heading out your front door, offering a timid ‘nice to meet you,’ he had been hooked. You bewitched him with your sweet temperament, that soft laugh when he told you bad jokes, those gorgeous eyes projecting all the emotions in that pretty head of yours. God, you were so fucking cute.

You made him feel like a dirty old man, sick and perverted for coveting his colleague’s daughter. The embarrassment he felt within himself when he’d notice he was staring at your tits or imagining how your soft lips would look wrapped around his cock was immeasurable. Even though the guilt boiled inside him, he couldn’t stop himself. He craved you. He started finding more opportunities to visit your house, hoping he could steal a few moments of your time. That’s when he knew enough was enough.

Having you as his house sitter worked perfectly. He could have his moments with you without feeling too disgusted with himself. Even though he liked to tease every so often, he kept it friendly. He noticed that you, on the other hand, seemed to be doing everything to change that.

He wasn’t a fool. He could see the changes in your appearance. Those skimpy outfits you’d flaunt yourself in drove him crazy. The way you’d playfully roll your eyes and brush his arm had his cock twitching in his pants. It was becoming all the more tempting to spread you out on the dining table and take what he wanted. But he still wrestled with that part of himself that said to not take it too far. That you deserved better.

That was until you started sleeping in his bed.

He had come home after your second gig, given you your check, and sent you on your way quickly because he was exhausted from his mission. He went straight to his room and collapsed on the bed. He could tell the sheets had been freshly washed by the soft feel, but also because you were always going above and beyond to please him. Despite the recent cleaning, he swore to himself he could smell some of your perfume on them.

He looked like a madman, smelling his bed sheets for the faintest hit of that scent. He groaned, picturing you lying here, your beautiful body sprawled out on his bed. He inhaled deeper while conjuring images of your unkempt hair and sleepy eyes. It wasn’t long until his dick sprung to life as he saw images of you with one of his pillows between your legs, whimpering as you drag your dripping cunt back and forth along the fabric. He couldn’t help the need to desperately pump his cock to sinful visions of his precious girl.

This morning it’s about six when Leon unlocks the front door and quietly walks inside. He completed his mission hours before. He was tired, but it had been short, only about a week, and relatively easy. He told you he would be home in the evening, but he’d finished earlier than expected.

He trudges through the house and down the hall to his bedroom, collapsing in bed at the forefront of his mind. It’s not until he reaches the door and hears your deep breathing that it occurs to him that his bed is currently occupied. He gently pushes the door open and walks in, planning on rousing you so you could get your money and be on your way. When he sees you though, that plan vanishes from his mind.

The sight of you nearly melts him into a puddle. He pads closer to the bed, careful not to disturb you. Your shiny hair is draped across the pillow as you lie on your stomach with one leg hiked up. Your arms rest close to your face, their raised position causing your t-shirt to ride up and allowing him to see your waist. The blanket was tangled between your legs, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the junction of your thighs covered only by those thin panties you wore.

Despite your beauty, he controls himself. He pulls the blanket over your lower body and sits beside you to contemplate his next move. He came up with a few different things he could do, but all he wanted right now was to watch you sleep. He felt like such a creep, but you looked heavenly in this state. His ears strained to hear those delicate exhales coming from your parted lips.

He could just go sleep on the couch until you woke up. He could just wake you up and offer to let you stay until you had your bearings. Or he could just let himself enjoy this a little more.

He wanted to wake you though. He wasn’t fully sure of what he was doing, but if there was any part of you that had reservations he wanted to know. It would rip his heart to shreds if he frightened you somehow. He begins rubbing your back in long soothing strokes. He makes small circles with his fingers every so often. You stir a little, but don’t wake.

He continues his ministrations, smiling at your sleeping form. He uses his other hand to brush your hair from your face. He strokes the locks away from your closed eyes before leaning closer to you. He can smell that familiar scent that had driven him to humping the sheets for the last few months.

“Hey Angel, need you to wake up for me,” he coos in your ear, his hot breath fanning across the side of your head.

It slowly registers inside your unconscious mind that you aren’t dreaming. Actual fingers are coasting along your back. An actual voice is coaxing you back to reality.

A low hum emits from your throat as you shift to face the source of your disturbance. Your eyes open, still heavy from sleep, and Leon enters your field of vision. For a second, you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

“There she is,” he whispers, giving you that charming smile. He runs his fingers along your jaw and tilts your chin to turn your face completely in his direction.

You feel your brain malfunctioning as he floods your senses. The morning light coming through the window illuminating him as he looks down at you. The deep timbre of his voice speaking to you. His rough fingertips dragging across the smooth expanse of your cheek.

Soon as your eyes come into focus and your mind clears the fog of sleep a little, you grasp enough of the situation to feel a jolt of panic. It felt like you woke up late for school. You shoot up in bed and look at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

“Oh my God, Leon, I’m so sorry. I thought you wouldn’t be back until tonight. I’ll be ready in a minute. Just-” you ramble. You go to fling the blanket off of you, but remember you didn’t wear shorts to bed. You have to sit there, looking at him as you feel heat creeping to your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he cuts you off with a quiet chuckle, gently catching your arm when you sit up, “I finished a little early. You don’t need to rush out the door. I figured you’d still be asleep.”

The look in his eyes soothes you. He has that rugged, worn out look that he gets when he comes back from missions. Your heart rate falls back down to normal levels, but your eyes still cast downwards, a little embarrassed he’d caught you unprepared. His fingers trail up and down your arm, and you shift a little to try and hide the fact that your nipples are hardening beneath the flimsy fabric of your shirt.

“Thank you. I’ll be up in a few though. I know you’re probably tired,” you say, giving him a sheepish smile.

He moves so that he’s further on the bed with you. He lays back on the pillows and looks up at you, rubbing your back how he was before you woke up. 

“Mmmm, I am, but you still don’t need to rush. I’m not gonna complain about a sweet thing like you warming my bed,” he says, that teasing smile spreading across his face and his fingers starting to trace patterns exclusively on the small of your back.

Your eyes flit away as your own smile grows on your face. How were you supposed to be normal about this? You look down at your hands in your lap and mutter a thank you.

“Honey, you really don’t need to be so shy all of the sudden,” he says softly, but there’s a smug lilt to his voice as well. You bite your lip as his hand begins fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

He can’t help the smirk and predator-like glint in his eyes that form at your reaction. This was it. That little smile and refusal to meet his eyes was all he could stand. He was closing in now. The flirtation between you two had gone on long enough. He wanted this, and if you wanted it too, his mind couldn’t find a reason to deny the two of you any longer.

“Sweetheart, if you have something to tell me, you can come out and say it. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to,” he says as he reaches up to pull your hair behind your shoulder and out of your face, “And, lately I’m starting to think that’s what you want.”

You look over to him now, your eyes staring into his. Your limbs feel weak, disbelief coursing through your veins. Your thoughts stampede through your mind, but you eventually force the words from your throat.

“I think I want that too,” you breathe. Your heart seizes at his brows playfully rising. You lay down on the bed, resting on your side so that you and Leon are face to face. Your pulse thunders in your ears while you try to conceal how shaky your breathing is.

He scooches over to you, pushing you on to your back and propping himself on his elbow so he’s positioned above you. He leans down and presses two faint kisses to your cheeks. Pulling back, he looks into your eyes and strokes your cheek again with the same soft and slow movements.

“Think, babydoll? I think you know what you want,” he whispers, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip, “I think you’ve known for a while. Wearing all those cute little outfits, prancing through my house and brushing against me like a kitten. You were just begging for my attention.”

You squirm slightly under the spotlight of his affection. Somehow, you maintain eye contact even though every cell in you feels the urge to look away. Part of your mind wonders if he’s still teasing. If he’s about to pull away and leave you wanting.

Before you could overthink anymore, his head lowers to the crook of your neck. He takes a deep breath of you as he moves himself further on top. 

“Now, you’ve got it, but all you had to do, sweet thing, was ask,” he says as his mouth ghosts over your neck, “That’s all you have to do right now. Just want to hear that you want me as bad as I want you.”

“Yes,” you whimper without a second thought, “Please touch me.”

“That’s my good girl,” he hums as he begins kissing your neck. The kisses are soft. They’re barely there, but they’re overwhelming to you. You can’t help the pathetic sound that leaves your lips as you tilt your head back. The hand that had been touching your face trails down to your waist and begins caressing your side under your shirt.

His tongue gently laps against the skin of your neck between kisses. Your whole body is starting to heat up while simultaneously getting chills. Every inch of you aches for his touch. Your thighs subconsciously spread as your breathing becomes heavier.

Leon lets out a small laugh at your display. “You must really want this Baby. Just a few kisses and rubs and you’re already mine,” he murmurs as his lips move up your neck and down your jaw. He kisses your lips next, giving your bottom lip a little nip.

Another needy sound escapes your mouth. You return the kiss and flick your tongue against his lips. “I do, wanted this since I met you,” you moan, your body writhing for more.

“Naughty girl,” he teases against your lips, “That’s okay though, Angel. I’m the same way. Wanted a handful of these pretty tits since I saw you.” His hand moves up and kneads your breast. His fingers massage the flesh before centering and pinching your nipple. 

You whine and arch into his touch. Your eyes flutter as your face contorts with desire. He slides over you, straddling your waist. He stares down at you and takes in what was finally in his grasp. He coos for you to sit up a little while he pulls your shirt off of you. You comply and then flop back against the pillows. Now exposed from the waist up, his eyes feel even more intense. He’s locked on to the view of your tits.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” he mutters, “Even better than I imagined.” His hands cup the sides of your breasts, groping them a bit. You can now see his cock beginning to strain against his jeans. Your mouth waters at the sight, but it’s gone when he leans down to take a nipple into his mouth.

His tongue circles the peak before lapping against it, drawing more whines from you. Your body arches into his touch while his hands never let up their fondling. You take your lip between your teeth again. He moves to give the other nipple the same treatment, leaving the other one cold as the air touches the saliva-coated skin.

He plays with your breasts for a while more before drifting down your abdomen, lavishing your stomach with kisses. He squeezes your waist as he playfully tugs the hem of your panties with his teeth. He looks up at you deviously. “Your nipples were so hard, I bet your pussy’s fucking soaked for me.”

All you can do is nod, any verbal response tangled up in your esophagus. He leans back on his knees and swiftly pulls the garment off. His pupils seem blown out as he gets a look at your cunt. He pushes your thighs to your stomach, spreading you out for his gaze. You felt so exposed, at his mercy as he held you there and just looked at you. Your arms reach down and pull at the hem of his shirt.

“Wanna see you too,” you whimper with pleading eyes.

“Yeah?” he says with a soft smile. He leans back and pulls his shirt off. It takes everything in you to hold back a gasp. “Been fantasizing about me, have you?”

Your eyes rake along his chiseled abdomen, drinking in every line and shadow of his muscular frame. You reach out and pull him back on top of you. His grin grows, and he indulges you. You connect your mouths again, this time sliding your tongue inside his. He groans at your sudden eagerness. He runs his hand through your hair while you feel up his back, exploring the definition there.

You give him a little push, signaling that you want to roll over. His body flips over and takes you with him so that you’re positioned how you wanted. You make out for a minute more until you pull back, looking at him with your lustful eyes and swollen lips.

“Wanna suck your cock,” you say simply, sliding down his body so that you’re lying between his legs. You nuzzle against the bulge in his pants before unzipping them and tugging them down.

His eyes follow your every movement. He pets your head as you rub your face against the outline of his dick. He tilts his head back and lets out a sigh. 

“That’s a good girl, just gotta give you some love and then you loosen up, don’t you?” he coos.

“Mhm,” you hum. You kiss his solid length over the cloth of his boxers. Then, finally, what you had been waiting for since meeting Leon. You loop your fingers over the waistband of his underwear and pull them down, unveiling his beautiful cock.

You wrap your fingers around it, just an exploratory touch. You feel the veins in your hold and the heat radiating from his shaft. You slowly bring your head to the tip to give him some tiny licks. Your eyes dart to his face, looking for approval.

Leon’s chest ached from the way you were looking at him like he was a god. When your tongue sticks out and your eyes return his stare, he nods at you and keeps stroking your hair. Your lips soon wrap around the tip, and you bob your head a little. He groans and his hips twitch.

“That’s a good girl, baby. Good fucking girl,” he moans as your head slides further down his member. His fingers lace through your hair, pulling a little.

The praise only makes you more enthusiastic. You move up and down with more speed, making lewd slurping noises as you work. His hand on your head and his sounds of pleasure has heat collecting in your belly, leaking out of your dripping pussy.

His head rests against the head board as he watches you with half-open eyes. His eyes squeeze shut and his body tenses as you push your head all the way down, taking him into your throat. Spit trickles from your mouth and drips on to his pelvis.

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he whimpers, tugging on your hair a little. You taste his pre cum leaking on your tongue. A gagging noise comes from you and his hips twitch harder. He barely restrains himself from bucking up and lodging himself deeper in your throat. You moan around his cock, driving him even crazier. He feels the rush of an orgasm approaching and tugs your hair with more firmness, guiding your head up and off his lap. You whine softly as you lose the taste of him.

“Sorry, pretty girl, don’t wanna cum just yet,” he says.

You crawl back up his body, so you’re in his arms again. You kiss his cheeks and the corners of his mouth as he rolls the two of you over so he’s on top again. He connects your lips in a deep kiss, tasting himself on you as he drags the tip of his cock through your slippery folds.

He doesn’t tease for long though. Soon enough, he’s pushing himself into your tight cunt. You both let out a symphony of sinful noises. Leon watches as your face contorts with pleasure as he stretches you out. You both felt a budding sense of satisfaction after finally receiving what you craved for the last several months.

He bottoms out inside of you. His head falls forward against your neck. He pants as he holds himself together and lets you adjust, keeping an iron grip on your hips. Your fluttering around him as you accommodate his girth. Your nails lightly dig into his back while you cling to him.

He begins thrusting with slow and deep strokes. You moan out his name a few times with a variety of expletives. He keeps his face buried in your neck, grunting as he feels the velvety sensation of your walls around his length. His motions become more fluid as he finds a rhythm with you.

“That’s right Angel, better than your dreams?” he murmurs against your neck.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you whimper, “So much better. Think your cock was made for me.”

“That so, Baby? I’m made to fill up a precious girl like you? Keep you happy and full of cum,” he growls into your neck, his thrusts gaining intensity.

You nod thoughtlessly as he continues battering your insides, gliding over your sweet spot repeatedly.Your arms wrap tighter around him as you feel yourself getting dragged closer and closer to the edge. Your noises become more strained as Leon lays sloppy kisses on the side of your head.

He hooks his arms underneath your knees and brings your thighs up to your abdomen again. His arm loops around and thumbs your clit as he slams himself in and out. Your back arches and you squirm from the rush of white hot pleasure. You’re right there, not able to hold on for much longer.

“I’m gonna have you so full of my cum today, it’s gonna be dripping out of you still the next time you’re here,” he grunts into your ear, “Make sure your pussy remembers me till I can fill her again.”

His vulgar words rip a high pitched moan from your throat and cause your eyes to roll back. “Fuck, Leon, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Go ahead, sweet girl. Squeeze me nice and tight,” he moans, his own voice getting strained.

You do as he says. The orgasm overtakes you. You release a strangled cry as your body rhythmically rolls into the feeling. Your pussy clamps around Leon tight, sucking him deep and keeping the attention on that blissful spot. The thrill of satisfaction rushing through your mind only works you further. Your eyes flutter and your lips part as you completely let go.

As he watches you cum, he notes that it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The sight of your gorgeous body writhing and trembling because of him. The primal sounds of your moans and cries. It’s too much for him. He growls and grunts into your neck, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He snaps even harder into you and floods you with his sticky, hot cum.

You both ride the waves of euphoria together until you both start coming down. He basically collapses on you as he catches his breath and you wipe the sweat from your brow. After a minute, he pushes himself off of you and flat on to the bed next to you. He gazes at the ceiling as his chest continues to rise and fall with the need for more oxygen.

You sit up slowly, realizing he probably wants you gone now. Like he said, you feel his cum leaking out of you as you move to grab your panties from the corner of his bed. This is how you expected it to be, but it still hurt a little. Nothing you couldn’t handle though. Your pulling them back on when your snapped out of your thoughts by Leon’s arm around your waist, dragging you to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks teasingly, spooning you and softly kissing beneath your ear, “You got what you wanted and now you’re running out?”

“Oh, uhhh… I thought you’d want me to leave,” you say quietly.

He guides your face so you’re looking at him. His eyes are still soft but more serious. “You think I would just fuck you and then throw you out on your ass? You’ve been sleeping in my bed for months, but you don’t know me as well as you think,” he says and kisses your nose, “You don’t have anywhere to be today, yeah? You thought you’d be here till later anyway.”

You nod in agreement, your eyes casting down with some embarrassment over your assumption.

“Hey, don’t get all shy on me now. There’s no reason for it,” he teases, “We have all day for me to show you how I want to take care of you. Just give me a moment, I’m not as young as I use to be.”

[vividxpages]

༉‧˚📖❀༉‧₊˚."the craving"༉‧˚🤍❀༉‧₊˚.PART 2

Read Part 1 here 🤍

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 7200

summary: After your night at the inn, the tensions between you and your betrothed Jacaerys are running high. Finding yourself curious about the kind of lascivious literature your prince has been reading, you decide to go on the search yourself - with pleasant consequences for the both of you…

warnings: pining, the return of the infamous Targaryen kamasutra diary, oral sex (female receiving), making out, handjob, aftercare, cuddling

a/n: there is going to be a third and final part after this one <3 let me know what you think, I always love to chat and thank you for the love Part 1 got!

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃

You had always loved the library of Dragonstone.

The endless shelves bursting at the seams with history provided a peace and quiet you sometimes found lacking in your life, especially recently with the dark shadow of war looming over your family.

As you wandered through the many narrow passages between the books, you felt your mind calm down. With only the distant sound of the wind outside and a few busy scribes working around you, you dedicated yourself to your mission of the day.

You were not going to leave the library empty handed, not before you’d found what you desired; the mysterious diary Jacaerys had spoken of, in the night back at the inn…

The truth was simple, yet tangled and slowly driving you to the brink of your sanity; every night since your return to Dragonstone, you found yourself unable to sleep, at the brim of madness. Memories of Jacaerys and you, pressed against each other in the small bed as he slowly took you apart with his fingers and lips, haunted you.

You wondered if it only had been a desired dream, since your betrothed had gone back to being sickeningly sweet and attentive to you after your return. Jacaerys had taken most of his mother’s blow and the angered worry for the both of you, defending his choice to keep you safe through the night in front of the Queen’s entire council.

Standing beside him, your cheeks had been undeniably red as he had recounted the night of the storm, purposefully leaving out the part where he had fingered you to a mind-blowing orgasm, of course.

After the questioning, you two had fallen back into the same old dance and its rhythm as if your feelings for one another still had to be suppressed. But perhaps being sweet and chivalrous was Jace’s own method to keep himself under control before your long-desired union.

After all, you certainly did not have such methods for yourself.

The late hours in your chambers had been spent staring at the ceiling and listening to the waves crashing against Dragonstone. Tossing and turning, you had only been able to imagine the ghost of his touches on your skin, over and over, until you had to either firmly press your legs together or rarely indulge in your own wild imagination and the world of pleasure Jacaerys had opened up for you…

Since his quarters were close to yours, you couldn’t help but wonder if the same frustration sought him out at night and if he dreamed about your lips on his, your wetness on his veiny hand as he touched your most intimate part…

You took a deep breath and focused once again, traveling along the shelf where diaries and old reports were stored. A pleasant burn rested in your stomach, knowing Jace might’ve stood in the exact same place as you or would even return here to find that his precious book had been taken…

You grinned as your fingers drifted over a particular bound spine, a victorious flutter going through your chest as you noticed the lack of dust on it, although someone had seemed to hide it in the second row.

This was going to be a very interesting evening.

A little later, you were back in your quarters, curled up in the cozy velvet armchair by the high windows and completely absorbed in the book resting on your lap.

The diary you had hidden underneath your cloak on your journey back was open, a well-kept secret of your family now in your hands. In the privacy of your own four walls, you silently thanked your prince for his erudition as your eyes darted across the old rough pages.

You quickly discovered that the diary had been written by a nameless female ancestor of yours, her old ink writing elegant but faded. Her entries stretched themselves over nearly two decades, starting with her very first intimate encounter with a man and continuing to describe the adventures of her youth until she eventually found her forever love.

At the bottom of the very first page, she had scribbled: to all the princesses after me and their princes who should do good to take proper care of them. The little dedication made you smile.

Soon, you had begun to devour each entry without even noticing, the thrill of knowing Jace’s fingers had turned the same pages only spurring you on in your eagerness. And this diary was certainly…something.

It was lustful and forbidden and very, very detailed. You nearly choked on your own breath once as your dear ancestor had not spared any sexual details in her vivid descriptions, the stories sometimes accompanied by tasteful sketches of what her tumbling had looked like. You had never seen anything like it and soon, you found yourself squeezing your thighs together with your heart pounding in excitement.

Your thoughts wandered away from the current story and imagined how Jace must’ve felt reading those filthy passages. In front of your inner eye, you saw him sprawled out in his bed, dark curls resting on the pillows and his face brightened by the candles on his bedside table.

Had he been as aroused as you were feeling now?

In the inn, he had told you all he could’ve imagined while reading was you and your cheeks burned with realization, possessing the full knowledge of what he had meant back then. Did he find relief for himself when it had become too much, clinging to the book with one hand as the other slowly played with himself underneath the blankets? Did he whisper your name, squeezing his beautiful eyes shut as he-

A knock at your door sharply cut through the silence and you startled, nearly dropping your precious reading matter. Quickly, you cursed and put it back on the small table beside you, brushing out your skirts and taking a deep breath.

“Yes?”

Your heart skipped a beat as the door opened and Jacaerys peeked into your room, a small worried frown on his youthful face. “Good evening. Are you alright?”

You nodded, gesturing for him to come inside. Your betrothed closed the door behind himself and walked up to you as your eyes began to travel on their own, over the red and black of his attires, his dark curls lush and glossy in the candlelight of your room.

“I was worried about you.” Jace confessed to you, raising your hand to his plump lips and kissing the knuckles in greeting. This was a new habit of his and you were not complaining, although the small gesture always made you weak in the knees. “We missed you at dinner. I brought you something to eat, in case you weren’t feeling well.”

Only now you realized how dark the sky behind your windows had gotten already. Gods, how much time had you already spent with this book?

Your chest warmed at the sight of a well-filled plate in his hand, presenting everything he knew you liked from the kitchens. With a grateful smile, you admitted: “Thank you. I’m alright, I simply must’ve forgotten the time. I was…occupied.”

Jace raised an amused eyebrow at your odd explanation, placing the plate on the table, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Shall I leave you to it then?”

“No.” You answered quickly, your heart already longing for him although he was right in front of you. “I’d love some company. We’ve both been busy lately.”

Lately. Ever since the night of the storm, but you had not talked about the events at the inn since then.

Jacaerys let out a small – relieved? – sigh at your answer and the two of you sat down in the armchairs, your stomach growling at the variety of food your betrothed had organized for you. After a moment, you lifted your gaze to his and added quietly: “I missed you.” And it was true in more than one way.

“I missed you, too.” He replied in a heartbeat and watched you peacefully as you began to eat. The unexpected dinner was a wonderful treat after a long day like this, but it was not enough to distract you from the fact that you had not really been alone like this ever since that night. “I have not been neglecting you on purpose, I promise. You are way too dear to me for that.”

You looked at him with big eyes, quietly munching on a small sweetmeat as you shook your head. “I was not thinking such a thing, Jace. I know how busy your day is, now more than ever. Has your mother fully forgiven you by now?”

As you had foreseen, Rhaenyra had been out of her mind with worry when you had not returned as appointed and had given her son a very stern talk right in the dragon’s cave where you had eventually arrived at with your dragons. (The more you thought about it, the more you wondered if your dragons would’ve been able to take the late flight back to Dragonstone that night. If their sudden change of behavior – your own creature more affectionate towards Jace and Vermax oddly cuddly with you - could be any indicator, you almost suspected your beasts had somehow made a pact with each other to bring you closer…)

Jace sighed and rested his head against the back of his armchair. “I try to make it up to her every day, believe me. But if thrown into a situation like this again, I would not choose any different. I’d always choose you. Us, together and safe.”

“I’d choose the same.” You whispered breathily, your heart singing way too fast for an innocent confession between betrotheds like this. Underneath your conversation, something desiring and dark slumbered, only waiting for the right moment to jump out and remind you of your spent time between the sheets together. You swallowed, quietly adding: “You protected me that night, from the storm and my own reckless decision I would’ve made and I am grateful for it. I have told the Queen so myself.”

“I know.” He gave you a soft smile, the one that was only reserved for you, his princess. “I think deep down she has forgiven me already. She just likes to see me working even harder these days.”

You chuckled, taking a bite of a ripe strawberry with relish. When you looked up again, Jace’s eyes already were on your lips, how they curled around the sweet fruit and your tongue darted out to lick the juice from your fingertips, his dark pupils blown wide, body tense.

Suddenly, the dress on you felt way too tight for your body, your senses widening under his intense stare. But just like that, the moment was over and Jacaerys cleared his throat, causing you to go back to your dinner.

You wanted to curse yourself for your own timidness. You had shared far more than a space like this before your betrothed knew how you tasted and felt on his fingers and even before your wedding night had happened. So why were you so flustered out of the sudden?

In an unobservant moment, Jace casually reached for the book on your table and your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. You were helpless to watch as his eyes widened shortly with recognition, looking intently at the subtle cover.

“This is…” You had no idea how you wanted to end this sentence.

Jacaerys opened the diary right where you had placed a soft ribbon between the pages, his eyes skimming over the page before he looked up at you with a sly grin. “Ah. One of my favorite chapters.”

Oh gods.

Both embarrassment and excitement pulsed through you as heat crept up your neck at his knowing smile.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He asked adoringly, his fingertips softly tracing the ribbon. “Was my description not vivid enough so you simply had to find out for yourself, to see if I lied?”

You proudly lifted your chin, trying to feign confidence and ignore the shaking of your hands at his look fueled with unfiltered desire.

“Of course you have not lied to me. You were way too…” You bit your lip, your mind traveling back to the way he skillfully crooked his fingers against your sweet spot, dirty words leaving his heavenly mouth as he praised you… You cleared your throat, brushing your hands out over your skirts. “I knew you weren’t lying, but I had to see for myself. For…educational purposes.”

Jace nodded slowly and hummed thoughtfully. “I knew you were curious…” He leaned forward and offered you the book back. A notch confused, you took the diary from his hands, the old clothbound almost familiar already in your grasp. “And believe me, I am not here to interrupt your education tonight, princess.”

A low fire sizzled through you at the mischievous smile he gave you. It was a smile you couldn’t resist and you prayed you knew what this meant for you tonight. After all, you were going to be Jacaerys’ wife, sooner rather than later, and he was going to be your husband. You blinked at him innocently before you reclined against the pillow in your back, your fingers brushing over the golden edges of the diary.

“How considerate of you, my prince.” You said sweetly and a quiet exhale left Jace’s lips, clearly affected by your playful undertone. “Maybe we can learn together. That is, if my betrothed doesn’t have any other plans for the night?”

A dazzling grin made its way on Jacaerys’ face and with an elegance only the prince could possess, he leaned back against his armchair as well. He gestured invitingly to the diary in your hands and nodded at you encouragingly. “By all means, go on.”

Gods, in what situation were the two of you stirring yourselves into once again?

You forced yourself to remain composed in front of him, opening the book once more and beginning to read. But you only managed to drift over a few words before Jacaerys’ voice cut through the comfortable silence of the room and your head snapped up.

"Out loud." He said, simple yet demanding, his eyes burning embers sending a shiver down your spine.

"W-what?" Your voice sounded thin, perhaps a little intimidated but also...intrigued by your betrothed's command. The look in his eyes was the same he executed in the council room, sharp and attentive and willing to fight for what was his.

"I want to hear your voice." He explained, softer now. "Please read to me, princess."

You stared at him and the heat from before in your rosy cheeks started to spread like dragon fire, claiming your entire being. The dress on you felt way too tight and although you were not wearing your clammy riding leathers anymore, the same tension had now taken possession over you. And it was all because of the prince seated across from you.

Jace rested his chin in the palm of his hand, licking his plump lips as he kept your eyes captive with his own. After a moment, he nodded, a small encouragement you needed to return to the page in front of you.

With your finger ghosting over the soft ribbon, you began to read:

“When I met him that night, it was like our previous encounters from before had vanished, leaving me alone with my carnal desire…” You read to him, feeling him shift in his seat just outside of your vision. “The prince has been kind to me before, but as the hours went by and our wine glasses emptied, there was something else in his eyes, something I felt wanted to devour me and make me his. Taking him into my bed was inevitable and we both knew it.”

It was scandalous and wrong, to speak such lewd thoughts out loud with your betrothed right before your very eyes, but something made you continue, your voice growing stronger as you carried on.

“I was not aware of my own body like this until he made me, taking my hand in his own and showing me what I was capable of…” You swallowed thickly, the words hitting way too close to home. “Like he was painting flowers on my skin, my body bloomed under his touch and awakened me as if I had only slept my life away before…”

You thought of the rain splattering against the window, how Jacaerys had undressed you and how right it had felt to let yourself be kissed by him, your bodies melting together underneath the blanket until you had forgotten where you began and he ended. There had been safety back then and you knew there was safety in this moment as well, your Jace a steady and relying presence by your side.

“He surprised me, in more than one way, but what surprised me the most was when he went on his knees for me…” You lifted your head at the sound of fabric rustling and breathed out shakingly as you watched Jace stand up from his chair and kneel down in front of yours, looking up at you with his lips slightly open.

“What are you doing?” You whispered breathlessly.

“You’ve read this chapter before?” He asked back, gulping.

You nodded slowly, not able to look away from his pretty eyes. “Twice. It is written quite…poetically.”

Jace chuckled, easing your nerves as he softly stroked your naked ankle. Scandalous, indeed. “So you know how the story goes, my love?”

Gods, he was going to be the death of you.

“Yes…” You whispered, not trusting your voice anymore.

“If you’d allow me, I’d like to give you the same pleasure.” Jace proposed slowly, his voice a little hoarse. “I-…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since we shared a bed. I try to be…a good betrothed, but every night I close my eyes, I still hear your sweet voice, I feel your body against mine and it’s driving me mad with want.”

You were shaking as you leaned forward and cupped his cheek with one hand, successfully making him halt in his confessional ramble. Softly, you stroked along his smooth cheek with your thumb as he melted into the loving gesture. “Jacaerys…Why do you think I wanted to find the diary like you did? If you declare yourself mad, then we are both out of our minds. I have been thinking about you too as I was reading. You are all I can think about and I desire to be with you again.”

He looked at you like you were the sun, the whole world to him. “So you’d let me…?”

You nodded fiercely, your finger drifting over his cheekbone and his bottom lip. You exhaled softly as he pressed a quick kiss to the pad of your fingertip. “I trust you. I know you’ll take good care of me.”

“I will, always.” Jace vowed and took your hand in his once again, this time lifting your bare wrist to his mouth and softly kissing it, making you sigh longingly. Then, he gently led it back to the book in your lap and smiled at you. “Read to me, princess.”

You cleared your throat, trying to push all nerves away from you as you continued with the story.

“I was overly aware of his presence between my thighs, soothing yet commanding as he slowly unwrapped me, a prize he had dutifully won with his chivalrous affections…” You read and tried not to squirm as Jace slowly began to lift your light skirts, exposing your naked legs to the warm air of your chamber. You felt his hot breath fan over your sensitive skin, goosebumps rising in his wake. When his knuckles brushed along your calf, you bit your lip, suppressing a small groan.

“What happens next?” Jace wanted to know, his voice warm and deep and lulling you into a certain headspace. Briefly, your eyes met as he exposed your knees and with a sigh, your legs opened, making space for whatever he planned for you. And oh, how you knew what he planned and how much it affected you already, knowing exactly what was going to happen…

“He took his time and ignored my pleas, relishing every little buck of my hips as he neared the sacred place where I desired him the m-most-“ You faltered as you felt his lips on your knee, one single featherlight kiss before he moved on to the other leg, repeating his actions.

His hands brushed appreciatively over your skirts and higher and higher they went until you heard him exhale in awe. “You’re as beautiful as I remember…May I?”

“Yes.” You lifted your hips, assisting him in his efforts to get your skirt out of the way, but just as you lost yourself in the sight of him on your knees for you, he admonished you with a single look and nodded to the diary between you. You laughed quietly, your head spinning from the sensation of his hand stroking up and down your leg. “I believe I might’ve gotten betrothed to a devil instead of a prince.”

“A devil wouldn’t do what I want to do to you, princess.” He murmured, his warm palms now resting on your thighs, oh so gently drawing little patterns into your skin.

You soldiered on bravely, although it was getting harder to think when he spoke to you like this. “I was no stranger to the secret pleasures happening behind closed doors, but with him, I felt like I have never truly known them. He looked at me like I was his personal meal at a feast and he was a man that has been starving, desperate for- oh!”

You stumbled over your words, a hiss escaping your lips as his knuckles suddenly brushed along the damp fabric of your underwear. The sensation of his touch on the wet spot over your folds sent a sharp shiver down your spine and the glassy look in Jace’s eyes, fixated on your clothed center in front of him, did not help to ease the tension in you.

“For?” Jacaerys repeated dazed, licking his lips before he softly mouthed at your naked thighs, the muscles quivering underneath his sweet assault.

“For her.” You exhaled, but he only cocked his eyebrow at you.

“Come on, princess, you know the word she uses.” He tempted you teasingly, lazily reaching out and tracing a circle over your soaked-

“Her cunt-“ You breathed out, sweat gathering on your brow as your mind rushed down your body, making it harder and harder to concentrate on the diary in your hand. Your eyes fluttered closed as he peppered kisses along your inner thighs and his curls tickled your smooth skin.

Distantly, you felt his fingers unlace the little ribbons on the side of your underwear, gently exposing your heavenly center to him for the very first time. You heard him groan under his breath, his imagination during your first encounter underneath the blanket exceeded by the sweet reality of your weeping cunt for him.

“Princess…” He hummed absently, shuffling closer to you, his eyes flickering back and forth between your wet rosy folds and your half-lidded eyes. “I want to know how the story continues, don’t you?”

A tiny whimper left your lips as you tried to make sense of the words in front of you with Jacaerys so close to where you needed him so desperately now. “My cunt was a flower blooming under his attention and with each touch of his, another leaf seemed to blossom, making me f-forget myself and…gods, Jace, please-“

Finally giving in to your pleas, Jace pressed a kiss to your aching clit and set you aflame with it.

A surprised gasp left your lips as your hips twitched on their own and you dug your fingers into the armrest by your side. Your taste only barely grazed his lips, yet Jace groaned and rested his forehead against your thigh for a moment, taking a deep breath to compose himself while he stroked the soft flesh under your belly.

Jace slowly lifted your legs to rest on his shoulders – the way he had often dreamed about – and nudged you to continue, his burning gaze not separating from your pink pussy.

 “His tongue licked fire into me, unforgiving and merciless at my open whimpers and when I thought the pleasure I felt could not ascend more, he proved me wrong-“ You bit down hard on your lip as he dove in again, kissing your folds and clit like he had kissed your blue lips at the inn, experimental and delicately and forbiddenly good. “-and pushed me further, beyond the veil and further.”

“Gods, you taste divine…” Jace murmured against you, his tongue darting out to lick one fat stripe up your cunt, making you release a long drawn-out moan you could not keep in anymore if you tried. “Let me hear you, princess, I want to hear every little sound from your sweet lips.”

“T-the pressure in me kept tightening itself as he played me like a delicate violin, his spit mingling- gods, fuck-“ You squeezed your legs shut as Jace licked and sucked at you, the noises where his mouth worked outright dirty and driving you insane. “-mingling with my own juices, his eyes never leaving mine as he lapped at me…”

You had no idea if you were even speaking a coherent language anymore. You were floating, levitating above yourself and the boy between your thighs, devouring you as if you were the best thing Jace had ever been granted to taste.

Jacaerys once again did not let it show that he was just as new to any of this as you were, expertly eating you out like he had never done anything else. He kissed your cunt with eager passion, varying between slow licks of his tongue and fiery kisses and sucking against your clit until you could not keep up with him anymore, your body melting into the armchair behind you.

As you stumbled once again over a sentence, you mewled and instinctively held on to the first thing in reach. It was the best unconscious decision your body could’ve ever made for you.

Jacaerys let out a guttural groan, the vibrations of his sound sending a jolt through you as he moaned right into your cunt, your fingers tightening their newly found hold on his soft curls. His fingers dug into your plush thighs and you lost yourself just a little more when he looked up to you.

His swollen lips were glistening with your wetness and Jace looked drunk on you, his eyes hazily glazed over as he held your stare, leaning into your hand holding on to his hair.

Your head fell back, your mouth opening to a silent blissed-out o-shape at the intensity of his mouth on you and before you knew it, you found yourself begging for your betrothed, his long fingers carefully spreading your folds apart for him.

“Jacaerys… please-“ You whimpered, brows scrunched together and breath hitching as he soothed his fingers over your sensitive flesh once more. The book became useless in your hands as the words blurred together in front of your vision. “I can’t go on anymore, please.”

He barely separated himself from you as he sighed into your cunt, deeply breathing you in and intending to never unlearn this feeling. “I know you can do it, princess. Come on, I want to know how the story ends, don’t you?”

You couldn't care less about how the godsdamned story would end anymore, but you saw the way Jace was looking at you, the dragon of your house lingering just beneath the surface. He was serious and you would not leave this seat before he had you right where he wanted; on the same high edge he had led you to in that tiny little bed…

And oh, how fast you were racing towards it.

“There was no escape from the heaven he brought on me and as- oh…as I felt my end nearing, I knew I was ruined for an…any m-man after him who’d dare to compete- ah, Jace, a-against him-“ You whimpered, your thighs shaking on top of his shoulders as he went on and on on you, his perfect mouth nearly making you go cross-eyed for a moment.

Suddenly, your vision whitened out, the diary slipping from your limb grasp and falling to the ground as Jace’s tongue breached your walls. Your back arched and you let out an incoherent string of curses, humming and gasping pathetically as his nose rubbed against your clit and Jace’s long lashes fluttered closed. You could not help but stare at him in wonder, your beautiful betrothed worshiping at the altar of your hips, dragging his skilled tongue through the mess he had made of you.

He was exquisite.

And finally, you seemed to have fulfilled your reading duty and he was satisfied with the outcome.

Jace groaned deeply and placed his hands on either side of your waist, drawing you closer to the edge of the chair and towards his mouth, his hot breath fanning over you and sending shivers down your spine.

“Are you close, princess?” He mumbled lowly, not bothering to separate himself from you, his lips sending little jolts through your nerves.

“S-so close…” You nodded quickly, head thrown back and fingers still carding through his hair, his hands and mouth on you the only things that still kept you on this world. “’s so good, Jacaerys, I’m going to…”

His hands found yours and as he laced your fingers together, he kissed your swollen wet clit again, gently suckling on it and moving his head just a little bit, his teeth lasciviously grazing over you-

You let go of yourself, combusting into a million little stars through his guiding touches. Your peak was washing over you in powerful waves, your hips still grinding against Jace’s eager mouth, chasing the taste of your release on his tongue as if it was the saving water in a hopeless desert.

“Perfect…” Jace murmured as he looked up to you in awe, his cheek admiringly resting on your thigh and you let out a breathless chuckle, chest heaving and heart thundering as he licked his lips clean of your release. “You are divine, my love.”

You were puddy in his safe hands, sighing happily as he kissed your leg and swiftly scooped you up into his awaiting arms. You gladly clung to him and as he carried you towards your enticing bed, your disheveled skirts were dragged behind you over the floor as your legs wrapped around his waist, one of his hands soothingly brushing over your hair as the other supported your bum.

He could’ve walked to the edge of the earth with you like this, you were content, nuzzling his neck like an affectionate kitten and breathing him in. What a grand blessing your sweet betrothed was…

While you still tried to calm yourself down from your peak, Jacaerys gently placed you on your soft beddings and sat down beside you. He kissed your chin, your temple and then both of your fluttering eyelids, his hands securely stroking your sides as he leaned over you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked quietly, seeking your gaze.

You smiled at him, reaching up to tuck one of his curls behind his ear. “Magnificent.”

Jacaerys blushed and kissed your cheek to hide it. “It wasn’t too much?”

“No.” You slid your hand to his nape, an idea blossoming in your mind. “It was new and…intense, but I loved it. You were good to me, Jace. Although…there is one thing I am still longing for, my prince.”

He furrowed his brows. “And what would that be, beloved?”

You drew him closer until he hovered over you, his own breath quickening as yours fanned over his lips. Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone and you leaned in to whisper: “I’ve not kissed you since that night.”

His pupils dilated. “We should change that.”

You grinned into the kiss as you both closed the distance and a deep part of you relaxed, as if you had been holding your breath ever since you took off to Dragonstone that morning. Jacaerys carefully held your face in the palms of his hands, but you felt that he was desperately needing this just as much as you did.

You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips, although you were well and thoroughly sated for the night, only hungering for Jace’s pleasure now. You pulled him on top of you and sank into the pillows behind you, relishing the feeling of his lips moving against yours once more.

It was like the two of you were learning together, becoming better and better at knowing how to do this. He liked it when you playfully bit his bottom lip and you felt yourself growing hot when he licked into your mouth and time did not matter anymore as you made out with each other.

While his own hands were ghosting over your sides, his lashes brushing against your cheeks and tickling you, you steadied yourself on your elbows and pressed your chest against his. In a moment of tender weakness, you smoothed your hands over his chest and flipped the two of you around.

Jace let out a surprised grunt as he landed on your pillows, wondrously looking up at you and drinking in the sight that was you, now snuggly seated in his lap. His hands went to your waist, caressing your hip bones through the fabric of your skirt.

“Maybe I should make you read to me as well, my prince.” You considered sweetly, delighted in the way he breathed a little harder. “See how long you can concentrate while I play with you, hm?”

“Princess…”

You grinned, kissing the rest of his sentence away and sensually tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth. After all, he was not the only one educated in the practices of pleasure now. Time to show what your nameless ancestor had taught you through her diary.

He opened his mouth, surely to protest and insist he was fine once more, but you simply gave him a look and he closed it again. The evidence for his arousal was hot and hard under you and when you experimentally ground your hips down, a small whimper left his lips.

“I will not have you end the night unsatisfied again, Jace.” You told him sternly, making yourself comfortable and at home in his lap as you nestled with his belt.

He shook his head, although you could see the desire still burning in his dark eyes, sparked by your sudden initiative to take some little control back. “Seeing you come undone was more than enough for me already, princess.”

You shushed him, your fingertip on his lips. “Let me make you feel good too, Jace. Please.”

Jace brushed your hair back and for a moment, you could see him arguing with himself before he finally gave in to you. “Yes. You…I would like that, if you want.”

A victorious smile made its way on your face. “I do.”

You clumsily fumbled with his belt as you slowly began to kiss his neck, exploring the sensitive skin you had not felt against your lips before but could not get enough of now. Jacaerys obediently made space for you and leaned back, his mouth opening silently and eyes closing as he concentrated on only you and your hands and lips on him.

Quickly, you found out a spot that made him hiss, a sensitive patch just beneath his earlobe, when you unbuckled his pants and slid your hands down his front, over his muscled stomach, down and further down until-

Jace moaned, his fingers digging into your hip bones as you palmed the front of his underwear, feeling him almost throbbing with need against your wandering hand. You leaned back in curiosity to take a look at your beautiful boy, biting his lip and blinking at you with worship written all over his face.

“Help me a little here.” You whispered and held out your hand to him. Jace let out a shuddering breath, realizing your intention. Chapter eight. You clearly both had read it.

You trembled as he let a little bit of his spit drool down into the palm of your hand, holding your eye contact and when your own spit joined and you freed his cock to wrap your hand around his length, he hissed as if he had burned himself.

You could not decide where you wanted to look. He was beautiful, longer than you had imagined and a little curved and you couldn’t stop yourself from thumbing the slit, the precome of his tip easing the way as you slowly began to stroke him.

“Fuck…” Jace bit his lip, suppressing a little whimper, but you were quick, your thumb touching his bottom lip and encouraging him not to stifle his sounds. You had no idea what you’re doing, the reality was different from when it was all just words on a page, but you seemed to do something right given Jacaerys’ reaction to your slow and tender strokes.

“Does it feel good?” You wanted to know breathily, your lips brushing against each other as Jace bucked into your hand, unable to control himself as your hand slowly took him apart.

Jace nodded, chasing your mouth as he cupped the back of your neck and drew you close, devouring you in a hot and passionate kiss that made your hand stutter with distraction. Your other hand was squeezing his shoulder and you moved together, a dance danced best in your bed, with the one you loved and who loved you back.

“Princess…” He whispered, his whole sight angelic and holy to you as you watched him mesmerized, the slick sound of your hand around him drowned out by the string of moans leaving his plump lips as you twisted your wrist. “Gods, ‘so good to me…I’m- I’m not going to last as long as the men in those stories…”

You chuckled, lightheaded with the endless love you felt, only doubling your efforts to make your betrothed feel good at your hands. You leaned your forehead against his and breathed: “I do not care. It’s you I want. And I want to watch you come undone, Jorrāeliarzys, as you watched me.”

He whimpered, eyes fluttering closed as you slowed your hand. It seemed like Jacaerys preferred it this way, a touch so drawn out it almost felt like nothing, but was everything. You peppered kisses along his neck and exposed collarbone, coaxing him towards the same cliff you had tumbled off earlier, feeling his shivers and the strain in him as you took care of his need.

“Come on, Jace…” You lured, pressing one last kiss to his open lips before you added near his ear in a whisper: “Come for your wife, my love.”

Jacaerys’ head fell back as he released a languorous long moan, his cock twitching as he spilled his seed, your hand guiding him through the high as you watched him awestruck by his beauty. You stayed close and leaned against him, playing with his hair as he recovered, a panting mess you had made of him and you felt yourself cuddling close to.

“Are you okay?” You whispered when he did not speak, only drawing you tight against him and combing his fingers through your hair.

“Yes…I’m perfect.” He murmured and nuzzled his nose against your neck. “Just need a moment. You are a gift from the gods, my love.”

You blushed, busying yourself with gently tucking his length back into his pants and sighing happily. “This silly little diary, huh?”

You laughed together, the vision of two young lovers, happy and sated. The adrenaline and giddiness of both your actions was coursing through your veins at full force, now that the haze of pleasure had lifted from your mind.

After a while, he grimaced at the mess on your hand and you laughed quietly as he grabbed his cloak from your nightstand and quickly wiped it off for you.

“It’s not that bad.” You insisted giggly, but he was having none of it.

“I won’t have you having to sully yourself with my mess.”

“Jace, earlier your chin was covered with my-“

“Shh…” He shushed you gently and pulled you close, sinking into the pillows with you tucked against him, your head fitting just perfectly underneath his chin. You had missed the way your body fitted perfectly against his own, not protesting anymore as he hugged you close to his chest.

„I can hardly wait to get married to you…” You mumbled sleepily against his neck, your hand finding its way into his lush curls.

He smiled against your temple, his arms drawing you closer against his chest as he rested his chin on your head. “I will relish every day I’ll have with you by my side as my wife then. As I relish every moment with you now, my love.”

You hummed happily, an undeniable warmth spreading through your chest at his promise. Drawing a tiny heart on his chest, you looked up into his eyes with a plea. “Can you stay? Just a little longer until I’ve fallen asleep?”

Both of you knew he could not stay here for the night. It had been a challenge already to slip into your quarters without raising suspicious questions. But if the prince would spend the night in his betrothed’s chambers? You’d raise a scandal neither of you wanted to face or deal with.

“Of course.” He cooed and you relaxed, melting in his embrace as he carded his fingers through your hair. “I’ll stay.”

“Good.” You murmured sleepily, timidly kissing his jaw one last time as exhaustion claimed your body and bones. It was the sweetest déjà vu, your embrace similar to the one you had shared in the inn. But only this time, your hearts beating peacefully in sync with each other.

“Sleep well, princess.” Jacaerys whispered tenderly and watched as you drifted off into sleep.

He did not leave you for another few hours, but when he eventually had to, he swore himself he was going to make you fully his as soon as possible…

Perhaps a conversation with his mother was more than overdue.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃

my taglist: @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss

[jvnluaa]

“The Chain Between Us”—A Life with Kurapika Kurta

You didn’t marry a man.

You married a vow.

A walking blade.

A grief-shaped god carved in human form.

Kurapika Kurta didn’t come to you with flowers or promises. He came with chains wrapped around his fingers, blood trailing behind him, and a pair of crimson eyes that had forgotten what peace looked like.

And yet, he loved you.

With precision.

With control.

With a passion so quiet, it burned beneath the skin like a fever.

─────────────────────────

Morning in the House of Chains

The first thing you wake to is always the cold.

Kurapika rises before dawn. Always. Even after the rare nights when he sleeps beside you instead of slumped over books, intel, or maps of Phantom Troupe movements. The bedroom is often silent but never still. You can feel his presence even when he's gone—like the echo of thunder just outside the window.

He stands in the hallway now, bathed in soft morning light that slides over his pale skin like a confession. His blonde hair, usually neat and proper, is tousled from sleep. He’s wearing only his slacks, chain rings still wrapped around each finger even in sleep, like a priest who refuses to remove his rosary.

“Don’t move yet,” he says, voice soft.

You sit up anyway.

He turns.

God, those eyes.

They’re black now—tired, thoughtful. But you know what hides beneath them. That scarlet storm. That blood-born fury.

He crosses the room, kneels at your side. Kisses your hand.

That’s his version of I missed you.

You press your forehead to his. "Did you dream of them again?"

A slow nod.

“I always do.”

─────────────────────────

Midday – Life with a Weapon

Kurapika doesn’t eat often. When he does, it’s more for your sake than his. He always prepares tea, precisely measured, steeped exactly 3 minutes. He sits across from you with a stack of reports, eyes flicking to you every few minutes to ensure you’re still safe, still real, still here.

He’s not paranoid. He’s just learned what it feels like to lose everything.

He’s overprotective in ways that feel less like jealousy and more like strategic obsession.

“You didn’t answer your phone earlier,” he says, too casually.

“I was in the shower.”

“Next time, bring the phone.”

You arch a brow.

He doesn’t smile.

Kurapika doesn’t joke unless he’s disarmed. And that’s rare.

He reaches across the table. His hand wraps gently around your wrist. You feel the metal of his chains brush your skin. It’s his way of marking you. Not for possession—but for protection.

“You’re my only remaining weakness,” he murmurs. “If something happens to you, I won’t stop myself next time. I’ll go too far.”

Too far.

He says it like there's a line he hasn’t already crossed.

But you know better.

Kurapika lives in a place beyond morality.

─────────────────────────

Evening – A House That Watches

He never lets his back face a window. Every curtain in the house is drawn before the sun sets. Every door is locked, bolted, double-checked.

You once tried to tease him.

Called him paranoid.

He turned to you, eyes glowing crimson in the dusk-lit room, and said, “Paranoia is a luxury for the living. What I am is prepared.”

That night, he didn’t come to bed.

You found him hours later, alone in the study, chain blade in hand, his expression so distant you thought he might vanish if you blinked.

You touched his shoulder.

His reaction was immediate—violent.

He grabbed your wrist, twisted it instinctively, eyes wild. Then, realizing, he let go, dropped to his knees, and whispered, “Forgive me.”

He kissed the palm he nearly broke.

And you did forgive him.

Because you love a man who was never allowed to heal.

─────────────────────────

Night – The Weight of the Scarlet Eyes

Kurapika sleeps only when your heartbeat is steady beside him.

He wraps himself around you—not like a lover, but like armor.

One arm over your waist.

One leg hooked around yours.

Chains gently coiled at the small of your back.

You wake up some nights to the sound of his breathing—ragged, choked.

The dreams come often.

The Clan.

The eyes.

The Troupe.

You press your fingers to his face.

He grabs your wrist in the dark—but softer this time. He’s still dreaming.

His voice cracks as he whispers, “Don’t take them… please. Not hers…”

He thinks someone’s stolen your eyes now.

You hold him tighter.

When he wakes, drenched in sweat, you’re already there, anchoring him.

─────────────────────────

The Way He Loves You

Kurapika doesn’t love like others.

He loves you like an oath.

Like blood on parchment.

Like a secret only whispered between murders.

His affection is in the way he teaches you to protect yourself.

In the way he carves talismans into the wood frame of the door.

In the way he makes lists of anyone who’s looked at you too long.

He won’t say it aloud often, but when he does, it shatters something inside him.

“I love you,” he says one night, after a mission, his knuckles bloody. “And if they take you from me, there won’t be a world left to punish.”

You believe him.

Because the boy you married is gone.

What’s left is a weapon shaped like a man who needs only you to stay human.

[cryptidghostgirl]

-Alastor x spouse!gn!reader:

Alastor and his Spouse had been together ever since they were alive and his spouse had always been his right hand in life and death. Just giving a helping hand if Alastor needed it, watching proudly as he became a powerful overlord. But then Alastor disappeared and no one knew where he had gone to, not even his beloved spouse. After a year or so of searching and waiting for their husband to come back, they accepted that he was gone and went on to become an overlord themselves, getting some tips from Rosie here and there. After a while they became isolated, only ever going out to gossip with Rosie or attend meetings with the other overlords. And they were never really a fan of the media or technology either. Only ever listening to their husbands radio, sometimes even joining in. So they weren’t aware of their husbands return, only seeing him for the first time in 7 years at one of the meetings with the other overlords. And they were pissed.

Sorry, that was really long.. my bad :[

Also, no pressure if you don’t want to go write this <3

A/N okay one, don’t apologize. Two, this ask is awesome. Three, I hope what I’ve done with it makes you happy :)

Wrath (Alastor x Overlord!Spouse!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Tame as heck for the most part, ngl.

Word Count: 1,820

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n had never known life without Alastor. They had grown up together, shared a wild childhood in the back streets of New Orleans. Nothing can ever beat that type of love and so, when they were fifteen and terrified and he asked them on their first date, how could they say no?

One date turned into two and before either really had time to sit back and take stock of their lives, they were twenty and married. Alastor had a budding career as a radio host and Y/n found a simple joy in the life of a house-partner. Things had been happy, they had been good.

The pair had always been inseparable, attached at the hip. That first night Alastor had come home, eyes wide and suit soaked in blood? Y/n had handed him a damp towel. Even their entrance into death had been together, shot by a hunter while burying a body.

It had been a joy to watch him grow and change, to witness the way their husband built a life for them in the world of the living and nothing changed that when they entered Hell. They were his right hand, his everything. That was why it hurt so much when he disappeared one day without a trace.

Alastor had never done that before, not tell them what was going on. He'd been gone for days, weeks at a time on rare occasions, tracking some demon he was intent on killing or the like. This was different. They always talked before hand, he always made sure Y/n was safe and set up with their mutual friend Rosie for their protection. This time, there hadn't even been a note.

In tears, Y/n had wandered their way into Cannibal Town. Rosie's smile had slipped from her face upon welcoming them into the little shop she ran, quickly ushering the demon into the back room. Y/n, while they had been a right hand in their first life and this one, had never been an active part in Alastor's work. Sure, they leant a hand if he needed one, but the occasion he did was rare and most of them helping him was through making sure he had a hot meal to come home to and a loving environment to exist in. They had never had a life without him in it and refused to believe they were entering into one now.

The first weeks were rough. Y/n stayed with Rosie, in the same guest room they always did but, they barley left it. When Rosie suggested they start looking for her lost partner, Y/n had jumped up. It was a shred of hope, something to hold onto.

A year of searching went by. Rosie tried, did everything in her power to keep Y/n happy and hopeful, to keep her safe. Time is the cruelest master of all and not even Rosie could stop the doubt it brought to her friend.

"I can't do this anymore, Rose." Y/n admitted one day as they drank their coffee, "I... He's not coming back."

"You don't know that!" Rosie had insisted, grasping Y/n's hands across the table.

"We've been looking for a year. There hasn't been the slightest bit of evidence. I... I can't do it anymore. I have to move on."

And move on they did. With their husband gone, there were empty shoes to be filled among the overlords of Hell and who better to fill them than Y/n? They worked hard, training. They grew strong and it payed off at last when two and a half years after their husband's disappearance, Y/n managed to take down an overlord, officially indoctrinating them into their ranks.

The more time went on, the more feared of a figure they became. Y/n had hoped it would have been a distraction, carrying on Alastor's legacy. The loneliness ate away at them. He had always been there, and now he was suddenly gone. The more powerful they became, the more they retreated into themselves. They became a rumor, a name whispered behind closed doors.

Y/n still held out a spark of hope that one day, Alastor would return. As they hit the seven year line since his disappearance, that too fizzled out. Things were getting bad in Hell, the last extermination had been the most brutal in history. Just the other day, word had come in that Heaven wasn't even going to wait their normal year before the next one, only a meager six months. Even with Y/n's aversion to all things media, they were only a painful reminder of what they had lost, after all, they managed to hear about it. It was a big deal, and a terrifying one too.

Of course, in response to this, Carmilla had called a meeting. When Carmilla Carmine called a meeting, there wasn't an overlord in all of Hell who wasn't going to show up. It was serious, she meant buisness.

Y/n had dragged themselves out of the place that had become their home over the past seven years. One of the first things they had taught themselves how to do was to travel through shadows, the way their husband had. With a snap of their fingers, the shadows took them, spitting them back out in the waiting room of Carmilla's offices.

Looking around, Y/n caught sight of Rosie and approached their oldest friend.

"Hey, Rose." they hummed placidly.

"Oh! Y/n! What a pleasure to see you here." she smiled back, turning to face them, "I half expected you wouldn't show."

"You know me." Y/n shrugged, "I come when it's important."

"I'm worried about you." Rosie admitted after a moment, her smile faltering slightly, "You've been spotted out and about less and less."

"I'm fine, I promise." Y/n weakly reassured, "I'm drinking water and touching grass or whatever. I just... socializing isn't super my thing anymore."

"Yes but, you're putting a target on your back doing that." Rosie insisted, "People are going to start wondering, start questioning your power and authority. You should at least go rough someone up, or start a business! Establish your presence."

"Don't worry, Rose." Y/n smiled, their mouth full of razor sharp fangs, "Let 'em come. I can take care of myself now."

"That you can." she relented.

Y/n turned, surveying the room which held a handful of Hell's other top overlords. They recognized a couple, but there were a few they didn't know. They let out a sigh, eyes turning to the elevator doors as they slid open to reveal Zestial.

Y/n raised their hand, intending to wave a greeting to the oldest and most respected of their group as he entered the room, but froze. Their hand at chest level, their eyes went wide as they caught sight of a familiar shock of red hair.

"Fucking... Al?" they whispered, their arm falling to their side as they took half a step forward.

"What did you say?" Rosie asked.

It sounded like her voice was coming from somewhere underwater, the world was spinning.

"What's the matter?" Rosie asked, following the path of Y/n's gaze.

As her eyes landed on Alastor, standing clear as day at the other end of the room and casually conversing with Zestial, she gasped lightly.

"Oh my."

"I'll be back in a second, Rose." Y/n hissed through clenched teeth, their hands balled into tight fists.

With fluid, silent footfalls, they stormed across the room and came to a stop beside Alastor. The room fell silent at the sight. They all knew of the pair's story, had heard from Rosie about how long and how hard Y/n had searched for their husband. Hearing the silence, Alastor turned, his eyes locking with Y/n's.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, placing a hand gently on the top of their head, "How have you been, darling? Zestial was just telling me about what great strides you-"

Y/n harshly took his hand from their head, the strength with which they held his wrist cutting Alastor off. They took a step forward, now just an inch away from Alastor as they glared up at him. Fury coursed through their veins as he watched them in mild confusion.

"Seven years." Y/n scoffed.

Alastor made no reply, simply continuing to watch his spouse as they practically frothed at the mouth.

"Seven fucking years." they repeated, releasing the grip on his wrist.

"I'm here now."

The slap echoed through the silence like the crack of a whip. Alastor stumbled back to slightest bit, his hand raised to his cheek.

"You..." Y/n took a deep breath, trying to calm themselves, "Al, where the fuck were you? How... how long have you been back?"

"A few days." he admitted.

Y/n's eyes widened as they processed the information.

"A... a few days?" they scoffed, "A few days? You know what? You didn't tell me when you left, why should I have expected you'd tell me you were back."

Y/n turned away from him, rubbing their forehead in irritation. Alastor hesitated before taking a step forward, placing a hand gently on their shoulder.

"Lov-"

"What?" Y/n spat, spinning back around to face him.

Their teeth were sharp, elongated and dripping. Tears welled in their eyes. Alastor's breath caught in his chest.

"Fucking what?!"

"Please, let me make it up to you." his voice was soft and gentle, the same one he used when they were alone together.

"I..." Y/n took another deep breath, "I don't know if you can."

Tears were streaming down their cheeks now, falling thick and fast. Their body glitched, half transformed into their full demon state and half staying as their more human public face. It pained him to see. If he had had any other choice, he would have done something different. He had never wanted to hurt them. Alastor reached out, grabbing their hands in his.

"Please, let me try."

"Why should I!" Y/n screamed back at him, pulling their hands out of his reach, "Seven years! Seven fucking years! You promised me. You promised me we'd stick together."

The grief seemed to be winning in its battle over the anger as the glitches slowed. Their teeth shrunk back to normal and their voice faded, becoming softer, weaker.

"I'll explain everything just please, please give me a chance."

Y/n sighed. Lifting their hands to their face, they pressed their palms into their eyes. They stood like that for a moment, unmoving and silent. Alastor waited, tense with anticipation. At last, they looked up at him once again, their arms falling loosely to their sides.

"Fine." they sharply stated and Alastor's smile grew, "After the meeting. You get as much time as it takes me to drink a cup of coffee. Deal?"

"Deal."

----

A/N ngl I wasn't super sure how to end this fic but I really like it and this was such a fun request to write. I love and angry reader.

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 8

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language & smut (yes, we're going fully there), reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, fluff and feels, sexism/feminism, angst, the final end of the (first) slow burn

Word Count: 9.3k

Posted on Patreon April 18, 2025

A/N: Daddy Dearest is finally showing up, a feminist revolution is happening, and our couple seals the deal. Yup, 4.4k of this one is smut. Don't blame me – it was all Ben and his filthy mouth. Guess that's what happens when you let that man wait six weeks. Good luck, loves! You may need tissues for various reasons during this 😜 ✨ Chapter title comes from Gone with the Wind (1939)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 8: Frankly, My Dear, I Don’t Give a Damn

The sky was gray with the weight of an almost-spring storm, clouds stretching low over the sprawl of the estate like a woolen blanket ready to suffocate the light. The mansion, with its high windows and columns stained faintly with soot, loomed behind him, but Ben ignored it. He didn’t even drop his suitcase inside.

His coat was slung over one shoulder, his hat clutched in his hand. Mud squelched underfoot as he crossed the back lawn, past the dormant rose beds and skeletal hedges, toward the old groundskeeper’s shed near the tree line, where George told him he’d find you.

He just needed to see you.

The door creaked as he opened it, and you turned sharply from the blackboard, where the chalk still lingered in your hand, equations spiraling behind you like maps of another universe.

“Ben?”

Your voice stopped his heart for a beat. Then it kicked back up, wild and alive. He barely managed a breath before he crossed the floor in two long strides, swept you into his arms, and kissed you like it was the first and last time all at once. You melted into it, your fingers curling into his coat, grounding yourself in the solid reality of him – his warmth, his heartbeat.

When you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours, breath shaky.

“I missed you,” he said, quiet and raw like you were his lifeline. His fingers caressed your cheek, brushing a bit of chalk dust from your skin. “I’m happy you’re still here.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, your smile soft and real in a way it hadn’t been for days. Your heart pounded furiously in his presence. “Happy you’re home.”

He pulled you close again, his arms tightening like he didn’t want to let go. “We came back a day early. My father was... in rare form.”

You could see it in his faintly freckled face then – the gray sheen over his usually sparkling emerald eyes like November fog, the way his jaw had set itself like stone. He even looked like he’d lost about ten pounds from stress alone. Two weeks with that man would do that to anyone, but Ben had been walking that gauntlet his whole life.

“What happened?” you asked softly, carding your fingers gently through his hair.

Ben smacked his lips, almost in defeat. “He embarrassed me,” he replied with a short laugh that had no humor in it. His voice was bitter, but beneath it, was something more wounded. “Told the board upgrading the furnaces was a pointless waste of money. Called me a dreamer. In front of everyone.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him head-on, your expression sharp with fire. “Well, he’s wrong. Upgrading those furnaces is the smartest thing he could do right now. It’s basic efficiency math.”

Ben looked at you, surprised at the blazing flames in your eyes. Then, with a crooked grin, he teased, “You wanna be the one who tells him that?”

You shrugged. “Sure, I’ll happily calculate it out for him if he’s having trouble understanding. Honestly, I’m way smarter than your father.”

Ben laughed – an actual laugh this time – and shook his head, his fingers brushing your jaw affectionately. “Are you crazy? I was kidding.”

“So was I,” you lied smoothly, with a mischievous little tilt of your head, just enough to make him wonder if you actually meant it.

Ben glanced behind you then, at the mess of symbols and curves on the chalkboard. “What is all that?” he asked, brow furrowing in curiosity. “That doesn’t look like anything from my physics textbooks.”

“As if you’ve ever actually opened one,” you quipped in an attempt to deflect. You moved a bit to block his view, feeling a pang of panic in your chest, but you still played it cool, pretending like the board wasn’t covered in time-loop projections and multiverse theory. “Just something I’ve been working on. Helps me think.”

He eyed you with amused suspicion. “Right. Thinking.”

“It’s private,” you added with a smirk, drawing his attention back to your face.

“Well, come inside, will you? It’s still freezing out here.” He slipped his coat from his shoulder and wrapped it around you, brushing your hair back from your cheek. “I don’t want you turning into an icicle.”

You followed him out of the shed and toward the back steps of the mansion. As your boots hit the porch, a faint melody drifted through the door – soft, elegant, almost hesitant.

Ben paused, confusion spreading across his face. “Is that… the piano?”

You just smiled. You knew what he was thinking – if you were here, who was playing?

Inside, the warmth of the house wrapped around you. You stepped into the hallway outside the drawing room, where the grand Steinway stood like a forgotten relic – except it wasn’t forgotten now.

Ben’s mother sat poised at the keys, her fingers dancing over them with delicate grace. The melody was one of those half-remembered lullabies that felt like home.

Ben stood frozen. He hadn’t seen her like this in years.

“She’s been practicing again,” you said softly. “I asked her to teach me Chopin. Florence said it was her favorite to play.”

“Yeah, it was.” Ben nodded, entranced.

“We started talking,” you added. “She even took me to a tea room two weeks ago. I think it made her happy.”

“You went to a tea room?” He cocked a brow at you, an amused glint in the forest green of his eyes, faint traces of cinnamon freckles stretching with the hint of a smile.

“Yes, believe it or not.”

“Not.” Ben grinned teasingly. “Did you wear shoes?”

“Yes, of course I wore shoes!” You snorted, catching Margaret’s attention.

His mother looked up then, catching sight of her son. “Ben! Oh, sweetie, you’re home!”

Sweetie. You had not expected that nickname, but your heart swelled when you watched Ben’s face light up, strong brow twitching with specks of disbelief.

Margaret stood then and crossed the room with a composed kind of warmth, arms outstretched. She embraced him gently, then stepped back and cupped his cheeks, giving him a once-over like a mother appraising both her son and the state he’d returned in.

Then, with a glance past him toward you, her expression shifted. “I like her,” she said, voice low but meaningful. “You’ve got good taste… for once.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, just patted his cheek and turned back toward the piano with a small, knowing smile.

You stifled a snort. You’d grown very fond of Margaret Brooks in those last two weeks.

Ben blinked, still processing, and turned slowly to look at you. “What did you do to her?”

You smiled, laughing lightly at his bemusement. “Nothing. I just listened.”

“I think you might be magic, sweetheart,” he said, looking at you with something close to gratitude and awe.

If he only knew how right he was – in a way.

And between the music still lingering in the air of his childhood home and his mother’s sly approval, Ben felt something tighten in his chest then.

In the best way.

For six weeks of staying here, you had successfully avoided Ben’s father. But that lucky streak seemed to come to its bitter end at dinner tonight.

Tonight, the marvelous table was set with four plates: Ben, his mother, his father, and you – stuck right in the middle of the most awkward family dinner from Hell.

You sat at Ben’s left, your hands folded neatly in your lap, trying to ignore the gleam of polished silver forks (Three! And you had no idea which one to use first!) and the way the chair back dug sharply between your shoulder blades as the tension in the room built like storm pressure behind old glass.

Ben, on the other hand, looked calm enough, but you’d caught the slight twitch in his jaw when his father entered the room – black-suited, silver-templed, and cutting through the air like a Bowie knife.

Richard Brooks – steel magnate and professional tyrant from a long line of goddamn tyrants – sat down at the head of the table, only acknowledging you with a disapproving glance.

And yes, naturally, he was a Dick.

“I remember you mentioned a girl from school staying here.” The patriarch of the steel empire carved into his roast with casual violence, sipping his wine like it was penance, a pair of almond-shaped, glacier blue eyes zeroing in on his son. “Didn’t think you meant still staying here.”

You managed a polite smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Brooks.”

He gave a short nod that might’ve been a grunt, reaching for the wine glass before saying, “Likewise.”

Ben’s mother – composed in a deep jade green dress that complimented the glint in her eye – broke the tension with a dry, almost teasing, “She’s been keeping me company. And sane.”

You glanced at her in grateful surprise, but she didn’t look at you. Her gaze was squarely on her husband, almost daring him to challenge her.

Oh fuck. You had a feeling that dinner would derail soon enough. You still remembered how your own mother always looked when she wanted to pick a fight with your father. You could see that same desire in Mrs. Brooks tonight.

Richard’s eyes flicked to you as cutting as a scalpel. “Rosemary Hall, was it?”

You smiled, knowing your alibi by heart. “Yes, sir. We, uh, crossed paths with Ben’s group at Choate once or twice. We’ve stayed in touch.”

“Mmm.” He sounded unconvinced, like he already had a list of questions and was working through them in his mind. “And what is it you do, exactly?”

You gave an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “A little of everything. Read a lot. Try to keep busy.”

Mr. Brooks leaned back with a hum, wine glass in hand. “You read. Anything useful?”

Ben’s hand tensed slightly on the table. You felt it even without looking.

“I enjoy nonfiction,” you said smoothly. “Science, history, math when I’m in the mood. Nothing too impressive.”

“Science and math?” Richard scoffed like you’d said you moonlighted as a prizefighter. “Isn’t that a bit… optimistic for a girl?”

You met his stare with even calm. “I don’t think intelligence has ever been strictly gendered. Just how it’s been credited.”

Ben actually choked on his wine this time, coughing into his napkin. Richard ignored him.

“So, I assume you’ve been enjoying your stay here,” Ben’s father continued his interrogation, eyes narrowing slightly, sizing you up.

“It’s a beautiful house,” you said simply.

“Lot of history here. Good steel money.” His eyes locked on you again. “You know anything about steel?”

You smiled, your inner Puck cutting his leash. “Only what I’ve read.”

“Ah. Reading.” He said it like the word offended him.

“She reads a lot,” Ben added carefully. “She’s sharp.”

“Is that so?” Richard raised an eyebrow. “Tell me then,” he prompted, folding his hands like a man settling in for a test he already thought you’d fail. “What would you do to improve output at a steel mill running short on coal?”

Ben looked ready to leap across the table and strangle his father. He tried to interject, “Dad, this isn’t–”

“It’s alright,” you said quietly, placing a hand calmly on Ben’s forearm, eyes still on his father. “I’d retrofit the furnaces to burn at a higher temperature with less fuel, introduce more efficient airflow systems, and probably look into restructuring the shift rotations to reduce downtime between batches. But that’s just common sense.”

Margaret paused mid-pour of her wine, looking like she had to swallow a laugh. Ben slowly turned toward you, jaw slightly dropping an inch.

Richard didn’t blink. “Not something they typically cover in finishing school.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said slyly. “I didn’t finish.”

That earned a brief, surprised snort from Ben – quickly smothered.

Richard, clearly irritated now, muttered, “Sounds like a textbook answer. No real-world experience, though.”

You opened your mouth to argue your next crushing point, but Ben’s mother cut in smoothly, sipping her wine with the elegance of someone who had just stopped giving a fuck.

“Oh, for crying out, Richard! She’s smarter than half the men you’ve got working in your mills,” Margaret huffed, breaking her silence with a sharpened edge in her voice. “Maybe if you listened to people who weren’t trying to kiss your Oxfords, you’d save a fortune running those mills.”

Ben let out a short, shocked laugh before quickly covering it with a cough. His father looked like he’d been slapped with a linen napkin – too composed to lose his temper, but clearly rattled.

You, on the other hand, stared down at your plate, half-terrified and half-impressed, trying to decide if you’d just become part of the problem or part of the revolution.

Vive les femmes?

“Honestly, I think she’s brilliant. Much more interesting than that uptight Du Pont girl,” his mother quipped, her voice deceptively light.

Richard turned toward her, jaw clenched. “Grace was–”

“A snake in a silk blouse,” Margaret said flatly, cutting her husband right off. “We saw her at a tea room two weeks ago. She looked like she’d swallowed a lemon when she realized who I was sitting with.”

Ben shot you a glance, brow furrowed. You hadn’t exactly had time to mention that little tidbit yet.

However, Richard’s expression darkened. “We had plans with her family–”

“Well, they’ll survive,” Margaret snapped. “Just like we will. Unless you’ve somehow tied our entire legacy to a debutante with no charm and less spine.”

Holy shit. You’d unleashed a dragon from the dungeon, hadn’t you?

Ben’s eyebrows hit his hairline, while you tried your damnedest not to make eye contact with anyone.

“I don’t need to remind you,” Richard said tightly, “how much damage your son did with that stunt. Publicly humiliating the Du Ponts–”

Ben cleared his throat, clearly regretting every decision in his life that had led to this moment. His knife paused mid-cut. It didn’t fall on the plate with a clatter, but it may as well have.

“Grace and I were a bad match. I told you that.”

“You didn’t tell me anything. You just embarrassed her. Publicly. And in turn, humiliated me,” his father snapped. “What do you think the Du Ponts think of this family now? Do you have any idea how much business I’ve done with them over the last twenty years?”

Ben’s voice was tight. “That’s not a reason to marry someone.”

Richard finally looked up. “It is when you’re in this family.”

Silence spread across the table like a spilled drink. You could feel Ben bristle beside you, his hand flexing slightly against his napkin. You wanted to reach out, hold his hand, comfort him, but you knew showing any affection toward him right now in front of his father would hurt more than it would help.

“Maybe if you’d focused more on the business instead of chasing after schoolgirls,” his father’s blue eyes flickered sharply to you, “you wouldn’t have spent the last two weeks making a fool of yourself in front of the board.”

“Richard,” Margaret warned sharply.

“No, no,” her husband went on, holding up a finger to his wife and turning back to his son. “You let a good opportunity slip through your fingers. Grace was respectable. She had breeding. Her father understood the importance of building strong alliances. And instead, you’re off playing house with–”

“That’s enough, Richard,” Margaret cut in. She placed her wine glass down gently, but when she looked up, her face had none of its usual softness. Her voice didn’t shake. It fucking rang.

Richard turned, mildly surprised by the newfound edge in his wife. His jaw locked tight. “You’re enjoying this.”

Margaret took a sip of her wine, calmly meeting his glare, and then – she fucking smirked. “I’m finally starting to, yes.”

You stared down at your plate again, doing your best not to appear like you were about to vanish into the wallpaper. Ben, beside you, looked like he was watching a tennis match and had no idea which side he was supposed to root for.

“Margaret–”

She met his gaze dead-on. “Don’t you Margaret me, Richard. I’m not some ghost you can order in and out of a room when it suits you. I think I’ve held my tongue long enough. I’m done pretending I don’t have an opinion. I’ve spent the better part of two decades being managed. I’m not doing it anymore.”

Richard’s face had gone a strange shade of gray. “Don’t start with this–”

“I’m already started,” she cut in again. “You push and push and never ask yourself why your son’s miserable or why your house is a tomb. I’m tired of it. I’ve been tired of it. Our son is a grown man. You don’t own him. And you sure as hell don’t own me.”

Margaret sat back and crossed her arms. Richard stared, something cold flashing in his eyes. But he said nothing. Not a word. The dining room went deathly still.

“Now,” she said casually then, as if she hadn’t just hijacked dinner, lifting her wine glass, calm as a summer storm after it had come and gone. “Pass the potatoes.”

Ben did automatically, blinking at his mother like she’d just grown wings.

You stared down at your plate, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. Margaret caught your eye across the table and gave you the smallest, most deliberate wink.

Richard stabbed at his roast with renewed bitterness. He chewed slowly, as if the meal had lost its flavor.

But the balance in the room had shifted. Subtle. Permanent.

It was close to ten when you snuck out of the servants’ quarters and back to your room after your nightly hang out with Dottie. For the last two weeks, you’d been playing Gin Rummy together, chatting and giggling, while you taught her a bit of French.

She’d told you she wanted to live and work in France, travel the world a little. How could you not support that?

Besides, it was nice to have an actual friend in this time period.

As you passed through the hallway that led by the study, you froze and halted your breath, hearing the voices of father and son. You didn’t want to eavesdrop, but Richard Brooks’ authoritatively booming tone was hard to ignore.

“Would you stop with this furnace nonsense? You’re chasing goddamn pipe dreams, boy, and you’ve already embarrassed me and yourself enough for one week,” Richard grunted as you carefully leaned against the wall of the hallway, disappearing into the shadows of a potted plant.

Ben’s voice came cool, but tight. “It’s not nonsense. It works. We’ve been running the numbers.”

“We?”

There was a beat.

“She just listens,” Ben said quickly. “Talks things out with me.”

After a pause, there came a darkly amused scoff. Condescending. “Christ on a cross, you think your little romantic dreams make you stronger? You think this girl will somehow make you a man? She’s not going to help you, son. She’ll only drag you down. You think your little fantasy is going to lead anywhere? You think she’ll respect you for your weakness?”

Your heart pounded furiously in your ribcage, wanting to leap in there and choke the living hell out of that man. Your nails dug into the skin of your palm, your hands clenched into fists by your sides, trying to hold yourself back.

“You’re going to marry Grace Du Pont. End of discussion,” his father declared firmly. Whiskey was poured. A cigar was being lit. “Look, if you’re attached to your little plaything so badly, keep her on the side. You keep your fling quiet, where no one can see, you understand me, son? Just like I’ve always done. Or have you learned nothing from me? You don’t see me flaunting my affairs into your mother’s face, do you?”

Ben’s voice came out weak. Fragile. “I-… I won’t-… No, I won’t do that to her. I care about her. She’s not just some–”

“You think you’re fucking better than me?” his father cut in, tongue sharp as a machete. “You’re fucking weak, Benjamin. You’ve always been weak. You’re nothing without this family, boy. You’re nothing without my name, without the power, without the money. And I’ve given you all of it. Don’t you goddamn forget that.”

“I can’t do this, not for you, not for business,” Ben’s voice cracked with frustration. “This isn’t the life I want.”

Richard slammed a fist onto the desk, the sound loud enough to make you flinch. “Benjamin, I’m warning you! You’re going to do your duty. This is what’s best for you. What’s best for this family. Just look at me and your mother. You think she was some great catch?” he huffed bitterly. “Look where it got us. I’m trying to save you from the same goddamn mistakes I made. Maybe then you won’t be as disappointed as I am that your son turned out to be as dumb and weak as a blade of grass.”

That manipulative fucking a–

You clenched your jaw so tightly it almost shattered. And then, your inner Puck took over the wheel. Just for a few seconds.

You hit Pause on the remote control. Not on the world, not on the house, not on the men in the study. No, you only paused one little withering, black, rotten but still beating organ. Not long – only till one… two… three… four–

“Dad? Are you alright?”

Play.

A tear slipped down your cheek, body trembling. Would you actually have done it? Would you have killed someone? Even someone as cruel and awful as Ben’s father?

They’d be better off without him, though, wouldn’t they? You’d do this family and probably the whole world a favor by getting rid of him. But you could hear the worry, the concern, the fear in Ben’s voice. Even if it wasn’t strong, just barely there, just for a fraction of a second – you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“‘M fine.” A grunt. A clear of a throat. “Now get out of my sight. I don’t have any use for you. You’ve already disappointed me enough this week.”

A moment passed before you held your breath, hearing Ben’s footsteps shuffle away. As the study door closed, you stood there for a few beats, unsure whether to go to him or leave him be. Before you could make up your mind, he rounded the corner and suddenly appeared in front of you.

Ben halted, stunned for a second before his brows drew into tight little Vs. His jaw ticked once, teeth grinding, shoulders tense as he stared at you.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly. Carefully.

“Are you always eavesdropping on private conversations that don’t concern you?”

So he was defensive. Fair enough, you thought.

“Ben–”

He blew right past you without another word, but you quickly trailed after him, catching his wrist. He spun halfway toward you, brow raised, gaze unamused.

“What?” he snapped “Look, whatever you wanna say, save it for another day. I don’t wanna hear it right–”

“I love you.”

And then, time stopped on its own for once. Like God herself had clicked the button on top of her stopwatch.

No flick of your wrist. No whispered thought. Just a heartbeat too loud, a silence too deep.

The world itself held its breath and leaned in to listen, freezing out of respect for your widely open heart. The hum of everything around you dulled, dimmed, as if your powers sensed your panic and intervened, offering you this one impossible second to exist in the aftermath of what you’d just confessed.

What the fuck had you done? You hadn’t exactly planned on blurting out those three little but hugely impactful words. They just broke loose like a wild animal that had been caged against its will.

You had never meant to say them at all. Not to him. Not here.

And Ben didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

For a second, you weren’t sure if you hadn’t accidentally hit the Pause button, after all. But something in his forest green eyes flickered like a candlelight in the breeze – a stutter in the armor.

He didn’t look at you at first. Just exhaled slowly. That big, proud chest rising and falling like it was taking him real effort to stay composed.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Your voice was shaking, quiet. You swallowed. “I just wanted you to know.”

And then Ben finally looked at you.

The crinkles around his eyes, the tensely furrowed brow – it all vanished, softened just for you.

You looked at him – at the guy you shouldn’t trust, shouldn’t fall for, shouldn’t love. And your heart was tearing itself in half trying to hold onto both versions of him.

The one standing in front of you. And the one you’d seen in nightmares.

And still.

Still.

You loved him.

It was like falling off a building you’d already jumped from – the moment your feet left the edge and there was no turning back.

Slowly, reverently, Ben lifted a hand and touched your face. His thumb brushed your cheek like he was checking to see if you were real – like he wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t a daydream where you’d be gone again by morning.

He closed the space between you in a single step, cupping your neck in both hands, almost afraid time could run out and he’d miss his chance.

His mouth crashed against yours.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was raw and full of everything he hadn’t said – all the longing, all the fury, all the years he’d swallowed down like bitter medicine. His hands trembled against your skin, and you kissed him back as if the moment had been waiting for you both.

The universe had cracked open and poured you two together. With force. With purpose.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathless.

A soft chuckle, laced around the edges with disbelief, escaped with a breath out. “You know, I always thought that if you ever said those words, it’d be after I rescued you from a burning building or carried you out of enemy fire. Not-, you know, the hallway after my father calls me a waste of space.”

You smiled a little at his joke while your heart sank at the message it tried to cover. Your hands slid up his chest and around his neck, fingers playing with soft strands of hair, nails scraping along skin.

“You’re not weak, you know?” you said, Ben’s eyes snapping to you, widening for a mere second. His brow twitched with a crinkle of disbelief. “You’re not stupid. You're strong... and kind... and smart. You’re a good man. And I love you exactly for who you are.”

Ben exhaled sharply, emerald eyes staying on you. His mouth pressed into a tight, pained line. And for a moment, he just looked at you like he was trying to memorize the way you said those words.

Your heart was thrashing in your chest, your stomach dropping somewhere below the floorboards, but you offered him the barest of smiles. “And yeah, maybe I like to keep you on your toes a little.”

“You really do.” He huffed a laugh, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “God, you do.”

His lips met yours – no hesitation, no space, no breath. Just fire. His large hands gripped your waist, dragged you against him like he needed to feel every inch of you, like the sound of your confession had set him off like a match to gasoline.

No teasing. No build-up. Just raw, unfiltered need.

You moaned into his mouth as he backed you into the wall, lips devouring, tongue sweeping in like he couldn’t get enough – like he never had and never would.

His hands were everywhere, sliding up your sides, curling around your hips, tugging you closer like he couldn’t stand another inch of space between you. He was rough and reverent all at once, palms mapping flesh like a man starving for it. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers tangling in his hair, heart slamming against your ribs.

His kiss was all tongue and teeth, sucking at your bottom lip like he wanted to ruin you. Ben then broke the kiss just long enough to catch his breath. You smiled, dizzy and aching.

You searched his eyes, your voice barely a whisper, wrecked and breathless. “You think-, uhm, you think I can stay in your bedroom tonight?”

Ben stared at you for half a second, then smiled – crooked, hungry, and so full of something deeper it made your stomach flip. He looked at you like he’d dreamt those words a thousand times.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d love that, sweetheart.”

Then he reached down, interlacing his fingers with yours – steady, sure. Without another word, he led you toward his room. No rush. No hesitation. Just the quiet certainty of a man who’d been waiting for this moment since the second he met you.

Ben’s hand stayed in yours as he led you through the quiet house. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to. Every brush of his thumb over your knuckles said enough.

The rest of the mansion was asleep. But your pulse? Wild and awake.

Ben led you into his room like a secret he’d been aching to keep. The door shut behind you with a soft click that echoed louder than it should have, your hand slipping out of his.

Suddenly, the silence felt heavier, almost sacred. The dim light from the moon outside cut across the floorboards, and the faint scent of tobacco and cedar hung in the air. This was his space – messy, masculine, lived-in.

A lamp flickered to life – soft, amber light pooling low from a desk near the far wall. Books, worn paperbacks with bent corners, were stacked unevenly on the nightstand. Jazz records lined the shelf above a modest phonograph. The dark green quilt on his bed looked like something his mother might’ve sewn years ago and he never had the heart to throw it out.

It was the first time you saw his edges dulled.

You stood near the door, heart a riot in your chest. You’d kissed him. You’d told him the one truth you hadn’t barely dared to say to yourself until tonight. You let out a slow breath and turned toward the bookshelf like it might anchor you. Your fingers skimmed the spines.

Ben leaned back against the door for a beat, watching you in the low light. Then he smiled. Not the cocky smirk he wore like a jacket most days. This one was slow, knowing, edged with a kind of quiet wonder.

“Snooping for secrets already? You walk in here and start looking at my bookshelf like you’re trying to read me.”

“Maybe I am,” you said cheekily, glancing at him over your shoulder. But your smile was nervous, your fingers twisting together, fidgeting. He noticed.

Ben pushed off the door and crossed the room slowly, his steps careful across the creaking floorboards. He came to stand behind you. Not touching, not pushing – just close enough that you could feel the heat of him at your back. But you felt the shift in the air, like he was circling, waiting, watching.

His voice, when he spoke again, was low and warm as bourbon in your ear. “You know, you don’t have to be nervous.”

Easier said than done.

“I know.” You huffed a soft laugh. “Maybe I’m still hoping you’ll talk me out of it.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” An amused smile grazed his lips. “That’s not really my specialty.”

You swallowed as he stepped even closer, eyes locked on yours. There was a heat in his gaze now, something molten and dangerous. He stopped just short of touching you again, like he was giving you one last chance to walk away.

But you didn’t.

You turned to face him fully, seeing the slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he didn’t want to scare you with too much charm. He closed the final gap and cupped your cheek, thumb tracing the soft curve beneath your eye.

“Gotta say, that was probably one of the wildest dinners I’ve ever experienced in this house,” Ben joked lightly, trying to calm your jittering nerves a little. “You sure all you did was listen to my mother?”

A grin spread on your face, teeth tugging at your lower lip. “I might have asked one or two thought-provoking questions…”

Ben chuckled, the sound warm and deep in his chest. “Yeah, you’re good at that.”

“I’m sorry I kind of riled up your mother and derailed dinner,” you said but could hardly hide the smile.

“Don’t be,” Ben said with a small laugh, but then his face turned more serious, palm warm against your cheek. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. What he said in the study. You’re not just some girl to me. You know that, right?”

You nodded. You believed him. Even now, with your pulse racing and your skin burning, you believed him.

And then Ben kissed you like he meant to ruin you for anyone else. Slow at first – just lips and breath and the lazy drag of time stretching between your bodies. But then he coaxed your mouth open with a low groan, hands sliding down your back to anchor you to him. You gasped into the kiss as his hips pressed flush to yours.

“You been holding out on me, you know that?” His lips grazed your cheek, the line of your jaw, down to your throat. “All that time pretending you didn’t want this.”

“I didn’t,” you said, breath hitching. “I mean, I did. But I was trying not to.”

His mouth brushed your collarbone, all smug and sin. “Yeah, I noticed. But here’s the thing – now that you’re here? In my room? Saying things like you love me? You might’ve just started something you can’t walk away from.”

He kissed you slowly – more tender than before. His hands moved like he was memorizing you. Your ribs, your spine, the dip of your hips. He wanted to learn you by heart. And every place he touched made you feel more grounded, more here.

“But you know, you don’t have to,” he said softly then, seriously. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. I meant it when I said you could stay. Just stay.”

“I know.” You nodded, swallowing. “But I want to. There’s just something I want you to know first.”

You looked up at him, your breath shaking, and leaned in close – so close your lips brushed against the shell of his ear as you stretched on tiptoes. And then you whispered the most personal thing about you.

Your real name.

The syllables tasted both foreign and familiar on your tongue. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. Of trust. Of meaning. Of everything you hadn’t said before.

His lips curved into that crooked, brazen smile – the one he always used when he didn’t want you to know what he truly felt.

“Yeah, that suits you a lot better than the other,” he said, lips ghosting over yours. “Secret’s safe with me, sweetheart.”

You smiled shyly. “You’re not gonna ask more questions?”

“No.” He shook his head, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, and murmured, “I don’t care where you came from or why you don’t talk about it. I just care that you’re here. With me.”

All that tension you’d been carrying for weeks cracked open between you like lightning splitting the sky. And then, his mouth was on yours again, hungrier this time, no hesitation. Just heat. Just want. A coaxing, intoxicating rhythm, like he was trying to draw every last ounce of hesitation from your body and replace it with pleasure.

Your bodies fitted together with maddening ease. You kissed him back just as fiercely, arms looping around his neck, fingers tangling in the back of his shirt like you’d fall if you let go. He whispered your name between kisses like it was an oath he meant to keep. He was tasting it, memorizing it, falling into it.

And when his lips found your neck, trailing heat along your skin, your knees nearly buckled.

“Let me take care of you,” he muttered, mouth brushing just under your ear. His hands grazed your arms, then trailed to your back, fingertips featherlight along your spine until they found the zipper. He leaned in, lips near your ear. “Turn around for me.”

You did, heart thudding wildly as your back faced him. You felt his body press behind you, firm and hot and steady. His hands slid over your sides, settling on your waist. Then came the kiss to your shoulder. Another at the base of your neck.

Once. Twice.

You felt the agonizingly slow tug of your zipper like he was unwrapping something rare, revealing just enough to make your skin prickle with heat. His knuckles skimmed down your spine, and you gasped when his mouth followed, kissing between your shoulder blades, then your lower back.

He wasn’t rushing. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying the wait. Every kiss he pressed to your spine loosened you more, drove you crazy with need.

“Christ,” he rasped behind you. “You have no idea what you do to me. You know, I’ve imagined this… What you’d look like in here. What you’d sound like.” His voice roughened as he spoke, “I want to take my time. Want to hear you gasp when I touch you just right. Want to see your face when you fall apart.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The dress slipped past your hips, pooling at your feet in a soft whisper. You didn’t move to step out of it yet. You couldn’t. You felt too seen. Too bare. And yet, his hands were still gentle – one smoothing up your arm, the other tracing your waist.

Ben didn’t pull away. No, he pressed closer, one hand splayed low on your stomach, the other gently cupping your jaw to turn your face back toward his.

“You’re beautiful,” he said against your cheek. “But that’s not why I want you.”

He turned you slowly to face him again, gaze roaming your figure, half-lidded and devout, as if he was seeing you for the first time, and you were made of something breakable.

“I want you because you’re smart. Sharp. Trouble.” He smirked against your lips, teasing, coaxing, tempting.

He kissed you then. Deeper now, fuller. The kind of kiss that made the world blur around you. The heat curled between you two like a flame, your hands impatiently fumbling at his belt like you were already ablaze.

But Ben stilled them, gently catching your wrists.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispered, one brow arched in amusement. “Don’t rush. I’m not some boy fumbling in the dark. And you’re not some quick thing I’m gonna forget. This goes how I want it to go, and I want you to feel everything.”

You swallowed thickly. Jesus fucking Christ, you’d signed your own death warrant by coming into this room, hadn’t you?

It wasn’t like you’d never suspected how this would go. Oh no, it had always been more than a sneaking suspicion. You’d caught his older counterpart in enough compromising positions with even more questionable people. You’d heard the stories, both from young and old. About coat check rooms and closets and God knows what else.

No, you knew what you were getting into. Sort of. The real thing was still wilder, bolder, more thrilling than you’d ever imagined.

His thick, long fingers brushed your cheek, then your throat, then down between your heaving breasts. He smirked, looking down at you. “Me first.”

And then, the hand on your back unclasped your brassiere with an easy flick of his wrist, the straps sliding off your shoulders and down your arms, soft cotton and lace falling away. His tongue licked the smile off his lips, his green eyes fixed on your tits like they were something sacred he was about to worship.

“Christ, look at you.” He grinned, brushing his knuckles under them like he was testing gravity itself. “I should send a goddamn thank-you letter to the stars for you. What else you keepin’ from me, sweetheart?”

He dragged his thumb across your nipple, eyes darkening. He leaned in then, kissed the swell of the other one, smirk deepening as you shivered and whimpered.

“Ben–” You held in a moan as he hummed against your throat. “I’m close to internally combusting.”

And God, you were soaking wet. It was almost embarrassing since he had barely touched you at any of the spots that usually did it for you. No one had ever made you feel this way.

Your plea made him chuckle warmly against your lips, just hovering, not giving in. “I like you impatient.”

“Ben–”

Your protest was cut off by one searing kiss. His eyes roamed you, deliberate and dark with hunger – worship and want, equal parts sin and salvation.

“You want me to be gentle?” he asked before his voice dipped, gravel and smoke. “Or you want it rough? Let me ruin you a little?”

“Fuck,” was the answer you breathed out.

He grinned, wicked and wrecked. “Thought so.”

This time, you claimed his lips, needy and close to starving. “I want you,” you said breathlessly. “However you want me.”

That was all it took.

Ben guided you backward till you sat on the bed, your palms feeling the soft sheets underneath.

And then he fucking knelt.

Right between your legs, spreading them inch by inch as warm, large hands trailed up your thighs, squeezing taut flesh as they went. He kissed your knee, then the soft skin above it. Then another, higher still.

“Want you to know something,” he murmured against your skin, a lazy smile creeping across his face. His eyes met yours, your hands carding through his hair, eager to get him where you needed him most.

He was slow poison through and through.

“I’ve dreamed about this. Wondered if you’d ever let me touch you like that. Taste you,” he continued, voice like silk and sin.

His palm climbed up to your waist, higher and higher till it grabbed a handful of your tit. Squeezed. Groped. You gasped, legs shaking underneath his grip as calloused fingers rubbed and pinched your pebbled nipple between them.

You let your head fall back, lips parting, breath stuttering, hair like spilled ink on the mattress. You waved your white flag. This was your swan song.

“I’ve imagined unzipping that dress with my bare teeth.” Ben kissed the hollow of your thigh, thumb brushing the edge of your underwear. You could feel the smugness on his lips. “Sliding my hands over every inch of you until you stopped pretending you didn’t want it just as bad.”

His fingers tightened slightly at your waist, like he was grounding himself, keeping his control on a leash.

“I wanted to ruin you since the second I saw you,” he breathed. “With my hands. My mouth. My cock. All of it. I wanted you soaked and begging.”

You sucked in a breath, unbearable tension curling tight beneath your skin.

“Waited to hear you breathe like this,” he whispered, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. “To feel you tremble when I touch you.” His lips brushed the inside of your thigh. “To make you mine in every way a man can possibly want. I want to know how you sound when you break for me.”

That shouldn’t have made your heart stutter. But it fucking did.

His hands wandered beneath the last bit of lace and silk you were still wearing, worshiping the lines and curves of your thighs like they were sacred text and he was a man long denied prayer.

He slid your underwear down with infuriating gentleness.

“You’re soaked, sweetheart… and I haven’t even kissed you there yet.” Then he paused just long enough to look up at you again, eyes dark with want, but still asking.

When you nodded, he grinned like the devil.

“Good girl.”

And then he was fucking on you.

Time blurred. You lost sense of everything except the press of his sinful lips, the drag of his massive hands, the rhythm he built and broke and built again until your whole body trembled beneath him. He made you fall apart slowly, then all at once, like he’d known exactly how to unravel you from the start.

And Ben goddamn watched you. Every flicker of your reaction. Every shiver. Every breath. He adjusted to you, read you like a language only he understood.

And when your hips began to rise into his mouth, when the tension wound so tight it felt like your whole body might snap from the pleasure of it – he never fucking let up. He held you there, devoured you, groaned like he was drunk on the taste of you.

“Give it to me, sweetheart. Come on,” he said, mouth wet and warm against your clit.

The high hit like a wave, dragged from you slow and hard and deep until you were gasping, boneless, shattered. You reached for him blindly, fingers digging into his arms, his scalp, thighs clenching on his shoulders.

“God, look at you,” he said, crawling back up your body, his mouth slick with proof of your surrender. “You’re fucking perfect.”

His lips sought yours, tasting you like he hadn’t already just had everything. Your hands found his chest, the ridges of muscle underneath his shirt, pulling him in with a desperation that surprised even you.

Ben caught your hand and kissed your wrist, then your palm. “You still want this?” he asked, voice hoarse, his restraint visibly fraying.

You bit your lip, nodding helplessly, and he smiled as he kissed your fingers, then brought your hand down to rest against the bulge in his pants.

He was thick and firm and aching for you.

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly for a beat before you witnessed the wrecked look on his faintly freckled face.

“Feel that?” he asked softly, voice warm and rough and trembling at the edges. “That’s what you do to me.”

Then, he stood up, his gaze locked on yours, and he began undressing in front of you.

Slow.

Confident.

Every movement deliberate.

You watched him unbutton his shirt like he knew the effect each flick of fabric was having on you until it slid off his broad shoulders and onto the floor.

Then came the belt.

He undid the buckle with the kind of composure that made your throat dry. Like he wanted you to feel every beat of anticipation between each soft clink that echoed off the walls. His pants followed, unhurried all the same till he finally kicked them off.

And then he stood bare and beautiful in the flickering lamplight, lean muscle and heat and a low, knowing smile that made your stomach flip. There was something timeless about him in that moment. Like something carved from firelight and dark earth. A god pretending to be a man.

“You look like you’re about to faint,” Ben said, stepping closer again, a smile of amusement playing on his lips. “You’re staring, sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh.”

Yeah, your brain had gone on vacation at this point.

His cock was long and thick and pulsing, head red and leaking, waiting to wrap itself in you and erupt.

“Still nervous?”

But you shook your head, giving him a soft smile as you found his green eyes. “No, I want you. Want you inside of me.”

Ben leaned in, catching your lips for a kiss, his gaze darkening, hand tangling in your hair at the back of your head. “Yeah? Want more? Want me stretchin’ you wide, sweet girl?”

“Ben, please…” Your words were half a plea, half a prayer.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” He shushed you gently. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you,” he said, kneeling back on the bed, crawling over you again like a promise, pressing you into the mattress as he kissed his way up your body.

“Tell me when it’s too much,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. “Tell me when it’s not enough.”

You exhaled a strangled breath, a quiet plea caught in the back of your throat, and his mouth curled into a smile against your stomach.

“You wanted me to learn something? Well, I’m going to learn you,” he rasped, kissing higher, past your ribs, past your tits, past your collarbone. “Every sound, every shiver. I’ll know what makes you cry out and what makes you beg, sweetheart.”

His nose dragged along your throat, and then his mouth claimed yours with a bruising force. You felt his throbbing length press against your stomach, between your thighs, hot and heavy and unashamedly ready. He groaned into the kiss, hungry and feral.

Your hands reached for him without thought, fingers skimming the soft lines of his chest, the hard edge of his jaw. He nudged your thighs apart gently with his knee, lips dragging across your neck, your shoulder, the slope of your breast.

And then, with that same careful, aching control, he pushed into you.

The air left your lungs in a single, broken gasp of his name.

Pressure. Stretch. Fullness.

Ben groaned, low in his throat, forehead pressing against yours as he bottomed out. You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, and maybe he was.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed into your shoulder, sharp teeth grazing your neck. “God, you feel so good. So goddamn tight. So wet for me.”

And then he began to move.

Slow. Deep. Unforgiving in the best way. He thrust into you like he knew what you needed before you could say it, hips rolling with a confidence that left your toes curling and your brain short-circuiting.

And yet he still teased – still whispered things that made your cheeks burn and your thighs shake. “You like that, sweetheart?” he murmured against your ear. “Still think I’d wait this long, want you this badly, if this was just some fling?”

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You barely managed to shake your head as you arched into him, legs wrapped around his waist, chasing the edge he kept just barely out of reach. Every gasp, every helpless little cry pulled from your throat was an answer.

Your body opened to him like you were made to fit around him, like you’d been waiting for this exact moment your whole life and everything before had just been a poor imitation of what it meant to be filled like this – held like this.

“Ben,” you gasped, nails raking down his back.

He hissed, pace stuttering for a moment – like you’d hit a nerve he hadn’t expected.

He fucked you harder then. A little rougher. Just enough to make the headboard creak and the bed shudder beneath you. And still, his mouth stayed on yours – kissing you through every moan, every cry, every stammer of breath.

His kisses were just as hard as the snap of his hips – needy, grateful, desperate. He moved inside you, dragged his cock through your walls like he was chasing salvation.

It was all teeth and tongue now, urgent and primal, like he’d waited long enough and couldn’t stand another second of holding back.

“Just like that,” he groaned against your lips. “That’s it. You’re doing so good, baby.”

His thrusts slowed only just enough for you to breathe, hand finding yours on the bed, threading his fingers between yours like it was instinct.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he husked, eyes locking with yours. “Taking me like you were made for it.”

“Fuck–” Your breath stuttered when he adjusted the angle slightly, only driving deeper into you. “Feel so good…”

“Yeah? Feel that stretch? That heat? That fullness?” He smirked devilishly against your jaw, but his voice was just as wrecked and ruined as yours. “All you, sweetheart. That’s what you do to me.”

His words melted something inside you, dissolved that last flicker of resistance, that echo of fear still whispering in the corners of your mind. You arched into him, mouth catching his in a kiss that was more desperation than grace.

He chuckled against your lips. “That’s it. Give it to me. Everything you’ve been holding back.”

You were too far gone to reply, seeing the pearly gates of Heaven, Saint Peter, Jesus, and fucking God herself.

“Want you to remember this,” he whispered, deep voice rough and broken. “Every time you close your eyes. I want you to remember how I make you feel. How I take care of you. How no one else even comes close.”

Something inside you broke then and you fell apart.

You shuddered around him with a cry you couldn’t hold back, stars bursting behind your eyelids as everything snapped apart and came back together in the shape of his name.

“Shit–”

Ben cursed low and dark at the feel of you tightening around him, grinding deep as his rhythm fell apart, muttering your name, your real name, like a prayer. Hips stuttered, a desperate, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he followed you into the fire, spilling hot and heavy into you.

The world went quiet after that.

Just the two of you. Tangled together, sweat-slick and panting, your hearts thudding in sync. You felt the weight of him settling over you. Not crushing. Not heavy. Just perfect.

Full.

Slowly, Ben lifted his head, brushing his nose against yours. His eyes were still dark, but softer now. His fingers brushed your damp hair back from your face, caressed your cheeks with a tenderness that didn’t match the way he’d just wrecked you – like a man who could build and break with equal skill.

He kissed the top of your head – steady, worshipful, possessive as if he knew he owned every part of you now. “You okay?”

You nodded, smiled breathlessly. “More than okay.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not done with you yet.” He smirked that lazy, crooked smile again. “I meant it,” he said then, pulling back just enough to look at you. “All of it. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers drifting up into his hair. “Me neither,” you whispered and placed a chaste kiss to his lips.

Something flickered behind his green eyes. Wonder. Hunger. A softness you’d never seen in anyone before, let alone someone like him.

Ben didn’t move right away. Just stayed there – still inside you, still wrapped around you, like you were something holy he hadn’t quite figured out how to pray to yet.

When he finally eased out of you carefully, you hissed softly at the sensitivity. He murmured something apologetic against your skin, kissing the hollow of your throat before pulling you into his chest.

You could still feel the echo of his mouth between your legs, the stretch of his cock, the hum of it throbbing inside you like a secret he branded into your bones.

Ben wrapped his arms around you and kissed your temple, sighing and tucking you closer. “You better get used to this room, sweetheart. There’s no chance in Hell, I’m letting you sleep down the hall anymore.”

That earned him a breathy laugh from you. “No?”

“Nope,” he said, entirely too smug. “I’ve waited too damn long. I’m going to ruin you – nicely. Thoroughly. Respectfully.”

You snorted, and he grinned against your hair.

But God help you because he surely made good on that promise all through the night.

▶️ Chapter 9: As Time Goes By

I honestly have to say I was so happy he finally got what he wanted. He really has been waiting for this since Chapter 1 😂 I hope you guys enjoyed this! For a while, I had a phase again where I really hated writing smut, but there's just something so pure about two characters exploring one another for the first time that makes it a lot more fun ❤️‍🔥

Only two more chapters in 1942. Get ready, loves!

Coming Up:

“You know, we’ve got plans, you and me,” Ben said suddenly.

“What kind of plans?” you asked, brow raised, shifting a little to look up at him.

“I said I’d figure out a way out of that hellhole for both of us. I still mean it,” Ben said, deep voice untypically hesitant like he was testing the idea out loud for the first time. “I’ve been looking at houses.”

You sat up a little, your heart pounding like a demolition hammer, throat dry. “You-, uh, you have?”

Ben nodded and smiled. “There’s one I keep going back to. Found it last week, and I don’t know… Feels right. I think you’d like it. Needs some work, though. A lot of work, actually… The porch steps need replacing, the roof’s a mess, and the windows rattle like a haunted saloon.”

“So perfect, then.”

“Perfect,” he echoed.

You were speechless. You’d never suspected he’d been dreaming behind your back. But you wanted to answer. God, you wanted to say yes and kiss him senseless and let the night carry you straight into forever. But reality tugged like a thread at the edge of your dress.

The part of you that lived in spreadsheets and time travel formulas wanted to tell him that buying a house with a girl who could theoretically be ripped out of this timeline at any moment was probably not a sound financial decision.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei

@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @nesnejwritings

@samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02 @impala67rollingthroughtown

@star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - September 8-14

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my new(ly repurposed) Patreon!

1. Pair of rare Amur tiger cubs debuting at Minnesota Zoo are raising hopes for the endangered species

“[The Minnesota Zoo’s] Amur tigers have produced 57 cubs, [… 21 of which] have gone on to produce litters of their own, amounting to another 86 cubs. […] “They’re showing a lot of resiliency, which is something that we work hard for in human care. We want these animals to have a lot of confidence and be able to adapt to new environments just as they’re doing today.””

2. Powered by renewable energy, microbes turn CO₂ into protein and vitamins

“The team designed a two-stage bioreactor system that produces yeast rich in protein and vitamin B9. [… The protein] levels in their yeast exceed those of beef, pork, fish, and lentils. […] Running on clean energy and CO2, the system reduces carbon emissions in food production. It uncouples land use from farming, freeing up space for conservation[… and] will help farmers concentrate on producing vegetables and crops sustainably.”

3. JCPenney Launches Apparel Collection Aimed At Wheelchair Users

“A major department store is rolling out a new line of clothing specifically tailored to meet the needs of women who use wheelchairs featuring options for both everyday wear and special occasions. [… The clothing have] modifications like zippers located for easy access, pocket positioning and extended back rises optimized for the seated position and shorter sleeves to limit interference with wheels.”

4. Snails bred in Edinburgh Zoo sent to re-populate species in French Polynesia

“Thousands of rare partula snails bred at Edinburgh Zoo are to be released in French Polynesia to restore the wild population of the species.The last surviving few of the species were rescued in the early 1990s[….] 15 species and sub-species [are being bred in zoos for repopulation], the majority of which are classed as extinct in the wild.”

5. [NH Joins 19 Other States] to Provide Essential Behavioral Health Services Through Mobile Crisis Intervention Teams

“[CMS] approved New Hampshire’s Medicaid State Plan Amendment for community-based mobile crisis intervention teams to provide services for people experiencing a mental health or substance use disorder crisis. […] The multidisciplinary team provides screening and assessment; stabilization and de-escalation; and coordination with and referrals to health, social, and other services, as needed.”

6. Recovery plan for Missouri population of eastern hellbender

“It is expected that recovery efforts for the Missouri DPS of the eastern hellbender will reduce sedimentation and improve water quality in the aforementioned watersheds, which will also improve drinking water, as well as benefit multiple federally listed mussels, sport fish and other aquatic species.”

7. How $7.3B will help rural co-ops build clean power—and close coal plants

“[The funds are] serving about 5 million households across 23 states [… to] build wind and solar power, which is now cheaper than coal-fired power across most of the country. […] Some of it will be used to pay down the cost of closing coal plants[….] federal funding could help co-ops secure enough wind, solar, and battery resources to retire their entire coal capacity by 2032, cutting carbon emissions by 80 to 90 percent and reducing wholesale electricity costs by 10 to 20 percent[….]”

8. Native-led suicide prevention program focuses on building community strengths

“[Indigenous researchers have] designed programs that aim to build up a community’s endemic strengths, rather than solely treating the risks facing individuals within that community. By providing support and resources that enable access to Alaska Native cultural activities, they hope to strengthen social bonds that build resilience. […] “In a Yup’ik worldview, suicide is not a mental health disorder, and it’s not an individual affliction, it’s a disruption of the collective.””

9. Another rare Javan rhino calf spotted at Indonesia park

“A new Javan rhino calf has been spotted in an Indonesian national park, the facility's head said Friday, further boosting hopes for one of the world's most endangered mammals after two other […] calves were spotted earlier this year at the park, which is the only habitat left for the critically endangered animal.”

10. Transparent solar cells can directly supply energy from glass surfaces

“[Researchers have] unveiled a method of supplying energy directly from glass of buildings, cars, and mobile devices through transparent solar cells. […] It has also succeeded in charging a smartphone using natural sunlight. It also proved the possibility that a screen of a small mobile device can be used as an energy source.”

September 1-7 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[lonesomedovescry]

Why did the grief taste like salt and iron?

You washed gritty bits of sand out of your mouth with a slug of whiskey. The burn warmed you from you deep in your stomach, spreading to your half-frozen toes. Your tent did little to nothing to spare you from the Grizzly chill, and your blankets cared just as much to keep you warm.

It had been months since the fallout of the San Denis Bank robbery. The camp fell into chaos and in your hurry to find Arthur yourself, you had lost everyone in camp as well as your lover. Your friends. Your family. They were as good as gone. Your search of Shady Belle proved fruitless, and your hunt for folks had turned you North.

Not a whisper. Not a word.

You stood up, back popping with satisfying cracks, and began to dress for another day’s ride. Off to strawberry, to sell the wolf pelts that lay rolled on the inside of your tent. The last buckle is fastened and you step out into the chill moisture of dawn, where a watercolor wash of blue tints the landscape.

You approach your mare with whispered words of greeting and feed her the remainder of your apples. You’d have to go to the grocery store while you were there as well. A twinge of pain as you remember the last time you were there with Arthur — he had bought you a new pair of boots. Deep brown leather, ornate stitching, and slightly pointed at the toe.

A small ‘A’ was branded onto both heels.

The ride to Strawberry was peaceful despite the distant roar of bears. Unlike the chaotic streets of San Denis you rarely had to concern yourself with the danger of passing people. It was the wolves and the mountain lions you had to be wary of, and it was easy enough to put a bullet between their eyes before they got too much meat off of you.

Men had a hunger for much more. In the wild, you can trust that the animals only want one thing.

You told Arthur as much on one of the evening rides to a nearby wildflower meadow the both of you were fond with. His grim agreement sent chills down your spine, the dark flickering of rage in his eyes, a look you so rarely had seen before.

You thought of his face as you stowed away your wares from the grocery store. The boyish sweetness he had somehow clung onto despite years of robbing and killing. The softness of his turquoise eyes whenever he looked at you, the shape of his sinful mouth. The scars that flecked his aging skin. Every fine line was perfectly where it should be.

He would laugh riotously when provoked. The sound of it had always brought water to your eyes.

“Hey, you!”

A voice snapped you at your of your daze. A haggard looking man strode down the narrow street, pock marked face flush with the kiss of liquor.

“You lookin’ for somebody?”

“Who’s asking?” You replied.

“Some gentlemen paid me to keep an eye out for you.” The man replied. “Told me to tell you all roads lead back to Valentine.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What’d this man look like?”

“Tall. Brown hair and beard. Blue eyes.” The man got a faraway look in his gaze, as if he was going back to that very moment. “Scar on his chin. Paid me quite a lot, told me to lay off the booze in the meantime so I wouldn’t miss ya, but I found ya didn’t I? Ole’ Itchy still sharp as a needle even a pint deep. I always had a —“

But you stopped listening, the roar of blood in your ears. He was talking about Arthur.

He was looking for you.

You have Itchy a quick thanks and freed your mare from the post before launching yourself into the saddle. A quick press of your heels and the mare was barreling forward and out of the streets of Strawberry, dust and curses of townsfolk on her tail.

You could’ve wept from the joy. You could’ve wept from the relief.

But you didn’t. You kept your face as hard as stone as you worked your mare as hard as you could, sweat lathering on her flank, hooves drumming a rhythm into the ground. The ground between Strawberry and Valentine was devoured and soon the smell of lanolin and manure came onto the wind.

The blur of the train station. The shape of the hillside church.

You ground the mare to a stop and tied her near a trough to let her cool down. Your heart was beating a mile a minute. Where could he be? You looked around you, eyes darting left and right, taking in everything yet nothing. You barely saw the faces of the people around you yet you knew none of them was Arthur. You’d know him if you had died.

“Y/N?”

That voice. You snapped around, heart in your throat.

“Arthur?” You called, still unseeing. Your voice was shaking as if afraid. Adrenaline was turning your blood to sugar water.

“Y/N!”

There, at the end of the street, racing past the saloon. His face was red and puckered by the sun, and his hair was much longer, but it was him. It was Arthur. You felt like flying suddenly — weightless. The closer he came to you, the more you couldn’t move.

When he was only a few paces away your knees buckled and you fell to the ground, knees hitting the dirt with a bark of pain, and then he was there with you. Warm hands grabbed the sides of your face and beheld you for his searching gaze. The desperation and relief in his features broke the damn inside you and you began to cry.

“Arthur.” You whimpered, and reached for him. Arthur laughed breathlessly and kissed you hard, teeth clashing. Again. And again. And again. He kissed your face, drew his arms to your waist and crashed your body against his. One large hand cradled the back of your head, the other on your waist, and for a moment you both sat together in the street and trembled in relief.

—-

YEARNING