#stormy book 1

[stormyboi7]

pov: veronica begging stormy to forgive her after lying to the group for the billionth time (stormy already forgave her immediately)

redraw of a piece by @/AdvosArt on twitter, and based on a prompt from @clanso

[simulation-machine]

Annnnnnnnnd they're engaged!

[theorist-fox]

Takes practice

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposting from AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2

In my feel-good romance era. Usually more of a slap me pull my hair touch me there, there, there - no more talking. But not today. No SIR.

The bit regarding the satellite phones and telemarketers was inspired by the first chapters of Shadowed by Tarajanee. Absolutely adore that work and I thought those scenes at the beginning were lovely!

Word count: 13k

Summary: Simon is deployed for the first time since the beginning of your relationship. Instead of finding purpose in keeping the world clean, he finds it in keeping himself alive, because he's never been this eager to come home.

18+

CW: smut!!! dry humping, mutual masturbation, thigh fucking, P in V. Fluff, this is very fluffy. Soft Simon Riley, Simon is absolutely fucking whipped. Self-deprecating thoughts, intrusive thoughts, angst if you squint so don't squint and you'll only get yearning and love making.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon doesn’t remember your eyes.

He’s been clawing at his face, both literally and metaphorically, because each time he closes his eyelids to succumb to exhaustion, he sees your face.

And you’re pretty. So much. He envisions the curve of your smile and how your lips part to give way to your teeth. The lines at the corners that scrunch your nose and how it flushes when it’s too cold out. He has memorized the shape of your brows for every expression. Knows the line of your cheekbones and how they swell under your eyes when you smile.

Your face is lovely, even when he conjures it in his head. But when your form breaks through the mist, he gets startled every time. Because he can’t see your eyes.

It's like a mock picture of you. A mimicry gone bad. You’re there, fresh and real, whispering sweet words to him, tossing a quip, or moaning breathlessly as he remembers the way he’s fucked you, but your eyes are carved out. Blank spots instead of the windows to your soul, like everyone always seems to chatter about.

Sure, he remembers the shape of your eyes, and if he takes deep breaths, cancels out Johnny’s blabber blaring from his cot, and enters a deep meditative state, he might be able to draw their outline.

But it’s the shade he misses. Are they sapphire, dark, and cryptic? Or frostbite blues. Emerald, maybe. He ponders, but he’s not sure. Brown, like his? Chocolate, with swirling hazels like golden speckles. Stormy grey. Charcoal black. Amber. Gold. Fucking crimson.

He doesn’t know.

But it's only been three months since he left.

And it’s been six months since Simon has taken you on his bed and fucked his name into you. Six months since he’s finally tasted your skin and imprinted your flavor on his tongue. 

It’s your fault, he thinks, if now everything he eats tastes bland. Nothing sweeter than the salt of you. The dichotomy is not lost on him. He’s a rational man, and figures easily that skin can't be sweet, especially not after he made you sweat by pounding you into the mattress. Yet he might have lost a marble or two after that, because now not even honey can compare.

Which is why he’s moved his things in your room. Just because it’s bigger, he told you. No other reason, really.  

Fucking liar. 

But again, you’re as saccharine as you taste. And maybe not as naïve as he thinks. Because ever since that night, six months ago, your hands often intertwine with his own when you guide him to bed – your bed. 

And that’s how he found a nightstand full of his things on the side closer to the doorway of the room. There’s the book you’ve lent him and a re-filled plastic bottle of water right next to it, one that he should probably throw away like you constantly tell him. Something about microplastics, but fuck if he knows. Because ever since that night, he’s lost a bit of his logic, a lot more of his sanity: you can speak for hours on end and he wouldn’t hear a damn thing if not for how your voice vibrates against his eardrums, sending tingles down his spine. 

Surreptitiously, his things have started to appear in your room. He doesn’t have much, a phew photos of his family are shuffled with your trinkets. Plain, white frames stuffed in between your smiles on pictures you’ve taken with friends. 

A frame of his medals, the ones you insisted he kept, nailed to the wall next to your PhD certificate. 

Tidy, onyx wardrobe polluted with pinks and greens. Breathable cotton and faux furs. Fuzzy fabrics that leave a rainbow of synthetic hairs on his clothes. He doesn’t bother to pluck them off, it’s just another piece of you he’s lucky to carry around.

His old bedroom turns into a storage room. Filled with boxes of forgotten things and broken appliances you can’t be bothered to fix. 

And he promises to tinker a little with the vacuum, so you won’t have to spend money on a new one and use your savings for your guilty pleasures. That book you saw when you went out together for groceries? Consider it yours. The cooking classes you wanted to attend at that restaurant you’re always raging about? He’s already bought you a pristine new apron. 

And maybe he’ll take you there, too. Ask for a more secluded table where he can still spot the door, so he can also uncoil the muscles of his back and use his eyes only to look at you, instead of having them dart around for dangers.

But fuck, he can’t do any of that now. 

It’s his first mission after that night, six months ago, and Simon is already feeling withdrawal symptoms. You’re worse than morphine on a dying man; you leave him aching for something he knows he can have because you're so obviously there, but he’s so stupidly far away.

And he can’t even tell you where he is. Can’t even give you some peace of mind. Can barely call you, because Johnny’s been hogging the satellite phone to talk to Lord-knows-who.

The Scot is not selfish, Simon knows he would only have to ask, and the bulky device would practically materialize in his hand. But Simon also knows that if he dared, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Because in the years spent in the task force, he’s never needed to call anyone. 

Can’t call the dead, now, can you? 

And now, popping a question like that would only raise suspicions. It would have his mates up his arse until his head would split in half.

But it’s been six months since that night. Three months since he left. 

And that pocket of time he’s managed to spend with you, uninterrupted, almost made him accustomed to civilian life. To the lack of his mask and the AC of the flat breezing against his face. The taste of homecooked meals. The constant presence of another soul (a beautiful one at that) in his same space. 

With you, he’s never parched – of anything. You feed him mind, heart and body, showering him with that innocent love you so easily dispense, allowing him to bathe in it. 

He’d listen to your never-ending chat for days. His mind has always roared with sounds, yet the more noise you make the more you silence it. Baffling, really, how he’s spent his whole life looking for quiet and found it in the loudest person on earth.

He’s always sated with your kisses, your words, your quick mind and razor-sharp wit, your moans and your mewls, and God, anything you were willing to give. Your lips, your spit, the juices he makes you drip, and the ones he makes you spray. He dreams of cupping your clit with his mouth as he ravages your cunt with two thick fingers until you’re splashing on his tongue. He’d drink you dry, if you’d let him. 

And oh, you have. 

There’s  the wonderful catch. These are not wishes; these are memories. Too real and fresh ones for them to be just another one of his daydreams.

Finally, after three months of pondering – or better, yearning – he realizes that every skin-prickling migraine his mates would induce is worth the sweet, sweet sound of your voice.

He’s disgustingly sweaty. He tugs at the lip of his collar and grimaces when he feels the cotton unstick from the dampness on his chest. 

Johnny's sitting idly, enjoying the few days of break from mayhem. Just a handful of hours allowed, really, enough to get them back on their feet – tactical planning, refill of their resources. Boring shite like that. But at least it’s a breather all right.

“Got the phone, Johnny?” He grumbles.

And Johnny would love to act as none the wiser, but his eyes peek from behind the sketchbook he holds in his hand. The smirk that curls at his lips has Simon roll his eyes. 

He makes a beckoning gesture with his fingers, giving him a pointed look. “Johnny.”

“L.T.” He responds in kind. “Callin’ the landlord?”

Simon levels him with a deadpan look that could freeze the desert they’re stuck in. “Sergeant.”

Bastard’s too cunning for his own good.

Johnny drops the sketchbook immediately, showing the lieutenant his palms in defense. The cheeky bastard that he is doesn’t manage to conceal the absolute fascination in his eyes. He’s studying his superior as if he’s staring at another species.

And Simon doesn’t blame him. He’s like a sock that’s been turned inside out, the negative image of himself. All that gloomy energy turned blinding light, ever since he’s had a taste of what life could be with you in it.

But alas, no one wants to have the Ghost up their arse, so Johnny looks around the messy area around his cot and plucks the girthy satellite phone out of it.

Simon picks it up by pinching the tiny antenna on its side. It prompts Johnny’s smirk to broaden. 

“Haven’t done anythin’ with it.” He quips, letting it hang in the air for a second longer. “Or have I.”

Simon grunts a noise of disgust. “Spare me.”

He finds a secluded spot in the area they're occupying. There's nothing around them but the rubble of a city that has been torn by war and time. The sight is dour, and the silence echoes a dark past he hasn’t witnessed. Even so, the remains of the buildings are tall enough to offer their lot some cover. 

He slides with his back against a wall, knees spread wide. 

He knows your number by heart, his thumb presses each button with newfound resolve. Only when he brings the phone to his ear, does his determination falter. Because he hasn't contacted you in any way, shape, or form for three months. So, what if you’re livid, now? You’d have every right. He’d understand if you’d rip him a new one through the receiver. He just hopes you didn’t spend these days rethinking your choices. 

God, you’ve infected him with this overthinking bullshit.

“Hello?” Your voice breaks through the fog in his brain, like a hand wiping mist from glass, and his own breath threatens to choke him. He’s speechless for a moment, forgetting how to function properly.

Just your voice has sent his mind into overdrive - burnt his synapses to ashes. 

He reckons he’s completely fucked.

“Hello?” You repeat, sounding a little more annoyed. 

You grumble something about telemarketers having lost the decency to call at a reasonable hour. And when he doesn't answer again, he hears you sigh. Your voice gets all clinical, then, as if you were trained to repeat the same script over and over. “Listen, if you’re trying to sell me somethin’, my husband’s not home – he takes care of that stuff.”

He snorts.

“Your husband?”

Silence.

There’s a sort of shifting sound, he gathers you might have removed the phone from your ear and checked for the number on the screen. He can practically see your eyes squinting at the phone.

He hears you gasp, and he hints at a smile. Fucking hell, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s done that.

“Simon?” You venture.

“Hello, love.” 

You squeal, and he pulls the phone away from his ear with a grimace. But he’s tired of lying to himself – his heart is soaring. 

"Christ. Made my ears ring," he deadpans.

You chuckle, sighing afterward, as if a weight has been lifted from your chest. God, you’re a dream to listen to. If only he could also look at your face right now, just bask in the way your smile would light up the room. 

“Serves you right,” you chide him, as if that could ever be a punishment. “Could’ve called a little earlier than three months in. Was already looking for a new flatmate.”

He’s eternally thankful for the skull mask, even if it’s soddened with his sweat because if anyone were to walk by, they wouldn’t see how his face has softened. 

“Yeah?” He sniffs, “Made a new flyer and all tha’?” 

“Oh yeah,” You agree flippantly. There’s a shuffling sound that reminds him of bedsheets. “Made sure to add my boyfriend left me as a footnote.”

The corners of his lips twitch minutely. 

“Thought it was your husband who wasn’t home.” He retorts. “Got a stash of ‘em, then?”

Your chuckle is a breath of fresh air. He wants to have it imprinted in his eardrums, replacing the aggravating tinnitus. 

“Oh, y’know,” you sigh dramatically. “Bit o’ this, bit o’ that. Keeps things interesting.”

“Gotta have a chat with the lad, then.” He taunts, “Set some rules.”

“Good luck with that. He rarely listens.”

He hums fondly. It’s all he can give you, right now. 

He’s new to this, relationships have never been his forte. For the first time in his life, he’s having someone else guide him. It’s hard, he won’t deny it, having another set of hands grasp the wheel, instead of his own. But he’s letting you, however slowly. You’re understanding, and you’re allowing him to leave his foot on the brakes. You never push him, you go at his pace – even if it’s blatantly annoying, how sluggish his movements are. Yet you don’t seem to mind, and he’s eternally grateful for it.

“How…” You start. He can tell you’re unsure, whether or not you can ask these things. Whether or not he can answer them. “How are you?”

His eyes soften. 

“Good,” he reassures you. “’S hot.”

You hum. “North Africa.”

He clicks his tongue. “No.”

“Okay.” A beat. “Middle East?”

Eh.  “No.”

You gasp. 

“You’re throwing me off guard, aren’t you? You said it’s hot, but it actually isn’t.” You say cleverly, even if you’re aware it’s most likely untrue. “North America, then. Like - Canada.”

“Drop it, maybe.” He offers gently. “Making a fool o’ yourself.”

“Alaska.” 

“Love.”  He warns, but his voice is kind. “Wastin’ time.”

“Mh, the script has changed, I see.” You tease him, and he can tell you’re smiling, by the way your voice comes. “Thought you were gonna hit me with the classified.”

“Like to keep you on your toes.”

“Been on my toes for three months.”

His heart clenches a little. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want you to live on the line like that. He wonders if you’ve ever felt like this, in the four years he’s lived with you without having anything tethering each other, if not a casual friendship. Were you ever afraid when he left for his deployments? Or is this new to you, like it is for him?

“Fixed the vacuum, by the way.” You tell him lightly, as if sensing the tense air your comment has instilled. 

He silently thanks you for breaking the silence when he couldn’t. A gentle huff of relief travels through the receiver. 

“What was the problem?” He asks, even if not really fussed about the state of the thing.

“Fuck if I know.” You shrug. “Gave it a few whacks and it started working again.”

He fails to keep in a huff of laughter. “Fucking hell, ‘s tha’ what you’ve been doing, then? Hitting appliances?”

“Fixing appliances.” You correct him. “And stress baking. Lots of it.”

“Work’s botherin’ ya?” 

“S’fine.” You sigh sweetly, as though that could give him some peace of mind. “Everything’s fine over here, you don’t have to worry.”

Selfless angel, you are. He would have to be daft not to realize that you’re probably leeching your heart dry at the thought that something might happen to him. He feels like a fool for not having contacted you sooner, even when he had only a minute to spare.

His pride be damned.

“’M sorry I didn’t call earlier.” He apologizes, because the least he can do is hope you forgive him for being like a baby deer on ice about all this. 

“You called.” Your voice is soft. “’S what matters.”

He knows what you mean. He’s alive, that’s what matters. He’s faring good enough to chat with you, that’s what matters. He’s missing you as much as you’re longing for him, that’s what matters. 

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His offhand runs across his face and he has to rip his own head out of his arse before the thoughts overwhelm him. 

How can he put you through this?  He should’ve left three weeks in, four years ago; should’ve let you share your home with someone more reliable, one who didn’t have a blade oscillating above his neck.

And yet at the same time, he can't let go of you. 

You’re so good to him, you’re the drop of water in a life that’s always felt arid. You made his barren heart flourish without even trying – he didn’t think anyone could, he thought he was bound to be frozen soil, not a garden. But here you fucking are, with your tiny watering can, nourishing the earth and causing it to sprout.

He’s selfish. He is. There is no karmic balance in his reasons. The scale tips in his favor through and through, because he’s sure you’re not gaining anything from this relationship, if not a spike in anxiety and its hand around your neck.

“How long?” You ask, seemingly unable to bear the silence.

"Few weeks." He croaks and clears his throat when he notices how cracked his voice sounds. “Be back in three. Could be two, if things go to plan.”

The silence on your end is deafening. Unwittingly giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“Countdown starts, then.” You reply with that sunshine in your voice. Sunbeams through ominous clouds. “Gonna tally the days on the wall with one of your can openers.”

He snorts. “Lotta money to fix.”

“We can put ugly wallpaper over it,” you propose. “So the next person to rent the place will remove it and a whole kidnapping slash ghost story will spread around the neighborhood.”

You’re crazy, he thinks, but not unkindly. His heart squeezes in his chest.

“Fucking numpty.”

“Fucking numpty, or fucking numpty, derogative?”

He smirks. “Former.”

“Wonderful.” You say with a pinch of a smile he can’t see, sounding all smug.

However, nothing nice can last forever, not in Simon Riley’s plane of existence. He spots his captain approaching him, fiddling with the boonie hat in his grasp while his other hand lazily dries droplets of sweat on his forehead.

“Gotta go.” He mutters. Waits a bit. Shuffles through his thoughts and decides to swallow his pride, because you deserve at least that much. “Missed you. Still do.”

You're silent for a moment longer before you give him a last glimpse of your voice. The one he'll hold onto like a lifeline for the next three – hopefully two – weeks. 

“Miss you too.” You say gently. “Come home soon.”

And he’s back suddenly. 

Earlier than expected, at that – one week only. Price was all business, a few days after he caught him sneaking a phone call. Telling him things like “Need you at HQ. Work with Laswell, make sure classified intel stays classified”. And when he questioned why would he send his sniper and lieutenant to do a job an analyst should do, Price answered with a curt “Because I can trust you”.

Honestly, what could he have said to that? Even if it smelled fishy from afar, his reasoning sounded mostly reliable. Because you would send your most trusted to deal with sensitive information, right? And if Simon were a bit more daft and a bit less intuitive, he would've shrugged it off. 

But it was plain as day when his boot landed on British soil, duffel bag in hand. When his phone pinged after he turned off airplane mode, and a text popped up:

[Unknown number]: Take a few days off for the jet lag. 

That he realized the ploy his teammates had concocted. To be honest, he wasn’t as resentful as he thought he was going to be. There was lingering thankfulness – somewhere, deep below layers and layers of stoicism.

[You]: Time zones aren’t that different. 

[Unknown number]: Take a few days off to just rest, then. 

[You]: Not that tired. 

[Unknown number]: Never took you for one to question orders. 

[You]: Never took you for one to put personal life before our job. 

Simon waited patiently under the overhanging lip of the hangar. The Kevlar of his glove crinkled as his fingers curled around the hand of his duffle bag. The rain creates a gentle buzz against the metal.

It took a while for the other bubble to appear, as if the other person – most likely Price, judging by the vocabulary used in the texts – was thinking about the right thing to say.

And the right thing it was, when the words fluttered on Simon’s phone screen.

[Unknown number]: About time you put yours first, though. 

Simon, for once, agreed.

────────────

The keys slide into the keyhole with familiarity. He turns it three times, content to see you’ve locked the door all the way. When he steps in, the flat is quiet, but he isn’t expecting otherwise. It’s late at night, the hands of the clock that’s hanging above the telly mark somewhere around three in the morning, but it’s too dark to be sure. 

He's ever so gentle when he closes the door and gingerly sets the duffle bag at his feet. 

The first thought popping in his head it’s you. You’re not expecting him to be back so soon, and he has this trepidation in him that wants to command his feet to the door of your bedroom only to see how you’d react to his unexpected presence.

But he takes a moment to digest this new feeling. 

It's hard to realize that, finally, you're not dreading something. For the first time in an excruciatingly long while, Simon isn't afraid. While his brain is rigidly wired in a way that makes him refuse to acknowledge his vulnerabilities, the heart knows best.

And he is scared. He’s always been scared, ever since his mother granted him the possibility of walking this earth. Being excited to live has never been his strong suit, but he’s learning. He’s trying. 

Takes practice, to accept you’re worth your happiness.

So, as a novice learner, it’s a little jarring to realize that when his feet land on the hardwood floors of this house, there's no need for fear. He can tuck the dread away, stuff it in a pocket, and close the flap, all the while being sure no harm will come his way. Certainty that with you there’s no need for all that, for vigilance – he can unravel the knots, and simply feel what comes, because it's not going to hurt him. 

You could never.

Hooking a finger under the hem of the balaclava, he snatches it off his head and lays it on the shelf next to the doorway. It’s soaked in rain, but he’ll wash it tomorrow. And he’ll use your fabric softener, so it’ll smell like your sheets. 

The flat looks awfully dull with the lights off. The bright colors are mere shades of grey, and while he’ll never admit it out loud, he truly thinks the orange of the eastern wall brightens the room as you've told him. The thought itself baffles him – Simon Riley now knows a thing or two about home design. You’ve changed him in ways he never expected. 

However, the thing that shocks him even more than his newfound knowledge of home interior embellishments, is when the smell of baked goods bullies its way into his nose. His mouth waters in a Pavlovian response. 

Right.  

Stress baking. 

He kneels to unlace his boots, before toeing them off gently, making sure they won’t thud against the floor and disturb your sleep. Then, he practically floats to the kitchen, still unbelieving at the idea that he gets to come home and find delicacies as such ready to eat. Sometimes, in the span of life he decides to call the “Before you”, he’d snatch a few MREs from the stash in base and eat them once back in his flat. 

Easy, quick, and edible. Even if they taste like cardboard.

And now he gets to walk into a kitchen that smells like blueberries and buttercream and black tea. He gets to grab a lumpy muffin from the tray on the kitchen island and sink his teeth in its golden and blue fluff. The flavors erupt on his tongue, from the saccharine spongy cake to the sweet tang of the blueberry juice as the fruit bursts under his teeth.

He selfishly hopes your stress baking will last for a few more days.

Nevertheless, while he’d gladly eat the whole tray if it were up to him, there’s something he craves more than a full stomach. And you're currently waiting in the other room, probably tucked under the duvet because the British weather tonight is rigidly cold. 

He shrugs off his wind jacket and drapes it over the backrest of a kitchen chair. He can’t afford to take any steps backward. The coat rack is just a few paces back from the kitchen, nailed to the wall near the entrance, but he really doesn’t care. That handful of seconds is too precious to waste.

The steps he takes through the dark hallway are measured and silent; years of special forces training have taught a man his size how to be what his callsign implies.

Discreetly, he turns the knob, trying to make sure he won’t wake you with a startle because the door has barged open. However, the one caught by surprise it’s him. Because you’re not asleep, even if it’s three in the morning. 

Oh, he wants to give you a proper earful – sure, he's not your father, and if you're so keen on staying awake up until this hour on a weekday, then it's your funeral. 

Does it help school the unruly necessity of keeping you as healthy as can be? Absolutely fucking not. You’re a heathen and he hates you for it. 

But now you’re resting your back against the headboard, cross-legged on the bed. Satin blue navy camisole paired with matching shorts, big headphones on your ears, and your laptop on the mattress. You’re typing away. He’s sure you’ve pushed back an assignment from work and now you’re running out of time.

The room is dark, the only light being the screen of your computer casting your silhouette against the wall behind you. It’s silent aside from the patter of rain on the windowpane – you haven’t closed the blinds because Simon knows you love the moon flooding your room with gentle light. However, tonight the clouds are dominating the night sky, but the lampposts across the street are doing what the moon can’t, and you seem to favor that over complete darkness.

It’s clear you haven’t noticed him yet, music blaring in your ears and eyes focused on the monitor. But he’s seen you all right. And your eyes are cast downward, your lashes like annoying curtains depriving him of what he's been missing for the past three months. 

In spite of how muffled his movements have been, you seem to notice a shift in the air. Something that makes your skin prickle, a pair of eyes that shouldn’t be in the same room, nor in the same flat – not now, at least, when he should be mummified in Kevlar and breathable cotton somewhere in the desert. He's secretly proud of how easily you seem to feel fluctuations in the environment. Makes him take a breath of relief, that your reflexes aren't dull even when your senses are already busy.

You lift your head swiftly, and he helps you focus on him by flicking up the light switch. The sudden brightness makes you squint, but you blink it away and finally clock him at the door. 

And your eyes are the color of the sun, he thinks. How could he forget, that they’re the color of a bonfire when it's cold out. Of yellows, oranges, and those occasional sparkles of green when the wood is not dry, but still burns to keep him warm.

Realization paints your face with stunning colors: darkening cheeks, eyes shaped like crescent moons under the pressure of rising cheekbones. Mouth curving beautifully, and it seems to catch your teeth. The smile stretches your lips abruptly, morphing your face in spare seconds.

He sees it happen in slow motion. You rip your headphones and carelessly toss them on the bed, your laptop is skewed to the side so quickly that he instinctively reaches out a hand to prevent its fall. Thankfully, the stars are on your side tonight, and the balance tips it on the mattress, instead of the floor. 

You’re a little hurricane, scurrying off the bed and kicking off the sheets. Getting on your feet and almost slipping in the attempt to reach him in as little time as possible. A tornado of limbs envelops him in the blink of an eye. He barely has time to react that you’re already coiled around him like ivy– arms, legs, and all.

Luckily, the doorway is right behind him, and he manages to tumble back and lean against it. Your arms are vines around his neck. Your legs are roots encircling his waist. You seem to grow on him, supplying his wretched heart with the sap of life you carry – symbiotic. He feels like he can breathe again and has been doing it wrong all this time.

He helps your balance by keeping a firm hold around your waist with his arms, encapsulating you in his warmth. Lean fingers spread on your back, yearning to touch as much as he can reach.

“Easy,” he rumbles. His voice is hoarse because whatever reaction he'd imagined, all this fussing surely wasn’t it.

Your fingers thread through his hair and tug lightly at his scalp. He’s silently apologetic because it must be wet with both rain and sweat, and he's sure the smell wafting from him isn't exactly cologne-worthy. But you don't seem to care, because after you've thoroughly inspected the crook of his neck, your face comes back into view.

Your eyes are the color of joy.

“Welcome back.” You whisper, as if it’s a secret between you two. And you kiss him because surely you must want it as much as he does. A flutter of lashes brushes his cheekbone when you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Nails scrape at his scalp in the gentlest of ways. 

Simon feels your smile before he sees it. “You taste like blueberries.”

And he exhales against your lips. “Found ‘em waiting for me in the kitchen. Baked for an army, y’ have.”

You peck his lips once more, as if you couldn’t fathom a second longer without having them on yours. “Figured you’d be hungry. MRIs can’t be that tasty.”

"MREs,” he corrects. “And you’re right. They ain’t.”

Simon is not sure he’s ever received such a warm welcome, or such warmth in general. He’s not going to complain, of course, but that doesn't mean it leaves him any less rattled each time.

He gently sets you down at the edge of the mattress, standing between your legs – which you’ve pliantly spread to make room for him.

You gesture with your hand from left to right, "Potato, Po-tah-to."

"One is food, the other is medical equipment," he deadpans.

You glare up at him, as if to ask what the hell he wants now – it's three in the morning. Can’t be arsed to correct vowels at three in the morning.

“Potato.” You enunciate it better now, and it steals a lazy grin from him. “Po-tah-to.”

After having flicked your forehead at your insistence, he reverently lays his hand on your cheek and spreads his fingers into your hair.

“Alright?” You ask him.

“Mhmh,” it’s his only reply.

If only to feel you more, he guides your face to his belly. You seem to appreciate the gesture because you're already nuzzling his shirt, fisting it at his back for good measure. Simon feels your back expand and deflate under his palm when you breathe. Feels the rhythmic thump thump of your heart at his fingertips.

You’re life in its purest form. 

Face first into his abdomen, your voice is obviously muffled, but he hears it clearly anyway. "You smell like a sewer, mate."

He snorts, and lightly tugs at your hair, enough to make your head tilt back. He squints his eyes at you. “Cry ‘bout it, mate.”

Simon bends at the waist as you chuckle. Places a kiss on the crown of your head. Your eyes flutter closed and so do his. 

For a moment, there’s nothing but you two. The world muffles its noise to favor the sound of your breaths. The rain patters against the windowpane. Your laptop has gone into standby mode so now the screen is dark. The mellow light on the ceiling, a pale yellow, is like your discreet personal spotlight. 

Then, he reluctantly pulls away, and you chase him for more, pouting when he doesn’t seem to come back. But when he starts to undress, your scowl is easily replaced by a lazy grin. To increase the dramatics of the moment, you lean back on your elbows and wiggle your brows at him, “Well, well.”

You’re not subtle at all with the way your eyes follow a trail down his back, how the muscles fold when his hand reaches to the collar of his shirt and pulls it off his head. Curves and muscles and the indent of his spine. Skin freckled with scars you never ask a thing about because you're kind and you’re giving him time to open up on his own.

He’s put on some weight ever since your relationship has transitioned into something more meaningful, including feelings he still doesn’t have the guts to acknowledge. His abs are not as defined as before, they’re tucked under a layer of fat he’s not really accepting as of lately. The scar running across his stomach and its other companions only add to his self-deprecating streak.

He eyes you briefly as he unbuckles his belt, searching for what he’s sure is going to be a grimace, but he's met instead with the stupidest look he’s ever witnessed. Slow blinking at his form the more he undresses himself. Lips parted as if you’ve tried and failed to catch your jaw.

And that gives him the right to take those thoughts and shove them into the fear pocket. Sew it shut. No need to fear a thing, if you look at him that way.

You bite the tip of your tongue between your teeth. "Givin' me a show, lieutenant?"

The corner of Simon’s lips tugs upward and the sudden self-hatred sublimates under the warm adoration in your eyes.

“Cheeky little thing,” he rumbles, letting his khakis pool at his ankles. He steps out of them and shrugs them off when they catch his feet. 

One last step, and he’s already hooking a finger under the hem of your blue camisole, slowly lifting it up. There's an impish gleam in your eyes that promises trouble and he would love nothing more than to drown in whatever disaster you're planning.

He stands between your legs only in his underwear and after you’ve shut the laptop and placed it on your nightstand, your hands immediately come to rest on his stomach. Simon sighs at the touch.

“You’re a menace,” he says gently when you drum your fingers up to his chest.

Honestly, he hopes you don’t care if he smells like a cocktail of grime and sweat and rain, because, as much as he wishes for a hot shower, the sight of you melts whatever need away. 

Your eyes travel downward, taking a generous eyeful of him. However, he knows you’re not just ogling; you're searching him for wounds. 

Bandages. 

Sutures. 

Anything  that might tell you whether he's hurt or not. 

Obviously, Simon knows you want to ask. But you’re sensible when it comes to his job. In spite of the jabs about all the “Classified” he’s given you as answers, he knows you don’t hold a grudge against him. He also doesn't like to bring work at home, taking pains to leave his safe space untainted by it – instead, he lets you do the detective work yourself. 

A sweet sigh leaves your lips when you settle on the fact that he's unscathed, and you lift your arms up to help him take off your top.

"A menace?" You quip, feigning offense. "M’not the one looking naked and yummy."

“You’re about to.”

You don’t look away from his eyes when his fingers pull your top up and off. The camisole is gently removed past your head, the satin leaving your hair a little staticky. 

“A menace,” he murmurs once more, his tone softer now as he tosses the garment in a vague direction.

You wrap your arms around his waist, propping your chin on the hollow between his ribs, taking in his face as the sight that it is to your eyes. He doesn’t have the energy to question why, and just basks in the adoring attention and in the well-deserved skin-to-skin contact.

"How was it this time?" You ask gently.

His arm drapes over your shoulders, slowly stroking at your skin. A tender kiss to your hairline has you automatically sighing. You do it every time he kisses your head. He's mentally taken note of how his lips press a button of sorts that makes it all wash away, like suds under the jet of water.

“Same as always,” he murmurs, keeping his tone low and soft for your ears only. 

You hum in acknowledgment. "So?"

He smirks, a curve hidden in your hair. “Classified.”

You scoff and playfully slap his butt. He pulls back with a newfound glow in his eyes.

“Not Full Metal Jacket, if you’re wondering.” 

You hum, deciding to play along. “Spies involved?”

He snorts and tucks a rogue lock behind your ear. “Sure.”

You poke his chest as you make your definitive guess. “Three days of the condor!”

His eye twitches when, amongst the myriads of films you’ve ever watched in your life, you quote the one with the CIA involved. He has to flatten his face into something more neutral. Surely yours was a clear shot in the dark that somehow hit the right spot – even a broken clock is right, twice a day. Still, your blind guess doesn’t leave him any less distressed.

“Sorta.” He offers through gritted teeth.

And you don’t push any further, sluggishly resting your cheek on his belly.

"Were you more Robert Redford?” You mumble with half-closed eyes, "Or Faye Dunaway?”

Relief washes over him and he can’t help but huff. Plops a hand on top of your head and smooths down to the ends of your locks, rolling them between the pads of his fingers.

“Faye Dunaway, love.” He rumbles. “No question.”

You playfully tighten the hold around his waist, and with a tug, he's pulled down onto the bed. Simon knows he could easily win whichever battle if you’re the opponent, but he’ll always pretend to struggle just to humor you. He’s careful though, so he props himself on his forearms to avoid crushing you with his bulk. 

Gently, you kiss his nose but he doesn’t pull away, instead allowing the kiss to be reciprocated on your cheek. He reaches out for the switch next to the headboard and turns off the lights. 

Your eyes are the color of a summer’s night. 

They’re dark but twinkle with starlight. Pupils blown and the glowing halo of your irises around them like an eclipsed sun. The light coming from outside seems to favor you, creating shapes around your face able to turn you into a dream made reality.

“I’ll call in sick tomorrow.” You tell him, nose to nose. 

“Won't bother anyone, will it?” He asks mindfully, although he cares very little if your co-workers might get a little miffed about your last-minute call.

You shake your head softly, causing your noses to brush. “Nope, they’ll understand.”

And so, he unfolds, rolling onto his back and taking you with him. Your head is guided by a big hand to rest on his chest. He fits you perfectly into his side, making sure every piece of you adheres like glue to his skin.

“Y’need a shower?” You murmur in his skin, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers are tracing mindless patterns on his chest, skimming over hair and the odd scar here and there.

“Tomorrow,” he replies quietly. “Sleep now.”

“Alright,” you whisper. “Wake me up when you do, yeah?”

“Sure.” He says, looking down at the top of your head. He leaves a kiss in its ruffled mess.

“G’night, love.” He breathes. 

You murmur it back, and fall into your slumber.

────────────

Simon opens his eyes with his heart thundering in his chest. He doesn’t know why, and likely pegs it to mere habit. Three months stuck in hypervigilance will have your body unconsciously overreact at the most subtle of changes, even if there are none.

There’s too much light in the room for it to be night, and a single look at the window tells him the sun is just shy of rising. 

During the night, you must’ve moved around and he must have followed you, because now he has your back to his chest. An arm slung around your waist, the other tucked beneath your neck. 

He gently tugs the duvet a little higher, over your shoulder, and spends the next few minutes just looking at how peaceful you look.

Next to a killer. 

His stomach churns wildly. 

You’re home,  his heart says. You’re not a killer here. 

A shame, truly, that his brain doesn’t agree in the slightest. Two organs fighting like separate entities, and the whole brawl is happening inside of him, mercilessly tearing his flesh apart. 

But it’s already broken, isn’t it? What else is there to shred. 

Yet he’s home and you’re comfortable next to him. So how broken can he be, really?

Torn. Shredded. Lookin’ like you went through the grinder and barely came out of it alive. 

He forces his eyes shut and buries his face in your hair, nuzzling your nape. 

Pretty thing, she is. Who the fuck d’you think you are, mh? 

A sharp inhale. Breathing you in. You smell sweet enough for the sounds in his head to buzz out. Not silent yet, but quiet enough for him to have a breather.

You don’t know how long it takes for his body to expel the exorbitant amount of adrenaline produced in three months of deployment. How his back cracks when it hits the comfortable mattress of yours and his bedroom, after having spent way too much time packed like a sardine on sordid cots or much-too-small sleeping bags.

How he fucking hates it, when you feel so soft and untouched, while he has more scars than bloody years on his back. 

Not right. Ain’t fucking right to you. 

His hand snakes from your waist to follow the curve of your arm. He follows the bulge it makes under the comforter. The rain has turned into a light drizzle, allowing the sound of his skin brushing over yours and the shuffle of the blanket to echo in his ears.

He scoots impossibly closer, pressing your back against his chest hoping your skin would mold with his. Nose buried in the crook of your shoulder; kisses light as breeze following the length of it. 

You smell so good you disarm him. He sighs as if he’s been utterly defeated, lost a battle he didn’t even know he was fighting. 

His mind hushes, finally. His heart unwinds itself – springs let loose, pulse calm. 

There’s you. The way your breaths come. Your limbs stirring at the gooseflesh left by his kisses. The rising sun lapping at your skin. The rise and fall of your back. 

It’s calm.

Your head turns slightly, looking over your shoulder. You must only see his eyes, lazily glancing at you through pale lashes.

Yours are a dawning sun.

They’re soft and gentle, pale yellows and blues, peeking above the sheer horizon of sleep you’re trying to overcome. Idle, slow, but most welcome.

“Hey,” you croak, blinking the drowsiness away. “You okay?”

He hums a quiet yeah in your skin. Hasn’t even noticed his hand returning to your stomach and pulling you in, angling you against his lap. 

And fuck him, but he’s sporting the hard-on of a lifetime. 

He knows you’ll understand that he’s been deprived of such pleasures for three months, but it doesn’t make him any less embarrassed. A hand in his pants, while he hid somewhere more private in the middle of nowhere was a temporary fix that fixed very fucking little. Especially not after having been spoiled by you.

Simon doesn’t necessarily want to fuck you, now. Sure, his dick might have a head of its own, and he wouldn’t complain against it were it to happen, but he still has control of his actions. And now he just wants to feel you, whether inside or out doesn’t matter – as long as it’s you.

Nevertheless, he isn’t expecting you to have much different plans. Naturally, he isn’t going to protest.

Your ass tentatively presses against his length, the satin of your shorts sliding easily along the cotton of his boxers. You’re still so sleepy – he sees you digging a knuckle in your eye, nostrils flaring as you let out a big yawn. 

Were you aware of what you were doing, or were you being a goddamn minx?

“Well, good mornin’,” you murmur, a lick of a smile on your lips. “Brought me a souvenir from bumfuck nowhere?”

Minx it is. 

He snuffs out a chuckle by harshly pressing his lips against your shoulder, sewing his lips shut. Unfortunately, his chest rumbles against your back and you catch it before he manages to catch himself. 

Your hand goes to rest above his own on your stomach, fingers intertwining. 

Soft skin on both sides: palm to your belly, knuckles to your hand. He’s sandwiched in bliss. Three months away, barely any contact, and all he apparently needed to alleviate some wounds was just a handful of hours spent asleep in your presence.

His lips part slightly. Kisses turn wetter and teeth bite at your neck, his tongue darting out to subsequently soothe the ache. Your hand has already guided his own to your breast, and your mouth is breathing sounds he’s missed.

And he tells you, because why should he hide a thing from you.

“Missed ya,” he croaks, voice a little shaky for reasons unknown. He could look in his head (or his heart) and find them – surely, they’re there. But he figures the present feels much better than the jumbled mess inside.

Reasons can wait.

“Let me feel you, yeah?” 

Your head bending backward to his face is the answer you give him, back pressed flush against his chest. You guide his hand up and squeeze it around the fat of your breast to assert your approval. 

But he’s not satisfied with that. Needs your voice to tell him it’s alright, that you’re not under some sleep-induced spell. That you’re fine with having him feel you, and you’re not just offering yourself because he’s been away for so long and you want to give him some sort of reward.

Simply, that you want him as much as he wants you.

His voice is raspy and low, “Words, love.”

"Please," you whisper and vigorously grind your ass against his groin. “Touch me.”

He hisses and presses forward too, meeting your movements. 

He’s still a little out of it, senses overrun by the general fatigue clinging to his muscles as the aftermath of deployment, his bones weary and getting accustomed once more to the comfort of a bed instead of a cot. 

Mind absolutely quiet.

He flicks his thumb over your nipple. Rolls it between thumb and forefinger. Your shuddering breath prompts him to pull at it, and it causes you to arch your back off of him, pressing further against his painfully hard cock. 

He grunts against your shoulder, hand busy teasing your breasts and hips rutting against the plump flesh of your ass. You grind back against him, working in tandem to relieve at least some of that ache. 

Each movement is a languid stroke of fabric that gives him enough pleasure to cause his resolve to falter. When he turns your head sideways, leaving your tits to grasp your jaw, he loses it. Your flushed cheeks, lower lip trapped between your teeth, the whites of your eyes still a little red from sleep.

Lips on lips, slotting together like magnets. 

Too long. 

Too damn long. 

Sure, he kissed you when he came back, a bunch of hours before. But this is a whole other thing. The connection behind it, the pinch of your brows conveying the same desperation he has. Hands grabbing at flesh, bodies grinding against each other. Tongues dancing privately. Eyes closed to shut the world out. Moans and pants, dotted with the occasional curse slipping from his lips when the length of his cock catches the cleft of your ass.

His palm slides down and crosses the threshold marked by your shorts. He’s awfully delighted to find out you have nothing underneath them. Feels blessed when his middle finger slides down your cunt to find it impossibly wet. 

“Oh - Simon,” He hears you whimper, and he almost comes in his briefs then and there because he has no right to hear you say his sullied name with such devotion behind it. 

Seemingly feeling the need to respond in kind, your arm blindly reaches behind, and you slip it between your butt and his groin. Your hand is soft as it palms his cock, the cotton of his boxers an annoying barrier. 

The tip is leaking tremendously, and he should be embarrassed about the obvious wet spot he must be sporting on his briefs. However, he can’t even manage to concoct the thought that your fingers are already fumbling with the elastic band of his underwear and finding their way in.

Simon shudders when your warm hand curls around his shaft. 

You glide your hand up, collecting precum on your palm, before sliding back down again – velvet skin being pulled over the head to steer clear of overstimulation, and then down once more. Similarly, he crooks his finger to gather your wetness and uses it to roll idle circles around your clit. 

And it goes on, and on, and on, and on. It’s slow and drawn out, both of you wanting to reach that high but at the same time don’t – cutting off pleasure doesn’t seem fitting, when both of you have been starved of one another.

He bends the arm beneath your neck to pull your head back, next to his own, cheek to cheek. Simon’s hips jerk to blatantly fuck your fist, yours flow with the movement of his fingers circling your clit, stroking yourself against his hand.

He starts getting antsy, however, when he notices that he can’t properly reach you. Can’t have you unravel on his fingers like he’s done so many times before. Simon wants – needs – to see you unfold and squirm under the pressure of his hand. Needs to have you cream on his fingers – as simple as it’s primal.

He murmurs against the shell of your ear, “Need to stretch you out, love.”

And – goddamn you, you whine. Your hand doesn’t stop its languid movements, but it further slows down, as if you needed all of yourself to cooperate and form a single thought.

“Jus’ do it, I missed you.” You whimper, breathy and high-pitched. “Won’t hurt much, I promise.”

Simon sucks in a sharp breath, closing his eyes because your voice has gone straight to his cock and he needs to disassociate for a second to recollect himself.

You’re a temptress, even in your loving, tender desperation. And how sweet it is to know that he isn���t the only one craving those intimate touches he can only give you. You’ve had your fair share of relationships and lovers, but has he? Some quick ones, enough to get rid of natural aches. Definitely not with a connection so deeply ingrained. 

And he tastes, then, the beauty of mutuality. Of giving and receiving. 

He retreats his hand and prompts you to do the same. Helps you take off your shorts and pulls his cock out of his underwear. He holds you still with one arm around your waist, palm flat against your lower belly to angle you better. 

Gingerly, he guides the tip to your slit, dragging it upward until it catches your clit and you hiss, and then down to your hole. Back and forth, happily realizing that he has, in fact, made you wet enough to make it hurt less. And while he tends to be open to many requests made under the bedsheets, anything that causes you pain is a huge, firm no in his book. 

Which is why he’s a bit hesitant now, pressing chaste kisses against your shoulder, trying to soften the ache that will inevitably come. A juxtaposition, really, to his cock dragging a raw, slow dance down your cunt.

It’s then that you turn your head in the pillow to groan against the fabric, and your legs clamp together and essentially choke him between the plush of your thighs.

The sensation is initially a sharp jolt that makes him spout a series of curses under his breath. But then the glisten of your cunt mixed with the precum you’ve diligently smeared all over him, with your folds and your plump thighs wrapped around him in a warm, wet hug – he sees the appeal. 

And thrusts. Shamelessly – once, twice, thrice. Snapping harshly, only to draw back slowly. Grunting to your skin. Chest vibrating against your back.

“F – fuck,” he manages to choke out, wringing his eyes closed to regain some control over his actions and failing spectacularly.

Your moans don’t help. They perfectly align with the slap of his hips against your ass, with the wet noises of your sodden cunt against his cock. It’s as filthy as it’s fucking wonderful, and he’s terribly afraid he’ll finish before he can even fit the head inside of you. 

The grip he has around your waist only tightens, leaving you breathless by the second. Simon has his mouth next to your ear, giving you the privilege of hearing even the smallest breaths he exhales. 

“You’re so fuckin’ soft,” he whispers, panting from the effort. 

Curiously, he takes a peek over your shoulder as he fucks your thighs, catching the flushed head of his cock stroking your clit and appearing each time he thrusts in. It’s fucking debauched and he loves it to bits. So much that he groans and rolls his eyes, struggling not to paint your thighs with his spend.

“Need to fuck you,” he hurries, choking on the words. “Now, love.”

Rapidly (and reluctantly), he pulls out of the pillowy, snug space your thighs had inadvertently created for him, almost hissing when the cold air hits the sensitive skin of his cock, coated in yours and his arousal. 

“On your back, swee’heart,” he gently guides you down, adding a brisk yet tender “C’mon.”

And you comply, feeling almost like a ragdoll in his hands. Lips parted and slick as they form small Yes’s to convey the same ache he feels. It takes him less than a breath to place his mouth over yours again. 

As he hovers above you, thick arms on each side of your head and chapped lips crashing against your own, he slots his hips between your legs. The softer flesh of the inside of your thighs is still wet from when he’s buried his cock between them. He feels the fluids stick to the skin of his hips.

Taking his time, he lets a hand wander down your chest, flowing to your belly until his fingers reach your core – where you’re wet, and warm, and still pressing up against his cock, searching for friction.

He plunges a finger inside, making the movement of your hips stutter and your mouth gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“Gotta stretch you out," he repeats languidly, because he cannot - for the life of him - put words into sentences without thinking about the structure beforehand.

He’s aware he’s big. It used to chub up his ego when he was younger and brash, but now he can’t be arsed about it. Big or small, he’s learned that it’s how you use it – and to be frank, he hasn’t used it much before you.

But he knows it’s going to hurt if he just puts it in with little to no preparation. He hasn’t seen you in three months, and you can trust him when he says he’s as ravenous as you are and can’t bloody wait to be inside you where he’s warm and blessed – but causing you pain? When it can be avoided so easily (and he can make it feel good, too)?

Absolutely not. Categorical. 

He wants you to indulge in the blissful touches and the highs he can bring. Needs you to associate him to kindness and soft breaths and how much he hungers for you – he'll gladly eat you up, but only if you say so. 

“’S not gonna hurt,” you mumble again, sounding a little drunk in the effort to convince him. “Please.”

Your eyes flutter to him, and they’re this dark pool he can’t seem to navigate. Lust overflowing like fat, miry tears that can’t fit in the space of your sockets, and then something even darker – longing. You’re looking at him as if it's the first time you’re seeing him.

He gets it, then, how good you’ve been at hiding it so he wouldn’t hurt at the thought of hurting you. He must've unconsciously taught you a thing or two, by wearing stoicism, neutrality, and more tangible skull masks. 

You’ve missed him body and soul. 

You’re there, eyes heavy and full, begging for him to come back to you. 

How long have you been waiting for me like this? 

“Oh, love,”  he breathes and kisses you again.

A long finger inside, pushing against the place he knows makes your eyes water.

“M’sorry,” he whispers, thumb steadfast on your clit, as if he could apologize just by using his fingers because words tend to fail him when he needs them the most.

And so, he slides in his ring finger too, feeling the momentarily tight fit and the subsequent way you relax to welcome him. Your lips part to sharply breathe in, eyes scrunching close at the stretch. He can feel your hands stiffen against his back until they travel up his spine and tangle through shorn blond hair. 

You’re keeping him close, with your forehead pressed to his almost to the point of pain. Your noses are in the way of the onslaught you’re causing on his mouth. Strained, heavy pants brush his lips when you part from him to breathe, before lavishing him with attention again.

You’re always good with words. You always know what to say, and yet you’re being extremely quiet – it worries him more than the look you have in your eyes. 

“M’sorry.”

For being away. 

For not telling you where I was. 

For leaving you to wonder whether I’d come back, or not. 

For not calling. 

I’m sorry. 

“M’so sorry.”

My girl.  

His hand cradles the back of your head as if he could get you any closer, and he fucks you with his fingers.

“Don’t be,” you reply, your voice so faint and lost in the sounds of your bodies he has to perk his ears for it. “You’re home.”

My sweet, sweet girl. 

And he buries his face in your neck, leaving wanton kisses that have very little erotic power to them. He’s just trying to taste you, really. Trying to commit you to memory again, conveying fierce apologies to your skin. 

He can feel you clench around him, almost sucking him in, each time his fingers reach deep.

“Fuck, need to see you come.” He murmurs to the skin of your neck.

Thumb aching, he replaces it with the heel of his hand. A continuous and tortuous curl of his fingers inside of you, palm cupping your cunt and rolling against your clit. His cock aches when you whimper and stifle it by biting into his shoulder. A sharp exhale. Skin sweaty and pressed against his chest. Hands tugging at his hair. 

“Don’t-” You croak. “Just- just fuck me, Si.”

He groans because stop being stubborn, will ya?

“I’ll cum the moment I get in, swee’heart.” He tries to reason and almost loses it at the raunchy, squelching sounds caused by his fingers between your legs. "Lemme take care of you before tha'."

But it's like talking to a wall.

"'s fine, love. I don't care, yeah?" Your hips move against his hand, but at this point, he gathers it's just a natural body response to pleasure. “You’ll take care of me tomorrow, and the days after that.”

Just when he’s about to rebut, you sandwich an arm between your bodies and curl soft fingers around his cock. The simple act makes him stop his motions, and he feels you pulse and clench around his fingers.

“Please.” You whisper, voice like silk. 

He crumbles, then, at the sight of your eyes. Watery and glossy and wide – lust a long-forgotten thing. 

He nods briefly when he surrenders. A jerky movement of his jaw as he swallows thickly. Doesn’t dare to avert his gaze from yours when he retrieves his hand and loves to catch how your brows pinch at the sudden emptiness inside. Sloppily, he coats his stiff cock with your wetness with a few weak pumps.

His eyes stay on you, as he goes in blindly, guided by touch only, and drives the tip to your hole. Tries to gauge your thoughts by the expressions on your face, and fails miserably, for once, at keeping his own concealed.

Barely aware and in control of what his face is conveying, he gathers you must appreciate it because you shift your palms to cradle his cheeks. He doesn’t know why you do it because there’s nothing on this godforsaken planet that could make his attention swerve to any thoughts but how beautiful you look when your lips stroke his own with featherlight pressure.

And he slides in, comfortably easy. Feels your puffy lips stretch to welcome him whole, inch by inch. Piece by piece of him, in every way you want to interpret it. 

His jaw is locked tight because as soon as your walls envelop the head of his cock, he already feels himself shutting down. His eyes close – he can’t afford to look at how you morph for him. How your pussy swallows the first inches of his cock, puffy clit begging to be touched and lavished. How your mouth parts against his own to yield soft moans and breathy whispers that encourage him to please, please, please go deeper. 

He can’t. Stubbornly thinking he must last long enough to give you some pleasure or it will all be worthless. And so, it’s a repetitive dance: an inch in, and a full pull out. Stop. Another inch, and pull out. 

It’s driving him fucking mental.

“Let go,” you say, tearing his head out of the gutter. “Look at me, and let go.”

He can’t exactly decide whether you’re being the devil on his shoulder, or an angel sent from heaven – either way, the aim is to ruin him. Yet it doesn’t matter when he opens his eyes, and you look so beautiful his heart cracks, with a thin layer of sweat on your brow and the sheen of his spit on bitten lips. 

You don't have to tell him twice at this point, because the way your hands force his face steady so he keeps his eyes on you does most of the trick. His resolve crumbles at breakneck speed.

He bottoms out, pushing his pelvis flush against yours. Your eyes roll back at the same time, legs going stiff and tight around his hips. He does a tentative roll that causes the coarse hair on his groin to press against your bundle of nerves.

"Fuck," you breathe, your voice cracking at the edges. He echoes it right after you, or at the same time – he's not sure, but in his defense, he's not confident about a single thing right now.

If not how absurdly scorching you are, all wrapped around him.

With that, he hooks one arm around your waist and tucks his other hand behind your head. He holds you close like you might slip away, and he’s sure as hell not taking any chances.

He fucks you slowly, deep thrusts that fill you up all the way, and greedy love bites on your neck. Open-mouthed kisses at your throat, sliding up to your jaw and cheeks, all the way to your lips. Truthfully, he’s both trying to get his senses chock full of you, and keep his mouth shut so no words spoken while in ecstasy escape.

The slap of his hips against yours drowns the taps of the morning drizzle against the windowpane. He’s got your face buried in the crook of his neck, and your pants echo in his ears like a fucking promise that threatens to unravel him.

Each thrust has him fully sheathed inside of you. It fills him with primal pride and fuels his pleasure, because you take him so fucking well he can't help but think he's modeled you in his perfect image. He grunts against you and tugs at your hair out of sheer desperation to hold on – just a little longer.

But you’re swearing in his ear. Breathless fuck’s whispered like a curse and a vow at the same time. You shift your hips to change the angle and that makes him hit even deeper and he swears he hears you whimper in that telltale way he knows well.

He lifts your hips up and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

And he absolutely rams into you.

“Christ I missed you.” He rumbles and his voice cracks while your moans rise in pitch and your nails scratch his back. “Fuckin’ thought of you," Thrust. "Every bleedin’ day.”

He’s rambling now, intoxicated on the feeling of you. His words are slurred and strained and, deep down, there’s a more sober version of Simon Riley cursing at himself for speaking his heart out.

Luckily, it’s drowned by the slap of flesh against flesh and the wet sounds of your cunt milking him dry. 

Finally, he thinks, he's using his strength not to wield a heavy M4 or to ram against hostiles, but to fuck you on his cock – knee-deep in the mattress for leverage.

He lets go, like you asked.

He murmurs in your ear (Fuckin’ beautiful), words alternated with heavy pants (An’ all mine) and the animalistic grunts of a man cocooned in bliss (All fuckin’ mine).

His hips stutter and he knows he’s close, but you’re not even nearby, in spite of how he can feel you clench around him, sucking him in. And God, the guilt that fills him almost makes him stop even if he has that sweet, sweet release just around the bend.

But you won’t have that, naturally. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, clammy and sticking out weirdly because he’s sweaty and hot. He feels his head being shifted to the side, so you can look into his eyes.

And oh, how can you look at him like that? How is he even deserving of it – fuck you and your relentless ways to crawl under his skin and make him feel like he’s worth a damn, with your eyes glossy and hooded. A thick veil of admiration, fondness, and you. 

You, you, you. 

Where have you been all his life, with this color in your eyes?

“Come inside.” You plead tenderly, breathless and raspy, as he pounds you into your own bed. Your fingers smooth back rogue strands that are sticking to his forehead. “Please come inside.”

And you crush his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. One that marks his demise. He’s falling hard into your embrace, figuratively and literally, too.

He uses whatever shreds of strength he has left to ram into you as if his life depended on it, punching gasp after heaving gasp out of your beautiful lips into his hungry mouth.

It works like a spell because he feels the familiar pressure building at the base of his cock. Syrupy hot warmth runs down his legs to the tips of his toes. Tingling. Tightening. Burning so good he thinks he's melting within you.

Suddenly, his head spins, and he groans in your parted lips as he ruts into you one last time – until he has you filled to the brim. His eyes slam shut as he spills inside of you – cock pulsating and hot. 

His high takes its sweet time, canceling out all background noises and only leaving your sweet breaths to fill in his ears, and the pounding of his heart. 

Simon unceremoniously drops on you like dead weight, allowing your legs to return around his waist. His lips slide off yours until his head is tucked in the crook of your neck. He’s absolutely spent, but there isn’t enough fatigue in this world that could keep him away from you. You’re sweaty and he’s worse, but he doesn’t see why, in the haze of his orgasm, he shouldn’t have his lips reach every inch of skin he can.

His kisses are lazy – a stark contrast from the desperation he’s displayed until now. 

He feels safe. He feels at home, still buried deep inside of you, feeling the come that couldn’t fit inside ooze out and onto the bedsheets. A bummer to clean, he’ll realize when he’ll get his sanity back.

And he wants to tell you so many things when he feels your hands skimming down his back in a soothing dance. Wants to tell you how you’ve flipped his life, with the ease of tossing a coin – heads and tails. Opposites so striking you should be deemed a witch. 

He was in deep fucking shit before you offered your smile. Inching closer and closer to dead-ended alleys and dark, murky thoughts that could only lead to dreadful places.

You gave him something to yearn for, something to miss when he's away, and something to cherish when he's here. 

There’s nothing he can do to return the favor but love you in equal measure. 

It’s not the first time the word love has come up in his head when his mind was lost in memories of you. And while he’d rather not dwell on it now, while you hold him to your chest as he comes back to his senses, he knows the time will eventually come.

Yet he doesn’t dread it. Not one bit.

Fear pocket sewn shut. Finally. 

He lifts his head to look up at you and finds you doing the same – he’s sure he’s thoroughly fucked in the best way imaginable. 

“I’ll take care of everything later,” you say, reading his thoughts. “You okay?”

It takes him a while to respond. Mental gymnastics to reawaken the parts of his brain that are still tingling in the afterglow. 

“Never better, love.” 

“Sleep?” You offer, as if he isn’t still buried inside of you and effectively crushing you under his weight. 

You don’t seem to mind, and so he trusts you and doesn’t either.

His eyes are half closed as he slides down to rest his head in the valley of your breasts. "Y' didn't cum," he mumbles, leaving an open mouthed kiss on the fat of your tits.

Your fingers brush through his hair to keep him close, and when your nails scrape at his scalp he feels gooseflesh rise along his arms. 

"'S fine," you whisper gently, and he's struck by the earnestness in your tone. But then you quip, "I'll have ya on your knees tomorrow."

And he scoffs. "Makin' it sound like a punishment."

You purse your lips and land a kiss on the crown of his head. "Then stop complaining."

He grunts something he himself can't even discern. 

“Y’need to piss first.” He grumbles mindlessly, as if the thought of you standing up annoys him but he knows a UTI is even more aggravating.

You snort. “Charming."

And he responds in kind. "Chivalry's dead anyway."

There's a few seconds of silence only broken by your quiet chuckle. "I’ll wait for you to fall asleep, then ‘m off to the loo. Deal?”

He grunts in agreement, liking the compromise you’re offering. “Deal.” 

And his head stays quiet. Sleazy hands and raging voices cease, silenced under the thunder of your heartbeat.

“I missed you.” He thinks he hears you whisper, your voice thick and wet. He closes his eyes with his head on your chest. “’M so happy you’re home.”

────────────

Simon wakes up with shy sunbeams peeking through the blinds and brushing his brow. You must’ve closed them when you woke up, to shield him from the sun.

He blinks idly, momentarily lost in that phase between sleep and waking life, still unsure of where he is. His mouth is pasty, and his eyes struggle against sunlight. The duvet is up to his chin, and it smells of grapefruit-scented softener, and of you. The pillow is a little wet, and he embarrassingly notices that it’s because he’s drooled on it – he smacks his lips once, twice, but his tongue might as well be a dried-up cinderblock.

It has been a long time since he’s slept like this. Since his mind has shut down and left him alone. Since his night has gone smoothly, sleep comatose and dreamless – nightmare-less.

And you’re not there, but that’s okay.

Because he hears your music from the kitchen, kept at a low volume so you won’t wake him up. The clanking of utensils frames the beat, pans and pots being moved around as you hum to yourself following the melody. The smell of eggs, sausages, potatoes, and fresh veggies – a full English. Wafts of that disgusting coffee you drink in the morning intertwined with the softer notes of the tea you’re brewing for him.

You were right: he is home.

And he can’t see your eyes, but that’s okay too.

He guesses he’ll never remember their exact shade, Simon’s fine with it. No better thing than to discover you once more, each time he gets to come home.

They change with you, following the flow of whatever you allow to show, and of what he’s learned to read. They’re the color of that life he’s unwittingly always looked for. That life promising a pocket of peace for himself. Chock full of love and nice things he’s always been deprived of.

A balm to both his ancient and newest wounds.

He has never shared a single story about his past, never told you why his body is like a tattered book whose tale is as horrific as it looks. But you don’t mind, and he doesn’t know why because he’s firmly set on the idea that you must know someone inside out to be sure you care.

And it’s then that it hits him, that you do know him – better than anyone. You know the man he is. You want the man he is now, the man he will be one day – as mental as it sounds to him. His present, and his future. And sure, his past might have made this man you know, but he’s not the same Simon under his father's thumb or the one felled by Roba’s tortures.

Although he’s not sure he can reopen certain sutures without the wounds bleeding all over the floor, he'll try. He’ll clean up, if he must, knowing that you’ll help him have each injury scab over again. 

What baffles him is that you’re not saying he has to. You’re saying he can. And this choice you’re giving him is a privilege he’s never had the chance to bear.

He can tell you everything, and you’ll listen. He can keep it to himself, and you’ll stay, accepting that there will be places of him you’ll never venture – and to you, that is fine.

As long as he stays, too.

There are no words he can use to express his gratitude. He can only love you – and it might take him a while to acknowledge that he’s capable, but he already does love you.

You appear at the door as he’s lost in his own head, still tucked under the duvet. Strips of sunlight cross your form, curving around the beautiful shape of you.

“Good morning, you.” You say, with a smile that reminds him of the sun.

Lazily, he offers one of his own to you. It’s lopsided and he thinks not quite as beautiful. 

He hopes you forgive him for it: takes practice to be happy, and he’s still learning.

And so, he smiles, and looks at you like you're the most tangible form of joy he's ever witnessed. 

His voice is raspy from sleep, and soft from you.

“Mornin’, love.”

[kingkat12]

seven minutes in hell (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, public sex(??), voyeurism, emotional extortion (Roman is such an ass omg), groping, foul language, smoking, angst, mentions of sex

summary: after you made out with Roman during a game of seven minutes in heaven, he insists that you owe him for not telling Letha about it-- how can someone so beautiful be so evil?

word count: 8,192 (yes I know lol)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9

a/n: after having my inbox flooded w sweethearts asking for a part two, here you go!! I do advise new readers to read the first one before this, because idk how much sense this is going to make without it lol, but enjoy!!<33

Paranoia. That was the only word that could describe the week that followed the party where Roman and I had kissed.

I had spent every waking moment wondering when Roman would show up to cash in his debt or prick me with a goddamn needle. His words lingered in my mind, haunting me; "Fine, I'll be nice. But you owe me," The reminder of those words sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but wonder how I could've been so stupid as to rope myself into something like this.

Roman knew I liked him. In fact, he knew it very well. I couldn't even mask my feelings with hatred anymore, and everything about that made me want to throw myself off a cliff-- that would probably be more merciful than whatever it was that I had in store. 

After we had made out during seven minutes of heaven, I had to tell my best friend, Letha, that nothing had happened. If she found out that I had made out with her cousin, I doubt she'd want to have me hanging around any longer. And quite frankly, Letha was my favourite person in the whole world, so it was detrimental that she stayed close. She was like a ray of sunshine peeking out through heaps of stormy skies; there was no way in hell I'd lose her without a fight.

Which is why I needed to keep Roman in check, along with my body un-pierced by any incoming needles. 

The first time I saw him after the party, was a few days later in the cafeteria at school. I had stopped in my tracks, completely turning to stone as I watched him with his friends. It was almost as though I was afraid he'd see me if I moved, and to my shock, that's exactly what happened-- as I shifted my weight from one foot to another, harshly gripping my tray of food, his eyes landed on me with a quickness that immediately threw me into a state of panic. I bolted with speed I didn't know I had, not stopping until I reached the other end of the school, panting. 

The second time had been at the library. I had been looking for a specific book that was quite old, meaning I had to do a lot of searching-- the librarian had been of no help, of course. As I scoured the shelves of endless books, crouching down to get a look at the lower sections, I suddenly felt a pair of eyes on me from above.

I looked up to find Roman's green eyes staring at me from the other aisle; his height made it ridiculously easy to lean over, having no visual obstruction of my side of the shelf. Something about the smirk playing across his lips made me freeze up-- it felt like I was prey, about to be eaten whole. I let out a squeak of horror as I grabbed the first book I saw, not letting him get a word in before I dashed towards the exit without a second thought.

The third time was the absolute worst; I had been walking down the stairs with Letha, on our way to our shared history class, as we suddenly encountered Roman on his way up. I felt my heart beat against the books I now pressed tightly against my chest, holding my breath as he neared us with a conniving look on his face-- I was quite sure I had lost all the blood in mine.

As Roman and Letha had a conversation about some sort of family dinner later, I did my best to make myself as small as possible; I wondered whether I should slip away into the crowd or just throw myself down the stairs. 

I was quite sure that it was clear to Roman why I was avoiding him, and I was even more sure that it also was amusing to him. It was rather obvious, with the way he obnoxiously eyed me up with a growing grin. "You okay?" he asked, nudging me. "You look spooked."

Asshole. Just the slightest touch was enough to make me flinch, and my words came out in a breathy mumble; "I'm fine," 

Roman nodded, exchanging a look with Letha. He grew taller when he took a step up, inching closer as he leaned over to check which books I had pressed up against my chest. His long, slender fingers reached forward to tug at one of the books to get a better look, and I would've missed the note he slipped down along the front of my history book if I had blinked. As Roman pulled away, dragging his fingers through his hair as though nothing had happened, I held my books as tight to my chest as I possibly could to not let the note slide down to the floor. 

My heart was beating harder than ever as Roman made his way past me, his familiar cologne lingering in my system as Letha and I made it to class five minutes early. As she left to use the bathroom, I could finally put away my things, inhaling a shaky breath as I checked the note;

meet me behind school in an hour, or I tell Letha everything

I couldn't help the groan that escaped me, ripping the piece of paper to shreds. This was not going to end well.

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Somehow, I had managed to pry myself away from Letha for long enough to make it in time for my meeting with Roman. I was tugging at the sleeves of my jumper, anxiously ripping at the fabric. Wondering whether I should've worn protective gear to shield myself from any needle-kinks he might impose on me, I trembled with fear-- I didn't want to see him. 

Despite my wishes, Roman eventually came around the corner, a rather mischievous smirk spread across his soft, pink lips as he neared me. His hands were tucked into his pockets as he leaned against the wall next to me, his green eyes etching themselves into my skull. His usual cardigan was draped around his shoulders and over his white shirt, tied in the front, as he crossed his long legs in the classic Roman Godfrey stance. "I'm glad to see you came,"

"As if I had a choice," I mumbled, glancing at our surroundings, not wanting to be caught alone with him here. I had to do everything in my power not to look at the casual swoop of his hair, not wanting to think about how handsome he looked right now. "What do you want?"

Roman blinked twice, almost as though he had expected me to say something else. "Isn't it obvious?"

I was afraid my heart was pounding audibly in my chest. "No," My gaze darted down to my shoes, kicking away a nearby rock. "Can't we just forget any of it ever happened?"

"Well, that was sort of the draft of the original plan," Roman said, shrugging. "But you've clearly not been able to forget it, with the way you've been avoiding me for a week now... So it seems we have to resolve this, somehow."

Did this mean that I had only made things worse for myself? I wanted to hit my head against the wall and bleed out-- that would probably feel better than what I was feeling on the inside right now. "The actual kiss hasn't been on my mind much... Mostly just the needles,"

Roman let out a huff-- was it a laugh? "I'm not going to fucking poke you, could you calm down about that?"

"I can't be sure when it comes to you, Roman!--"

"So you haven't thought about it?" He cut me off, eyes sparkling with the need to know. "The kiss?"

If I'd had something to throw at him, I would've done so in a heartbeat. Why was he so keen on knowing that? "Not much,"

"Only at night?"

I couldn't even hold back my grimace, listening to him snickering like a proud toddler. "Definitely not," I grumbled, now kicking at another rock. "Why does it matter to you?"

Roman shrugged; "I don't think you understand how intriguing it was to find out you've liked me all this time," He watched as I continued to tug at the sleeve of my sweater, looking like a nervous wreck. The image before him made his grin widen. "You've been the biggest bitch ever, do you know that? I was dead sure you hated my guts until you begged me to fucking kiss you!"

"I didn't beg!" I exclaimed, protesting. "In your fucking dreams, Roman!"

He rolled his eyes, taking a step towards me. Feeling his presence inching closer, I stopped kicking the scattered rocks around me, looking up to meet his gaze.

Roman leaned down, matching himself on the level of my widening eyes. He studied me as I froze to my spot like an icicle, holding my breath to not get swept up in thoughts of how good he smelled and how soft his lips looked up close. "You're still running your mouth," he mumbled,  and I felt his eyes fall on my lips as well. "I thought you might get a little nicer if I complied with your little kiss."

His way of thinking had me furrowing my brows, confused. Was that why he kissed me? A tiny piece of my heart broke, the hope I had buried deep in my gut dissolving. Why had I ever hoped that his reasons for kissing me the way he did had been different? "I'll be nice if you agree that I don't owe you anything anymore. It's been driving me nuts,"

With this, Roman broke out into a rather abrupt laugh; "Are you kidding? There's no way in hell I'd absolve you of that, anymore,"

The laugh felt so damning, I couldn't help but shudder. I was two seconds away from kicking him instead of the rocks. "What do you want, then?"

Roman straightened up, the look on his face giving away that he was debating what to choose. "It's probably not something as bad as you expected it to be," he said, nodding to himself as he no longer met my hard gaze. "I'd just like it if you told me why you like me."

What? I stared up at him in disbelief, lips parting in shock. Had I avoided him like the plague over a simple question? Sure, it wasn't the most comfortable one to answer, but my mind had already concluded that he would stick me with needles like a voodoo doll and leave me for dead on a road somewhere.  "Uh... Could I ask why?"

"Nope,"

I nodded; "Okay...?" Clearing my throat, I pondered where to start. I hadn't actually thought about this question, and I had to scour my brain for the answer. "I don't know," I eventually mumbled. "I guess I just think you're handsome." Saying it out loud physically pained me, but I knew I had to get this over with.

Roman blinked twice, meeting my gaze with a rather empty look about him. "That's it?"

"I don't know? I think so," I shrugged, searching through my mind for more. "You're my type, I suppose. Tall, brown hair, green eyes... And unattainable. I guess that a part of me likes that you'll never like me back." Saying this��out loud, however, was even worse. I hadn't thought about it like that up until this moment.

Roman seemed even more confused than I did. "So it was nothing that I did?"

Something told me he was searching for something more meaningful, but I had always known that my crush was superficial. "I don't think so..."

What followed would haunt me for days on end; Roman broke out into a rather maniacal laugh, running his hands through his hair in clear denial. "So it's just the same, then," he said in between hiccups of laughter. "It's not about me at all!"

I could only watch as he went into some sort of a mental storm, biting down on his lower lip to suppress the noise. "I don't think you quite understand how it is for no one to like you for you," Roman continued, now pacing back and forth as his trail of words sped up; "You've probably never had that problem, right? Guys probably like you because you're nice to them, I've seen that multiple times. Or that one guy that just hasn't left you alone since you sat together during assembly that one time-- what the fuck was his name?"

I held my breath; what on earth was I witnessing? "Roman, I think you're spiraling, let's just breathe--"

"Daniel, wasn't it?" Roman finally looked back at me, a cramped smile on display along his lips. "He definitely likes you for you, right? Not just because you're cute? That must be fucking nice." 

I had never imagined that I would pity someone for only being liked for their looks. Somehow, I found myself wanting to comfort him, and I had to fight that instinct. "It would probably be easier for you to find something real if you weren't such a prick," I mumbled. "If you didn't tug people's hair, throw stuff at them, or stab them with needles?"

That seemed to be enough for Roman to take a step back from his weird state, his pacing coming to a halt. Something seemed to be dawning on him, a crushing realization that should've come about ten years ago, but instead of taking it like an adult, he retaliated; "Well, you're not exactly doing any better than me! You've liked me for God knows how long, and you've treated me like utter crap!"

"Because you did the same to me!" I said, feeling my voice raise with my emotions. "You've had no interest in me, along with all the bullshit you've pulled all year! Don't you think it would probably be easier for me to like you for who you are if you had been a pleasant person to be around?"

Groaning, Roman turned his back to me, ready to walk away. After taking a few steps, he turned on his heel, facing me once more. Fury was burning in his green, green eyes, fists balling up as he spoke; "This is not over. You tell anyone just a tiny fraction of this conversation, I'll tell Letha I fucked you raw," 

My jaw fell in complete and utter shock as he walked away, cursing myself to the heavens and beyond. How had I managed to make this an even bigger mess than it was before I came? As I went back to kicking rocks, trying to catch my breath, bits of the conversation suddenly came back to me; did he just say that I was cute? That he had seen me with Daniel during assembly, and that he had spotted me talking to my previous flings?

This only made everything furthermore confusing; it was obvious that he didn't like me, either. But what on earth was going on in that brain of his?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The next time I saw Roman was a few days later in the hallway during rush hour. I had spent several nights tossing and turning, trying to decrypt the conversation that continued to haunt me. The conclusion I arrived at, was that he might be lashing out with the needles and the childish behaviour because he didn't know how else to express interest. 

But then again, that would mean that he was very interested in me. I was sure something was wrong with that conclusion, but I couldn't pinpoint any other possible theory at this moment. I also couldn't shake how upset he looked when he found out my crush was purely superficial; was his need to be seen for who he was so overpowering?

So when I finally flagged him down, Roman was in a rush, and this was rather unfortunate; my legs were much shorter than his, and I had to go into a jog to not lose sight of him. Eventually, I caught up to him, grabbing his wrist and tugging at the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention.

Roman seemed rather confused, glancing down at me with a wild look in his eyes which quickly died out when he saw who it was. "What are you doing?--"

"You smiled at me in class," I confessed, feeling my cheeks redden. "The sun was hitting your eyes in a way that made them extra green, and you smiled at me and handed me a pencil. That's when I knew I liked you." Slowly, I pried my fingers away from his wrist, letting out the breath I didn't know I had been holding. It felt like an enormous weight had lifted off my shoulders, like the anxiety that clung to me had been washed away in a calm stream of water in the mountains.

Why did I feel such strong a need to tell him my crush wasn't purely superficial? That it had stemmed from the simplest act of kindness? I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Did I pity him that much? 

Roman's pupils expanded, and he stood as if glued to his spot. People kept passing us by, but it was as though all the surrounding sound died out. It was clear that his mind was racing, his brows drawing together in confusion-- or was it disgust? I couldn't be sure. Either way, my heart was thumping so hard in my chest that it hurt. 

I cleared my throat; "Have... a nice day," Before he could answer or make fun of me, I turned on my heel and bolted down the hall, knowing my heart wouldn't be able to take it if he shut me down once more. 

I couldn't take any more of this. Clutching my heart as I made it to my locker, I knew I had to get ready for class and that I didn't have time for the crushing feeling taking over my chest. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

A big part of me had hoped that our last interaction would be the end of it all. That I wouldn't have to owe Roman anything anymore, that he wouldn't be threatening to tell Letha that we kissed or fucked or whatever-- I should've known that was an unattainable reality. 

I was practically falling asleep at the end of a long day of school. Exhausted, I allowed myself to close my eyes as I leaned my head against my palm, elbow at my table, waiting for class to start. A worrying thought popped into my head as I realized that chemistry was the only class I shared with Roman, which meant that he would probably be showing any time soon. 

With a yawn, I blinked several times, hoping to wake up as I sat back in my chair. I was about to do some stretches, but as I turned to my right, I let out a yelp, nearly falling off my seat.

And I would've fallen right down to the floor if Roman hadn't grabbed the edge of my chair, holding me back with one hand as though it was nothing. "Careful, there," 

That's exactly what he had said when we were in that damn closet playing seven minutes in heaven. I shivered, getting a severe case of deja vu as I looked back at him in disbelief. "When on earth did you show up?"

"Right around the time you nodded off," Roman's books were already on the table-- had I genuinely slept for a minute or two? How could I have missed this? He let go of my seat with a snicker, shaking his head; "You're quite the case, aren't you?"

I didn't like the sound of that. "What do you want? Why are you sitting here?"

"Could you relax?" Roman rolled his eyes, his mood worsening by the second. "Look around, Sherlock, there's nowhere else to sit."

It pained me to realize he was right. With a huff, I fought the urge to kick him under the table. As the teacher finally entered the classroom, excusing himself for being a few minutes late, I let out a sigh of relief; I hoped to avoid talking to Roman as much as possible from now on. After I had confessed to him and gotten nothing in return again, I was dead tired of seeing his gorgeous face-- it was physically painful, at this point.

As class started, I reached into my bag to find a pencil. A good minute passed by as I rummaged around, which eventually garnered Roman's attention; he immediately knew what I was looking for. He turned to me with a spare pencil which he had lying about on his table, holding it out in front of me.

Someone up there was definitely playing pranks on me-- I was sure of it now. With an embarrassed smile, I watched as the sun hit the green of his eyes, illuminating them further as I reached for the pencil. The tips of our fingers touched, just for a few seconds, but it felt like I had almost burned myself with how my nerves reacted to the nudge of his hand against mine. 

Roman seemed to understand the irony of the situation, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards into a dizzying look of kindness. 

There it was. The root of all my problems-- the simplest act of warmth along with the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. The bullshit that started it all. 

I hummed to myself as I broke eye contact, crouching over my table to start taking notes, desperate to distract myself. Every fibre of my being felt like it was buzzing with electricity, unable to calm down. 

It didn't take long before Roman shoved a small note onto my part of the table. I gave him a look before I opened it, sighing.

we need to talk. meet me by my car after school

Turning to Roman, I couldn't help but glare; this again? But his smirk melted me in more ways than one, and I knew that it could have consequences if I didn't go. 

Fuck.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I waited until there were almost no cars in the parking lot in front of the school, hiding away in the library in the meantime. I didn't exactly want to be seen talking to him. As I finally walked out past the front entrance, I held my breath as I spotted Roman leaning against his red jaguar, typing away on his phone. I wondered who he was texting-- was it Brooke from the cheerleading team? No, it couldn't be; unless she still wanted to be with him after he pricked her with the legendary needle.

It didn't take long for Roman to put away his phone, watching me as I neared him. Something about the way his hair lay in waves over his forehead made him look like even more of a heartbreaker than he already was. "Long time no see, hm?"

I didn't even want to fake being entertained by that-- we both knew that we'd seen each other in class less than twenty minutes ago. "What do you want?"

Roman rolled his eyes; "Can't you at least act like you like me? We both know you do,"

Something about being called out like that didn't sit right with me, but I swallowed my curses. I had to be on his good side, after all, so that he wouldn't turn around and tell Letha what had happened between us. "Did you want me to come skipping down the stairs and run to you?" I asked, getting a good look at him. "Or maybe a blowjob before I bake you a pie?"

A humoured smirk spread across his lips, giving in to a chuckle. "You could at least start by standing a little closer?" Roman put his hands up in the air as though he was surrendering; "Look ma, no needles!"

I huffed, complying. I took a few steps forward, watching the last car leave in my peripheral view. It was definitely not a good idea to be alone with him like this-- I should've known better. 

This didn't seem to be enough for Roman, who proceeded to tap the spot next to him on the hood of his car. 

I groaned; "Roman, come on--"

In a swift motion, he hooked his fingers inside my front pockets, dragging me forward as I yelped. Roman grabbed my hips, forcing me down on the car with a soft thud. With wide eyes, I turned to him, watching his hands disappear back into his pockets. 

"You're infuriating," Roman mumbled under his breath, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his right pocket. He held it out in front of me; "Want one?"

Honestly, I had only smoked once. It had resulted in me coughing up what felt like half a lung. "No, thanks," 

He shrugged, lighting up a cigarette as he hummed. This little dance around why he had told me to come made me further nervous, once again reaching for the sleeve of my sweater, tugging at the seams that had come loose. The smell of nicotine infiltrated my nose, and I turned to him just in time to watch him exhale a few rings of smoke, eyes transfixed on them as they evaporated into thin air. 

Finally, Roman spoke up; "I'm calling for a truce,"

What? My eyes widened, scanning him for lies. "... What's the catch?"

Roman turned to me, a slight smile splayed across his lips. "You know me too well," he said, chuckling as a light breeze passed us. "I want us to play a game, and then all is forgotten."

"Oh no," I blurted out. "What kind of game, Roman? Can't you take pity on me just once?--"

I immediately shut up as I felt his arm wrap around me, holding out his cigarette in front of my mouth between his fingers. I wasn't about to start fighting him in an empty parking lot, so I parted my lips, accepting the cigarette despite knowing I would cough up everything I had eaten for lunch if I inhaled properly. 

Roman's face was suddenly very close to mine; "Ever heard of this game... Wait, what was it called? Seven minutes in hell?"

For fuck's sake. I watched as he laughed, amused by his joke. Still, my eyes darted down to his bouncing leg, watching as he gave away a sliver of nervousness. I reached for the cigarette, getting it out of my mouth; "Sounds about right," Balancing it between my fingers, holding it out in front of his mouth just as he had done to me, Roman hummed as he wrapped his lips around the cigarette, taking a puff.

Before Roman could take it back into his hand, I pulled the cigarette away from him, putting it back into my mouth. Something about sharing the cigarette was making a familiar ache between my legs throb, which in turn made me cross my legs. I didn't inhale the smoke into my lungs, keeping it in my mouth before breathing it out, knowing it was hard to differentiate between that and the real thing. "Where would we play?" I eventually said, glancing at him.

Now that we were sitting like this, Roman's arm around me, I realized we hadn't been this close since that party where we had kissed. Something about his embrace was comforting, despite me knowing that he was doing it to take the piss out of me. However, my steadfast belief in his reasons became shaky as I met his eyes, watching how unusually big his pupils were as he looked down at me, a certain calmness about him. "My car?"

I couldn't help but giggle as I handed him the cigarette, our fingers meeting in the exchange. "I'm not making out with you in your car,"

"Why not?"

"Every single cheerleader slut at this school has been in the back of that thing," 

Roman shrugged; "Not everyone. Eleven out of fifteen,"

"Ew, you're not making it any better!--"

"Fine!" he huffed, giving me a squeeze with the arm he had around me. Roman put out his cigarette by throwing it to the ground, giving it a proper stomp before he turned to me, a mischievous smirk on display. "No one has been in the front, though."

It was hard to say no when he looked at me like this; how was it possible for someone so conniving to be so beautiful? I had to look away from Roman-- it was getting impossible to breathe. Tugging at my sleeves once more, I realized I had ripped out a new seam. "Look, I have to say I'm a little confused... You're not even into me, so I don't get why you'd want to kiss me again," I let go of my sweater, realizing I would probably manage to rip it all apart if I didn't calm down. "It really is a power thing for you, isn't it?"

Roman hummed, rubbing my arm in a soothing manner as he stared out at the parking lot with a rather hollow look in his eyes. "Yeah... That's definitely what it is,"

I didn't have time to wonder why he didn't sound so convinced. As I dared to look at him again, I watched him lost in thought, pondering something. I took that as my cue to get out of playing his game; "Making out would probably be fun and all, but don't you think it is more beneficial for you if we maybe got to... I don't know, know each other?"

Confused, Roman's gaze darted back to me. "Why?"

"You seemed to be a little upset that I didn't like you because of you, remember?" I gave him a playful nudge, drawing forth a smile. "Instead of imposing your weird dominance kink or whatever it is on me, wouldn't you want to prove that there's more to you?"

This seemed to strike a chord with Roman, who slowly started to nod in approval. "That... doesn't sound so bad,"

I damn right hoped so-- I let out a shaky breath, relieved to not become the twelfth girl to end up in Roman's car.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I couldn't believe that I had managed to fix myself up with a date with the Roman Godfrey. He was practically known for never going out on dates with anyone, but here I was, running around my room trying to find something nice to wear.

However, there was one tiny hoop I had to get through-- Letha was on speaker phone as I rummaged through my drawers, and my heart was racing as I tried to avoid her questions."I still don't get why you can't hang out today!" Letha whined, clearly upset with me. "I thought you were going to help me pick out some shoes down at the sale!"

I grimaced, feeling like the biggest prick on the planet. "I'm sorry, Letha, I'm just not feeling too good..." With a heavy heart, I could hear her sulk on the other end as I finally found the perfect bag. 

"I've barely seen you this week... You've been so jumpy, I just feel like you're avoiding me. Did I do something?"

No, no! I was about to protest until I heard a sound coming from my driveway; I made my way to my window, glancing down at Roman's red car, watching as he parked. Clearing my throat, I rushed to my phone; "Letha, I'm so fucking nauseous, I think I need to throw up... I'm so sorry, could I call you back later?"

I heard her sigh; "Get better soon, okay?--"

As Roman started honking outside, clearly impatient, I had to leave the call without even saying goodbye. Groaning, I gathered my stuff, making my way down the stairs and outside with hurried steps. "Stop that!" I said, trying to steady my breathing as I approached the car. "My parents are inside!"

"So what?" Roman's cocky smirk was on display as always, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "Whatever dumb fuck told you I'm a patient man, is a dumb fuck." Roman got out of his car to open my door on the other side. It was nice to see that he had a gentleman bone in him-- it gave me hope that this date wouldn't crash and burn. 

And weirdly enough, it actually went quite well. I had been worried that he'd take me out shooting or whatever it was that he did in his free time, but Roman settled for something simple-- we were currently sat in my favourite café in the city, having the most normal conversation we'd ever had. 

"You're kidding me?" Roman said, putting down his coffee with a look of shock on his face. "You've never seen The Godfather?"

I couldn't help but huff-- this was a solid reminder that he still was a guy at the end of the day. "I haven't gotten to it, I guess,"

"Well, you have to!" He ran his fingers through his styled hair, shaking his head in disapproval. Roman was wearing a different shirt today that I hadn't seen before, and I was getting the feeling that he had actually dressed up a bit despite how casual this date was. "What else haven't you seen?" 

"Uh, I don't know?--"

"What else haven't you done, is probably a better question," Roman was grinning from ear to ear now, eyes sparkling in anticipation. "First kiss?"

"David Parker, eighth grade," I put down my milkshake with a smirk, happy to be sizing him up. "You?"

Roman seemed beyond amused; "Amanda Reiley, sixth," He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, intrigued that I wasn't backing down from his intrusive questions. "First time?"

I had to suppress a cough, feeling as though I was choking on air. There was no way in hell I'd tell him I hadn't had sex yet. "... Some guy I met on vacation last year in Greece, don't remember his name,"

"Really, now?" Roman hummed, leaning back against his chair. "Not buying it. You squirm like a virgin every time I look at you."

My breath caught in my throat-- "Pardon?"

It seemed that my reaction only amused him, but he still spared me by brushing over it. "My first time was with Denise Campbell, ninth grade. Was really sweet, actually,"

I tried to shake off the fact that Roman had been right in his deductions. The story of his first time was unexpected, and he had been quite young-- concerningly young. "Roman Godfrey and sweet don't usually go together, in my book. Did you light candles or something?" I took a sip of my milkshake, watching him break out into a smile. 

"Honestly? I think she lit one," he said, a soft chuckle following.

 I had forgotten how beautiful his laugh was. Flustered, I put away my milkshake, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I met his gorgeous, green eyes. There was a calmness about him now, something I had trouble getting used to. It was a big contrast to the way he had looked at me while we played seven minutes in heaven, or the way he had been looking at me the whole week I had avoided him. The usual feeling of unease that crept up my system whenever he was around was long gone-- it was almost as though we were friends. 

Nervous about my next question, I started picking at my nails; "So where did it go wrong?"

"Pardon?"

I didn't meet his gaze anymore. "When did it become casual to you?"

"Sex?"

"Sex,"

Roman hummed, taking a rather long sip of coffee. I wondered whether I had gone too far with the question, but he didn't seem fazed. "Didn't get too far with being sweet, I suppose,"

This was definitely a chapter in Roman's life that I hadn't expected to hear about-- who had broken his heart? And why was it comforting to know that he'd had that experience? Something about it made him more human. "That's sad," I mumbled, forcing myself to leave my nails alone. "Sweet usually gets you quite far."

Something about that seemed to intrigue him; he moved to the edge of his chair, closer. "Don't you girls usually like the bad guys? That seems to work well, in my experience,"

I shrugged; "It can be fun for a week or two. Any longer than that, and your heart starts to tire,"

"Ah," was all Roman said, tapping his fingers against the table in an impatient manner. "Would you want to get ice cream? It's on me."

This conversation was starting to give me whiplash. "I'm sold," I eventually answered, shooting him a smile. It was nice to know that he wanted to continue the date despite my intrusive questions-- I couldn't lie; I was rather enjoying myself. And my ego was getting the biggest inflation it'd had in a while, remembering he didn't usually go out on dates at all.

About half an hour later, we were now walking down the street with our ice cream, once again debating why I hadn't watched The Godfather-- boys really love that movie, don't they? I took the liberty of looking up at him as he explained the plot to me in excessive detail, watching his hands flail around in excitement as he spoke, eyes round and green, and the way a single strand of hair lay in front of his eyes, straying from his stylings.

The man I had hated this whole year suddenly became a person to me. A person with interests, quirks, and feelings-- weirdly enough. Roman didn't come off as a spoiled brat right now, and I could barely remember a time when I would run away from him and his needles. Like this, I could imagine sweet moments with Roman, possibly even holding his hand as we walked down this street, doing normal stuff together. 

In another lifetime, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

However, I was quickly yanked out of my daydreams when I spotted a familiar figure leaving the shoe store across the street. With a panicked yelp, I grabbed Roman, dragging him down the nearest alleyway as I felt my blood run cold. 

Roman looked beyond confused; "What are you?--"

"Letha!" 

His mouth formed an 'o', watching me press myself up against the wall. "She doesn't know?"

I shook my head, letting out a shaky breath. This was definitely not what I needed right now. If she found out I was here with Roman and that I had lied to her, I was sure she'd have my head. Why couldn't I just melt into the wall and become immaterial? 

With ease and calm, Roman grabbed my finished ice cream, putting it down on the ground along with his own before nearing me. "We'll wait it out,"

What? "Thought you were ready to rat me out?" I leaned forward, glancing past the corner of the alley, making sure Letha hadn't seen us. 

"Well..." Roman put his hand on my shoulder, guiding my back to the wall once more. "I know she'd kill you, and you can't die before watching The Godfather."

Had I not been preoccupied with being quiet, I would've groaned right in his cocky face. The hand he had on my shoulder burned against my skin, and I was getting flashbacks to our time in the closet at the party where we had kissed. "I've repaid my debt to you now, anyway," I mumbled, warily glancing past the edge of the corner where we were standing, watching Letha from afar. 

Roman's hand on my shoulder quickly made its way into my hair, fingers twisting themselves into the nape of my neck, forcing me to face him. I let my breath escape me as my lips parted, watching him with big, wide eyes; what was happening? It was at this moment that I realized how close he was standing, how he was practically pressed up against me.

There was something sinister about the look on Roman's face-- it suddenly dawned on me that he was still the same person, even though he had buried this side of him for a few hours. He would always thrive when seeing someone in an anxious state, feel joy at any visible conflict or misery, and it dawned on me how bad of a situation this was when his next words came out in a dangerous whisper; "I could just call her over here, do you know that?" Roman's grip on my hair tightened, almost enough to make me wince. "You've made quite a mess of yourself, sneaking behind her back. I could ruin you in a second."

"You won't, though," Fucker.

Intrigued, Roman's green eyes sparkled; "And why are you so sure of that?"

My chest was heaving against him, hating every second, every minute of this encounter. When had he turned into such a sadist? Was it after Denise Campbell in ninth grade? I wanted to make sure I asked him that next time. "Because this gets you high," I hissed. "This feeling that you get from watching me get scared? You're addicted. You're a fucking junkie." 

I felt Roman breathe out against my lips, leaning closer, eyes burning into mine. I could see the flickering flames in them, and I knew that I had set them alight-- I was quite literally playing with fire at this point. "Well, this is who I am," he said through gritted teeth. "Do you get it now?"

"Get what?"

"Why no one likes me," Now, the fire died out, turning into an unintelligible emotion swimming in the green of his eyes. I didn't need to be a specialist to understand that he was baring his coping mechanism for me to see. "Why no one ever will. And why you will go back to hating me once we're done here."

It felt as though I had finally finished a puzzle with five thousand pieces. This was it. Had Roman made himself so unlovable to protect his feelings? Were all his stupid quirks just means to scare away girls so that they would stop liking him? I couldn't help but pity him-- beneath his harsh exterior, I could sense who he was beneath all of it. In a flash of emotions, I reached out to touch his face with a wary, gentle touch. 

Roman's eyes widened, confused, as I moved away the strand of hair that strayed from the rest.

"I know you said this wouldn't be easy," I said, voice soft. "Whatever would ensue between us. And I spent a lot of time thinking about that, actually, and I think the answer is that you just make it hard for yourself." Sighing, I let my hands rest against his shoulders, watching his every move and reaction. It was obvious that he was caught off guard. "I pity you, Roman. But I thank you for making me realize how much guts one must have to feel... Why are you so scared?"

Roman just stared at me, his breathing coming out in shallow breaths through his nose. He stood as if frozen to his spot, and his hand left my hair, falling to his side as his eyes never left mine. "I'm not scared," he eventually said.

"You're terrified,"

"No,"

"There's no point denying, it's really fucking obvious--"

"No, it isn't!" Roman snarled, grabbing my hands, and prying them off of him. "Maybe I just don't like you in that way, have you ever considered that?"

I shrugged; "I have. But it still doesn't change the fact that I can read the fear on your face like an open fucking book,"

Groaning, Roman let out an exasperated sigh. He let go of my hands, the fury apparent in his unsteady breathing. It was obvious that he had never confronted his issues head-on, and that he didn't like the process one bit. "You need to watch your mouth,"

"Or what?" It was as though my fear had escaped me, staring him down with challenge burning its way through my veins. "You're going to tell Letha we fucked or whatever? Go ahead, see what I care! Just know that I will be telling the whole school that your dick is smaller than my pinky if you do."

Roman's eye twitched as he let out a guttural growl, body tensing up as he balled his fists, one of them returning to my hair. It was clear that I had angered him; he grabbed a fistful, yanking my head upward with a force that made me wince, pulling me flush against him. It was at this moment that I felt something press up against my stomach-- my eyes widened with the realization that he was hard. "Do you still like me?" he asked, his breath tickling the underside of my nose. 

When I refused to answer, Roman took my silence as a yes. "You're going to hurt yourself if you continue to,"

"Wasn't it you who proclaimed me a masochist?" I answered, a smirk forming on my lips. Something told me that I had him cornered. 

And I was right-- it was Roman's turn to go silent, staring into my eyes as multiple emotions flashed before him. Standing like this with him was almost comforting; I had finally deciphered him. I knew that he had practically built himself a fortress of hate and fired the canons at any signs of intrusions. He was so desperately human right now-- it was making me dizzy. Or was that just his harsh grip on my hair? 

"Roman?"

A hum.

"You can kiss me now if you want to,"

The hand in my hair loosened its grip, and I watched as Roman inhaled a long breath, no longer conflicted.

And so our lips came together in the alley, a rather hungry kiss ensuing. My hands went up into Roman's hair, letting out soft gasps against him as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to him with a burning need. I could taste the remnants of the chocolate flavoured ice-cream on his tongue, the sweetness mixing in with the roughness of our kiss. I wondered whether he could taste the vanilla on mine-- chocolate and vanilla were my favourite mix, anyway.

I knew there was a possibility of Letha spotting us if she walked our way, but it only made me more desperate for Roman. I had missed him dearly, the memories of our last kiss having haunted me through every hour of every day. There was no doubt in it now-- he wanted me too. It gave me such an immense rush, along with the satisfaction of feeling how hard he was against me, the throbbing of his cock continuing against my stomach as he pressed me further into the wall behind me. Something felt wrong about him being aroused after our fight, especially now that we were practically in public, but I knew I didn't want to push him away just yet. 

I was completely breathless by the time Roman shifted, his thigh now pressing up against the apex of my own. Caught off guard, I whimpered as he grabbed my hips, moving my hips against him as the kiss deepened, growing further needy. I could feel it in my bones; not only did he want me, he needed me. This was just about the biggest high I had ever had. Roman Godfrey-- all mine in this moment.

The friction between my legs, feeling his cock continuously brush up against my stomach through our clothes, had me gripping his shoulder, disconnecting our kiss to catch my breath. My head rolled back against the wall behind me as I pondered how I had allowed this to happen, not used to pleasure caused by others. 

Roman's fingers wrapped around my throat, holding me in place as we rocked against each other, lips hovering above one another before they came crashing together once more, unable to keep away. I let out a broken whimper, my hands flying back up into his hair, pulling him closer as pleasure coursed through my veins in a way I hadn't ever felt before. I couldn't quite put my finger on what this was, but I had never been this certain that I liked it.

I let out a broken moan as my head rolled back once more, which in turn had Roman connecting our lips, muffling any sounds. This was where I was reminded that we were in public, wondering if I had gone absolutely mad-- I blamed it all on him. His beautiful eyes, his strong arms, and his addicting, soft lips. As Roman continued to grind me up against his thigh, pulling away to watch my lips part and my body squirm in pleasure, I gazed up at the way the corners of his mouth turned up into his signature smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing-- messing with me like this, practically in public. 

It took a lot of willpower for me to push him away, whimpering slightly at the loss of contact. "We-- We can't," I said, catching my breath. 

Like this, I could see how disheveled Roman's hair was, how his lips looked swollen with kisses, and it made my stomach flip-- how was it possible for someone to be so beautiful, even when completely unraveled? 

Roman shrugged, grinning from ear to ear. It was clear that he was scanning my look of arousal; "My car is right around the corner,"

"Okay...?"

Leaning forward, Roman captured my lips in a short kiss. "I can park it somewhere desolate," he said, nipping at my lower lip. 

I couldn't help but shiver-- that sounded really fucking nice at the moment, but I knew I had to control myself. And I wasn't about to lose my virginity in a car? "Another time," I mumbled, struggling to catch my breath. Who would've known that arousal could cloud the mind like this? 

Roman nodded, accepting my words as a promise. "I'll hold you to that,"

Oh no-- This again? Great.

Just great.

(a/n: here are the links to PART 1, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9!<33 thank you for reading!!)

[writers-potion]

Ideas For Religious Horror

Religion can bring out the best in people - and the worst. Horror fiction involving religious elements can bring into question our beliefs about morality, the definition of sin, and the modern interpretation of old rules.

Here are some ideas for dark story plots that circles around religions as a theme.

Horror In Holy Books

Use the stories that are handed down in holy texts to inspire the monsters and ghosts in your story.

Retellings of holy texts can also be quite interesting:

Think of Jonah from the Bible. First, there's a terrifying gale and the danger of the ship sinking. Then the sailors toss him overboard into the stormy sea. And finally, he gets swallowed by a whale and survives for three days and nights in the fish's belly...perfect adventure fiction material, I'd say.

Faith verses Fear

When writing about religious heroes, the story gets much more exciting when you insert moments of doubt and fear. The greater the fear and the shakier his faith becomes in the climax, the more triumphant the sucko ending would be.

Religious Historical Horror

If you're writing Historical fiction, you'll find lots of scary religious contexts.

The hero has (modern) attitudes of compassion and faith, but his contemporaries apply religious rules in the gruesome ways of their period.

The religious practices/dogma are discriminatory, which the hero fights against.

The hero is a religious martyr, pushed into the quest by religious leaders.

Unbelievers Meet Scary Gods

Here, the characters explore an old temple or the rubble of a fallen sacred site, asserting that they don't believe in gods.

They inadvertently commit sacrilege - and realize only too late that there's a high price to be paid.

This works well with both real and fictional religions.

Religion as Evil

Instead of presenting the whole religion as evil, focus on the evil specific character commiting crimes in the name of their religion.

It can also be "fake" religion - a greedy person makes up a pseudo-religion to place people under their influence. They would misguide people and use them for their own ends - greed, power, monetary and sexual gratification.

To give depth to your story, let the villain and the hero have the same faith, but interpret it differently. Would the others be able to distinguish the two of them?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

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[frost-queen]

My mortal flaw // part 5 (Reader x Zuko)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @iixchloee, @cherrysxuya, @zhochikennugget,

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Summary: With Zuko alone, he has to fight his way for an escape. Coming face to face with someone he rather not encounter. [series]

Blasts of fire crashed into the trees. Sending them ablaze. A group of soldiers from the fire nation manipulating fire. They were trying to close one in. In the midst of the fires ran prince Zuko. Alone. Huffing and puffing loud as he didn’t stop to fight back. He was manoeuvring from side to side, running between trees to dodge any fire blasts. – “Get him!” – he heard the soldiers call out behind him. He knew he couldn’t outrun the fire nation.

Certainly not when he was brought to scene as a traitor. He hoped that he had a bit more time before the chaos erupted. Knowing Omashu was in the hands of the fire nation now, outrunning them would be a little chance. Zuko felt the heat close in on him, ducking down to avoid the fires headed for him. Zuko jumped over a log, feet thumping on the ground before he continued his run. The tree he passed caught fire as it made him widen his eyes briefly at it.

His heart pounding loudly in his chest. Panting loud as he tried to stay in front of them. Looking briefly over his shoulder, they seemed to multiply. A few more had joined their chase. Grunting and huffing loud as they tried to catch up with the prince. – “Stand still traitor!” – one of them shouted loud with a point at him. Zuko came to a stop, chest moving up and down. – “I am no traitor!” – he shouted. A blast of fire flew at him.

Zuko moved his hands across, blocking the fires from hitting him and letting it pass to the ground. The soldiers slowed down. Their hands moved up as they began circling around Zuko. It made Zuko keep an attentive  eye on them. He positioned himself in a fighting position, waiting for them to do the first strike. The soldiers moved closer, as one tried to catch Zuko off guard by firing at his back. Zuko spun round, catching the fires and re-directing it to another soldier.

It hit him straight in the chest, sending him down. – “Come on!” – Zuko called out, filled with rage. His expression tense as he wanted to fight them all. Blinded by rage and aggression once more. He could feel his fists boil. His rage even more filled when it was his own people going against him. It was like he never had a moment of safety. Humiliation and dishonour after dishonour. First from his father, now from his own nation. Zuko leaped up, sending his foot down with a slash of fire.

It made an approaching soldier move his hands up and stumble back. A blast of fire against his back, made him stumble out of balance. Tensing his jaw, he turned round, unleashing his anger out on the soldier. The soldiers that had surrounded him kept blasting fire at him. Zuko  had to dive, duck and leap out of the way to not get harmed. They were too many to take on, on his own and he knew it. If only Uncle Iroh or even you were here. He’s have them overpowered in no time. Zuko felt himself wear out. His rage was perfect fuel for his bending, but it exhausted him too quickly.

If he didn’t do something now, they would overpower him and imprison him. Looking around, he needed to be resourceful. What would Uncle Iroh do. He thought, knowing he had to hurry. Then he knew what to do. Shooting a few more fires at some soldiers he created an opening. The men groaning in pain as Zuko jumped over them to escape. He ran. Ran as fast as he could away from them. The soldiers shouted orders as their armour warned Zuko they were in pursuit. Zuko kept running up the hill towards an edge.

Not knowing what was underneath it. Panting loud, he urged himself to go faster. The soldiers shouted even louder orders. They came to a stop, firing all their might at Zuko. A tidal wave of fires blasted behind Zuko. Spreading out to wash over him. Zuko set himself off, taking a leap of faith. Arms swaying around as he was up in the air, the fire closing in on him. With a sudden drop, he fell down, the fire moving above his head as he was out of the clear. To his unfortune there wasn’t water underneath him, but vast ground. Zuko’s body hit the ground as it made him roll further down to an open clearing.

He came to a rolling stop, coughing loud. Setting his hands down, he looked up to the soldiers. Seeing them point at him, but they couldn’t reach him. He sighed soft when they left, probably to go find for another way down. Zuko wanted to pull himself more up, as he felt lighter.

Eyes widening with fear as he ruffled with his hand in his chest pocket. Something he had stored there was gone. Frantically he started to look around whilst still searching his pockets for it. He almost missed it, but saw it glitter in the sunlight. Your necklace.

Exhaling soft, he felt relieved to have found it. Before Zuko could get up to grab it, a foot stepped onto the necklace. With wide eyes he watched as the person bended down to take the necklace. She straightened her posture once more, looking at the necklace. – “Aw Zuzu, it doesn’t suit you.” – she spoke. – “Azula!” – Zuko called out, getting up to his feet.

Azula turned the necklace around in the sun. – “Is this your water tribe girl’s necklace?” – she asked with a smirk. – “Give it back!” – Zuko insisted upon, holding his hand out. Azula pouted her lips to mock him. Zuko came nearer as Azula held the necklace out to him.

Just before he could get it, she pulled it out of his reach. She turned around, holding the necklace up to her own neck. Smiling deviously, she turned back to Zuko to see. – “Do you think this suits me Zuzu?” – she asked, knowing just how much that would bother him. – “Give it back!” – Zuko shouted angrily slapping his hands towards her to snatch it off her.

Azula spun with a wicked chuckle. – “It is not my colour.” – she said holding the necklace like dirt between her fingers. Zuko was tensed, hoping Azula wouldn’t drop it. – “Look how sentimental you became over a water tribe girl.” – Azula sighed out, disappointed once more in her own brother.

“Perhaps I should hang on to this.” – she spoke seeing how much it bothered him. How deeply she got under his skin. Zuko called it out, his fists catching fire. It made Azula quirk her eyebrow up. – “You want to fight me for it?” – she asked sweetly. Tilting her head from side to side, a smirk appeared. – “Let’s fight.” – she let out lowly, getting herself in position.  

Zuko called it out, bending fire at her. Azula easily diverted it with little effort. – “Where is your little water tribe girl?” – Azula asked during the fight. Zuko kept punching fire blast after fire blast at her as she kept avoiding them. – “Did she leave you already?” – Azula looked pitiful at him. His reaction was to shout loud in anger, bending all his might at her. Azula remained unharmed. – “Pathetic.” – she called out with a disgusted expression. – “Shut up!” – he yelled at her, wanting her to stop talking.

It made Azula scoff. – “Give me back the necklace!” – he made clear, panting loud. Azula tilted her head. – “Beg for it.” – she replied, being very serious. Zuko paused, staring with wide eyes at her. Azula pointed to the ground for him to kneel for it. Zuko was hesitant. A part of him wanted to kneel, beg for the necklace to just have it back. Another part of him knew Azula would never give it back. Azula noticed the hesitation, laughing loud. – “Don’t tell me you actually fell so low as to actually care for a water triber.” – Azula mocked.

“Father was right. There seems to be no limit in your disgrace.” – Azula laughed. Zuko lowered his head, once again fallen into her trap. A trap that struck him right in the heart. He cared too much for his honour, that this felt like another sting. Azula curled up a smile, manipulating fire. She set her foot forward, hand out as fire set out just a few inches from her fingertips before it froze in the air. Ice had crackled around her hand and freezing her fire in place. Azula looked annoyed to the side, seeing you with Uncle Iroh behind you. – “Hands off!” – you shouted. The ice around Azula’s hand warmed up as it began to melt. – “Y/n!” – Zuko called out, running up to you.

You touched Zuko’s lower arms, glad to be reunited with him once more. Azula inhaled sharply moving her fingers in a circle. Channelling a different kind of energy. Electricity sparked from her fingertips as she channelled it to one hand. Zuko gasped loud when he saw the electricity. Azula pointed her fingertips at you. Her eyes widened with a gasp as a hand clenched around her wrist, pushing her hand up. The electricity went up, hitting a tree.

Iroh kept his grip firm around her wrist. The tree branch snapped as Zuko gasped. Tackling you to the ground before it could fall on you. Azula blinked surprised at her uncle. Iroh plucked the necklace from her slippery fingers. He then pushed Azula off him. – “This isn’t over Zuzu.” – Azula threatened, sending him a dead stare. Zuko helped you up as Iroh watched Azula take her leave. Knowing when she was defeated. Knowing she couldn’t win from her uncle.

“Are you alright Y/n?” – he asked you. You nodded frightened, heart still thumping from the scare. Iroh returned, holding his hand out. – “I believe this belongs to you.” – he spoke. – “My necklace.” – you answered taking it from him. Your eyes met up with Zuko’s seeing him yearn for the necklace to be in his possession once more. – “It belongs to you, as much as my heart.” – you told him, offering him the necklace.

Zuko gave you a soft smile, accepting the necklace from you. He tugged it safely away. Iroh smiling satisfied at his nephew. Zuko cleared his throat. – “We should head on, before those soldiers catch up with me.” – he said. Iroh glanced your way, you moved your shoulders up back to him. Knowing Zuko took time to admit anything resolving his feelings. You followed silently behind him, hoping one day you’d become a we.  Yet there was little time to think about it. Know that there was another threat after him. His own sister.

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[777heavengirl]

AM - Chapter 2

No. 1 Party Anthem

Sirius Black x reader Chapter 2/3 Warnings: angst?, smoking, suggestive themes, fwb to lovers word count: 4,294  masterlist

Currently playing: No. 1 Party Anthem by the Arctic Monkeys

Chapters i, ii, iii

        Sirius Black was not a somber man. He was known for being loud, rambunctious, insufferable, incorrigible. His voice echoed and his eyes shone when he laughed. He did not wallow nor turn gloomy. He had suffered too much in his life for that. But you had turned his life blue. Your absence left a hole in his heart. It had been three months. Three arduous months of a game of cat and mouse. You avoided him at any cost, clinging off of your boyfriend's arm more often than not. Sirius seemed to always be searching for you. 

He felt the rush of adrenaline as he finished his drink in one gulp, it had tasted horribly bitter at the beginning of the night. Now he couldn't taste it at all. He had been on the prowl the whole night. For you, just to catch a peek of you would be enough. To hear your laughter would soothe his growing anxiety and the paranoia that you were out of his life for good. He'd do anything for a glimpse of you. He wondered if you had come and left already. The thought settled in his heart like a pile of rocks. 

Sirius could feel the beat of the music in his chest it overpowered the beat of his own heart and the ringing in his ears wouldn't stop. Between the lights on the floor and the sweat that seemed to permeate the walls. He felt like he was searching for his soul, tumbling between people, staring too hard to see if it was you through the darkness. It kept slipping from his fingers. You kept slipping. 

He hated this point of getting drunk. He hated the way he knew there was no way back from this threshold. No matter how much water he drank or bread Peter fed him there was no way back. He hated that he still had the itch to get more because he might as well be completely pissed. He'd feel sick regardless. He felt his heart beating in his ears as he finally laid eyes on you. A cigarette hanging from your lips even indoors. You had been smoking a lot more. He had found and monitored the pile of cigarette butts in a corner of the astronomy tower. The only trace of you he could ever find these days.

He wondered if you were happy.

The fun-colored drink in your hand swished and swirled as you laughed, the blond gripping your hip. He could see James across from you, laughing and chatting spiritedly. No doubt recounting some dumb story, Lily shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. They had finally gotten together. Or so he thought. He felt like a terrible friend. He couldn't think straight. He caught James's eye, he hoped he'd come get him. 

Sirius felt like his feet were slowly being cemented into the ground. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, the only grounding force as the mass of people around him overtook his senses. 

"Let's go Padfoot, you need a walk," Remus whispered into his ear, worry seeping through his skin, his demeanor. Sirius felt the beat and the melancholic lyrics that were starting to resonate through the charmed speakers clutched his heart with an iron grip. He shook his head furiously, he couldn't go. Not when he had just found you. Just when he had finally seen the light. It had been like catching a glimpse of a star in the middle of a stormy night. 

"Come on Moony-" Sirius moaned out, his eyes barely open, barely registering the scarred boy's figure. "Before she's gone before the moments gone-"

Remus dragged Sirius away regardless. He wasn't going to be making much sense if he spoke to you anyway. Remus felt bad, sometimes he'd hear Sirius mumble your name in his sleep. It was fleeting and slurred but after the third time it happened, his wand illuminating only the page of the book he was reading, Remus knew it was indeed your name. 

The Ravenclaw common room entrance was directly connected to a staircase, Sirius's head lulled to the side colliding with Remus's shoulder. Neither of them dared actually to go down the stairs. 

"Up, come on pads,” Remus finally got Sirius upright but turned as the door opened once again, the chatter and music from inside spilling into the hall briefly.

"Is he good?" James shut the door behind him,

"I'm doing great Prongs I just need a smoke," Sirius had wandered over to the small stone window, breathing in the fresh night air. He briefly thought of throwing up. 

Remus sighed offering Sirius a cigarette, rolling his eyes as James's lips resembled an 'o' in surprise. 

"I thought we were all collectively quitting?" James put out his hand, fingertips tingling with excitement. Lily didn't like it. James had quit way before they got together anyway.

One wouldn't kill him. Remus placed it on his palm. 

"Where's Wormtail?" Sirius turned to look at the two other men, a, now lit, cigarette hanging from each of their lips.

"Last I saw, chatting up Dorcas Meadowes," James chuckled as he blew out some smoke,

"I reckon he doesn't know she's a wee lesbian" Remus mumbled from between his cigarette

The other two broke out in a roar of laughter, they loved Peter dearly but he could be a bit clueless sometimes. 

"Marls is going to kill him," James clutched his stomach as he laughed. Sirius threw his head back as he continued to laugh, his forearms supporting him as they leaned on the window ledge. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he continued to laugh. The world still spun around him. But the sound of his friend’s laughter grounded him. He hadn't felt like this in a while. 

As they all calmed down again, snorts and chuckles still bouncing every so often, they continued to take drags of smoke. 

"What's been going on with you lately?" James's voice was low, a heavier tone than the one that usually laced his tone. Brows furrowed in concern and his free hand was tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Remus stomped out his cig with his chucks, crossing his arms as he looked in between the two other men. He could feel the air become thick, as Sirius mulled over the question and continued to hang his head out the window, letting the air blow at his short curls. They reached a little under cheekbones now, he was relieved.

Remus felt his knit sweater was going to suffocate him. 

James thought of repeating his question.

"Is she happy?" Sirius finally broke the silence, taking the last drag of his cig before he also stomped it out. The ashes and the rocky floor grinding under his heavy boot. He was starting to regret wearing only a black shirt to cover his torso, the short sleeves had been cuffed and he could feel the cold night air pick at the skin of his arms. 

"I don't think it's fair for you to question that," James mumbled. He loved Sirius. He did. He was his brother, his closest confidant. He’d been trying to convince him to run away and stay with him. His mother had a room prepared already. He'd do anything for the boy. 

But brothers or not. Sirius was a fool. He had been for a while now. He could see the look on Sirius’s face. The look of love.

“Do you think it’s too late-“ 

“That’s even more unfair,” Remus thought of lighting a second cigarette. He didn’t.

”I need a drink,” Sirius stood upright again, his forearms marked and itched with the stamp of the edge of the window. 

Before either Remus or James could deny Sirius his itch, the door to the Ravenclaw common room opened again, this time with Peter stumbling out.

”Did we know Dorcas was a lesbian?” 

-

You didn't care that Sirius was ignoring you. You didn't care that he never glanced your way, or that he left when you came. You didn't care that you had seen a girl coming out of their dorm two weeks ago. You didn't care about him. You had a boyfriend now, a boy who cared about you and made you smile and blush. Someone who wanted you for more than just sex. Jacob was sweet, he brought you daisies and taffy. Even if you didn't adore either of those things. He always put his arm around your waist and he had started dragging you to be with his friends more often than not. You suspected he had realized he wasn't exactly popular around yours. 

You wondered sometimes, between cigarettes, if you were happy.

You hated smoking.

Jacob hated you smoking too. You pondered the psychology of your actions as you pulled one out of your pocket. He flicked your arm when he saw the stick between your fingers. If only he knew how many packs you had been running through. You ignored his glare, opting for lighting it, even if you were inside. Not like anyone would notice in the overcrowded, obscure Ravenclaw common room. Bastards had the best spot, couldn't hear anything coming from the common room for at least two flights of stairs. Horrendous to go up or down when intoxicated, however.

Lily smiled pleasantly while hanging from James's arm. They were cute, you were delighted they finally got together. It was almost like it was meant to be. You couldn't help but feel your stomach churn when she spoke of the fireworks and butterflies that lived in her chest from his look alone. Lately, life had been feeling like a pile of rocks had settled in your stomach. The dread that came with every touch and every kiss. You wondered if there was something wrong with you. You felt vaguely bored. You pushed down the thought, hoping it wouldn't crawl out again.

You weren't listening much to James, the story he had dug up to entertain his new girlfriend, and your new boyfriend was something you had lived alongside him. No point in tuning in, he had it covered.

You felt Jacob squeeze your hip. Your eyes searched the crowd, you knew what, or well who, you were looking for but you were afraid to even acknowledge it to yourself. The cold glass of your drink made your fingers numb and tingly. You wondered if he had even come tonight.

You laughed as your boyfriend did, as if on cue. You glanced at James, whose eyes flickered to someone in the crowd. You saw his smile falter.

"Y/N how about you finish the story," He finally focused back, handing Lily his drink with a kiss on her head. He left, his body weaving in and out of the crowd, without much of an excuse. You smiled awkwardly at the two people in front of you. You wanted nothing more than to hand Jacob your drink and cig to follow James out. Well, maybe not the cig.

"Flippant man isn't he?" Jacob directed a small smile towards you. You offered a very wobbly one back. You thanked the heavens as Lily left, mumbling something about Marlene having Peter by the scruff of his collar. 

Jacob’s face flashed with recognition, his hand going up as to call someone's attention. He grabbed your waist with a simple let's go and dragged you around the crowd like a rag doll. You finished your drink, the shimmery liquid burning at the back of your throat and your glass sat forgotten on some piece of furniture for someone else to find. Your now smushed cigarette sat at the bottom of the glass. You greeted Jacob's friends warmly, a small shy small playing on your lips.

You tried, you truly did but either the alcohol or the knowledge of your friends being outside wouldn't let you focus on the conversation. Jacob's friends weren't bad, just not your type of crowd. You caught a glimpse of three out of the four marauders coming back in. James immediately made a beeline for Lily, a very sweaty Peter under his arm as he noted Marlene's presence. Remus trailed slowly behind the two. Sirius was nowhere in sight.

"I'll be right back, I gotta go to the loo," you knew your lie had reached the blond as he let go of your waist with a small smile. You pushed through the crowd, avoiding your group of friends. The door was all you could focus on. The man who was possibly on the other side. You weren’t sure he was even there. You didn’t know if you were hoping he was. So you went, the cold night air immediately forcing your lungs to expand. The hall smelled like cigarette smoke. The door closed behind you and it was finally silent.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" Sirius looked at you through his dark lashes, a small smirk on his face. 

"I thought we said we'd quit," your mumbled statement was meant as a joke, both of you just trying to break the icy barrier you had built between you. There wasn't a cigarette in sight.

"Your pile on the astronomy tower says otherwise" you winced, "does your little boyfriend know? I reckon he doesn't like the thought of his pretty girl frying her lungs with a cig"

You stared at him silently, your teeth biting at the inside of your cheek. You regretted finishing your drink. You pulled out the box of Player's No. 6 instinctively. 

"If you don't put it away, I'm going to throw it out the window," Sirius was drunk, he made sense but he felt like he couldn't look at you straight. He closed his eyes briefly. He sort of felt like was melting into the wall. The pack silently went into your pocket again.

"You know it's not like I'm falling in love," you didn't know why you said that.

"I didn't ask that love," you wondered if you were drunk. You observed Sirius, the way his jaw clenched, his tongue running over his teeth as he went deep in thought, eyes still closed. You trudged closer to him, forearms resting against the windowsill. You wanted to kiss him. You felt sick.

"I hate you," you mumbled as he laughed and shuffled closer. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. You looked out the window, he stared at the door, body leaning against the stone wall. 

"The same way you hate cigarettes?" He whispered this, his head turning towards yours. He didn't know what he hoped to hear. You were mere inches apart, his warmth mixing with yours, you wondered if you'd get a shock if you touched him. He fought the urge to press his lips against yours. 

"Yes, the same way" You felt the words scratch at your throat. He felt closer than ever, he moved a bit, and you held your breath. His lips pressed against your cheekbone. Right next to a little beauty mark. Soft and light but enough to tie a knot in your throat. You didn't want to cry in front of him again. You felt intoxicated.

"He won't be happy if he sees us," he parted a bit after he whispered this fact, his eyes darting to the closed door. He pressed another kiss to your cheek, this one closer to the corner of your lips. You pushed him playfully with your shoulder. You missed him.

"Do you think he'll break up with me?" you felt as pathetic as when you asked the opposite question three months ago. you frowned. It squeezed Sirius's heart in hope, he didn't answer though. But he didn't have to, you laughed and soon he did too. You laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You clutched your stomach and stumbled a bit, laughter spilling from your lips like a river. He hoped to hear you laugh like this forever. He’d never get tired of the sound. 

You discovered that Sirius found it equally as hilarious. Tears gathered in his eyes as he laughed, he laughed endlessly, his usual chuckles or boisterous laugh missing. No, this was unfiltered, his sides hurt and he snorted sending the two of you into another fit. 

Your body ached in laughter. Your heart ached for him. You wondered if he thought of you. 

You thought of him every day.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you slowly stopped laughing. 

"You're no good Sirius Black," he could feel his heart flip as your lips said the syllables of his name "You'll do me no good." He pressed his shoulder into yours, turning to kiss the top of your head. It felt like an apology. Like an I'm sorry love, for every time he pretended not to want you, for every time he took you for granted, for letting it get this far, for not remembering or caring or loving. 

You didn't know what he actually meant with it. The door opened again, and the first thing you noticed was the frown on his face. Then the angry red of his cheeks as your boyfriend stomped closer to you. You had never noticed how Sirius was a bit taller.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," his grip on your arm was asphyxiating. You felt like your heart was plummeting down to your stomach. 

"I'm sorry I got distracted," your mumble was blue and laced with regret. Sirius considered taking the swing he'd been pondering about for months. He refrained.

"Let's just go" Jacob pulled you along, down the stairs. Not without sending Sirius a glare over his shoulder. He could hear how the boy talked about him the whole way down, shooting question after question, the why were you there with him's, and the can't even take my eyes off of you's not letting you speak. He hoped you'd look back.

You didn't. You couldn't.

You'd cry if you did.

You wondered if you were supposed to feel this way. Like the sheets were the only thing that could save you. You felt like your bed was stuck on you.

Lily was a sea of worry.

"He's outside the common room he won't stop asking Marls where you are and why you aren't coming down," she sat at the side of your bed. It had been about five days since the party. Since you laughed with Sirius. Since you concluded that you wouldn't. No, that you couldn't be happy without him. "You know how she gets, she's already exasperated."

You've been avoiding your boyfriend like the plague and your heartstrings pulled against your will. You felt bad, you thought you could just forget about Sirius, forget his looks, his touches, his kisses. You felt like the worst person on the planet. You had turned your once kind, sweet boyfriend into a jealous mess. He wasn’t the nicest anymore but you couldn’t blame him. Because it was obvious. More than you had thought. How often your thoughts strayed, how often you thought of Sirius. You knew the real reason your friends didn't exactly love him was because he wasn't Sirius. Because every person on the planet except the bastard himself could tell you were in love with Sirius Black.

Sirius didn't want you though, did he?

"Sweetie, what do you want me to tell him?" Lily in all her caring nature brushed her fingers through your hair. 

"Just tell him I'm really sick and that I'll send an owl or something Lils," you sighed "Just get rid of him before Marls says something insensitive"

Lily laughed "I'm afraid that's already happened but I'll see what I can do.”

As Lily left you thought about Sirius. About what your non-relationship was before. How you lounged around his bed for hours on weekends. Mostly naked as a baby, you would talk for hours. You’d always have sex of course and you’d hardly spend the night, but you would sneak over earlier rather than later, so 'we get the whole day love'. Sirius wouldn’t let you go until dinner was being served and you whined about hunger.

The way he’d kissed you the first time, slow and steady with his hands cupping the back of your head. you were bordering on tipsy. he said he had been wildly drunk but you knew from Remus he had only really had one or two drinks. This was one of the things that made the uneasiness start to prey on you. The way he would subtly kick you out, asking you if you wanted to go to dinner or leaving with you just for you to end up going different ways at the end of the night. The way he’d only kiss you on your lips every so often. The way it was a badly kept secret but a secret nonetheless.

You wondered what was missing from you. Was it something about the way you looked? or worse your personality? You had agonized over your appearance for months. You asked Lily about the trendy muggle workout videos. She had laughed as if you had said something silly.

At first, you thought why Sirius, it would’ve been anyone really. Insecurity was a wild beast, hard to satiate and even worse when it was something as transactional as sex with seemingly no meaning beyond pleasure. why did you decide to kiss him that night? had he kissed you first? you honestly couldn’t remember anymore. 

You stared daggers into the bracelet on your wrist. what had he given your other friends? you wondered about the price as if it would help the urge to feel wanted.

You missed Sirius Black because you were in love with him. Because he was one of your closest friends. You missed his stupid smirks and teases. The way he used to tuck a stray hair behind your ear and kiss the corner of your mouth. You missed sitting next to him at breakfast with his hand always touching your thigh in some way and the way he always saved you your favorite foods. Sneaking into the kitchens because you had missed dinner. He always refused to let you leave his bed until he decided it was enough.

But his body betrayed him until his eyes were droopy with sleep and he’d have to find some force to get up so you wouldn’t end up falling asleep together. 

You missed the way his fingers traced your naked back and the way he’d whisper secrets in French. He always refused to tell you what they meant.

You felt your cheeks dampened and wondered when you had started crying. You were tired of this, you needed everything to stop. Marlene and Lily came bursting into the room, bickering about Marlene’s temper. 

“Well he deserved it-“ Marlene grumbled and a small smile formed on your lips.

”Why is that Marls?” your pleasant smile faltered as the two girls looked at each other nervously. 

“Well it might be best if you talk to him-“

”Oh sod off Lillian she deserves to know,” Lily scowled at the name as Marlene went on “Your boyfriend's a wanker, he got all hot and flustered and had the balls to get in my face” 

You scowled, Jacob didn’t seem like the type. He was sweet and quiet most of the time. You wondered where he had been hiding this temper. You felt the guilt start to bite at your fingertips. Marlene continued,

”He kept talking about how you were probably with Sirius, he kept screaming can you believe it? He was screaming!” Marlene spoke so fast you felt like you couldn’t keep up. “He kept screaming about how you were hiding out in his room, and how you were a- well”

“I think that’s enough Marlene”

“and James well… he came out,” Marlene ignored Lily, but opted for omitting what your very upset boyfriend had rambled on about. Probably for the best, you thought.

”Oh Merlin,”

”He punched him!” You jumped from your bed, eyes wide as Marlene started to giggle but she quickly stopped as you gestured for her to explain. Lily glared at her and Marlene suppressed a smile. 

Lily turned to you, “I just think you need to talk to him directly, he’s in the hospital wing”

”Where’s James?” they both looked at each other, worry in their eyes. Marlene fidgeted with her ring.

“Slughorn took him, we’re hoping McGonagall will get involved at least,” Lily chewed on her lip nervously “It might help”

You sighed as you flopped back down to your bed. Everything was falling apart. You felt like you were falling apart. James wouldn't have gotten physical unless it was needed. He was always so relaxed, sure he always had a witty comment on the tip of his tongue, always some smart bullshit to spew. But to get physical? You couldn't help but still be grateful for him. For whatever the reason was.

Your thoughts strayed to Sirius,

You felt your eyes water again, hot with tears. You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of it all.

Tags ! (lmk if they don’t work or if u wanna be added) :

@beekeepingageissome,

[valentinetypewriter]

Pleasant Intrusion

Wolfstar x reader

Main Masterlist // marauders era masterlist

Y/n catches Sirius and Remus messing around in her room and rummaging through her closet

Warnings: implied smut, making out, perverted teenage boyfriends. Also I suck at naming fics, and writing anything explicit or intimate

Word count: 1,989, this is just a short fic

Sirius and Remus had finished their last class of the day when they decided to head to their girlfriend's room. Upon entering they found it empty, which seemed odd to them since Y/n would always be up here on Thursday's, having finished her last class almost an hour before them. Remus was planning on leaving to go and look for Y/n when Sirius had decided to take a seat on her bed "Let's just wait for her here, she shouldn't be too long" Remus just shrugged, taking a seat next to the black haired boy. He grabbed one of the few books on Y/n's bedside table to busy himself as he waited. Though Sirius was not one to wait, he started to get fidgety after sitting for only 5 minutes.

So he took it upon himself to start rifling through his girlfriend's stuff. "What the hell are you doing?" Remus questioned, watching his boyfriend pull out a pair of lace underwear from their girlfriend's closet "just taking a look, that's all" as much as he tried to be convincing in his tone, Sirius didn't do much to hide the fact he was shoving the panties into his back pocket. The tall Werewolf just sighed at his actions "she'll be pissed if you get caught" Sirius just laughed and shook his head, continuing his search through Y/n's stuff "you see darling I don't plan on getting caught" he made eye contact with Remus before throwing a matching lace bra at the sitting boy. The tall boy's face burned red as he held up the bra. He had seen Y/n in it before, it was the matching set she wore when she was planning for an intense night with the two boys. It was a dark red colour with black lace and a small heart bead in the centre. Remus threw it onto the bed next to him, trying to ignore the blood that's starting to rush downwards.

He looked around the room to distract himself and his eyes landed on an enchanted photo on the bedside table. It was a photo taken about 4 months ago and it was of him, Y/n and Sirius celebrating their 1 year anniversary. The three of them were smiling brightly, Remus stood in the centre with his arms wrapped around his two partners as they both shoved their faces into his own, smothering his face in kisses before looking back over at the camera. Remus gently picked the frame up and smiled at the photo, gently rubbing off a slight layer of dust. Sirius threw himself behind Remus and lent over his shoulder to examine what the boy was holding "you know that's my favourite photo of us" remus looked back at his boyfriend seeing a familiar glint in his stormy grey eyes "I especially like how red you face gets" his voice softened as he lent in to kiss Remus on the cheek. The boy's face instantly started burning up, the thing about Remus was that he was incredibly easy to make blush, especially when it came to his partners.

Sirius continued kissing over Remus's face before leaning into his lips. They deepened the kiss as Sirius's hands wrapped around his boyfriend's waist, gently pushing him down against the bed. The raven haired boy leant over Remus as he straddle his legs, sliding his tongue into the young Werewolves mouth. The two started moving against each other for friction, but neither dared to stop and undress. Maybe if he wasn't so caught up in the taste of cinnamon and smoke from Sirius's mouth, Remus would've heard the approaching footsteps or the door being gently opened and quickly closed.

"What the hell are you two perverts doing?" The voice of their beloved girlfriend rang out snapping both boys out of their trance as their heads shot up. No matter what they said there was no denying how perverted they must've seemed to their girlfriend. Sirius was sitting on top of Remus, lace underwear still sticking out from his back pocket for y/n to see. Remus on the other hand was burning red, his hair was a mess and his lips seemed swollen, a bra laying next to his head that just so happened to match the underwear in the stormy eyed boy's pocket. Sirius was the first to speak up "oh hello princess, we were just keeping busy while waiting for you to get back" a wolfish grin on his face, y/n looked between her two boyfriend's, the lace panties and the matching bra "Yes I can see that" her face reddening at the thought of the two rifling through her underwear draw then making out on her bed. "Care to join us, love?" Remus' voice had a whispered edge to it, still slightly dazed from Sirius. "Yeah ok, I guess you two depraved pervs deserve some company"

[capsicle-evans]

The Make Believe Ms Evans

Summary: A PR marriage between Y/N and Chris Evans has skyrocketed their careers but their sex lives has never been this low. Up until now.

Warnings: unprotected sex, swearing

Series Master Post

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“What are you reading?” Chris raises one eyebrow, moving his attention away from Dodger to me.

“Nothin” I blush, sitting up in a straighter position.

“Sure and that’s why you’ve been whimpering and pressing your legs for the last 5 minutes” He rolls his eyes and before I can stop him, he snatches the book right out of my hands.

“Give it back, you dick” I try to retrieve it from his hands but he is so much stronger than me so he keeps me away with just one arm.

“Let’s see” He scans the pages as a grin spreads over his lips. “Oh we haven’t done that”

“Give me that” I manage to get my book back, giving him a dirty look before settling back down on the couch. “You are such a kid sometimes”

“Why are so so ashamed?” Chris frowns. “It’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked by now”

“I know” I blush as the mental picture of a naked Chris floods my mind. “It’s just… forget about it”

“Y/N” Chris’s frown deepens as he steps closer to me. “You have been eaten out, right?”

Why can the Earth just swallow me whole right now? Why must I go through this? I mean it’s not like it’s my fault, but still.

“Of course” I roll my eyes before placing the book over my face to block Chris stare. “Leave me alone”

I try to focus back on the story, the words of intimacy that lay before be sending warm waves through my body. I clench my thighs as the main character is being stimulated by her male counter part, her pussy being consumed by his mouth.

I jump a little in my spot when I feel a warm hand pushing up the hem of my dress. “What-?” I move my book away to look down where Chris lays in between my legs, his hands tugging at my underwear. I try to speak but the words get stuck at the back of my throat as my core gets exposed right on front of Chris’s face. “Chris” I try to grab his head to push him away but he shakes it off.

“Just relax” He looks up at me, his eyes turned a deep shade of stormy blue. “Read to me”

“What?” I pant as he connects his lips to my inner thigh. He points at my book with a little nod, darting his tongue out to taste the saltiness of my skin. “No, I want to-“

“Read to me or I’ll stop” He gives me a pointed look as he grabs both of my legs to drape them over his shoulders.

“Fine” I grunt before placing the book back in front of my face as Chris moves a couple of inches closer to my throbbing center. “I needed release” I start reading, feeling Chris’s breath fanning my pussy. “I needed Simon to let me reach it, but every time I got close, he’d pull away”

“I should do that with you” Chris grins against my skin before finally swiping his tongue between my folds. The new sensation pushes my legs together, smothering Chris closer to my pussy. “Keep reading, Y/N” Chris grunts against me before pulling my clit as he sucks on it.

“I can’t” I gasp as he spreads me open with his big hands. His tongue darts inside me forcing his chin to rub against me so his beard burns against my thighs. Chris looks up at me before removing his mouth from me.

“Be a fucking good girl and read” Chris bites into my thigh before reaching up to place the book back into my hands. “Or I won’t eat you, bunny”

The pet name makes me blush so I grab the book to hide my face. Smiling up, Chris moves back to his mission. This time he spreads my fold, my puss glistening and blushing under his gaze. A sudden embarrassment takes over me so I focus on the words in front of me. “His mouth is demanding and savoring my core” as I say this, Chris’s tongue tortures my clitoris, his fingers digging into my skin. I drop the book again so my hands can fly to his hair, digging in between his golden locks.

“The bo-“

“Shut up” I push his head against me, muffling his words. I can feel him grinning against me as he intensifies his swipes across my pussy, focusing on my clitoris every once in a while.

“Do you like this?” Chris’s raspy voice breaks through my moans. “God you make the best sounds”

“Chris” I moan his name as he starts fucking me with is tongue and his thumb massages my bud. “I’m so close”

“Yeah, cum over my tongue, bunny” Chris replaces his thumb with his lips and his index fingers starts fucking my pussy, thrusting hard into me. “I want to feel you clench around my finger”

I feel the pressure building, the need for release making me shudder against his touch. I pull on his hair, the waves of pleasure rising as he laps at my lips and when he adds a second finger, I’m a goner.

“Fuck fuck fuck” I pant, shaking under him as I my release rides away under his mouth. I’m trashing under him so Chris grabs my hips, pinning me down.

“God I want to be inside you” Chris holds himself up as he undoes his pants. His dick springs out, wanting to join the action.

“Please, Chris” I grab his white shirt, pulling him down to me. “Fuck me”

“Your wish is my command” He plants a quick kiss before plunging inside of me. “Damn, you feel so good around me. So tight and wet”

“You stretch me so good, Daddy” I moan out and suddenly Chris goes stiff over me. My hands fly to my mouth, realizing the words that just came out of me. “Shit sorry”

Chris eyes are almost black, his chest heaving and the vein on his neck pulsing. “Say it again”

Fuck. I grab his neck so our foreheads are touching. “Make me cum again, Daddy” I whine against his lips as his hand wraps around my neck, gripping just enough.

“You like that?” Chris starts entering me faster and harder, pressing down on my neck to gain stability. “Open up, baby girl”

His thumb tugs at my lips so I make an O shape with my mouth. Pulling me closer by the neck, Chris spits in my mouth. I lick my lips close and guide his face to the crook of my neck. “I’m so close, so close”

Chris bites into my collarbone as his hips roll faster before becoming sloppy and erratic. “I’m cummin, fuck” Chris moans hard as I feel him spilling inside of me.

His orgasm and moans send me over the edge once again. My nails ding into his back as the waves of pleasure consume my every senses.

Sex was always okay with my exes, my vibrator achieving more than they ever did. Until Chris. He fucks me up so good, I always end up wrecked, exhausted and destroyed.

Chris pulls out from inside of me but makes no intention of getting off me, his cum dripping along my thighs. “Move” I laugh as he rests his head over my boobs.

“Give me a minute, woman” He sasses me. “If I move, I might pass out”

“Ugh fine” I roll my eyes, throwing my arm over my face.

I can feel his chest rising and falling over mine, his shallow breaths colliding with my covered nipple. Too focused on his heaving chest, my eyes begin to drift off, my eyelids getting too heavy to keep them open. And the last thing I can remember is a sigh that passes through Chris’s lips.

***

My dry mouth slowly wakes me up, the urge for a glass of water strong in the back of my throat. My eyes flutter open and it takes me a couple of seconds to adjust to the darkness. I rub my eyes to remove the sleep that still holds on, the clock on the wall flashing 2:00 am. Fuck, last time I remember, it was 8:47 pm, right after Chris and I had dinner. Chris.

My head snaps to my chest as a golden mane rests peacefully over my chest. Chris is still deep into his sleep so I try not to wake him up but I need to get out of here. As a small woman, a very tall man laying over me is not really good for my blood flow. I can tell my legs are almost numb from being under him. I try to push him softly on his side so that I can roll away and leave him sleeping here.

“Mm” Chris purrs against my skin, his ocean eyes blinking open slowly.

“Sorry” I whisper, placing my hand over his shoulder blade. “I just need some water”

“Yeah sure” Chris straightens up and I can feel the stickiness he left behind over.

“Okay, and a shower as well” I laugh as I move towards the kitchen, Chris following close behind.

“And is there room for me?” He gives me puppy eyes as I fill my glass up with water.

“Hm that depends” I pretend to think as I bring the glass up to my lips. “Are you going to behave?”

Chris walks to stand behind me, his hands immediately reaching for my hips. He dips his head down to nuzzle my neck. “No, I won’t”

Chris pushes my hips back against his erection as his free hand takes purchase of my nipple. “You know what drives me crazy?”

“What?” I barely speak as his tongue savors the skin behind my ear.

“The way you look right after I’ve fucked you” His other hand hides under the hem of my shorts, softly massaging my entrance over my panties. “Your face right after your orgasm is so fucking hot, your mouth all swollen up and red and so so tempting”

“Chris” I gasp, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as Chris’ index finger dips inside of me.

“Yes, how you moan my name also makes my pants explote” He adds a second finger in, forcing my head to fall back against his chest. “I also love it when you were sun dresses and you bend down and I get to look at your perfect ass”

With that, Chris slaps my butt cheek, sending shivers straight to my core. “You know how many times I touched myself with that imagine in my mind? How I pictured you riding me reverse cowgirl, your ass slamming against my skin?”

“I need you Chris” I manage to speak, my eyes closed as my hips follow the rhythm of his hand.

“Come here” Chris spins me around to pick me up. “Wrap your legs around me, bunny”

With me in his arms, Chris walks us to the shower in his bathroom. I take my time to ravage his neck with my mouth, earning moans and praises when I dig my teeth softly in his skin

“If you don’t stop, we are not gonna make it to the shower”

Chris puts me down so he can turn the water on and let if warm up to us. “Off with those clothes”

“So impatient” I grin, pulling down my shorts, revealing my damp red panties.

“You are so fucking hot” Chris admires me as I remove the rest of my clothes. “Really why didn’t we start this sooner?”

“Don’t know, but now we have all the time in the world” I pull him down by the neck to meet my lips. I grab the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. His pants come off soon after and he guides me into the shower, the hot water steaming up the entire room.

“Come here” Chris hugs my waist and pulls me under the shower head, water splashing us.

“Last time I saw you here” I grin, gripping his arm muscles. “You were pleasuring yourself”

“Really?” He grins, blush straining his cheeks. “Do you want to know what I was thinking about?”

“What?” I bite my bottom lip.

“You in that pink night gown” Chris presses his hip against me, his tip tickling my belly. “And how much I wanted to take it off and fuck you so hard”

“Chris” I breath out, my pussy clenching at his words. “Show me”

***

“What the fuck?” A loud shrink wakes me up, making me jump on my spot. “WHAT THE FUCK?”

I look at the door when Polly and Claire have their mouths wide open and staring back at me.

“Can you two shut up?” I groan, letting by head fall back into the pillow.

“Please” Chris whines behind me and that’s when I realize what is happening.

I fell asleep on Chris’ bed. After sex. He is naked. I’m naked. Claire and Polly are here. Fuck.

“Like Hell” Claire replies to me. “Can you guys fucking explain?”

“Do you want me to explain to you how I fucked my wife?” Chris rolls his eyes as he pulls away from me, still holding on to the bed spread.

“I think I’m having a fucking seizure” Polly brings her hand up to her head. “I’m about to have an aneurysm”

“Stop being so dramatic” I roll my eyes, reaching for a towel thats on the floor near my side of the bed. “You guys should be delighted”

“With the two of you, we never know” Claire shakes her head before tossing Chris his pants from the floor. “Get ready. You’ll explain later. Your stylists are here to get you ready for the event”

Agh of course, the fundraiser for the Children’s Hospital.

“Fine, be down in five” I wave them off as I move pass them towards my room.

“No funny business” Polly points at the two of us.

“As if I last 5 minutes” I hear Chris reply and then a loud thud. Probably some shoe aimed towards Chris.

And the rest of the morning is spent with people running around doing my hair and makeup, Chris trying on different suits and Polly and Claire staring at us like we grew a second head.

I can tell they want to grill us with questions but every time they try to approach the subject, someone else walks into the room and they have to turn their attention to something else. It’s not until we are all seated at out assigned table at the event that Polly finally breaks the silence.

“So how long?” She asks us, her voice un almost a whisper to not gain any attention.

“The day after the premiere” Chris replies, bringing his whiskey up to his lips.

“Ok not that long then” Claire nods. “Should we be concern?”

“Because I’m having sex with my wife?” Chris asks and I almost choke on a piece of cheese. “No, I don’t think so”

“You guys hated each other less than two weeks ago” Claire places her hands on the table, leaning forward so that only us can hear. “If this goes wrong I can only imagine how hard it’s gonna be for us”

“Relax” I roll my eyes, leaning back into my chair. “We are adults, we know what we are doing”

“That does nothing to calm me” Polly shakes her head. “But if there’s one thing I know about you two is that you never make our jobs any easier”

“Can we please just drop it?” Chris sounds more irritated now. “We are married, as you have made emphasis on for the last four months, we are getting along. Leave it alone”

“Fine” Polly slumps back down on her chair. “I just don’t even have the energy for this”

“Great” Chris nods before turning to me. “I’m gonna go say hi to some friends, do you want to come?”

“No, it’s okay” I wave him off. “I actually wanna see the garden so I’ll go for a walk”

“I can join you if you want” Chris offers but I know he hasn’t seen his friends in a while.

“No, it’s okay” I smile at him. “I saw Ana de Armas a couple of minutes ago, I’ll ask her to keep me company” Ana and I became really good friends on set whenever I had to pay a visit to my beloved husband.

“Kay” Chris stands before placing a kiss on my cheek. “See ya in a bit”

I follow him until he disappears from my view and my eyes fall back to the two ladies in front of me. “Stop fucking staring”

“It’s just so fucking weird honestly” Polly shakes her head before bringing her glass of wine up to her lips. “I’m gonna need more of this honestly”

“Fine whatever, I’m gonna go for a walk” I grab my clutch and walk away from the table.

I look around the beautiful garden to decide what to do. I spot Ana deep in a conversation with someone so I decide better not to step into their conversation. I decide to check out the paintings that are being displayed for the fundraiser. Most of them are floral themed and filled with pastel colors and soft drawings.

“Do you like it?” A deep voice startles me as I’m gazing closely up at a painting. “Sorry didn’t mean to scare you”

“It’s okay” I wave him off before turning my attention back to the painting. “Yeah, it’s gorgeous”

“Good, cuz I painted it” He beams at me proudly. “Jaques, nice to meet you”

“Y/N, like wise” I extend my hand to shake it but he grabs it and brings it up to his lips. I pull it back quickly as I feel my cheeks go warm “You must be proud of your work”

“Very much so” He steps a bit closer to me. “And tell me Y/N, do you paint?”

“No no” I chuckle, grasping my glass of wine with both of my hands. “I always wanted to but never got around to doing something about it”

“What a shame” He gives me a side smile. “I’m pretty sure someone as beautiful as you would only creat art just as beautiful”

I feel myself physically cringing but I try not to be rude so I just smile.

“I could give you some lessons” He steps closer, his hand reaching for my elbow to pull me closer. “We could meet and I could show you everything you need”

Before I can open my mouth or step away from him, I feel a big hand wrap around my waist and pull me away hard until I’m pushed into someone’s chest. I look up to find Chris with his eyes set hard over Jaques. “Chris?” My voice comes out squeezed as he presses me against his side. Chris manages to peel his eyes away from Jaques to look down at me.

“Hi, Bunny” He winks down at me before leaning down to connect our lips in a kiss that anyone would consider inappropriate in public. He finally pulls away to look back to Jaques. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, I was just telling Y/N that I could give her some painting le-”

“Ms. Evans” Chris interrupts Jaques and I feel my cheeks burning but my pussy as well. Fuck who knew possessive Chris was such a turn on.

“What?” Jaques almost stumbles with his words.

“She is Ms. Evans to you” Chris makes emphasis on this by showing up his ring. “And about those painting classes, I don’t think they’ll be necessary. If she wants to we can get her another teacher. Now if you excuse us, my wife and I have somewhere to be”

Chris doesn’t even let Jaques form a reply before he is turning us away. “There was no need to be rude” I try to glare at Chris but his eyes look so stormed up that my words come out in breaths.

“There was no need for him to touch you” Chris guides me towards some stairs that lead to the foyer of the mansion where event is being held.

“Where are we going?” I frown when I notice Chris is moving us towards a hallway.

“To teach you some lessons, not painting ones” He pushes me into a room before locking the door behind us. “But a lesson nonetheless”

I moan as he pushes himself against me and his mouth takes over mine. “Chris, someone could hear us”

“Better, then”

***

“Look, our first sex scandal” I grin as I show Chris the pictures someone manage to snap of us going inside the manor and then walking back out with my hair a little undone and Chris’ shirt poorly button up.

“Claire and Polly must be thrilled” He grins as I flop down next to him on his bed.

“I think they actually were” I laugh as I show them the text that they sent me. “Everyone is talking about us and all those rumors of divorce seem to be a thing of the past”

“Good” Chris smiles down at me before looking down through my night gown at the hickey he left right over my left boob. “Sorry about that”

“It’s nothing” I wave him off. “I’m just wearing turtle necks until next week I guess”

“Uh, it’s a shame no one is going to see my work of art” He grins, pulling me by the waist so that I’m pressing up against him.

“Oh no mister” I laugh, pressing my hands against his chest to push back away from him but his grip is tighter. “I’m all sore, you need to let me rest”

“Fine” He rolls his eyes but he doesn’t let ho of me.

His blue eyes stare down into mine and suddenly I feel my throat dry up. His eyes flicker between mine and my lips before he leans in to touch my forehead with his.

“Chris” I breath out, my heart going a haywire as he nuzzles my nose with his. “I should probably go to my room”

“Y/N” Chris covers my neck softly with his hand to connect our lips for a brief kiss. “Stay”

“I have my room” I reach for his hand with mine but don’t pull away. “We have separate rooms for a reason”

“I don’t think I remember that reason anymore” He grins against my lips before moving his lips down to my neck. I expect him to tease me there but he just stays there and pulls me hard against his chest. “Stay”

“Okay”

***************************************************

Hi i know it’s been forever but I kinda got stuck. I have proofread it so sorry for the mistakes

@talesofadragon @patzammit @rainyhort10-blog @cutedisneygrl @creae7881 @edtomh @8crazy-freak8 @weirdpeoplecoolpeople @sarahdonald87 @mrsevans90

[eastsideofthemoon]

Celebrating Black History Month

Captain on the Bridge: CAPTAIN MICHAEL BURNHAM

Seasons 4 was our first full season of Michael as captain (finally)! So I'm reflecting on things she did that stood out to me. Also, it's Black History Month! She's our first Black female lead in a Star Trek Series and our first Black female lead captain, played brilliantly by Sonequa Martin-Green.

1. The Queen of Chaotic Ingenuity

Michael is a master of thinking on her feet. If a plan goes awry, she can course correct on the fly (bars). Honestly, we've seen her do this throughout Disco, but as captain, we especially see it in the season opener, Kobayashi Maru, with the Alshain (aka The Butterfly People). When their re-contact mission goes sideways, Michael is able to identify that there is an issue with their navigation and work with her crew to come up with a solution while being chased and shot at.

The Alshain did not report the problem, but by providing them a solution - no strings attached - Captain Burnham was able to win over their trust with the Federation.

2. Collaborator

I love how Michael respects the expertise of her crew and encourages their involvement with problem-solving. Having personally been on teams where collaboration was encouraged, it does a great deal in boosting team morale, building teamwork, and communicating through action that the individual team members' skills and ideas are valued. This is seen best in Anamoly and Stormy Weather. It's also seen with how she suggested to Book that he talk to Dr. Culbert. As a counselor, he's more equipped to manage Book's mental and emotional state after losing Kwejian.

3. Recognizing the needs of her crew

"All In" was one of my favorite episodes this season. The fun, the action, and Owosekun getting to shine. One of my favorite scenes was seeing how Michael responded to Owosekun's outburst with Saru from a previous episode. Instead of choosing to double down with additional punishment or verbal reprimand, she saw an opportunity to allow Owosekun to do more in her service to the mission at hand.

O: Why bring me?

M: Saru told me about what happened at the subspace rift. How you didn't want to stand down when he told you to.

O: I was totally out of bounds. I apologized to him.

M: I know. I also know how it feels to want to do something. Anything. And how it feels when you can't.

Michael recognized Owosekun's actions didn't come from a place of rebellion but a place of wanting to do more to help. Michael found an opportunity to allow her the space to fulfill that desire and utilize that drive.

Also, allowing a place on her ship that provides mental and emotional support for the crew via Dr. Culbert becoming the ship's councilor is the sign of a leader that cares about the whole health of her crew. Yes, I know other captains have had a ship’s counselor. The point it Captain Burnham does too and it deserves recognition.

4. Balancing her heart and duty

Captain Burnham had the challenge of being the supporting partner to the man she loved, who lost his entire home planet while maintaining her commitment to Starfleet. And she did a stellar job. Yes, she loves Book deeply and was willing to do all she could to help him. But when he went rogue, she chose to stay committed to the course of a peaceful first contact, despite it putting her at odds with the love of her life. Furthermore, when she thought Book died (Sonequa gave one of the best performances in Star Trek), she was still able to see the mission through, despite her heartbreak.

5. How she handled the Magistrate

Although empathetic to their plight, Captain Burnham still set clear boundaries with the magistrate about WHO has the authority, what WILL happen while on HER ship, and some food for thought when they arrive to wherever they find refuge. And she didn't have to raise her voice to do it. One's ability to yell at subordinates is not a true show of power and authority.

6. The Beginnings of a Diplomat?

Now we know Michael is a Kirk-type captain. And this season, she does not like politics or politicians. But during season 4, as much as she can’t stand it, we are shown that Captain MB may have the makings of a Diplomat as shown best in All Is Possible and But To Connect.

7. Leading a successful First Contact

Captain Burnham led a first contact like none other. A true first contact with serious stakes riding on its success or failure. After successfully getting through the Galatic Barrier (shout out to Detmer's immaculate piloting) and utilizing her (Michael’s) xenoanthropologic skills to investigate the 10-C's home planet, she along with some of the Federation's best had to figure out how to connect with the 10-C. A truly alien species, where universal translators failed to help with communication and who Starfleet had 0 records of. What makes Captain Burnham stand out is her willingness to step out on faith. She led her team on a mission on the 10-C's home planet to find some form of culture context to aid in their ability to communicate with them. It paid off. It laid the foundation for the first contact team and the USS Discovery crew to help understand how to communicate with the 10-C. Also, it should be noted that Michael admitted to President Rillak that she was angry, but we don't see her anger and frustration run her emotions or hinder her ability to command. I've seen people accuse her of being emotional. There's a difference between emotional intelligence and being emotional.

Also, I admire her recognizing when to take the lead and when to be a team player. As already stated, her calm demeanor and unwavering trust in the crew were excellent in helping them get across the Galatic Barrier. But she also recognized that it was President Rillak's voice that needed to be heard when informing everyone that the DMA moved to the Alpha Quadrant. It takes maturity to know when someone else need to lead and humility to let them lead. All of these actions lead to a successful first contact.

Conclusion:

In closing, Captain Michael Burnham is not the same Michael Burnham we met in season 1. In season 4, she has inner peace. She has a balance with human emotions and her Vulcan-trained logic. She knows who she is and has confidence in herself. Her duty to Starfleet and the Federation is matched with joy in what she's fighting for. Captain Michael Burnham is THE captain of the USS Discovery. No one else.

I want to end with this. There's plenty of room for more than one Black Starfleet captain. We can celebrate Sisko, Burnham, and Freeman in a way that respects them all. There's no need to pit them against each other. They all matter and are important in representing Black people in the future.

Happy Black History Month

[stormyboi7]

You ever sneeze so hard you redesign yourself?

Anywho,

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT TIME:

Stormy is no longer a Star Wars character! He’s still called Stormy the *Stormtrooper*— I legitimately don’t think I can call him anything else— but he’s no longer associated with Star Wars whatsoever.

Really, this has been a long time coming. I’ve never really thought of Stormy as a Star Wars OC, y’know?

With everything I want to do with the series and the character, I figured it would make the most sense to divorce him from Star Wars entirely, and let Stormy be Stormy.

Like I said, he’s still going to be called a Stormtrooper, for lore reasons that will be explained at a later date (likely, whenever I release the new version of Book 1!). Just know he’s NOT a Star Wars Stormtrooper anymore.

For now, I figured I’d go ahead and drop his redesign, since this is something I’ve spent a lot of time and effort remaking! Cheers!

[lo-vearchive]

Forgive Me (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: After reconciling in your bedroom, Miguel disappears on you for a week. Giving up on any hopes of romance, your friends plan a night out for you to cheer up. Too bad your boss makes an appearance and catches you with an attractive stranger on a stormy night. Read Part One: here

Word Count: 4463 words

Content: Miguel being a rude bastard, Miguel asking for forgiveness (again), arguments, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, tobacco consumption, 18+ (minors DNI), no p in v but things get spicy at the end, female fingering, finger sucking, misogyny, insecurity, swearing, hurt and comfort, office sex (no p in v), questionable Spanish

Note: ANGST! Got carried away once again. Lowkey not proofread. I love angst and Miguel being vulnerable.  If you are into angst, you will enjoy this. Feel free to correct my Spanish and ask for any other cw to be added. Thank you for the 1K+ notes on Pt. 1. Have fun, horndogs ;)

It has been seven days since you last saw Miguel O’Hara.

After spending a full 48 hours by your side, he had gone back to work. You decided to join him at Alchemax the next day but found his office empty. At first, you thought he was occupied with Spider-Man business, so you kept yourself busy with answering his overflowing email box. Slowly the sun set behind the skyline of Nueva York and the messages ran out, leaving behind a feeling of uneasiness in your stomach.

 You [sent Friday, 6 pm]: Hey, are you coming to work today?

You [sent Friday, 10 pm]: I’m going home for the night. Call me when you are home. I miss you :)

You [sent Saturday, 5 am]: Are you okay?

You [sent Saturday, 1 pm]: I’m getting really worried. Where are you?

You [sent Saturday, 5 pm]: I emailed you in case you lost your phone. Call me asap.

You [sent Sunday, 7 pm]: I’ll see you at work tomorrow.

You [sent Monday, 9 am]: Lyla said you’re okay but won’t tell me what’s going on. Says I don’t have clearance. Please call me.

You [sent Monday 10 am]: Are you actually ignoring me?

You [sent Tuesday, 1 am]: My best friend you’re an asshole and I should never let you near my pussy ever again.

You [sent Tuesday 1:23 am] Are you ghosting me? You know we work together, right?

You [sent Tuesday, 3:30 am]: I hate you Miguel O’Hara.

 Friday rolled around and your best friend had enough of your drunk late-night facetime calls. She gathered a group of your high school girlfriends and decided a night out in the town would be the perfect remedy. “Fuck him, babe,” Katy states, sliding a shot glass across the table. “You should report him to HR for being an ass.”

You laughed and tipped the glass into your mouth. The tequila burnt its way down your throat. “I’m just going to find a new job. I can’t be dealing with this shit right now.”

Your friend Soo let out a burp. “Did you let him hit it?”

You shake your head. “No,” you cough. “We came close to it, like above the pants stuff— do you think that’s why he’s ignoring me? Because I didn’t put out right away?”

“Bitch,” Katy chides, slapping the tabletop, “be fucking for real. You look like a busty, hot secretary from some comic book. He should be lucky you let him touch your tits!”

Your friends nodded along in agreement. Katy grabs the sides of your chair and spins it around, facing you to the restaurant bar. “You see that guy there?” she points at a man with messy blond hair in an open-collar white shirt. “He’s been eyeing you all night. Go talk to him right now.”

The tequila must have heightened your bravery as you found yourself walking across the dimly lit restaurant and to the wall. Stealing a glance at him from the corner of your eye, you ask the bartender for, “a rum and coke please.”

“You can add her drink to my tab,” the man says just like you hoped he would. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw your friends fussing over you earlier and you looked like you needed a drink.”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, letting out a laugh. “You’re right, I do need a little pick-me-upper tonight.”

“My name is John,” he says.

You introduced yourself and slide in the empty seat next to him. “So, what’s going on with you?” he questions, sipping his beer.

You carefully lift your drink from the bar top and circled the rim with your index finger. “I’m not sure if I wanna’ trauma dump on a stranger.”

“Sometimes talking to strangers helps.”

You contemplate his words and sigh. Your friends would kick you if you said the name Miguel O’Hara again in their general vicinity. You chose to divulge a little to the mystery man. “Things got a bit complicated with someone I really cared about. Everything was going well and then he disappeared suddenly, and I don’t know why.”

John listens to you carefully, nodding to himself. “You know what I do when I’m confused?”

“What?”

“I take a smoke break to chill out,” he answers, standing up. “Care to join me?”

You downed the contents of your glass and follow him out a door that open to a back alley behind the restaurant. Rain pours down heavily, and you both huddle under a dingy metal shed. The cold air bites your arms sharply as John lights the end of his cigarette and brings it to his mouth. “It can be frustrating when you’re left without answers but a girl like you has nothing to worry about.”

You smile at his words. You take the cigarette off his hand and take a drag. The smoke fills your lungs, making your head spin a little. The light-headedness reminds you of how you felt last time when Miguel was in your arms. Airy, free, and light. No matter what you do, all your thoughts lead back to him. You shake away the memories and pass the cigarette back to John.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” a stern voice asks.

A man melts out of the shadows in the alley and into the light shining from a streetlamp above. You recognize him. “Miguel?”

He doesn’t look at you and keeps his eyes focused on John. “Who is he?” he asks with a deep frown.

“Listen, I’m off work right now,” you clear your throat, sticking your nose up in the air. “I don’t have to explain—”

“Look, man,” John interrupts, “no need to get all worked about this. We are just talking.”

Miguel lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, right,” he spits and gets in his face. “You could have done that at the bar. Why the fuck are you out here alone with her? What were you planning on doing?”

“Mr. O’Hara!” you exclaim, stepping in between them. “You are out of line!”

He raises his eyebrows at your formality but keeps his attention on John over your shoulder.  “Buddy,” John says, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving you to the side. “She is allowed to talk to whoever she wants. I suggest you leave us alone now.”

The touch doesn’t go unnoticed by Miguel. His nostrils flare and his eyes turned red with anger. He steps closer to John until he is looming over the poor man. You often forget how big your boss is compared to everyone around him. The scene looks almost comical with how John tries to puff out his chest. “Te calmas o te calmo,” (Calm yourself, or I’ll calm you down) Miguel snarls.

Whatever John sees in his face is enough to make him reconsider. He holds his hands up in surrender and backs away slowly. Stopping in front of you he pushes the half-burnt cigarette into your hand and whispers, “If this is the guy you were talking about, then maybe it’s a good thing he disappears. I’ll be inside if you still want to talk.”

He walks away from the alley and into the restaurant, leaving you with Miguel alone in the alley. You watch in silence as his body trembles, and you can’t tell if it’s from anger or the rain hammering away at his back.

He breaks the silence. “So, you’re letting strangers into our private business?”

You snort loudly. “You don’t get to speak to me like that,” you tell him, taking another drag. “Especially after disappearing on me. You can’t just strut back into my life and tell me who I can confide in.”

“I was tending to some urgent matters,” he says, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead. “So I took the time to handle them. I can’t be around you every second of the day acting as your lap dog.”

The heat from the cigarette burns your skin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you raise your voice, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re acting like I want you on a leash! I just wanted to know you were okay.”

“Clearly I’m okay,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

Your lips tug into a deep scowl at his tone. “Did you ever stop to consider how your actions affected me? How lost and confused I felt waiting by the phone every day?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Miguel matches your tone. “You know I am a busy man, and that I have responsibilities. But you’d rather live in some fantasy land where I’m just some monster out to hurt you! You can’t begin to understand the weight I carry on my shoulders.”

Anger surges through your body. “How am I supposed to understand when you don’t tell me anything? Hell, your AI knows more about you than I do. It’s like you only care about missions or work and nothing else—”

“Sometimes in life, personal matters have to take a backseat,” he cuts you off, harshly. “Not everyone can put on a short skirt and high heels, waltz into work, type a few memos and then call it a night.”

“You misogynist fuck!” You scream back at him, resisting the urge to slap him silly. “I hate you!”

“I hate you too!” he yells back in your face with bloodshot eyes.

You spin on your heels and begin walking towards the main road. Rage begins to bubble inside you and reaches your throat. You turn around just as you reach the sidewalk and call out, “You know what? It doesn’t matter if you disappear again because I have hated you since the moment I met you. I hated you when everyone at work warned me about you. I hated you all those times you dismissed me like an afterthought. And I hated you when you came to my room that night begging for a second chance. So, I don’t care if you hate me, or think I’m useless or unimportant cause have hated you longer and harder and for better fucking reasons!”

You take another drag from the cigarette and then crush it underneath your pretty high heels. You make a right at the end of the alley and begin walking up the street. Warm tears spill down your face as you shiver in the rain. Katy was right, he was an asshole. An asshole that made you feel dumb for having a normal job or human emotions. But maybe you were just an idiot for falling in love with a man who didn’t respect you. Love wasn’t supposed to be this hard, but here you were feeling small and crying at the side of the road.

The sound of screeching tires brings you out of your self-pity. A sleek black car pulls up on the other side of the road and the passenger window rolls down. Miguel’s face emerges from behind the glass. “Ven aquí!” (come here) he calls out.

You ignore him and keep walking ahead. You have no idea where you are going, but you would rather eat rocks than speak to him.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Miguel make a sharp left, almost hitting oncoming traffic and pulling up beside you. “Get in the car!”

Your feet don’t stop moving so he slowly inches his car to match your speed. “Estoy harto. (I’m sick of this) Let’s talk!”

Honks and yells filled the night as people grew frustrated with his speed. “Stop,” you hiss, bending down to the window. “You are embarrassing me!”

“Get in the car then,” he says, with a clenched jaw. “You’re gonna’ catch a cold in the rain.”

“Stop pretending like you care,” you snarl, kicking the side of his car.

“A-YO LADY!” a man yells out of his yellow cab. “Get in the damn car! Your boyfriend is holding up traffic!”

A pleased smirk spread across Miguel’s face at the man’s remarks. You let out a frustrated grunt and yanked the door open, slipping into the passenger seat. “Put your seatbelt on,” he says, picking up speed.

You begrudgingly obey but wished that his car would get rear-ended so hard that his fat head would go through the windshield. “You look like you want me dead, babe,” he commented with a nervous laugh.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, adjusting the belt over your soaking dress. “Where are we going?”

“Back to Alchemax,” he points at the GPS screen. “The freeway flooded, and it will be a while until it clears up. I have a spare set of clothes I keep in the office for overnighters. You can change while we wait for the storm to blow over.”

“I don’t want your charity,” you grumble, crossing my hand over my chest.

“I know,” he says. “I just want to take care of you.”

You disliked how your stomach felt at his words. “I left my bag behind at the restaurant.”

“I picked it up, it’s in the back seat.”

“I didn’t pay my tab.”

“It’s taken care of. Your friends know you’re fine, too. Just relax.”

Miguel leans over to turn your seat warmer on and warmth spreads across your chest and down your limbs. He drives in silence with only the soft white noise of radio static playing in the background. Occasionally you tear your gaze away from the furiously working windshield wipers and steal glances at his face. The headlights from other cars make the slopes of his cheek and the plumpness of his lips visible even on a stormy night. His warm complexion has turned pale, and you ponder if it was because of your interaction earlier.

You both pull up into the Alchemax parking lot and get out of the car. The security team must be watching through the cameras, wondering why one of their lead engineers was coming into work late at night with his drenched secretary. You quickly follow him into the elevator and up to the floor with his office. He opens the office door, and you slide inside into the dark space.

“Lyla,” he calls out and the room illuminates on command. “Lights.”

Miguel walks up to a storage cupboard and retrieves a towel in one hand and fresh clothes in the other. He passes them to you, and you quietly enter the adjacent washroom to change. You peel your damp dress off your skin and shiver as the chilly air hits you all over. Rubbing the towel quickly over your cold skin, you slip into an oversized t-shirt and shorts. It takes two knots of the drawstring, but you manage to keep the waistband tied around your naval.

You find Miguel waiting for you outside. He had changed into a shirt that hugged his slender waist and pants that hung dangerously low under his taut stomach. He pulls the towel out of your hand and drapes it over your head. His hands gently rub the threads against your wet hair in soft, circular motions. You lean into his touch involuntarily. “I can do it myself,” you complain but made no move to reach for the fabric.

“I know,” he replies. “I want to do it for you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” you said, “and it’s messing with my head.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you start acting kind after being mean,” you explain in a small voice. “I don’t like it. It’s confusing”

He tugs the towel back so you can look into each other’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he speaks, gently. “I just lost my shit when I saw you with him.”

“You cut off all contact when all I wanted was to know if you were okay,” your voice shakes as you stare at your feet. “You left me all alone, what was I supposed to do? Wait for you to change your mind?”

“I know I messed up, baby. I was wrong” he sighs, inching down his forehead to meet yours. “I should have communicated with you, but sometimes on missions, things get complicated. I don’t always like the things I have to do, and recently I’m having a difficult time making peace with it. It’s like the harder I try to do the right thing, the more damage I do. So sometimes, it’s just better to be alone rather than pretend I’m okay around other people.”

His words hurt your heart. You knew that his missions take a toll on him. In the past whenever you tried to inquire about its contents he wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t push, afraid that he’d pull away, but it seems that he was pulling away regardless.

“When you’re gone,” you clear your throat, trying to speak through your narrowing trachea, “I worry that you might be laying dead in some universe, and I’d be none the wiser. I know that being Spider-Man is a sacrifice, but I don’t care about the world. I only care about you. So, when you treat me this way, it’s like I can’t breathe.”

He cups your face and places a soft kiss right on your cheekbone “Forgive me.”

“You say that a lot,” you remind him with a frown.

“I know,” he nods, “and I still mean it. I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know how to find the balance in life. I love that you care about me, and I want you to continue caring about me.”

“I don’t know, Mr. O’Hara,” you said. “I can’t ignore the way you speak to me at times. It feels as if you think we’re not equals. I am not some idiot. I am not beneath you just because I work under you.”

He groaned at the sound of his last name. Every time you called him that, it made the space between feel bigger. “I have seen a million universes, nena, (babe) and you are not beneath me in any of them,” he curls a damp strand behind your ear, “Unless we are in bed, then you’re definitely under me.”

“Miguel!” you chide, punching him in the stomach. “No es broma! (It’s not a joke) I’m being serious!”

He lets out an oof and backs away. His fangs poke out from underneath his curled lips and in that moment, he looks as carefree. He wraps his large hands around your arms and holds your attention. “I know broken trust isn’t easily mendable, but I’m going to try my hardest. I won’t leave you out in the dark or make you feel small. I’ll think twice before I open my stupid mouth. I’ll even ask Lyla to give you full access to my missions. Wh-when you see what I have to do- what I must do, please don’t hate me.”

“Miggy,” you pout, reaching for his face. “I was really, really angry when I said those things to you. I can never hate you. My heart won’t let me.”

His toothy grin appears again, and Miguel draws you into him. His smooth lips find yours and he cranes your head back to find the angle that leaves you breathless. You run the pads of your thumb gently across the slopes of his cheeks. It never ceased to surprise you that his skin was so soft under his stubble. Without breaking your kiss, your shuffle back and walk him to his desk chair. You smile into his lips as he shakes his head when you move him back and down to sit. His hands wrap around your wrists. “D-don’t leave,” he cries out.

You shake your head and take a seat on his lap with your legs dangling off the side. Miguel’s hands find your jaw and he turns your mouth to his. You wrap your fingers in his hair and tug him closer. You let out a content hum as his fangs softly dig into your lips, breaking the skin. The taste of metal fills your mouth, and you pull away to look at him. He sits in your embrace, with red-stained lips and is just as breathless. “Sorry,” he sheepishly says. “I usually have them under control. It’s just you’re in my office and in my clothes. It’s making my head spin a little.”

You laugh at his words and gently pull his hair back. Pressing a wet kiss to his exposed throat you ask, “Miggy, how come we haven’t had sex yet?”

“Honestly?” he lets out a choked moan.

“Honestly,” you hum, licking his jaw.

His hands suddenly grab you by the elbows and spin you around on his lap, so his chest is facing your back. His warm breath hits the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. “I haven’t fucked you yet because once I’m inside you,” he whispers into your ear, “I’ll never want to be anywhere else. I wouldn’t want to eat, sleep, work, or be Spider-Man. I think I’ll just want to stay buried in you all the time.”

“Miguel,” you moan, clutching your thighs together.

“Tsk-tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “Don’t hide from me.”

His large hand slips between your thighs and pushes your legs apart. He turns the chair around until you’re both facing his work desk. “Up,” he commands, slapping the side of your thighs.

You gingerly obey and place your bare feet on the edge of his desk. His hands slip under your shirt, and he fumbles with the knot. Impatient with the knots, he uses a sharp claw to cut through the drawstring. Your breath hitches as he pushes the loose shorts down your legs and off your feet. He wraps his fingers behind your knees and draws your legs apart. He puts his chin over your shoulder and bunches your shirt up to get a good look at your pink underwear. “Baby,” he coos. “You gotta’ let me have this once we are done. A little souvenir for when I’m away.”

Your stomach tightens at his suggestion. You glance at him and then the office door,. “Someone will see us,” you nervously gulp.

“You let me worry about that,” he says and presses a kiss to the side of your forehead, “and just relax. I’m not gonna’ let anyone else see my girl spread out like this.”

He runs his knuckles down your bare stomach and across the clothed cunt. Electricity shoots up your body and you almost curl up in his arms. Miguel’s fingertips find a quickly dampening spot on the fabric. “Huh,” he huffs. “Is this me or rainwater?”

You cry, arching into his touch.

“I guess it’s just me,” he grins against your shoulder.

He slides your underwear off your legs and tosses it on the table. It lands on a pile of paperwork you had put aside from him earlier in the week. Miguel stops breathing at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy. A loud moan escapes your throat as his fingers part your folds and glide back and forth. You were sure that the security guards patrolling this floor would have heard you down the hallway. You almost miss his question over the sensations of pleasure spreading through your body.

“Do you want my finger inside you?”

You nod against his cheek and reach behind to clutch a fistful of his hair to brace for impact. He lowers his down until his thick, middle digit is nudging your opening. You must have been soaking his thighs with how easily his digit sinks inside. You bit your lip harshly to contain the sounds threatening to escape your mouth. It’s your turn to hold your breath when Miguel’s other hand begins to stroke your clit. Once, twice, thrice.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You clench around my finger every time I flick your clit.”

Not that you needed proof, but Miguel does it again and you shake with pleasure. “See?” he gasps, and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss.

He he pulls back to hold your eyes and you breathe his shaky breaths in. You close your eyes and imagine how it would look to hold his hard cock in your hands while he played with your pussy. He tears you away from your fantasy by hooking his fingers inside on an angle. You almost arch completely off his lap. He moves his free hand away from your clit and presses you back into him. His hard bulge pressed into your ass.

“Here?” Miguel moans and licks your lips. “Tell me where? Right here? Ah, here.”

His fingers find that spot again and he massages his fingers against it. You nod furiously and my hands move to claw forearms. He softly bites your shoulder in retaliation and his free hand resumes working against your clit, picking up rhythm. “Can I put another finger inside?” he asks, breathing hard. “I promise it will feel good.”

“Oh-kay,” you gasp, rocking your hips on his hand.

His index finger slithers into your pussy, and you forget how to speak. You begin to twist and turn in his lap. He pulls away from your clit to press down hard against your stomach so he can keep you in place. You slide your ass over his crotch with every movement of his fingers.

“Mig-Mig-Mig,” you pant, moving your hips to his set rhythm.

“Good? I bet that feels so good.”

“Gah—”

He presses soft kisses onto your cheek as you sink into his arms. You begin to tighten further around him. You realize that this is exactly how you always want to be—full of Miguel’s fingers, touch, and love. His tongue slips into your mouth as his fingers begin curling into you faster. Your moans and groans echo through the office. His left hand leaves your stomach and reaches for your clit again. It takes seven swipes, one for each day he left you alone, for you to seize around his finger. His mouth never leaves yours as he drinks all of your pleasurable cries.

Slowly, the current leaves your body and you’re able to take in your surround. Your cheeks burn with realization. Miguel had just fingered you open on his desk at your workplace. The very same desk you set up for him every morning. Your fingers slide up to his hair and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t be shy now,” he chuckles, “One day I’ll fuck you all over this office, nena.”

You shriek and lightly slap his arm. Miguel gently slides his fingers out of your cunt, eliciting a soft groan, and brings his to his mouth.

He hums with eyes closed at the taste. “You taste so good,” he mumbles around his fingers.

“Ugh,” Lyla gags at a distance. “Be glad I activated noise cancellation.”

A/N: Thoughts?

[justbelievinginmagic]

˗ˏˋariadne's threadˎˊ˗ series masterlist

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, hints of jisung x reader, hints of jisung x hyunjin if you read between the lines; all of the characters are intrigued by the reader tbh

series summary: The tale of the LABYRINTH was by far your favorite book to read - even now in adulthood. Wishing for the goblin king to steal you away was your favorite past-time growing up. Everything changes one stormy night when your wish to be stolen away by the Goblin King comes true and a honeyed blonde fae man appears in your bedroom to whisk you away to be his - body, mind, and soul. Do you take his fantasied offer or shall you fight through his Labyrinth in order to reclaim your humanity & free will?

OR - When tempted by an intoxicating offer by Hyunjin the Goblin King, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in the Labyrinth.

warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, mature topics, strong language, faerie lore!!, all of skz show up, txt cameo that i love, tension, slow burn enemies to lovers, unequal power dynamics, manipulation, fear, faerie drugging, labyrinth runner!reader, goblin king!hyunjin, banished!jisung, hunter!chan, knight!changbin, junkland boss!jeongin, sluagh!minho, boggart!seungmin, gancanagh!felix, selkie!yeonjun, changeling!soobin, knight!hoseok, knight!seokjin, war generals!ateez, more tags to be added.

word count: 55k written; ongoing

part 1 - a deal, a deal, a deal!!! (posted 4/12/24) part 2 - never go that way. (posted 4/15/24) part 3 - onwards & downwards. (posted 4/28/24) part 4 - the oubliette. (posted 5/7/24) part 5 - forwards is backwards. (posted 5/12/24) part 6 - the hunter and the hunted. (posted 5/29/24) part 7 - the wild hunt. (posted 6/5/24) part 8 - a green-eyed monster. (posted 7/30/24) part 9 - the bog. (posted 11/19/24) part 10 - tba!!!

extra content for ariadne's thread: how i visualize skz in the world --- (will be updated as more boys are revealed in the story!)

[remy-lupin]

Theme: non-sexually themed prompts for when you're just chilling with a good friend, a lover, etc and getting to know them slowly/better, etc.

1. person A and person B build a fort out of blankets and pillows in the living room. They spend the night inside, sharing stories and dreams until they fall asleep, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights.

2. During a quiet evening, person A teaches person B how to paint. They sit side by side, brushes in hand, as person A guides person B's strokes, their hands occasionally overlapping in gentle guidance.

3. person A has a bad day and person B creates a calming playlist for them. They listen together in a dimly lit room, not speaking, just feeling the music and each other's presence as a comforting silence envelops them.

4. On a chilly morning, person A wakes up to find person B has draped a warm, heavy blanket over them. person B joins under the blanket, and they share a cup of hot cocoa, watching the sunrise in warm silence.

5. person A reads aloud from their favorite book while person B rests their head on person A's lap. person B listens, closing their eyes, completely engrossed in the sound of person A's voice and the cadence of the story.

6. person A reveals to person B their collection of secret recipes from their grandmother. Together, they spend the day cooking these family dishes, sharing stories about their ancestors and the memories tied to each recipe.

7. During a long drive, person A lets person B pick the music. They end up singing along to every song, laughing and sharing anecdotes about what each tune reminds them of, strengthening their bond with every mile.

8. person A notices person B looking overwhelmed and silently takes their hand, leading them to a quiet garden. They sit together on a bench, watching butterflies flit among the flowers, enjoying the peace without needing to speak.

9. After person B mentions missing the stars in the city, person A sets up a projector in their apartment to display a night sky. They lie on the floor together, pointing out constellations and making wishes on artificial shooting stars.

10. person A surprises person B by setting up an indoor picnic when plans to go to the park are ruined by rain. They spread out a blanket and have a cozy meal on the floor, complete with soft music and candlelight, making the best of the stormy day.

[vanessamooney]

The Age of Us Pt. 2 - Draco x Reader

Prompt: Glimpses into your lives through the years

Pairing: Draco x Slytherin!Reader

Part 1. Part 3 coming soon!

In Second Year you're starting to stand on your feet properly. You've come to Diagon Alley with Draco and his father just before the semester has started to collect the year's new spell books and props. The list sent out by Hogwarts was longer than last years and you'd become increasingly worried about being able to keep up between 'Gadding with Ghouls' and 'Holidays with Hags', all written by Gilderoy Lockhart no less.

The alley streets were bustling with witches and wizards of all sorts, pointed hats bouncing around comically and brooms alike. You had already run into fellow classmates from Hogwarts and stopped a plethora of times for polite conversation and familial introductions. Lucius has now excused himself from the two of you, trusting Draco with a satchel filled to the brim with gold galleons, instructing you two to meet him in front of Flourish and Botts with the books ready in exactly thirty minutes. 

'I trust you'll be on time, Draco,' he sneered at his son, tapping his back with the serpentine cane he never parted ways with. When he turned to give you a polite nod and pat on the head with a heavy hand, he did so with a strange upturn of the corners of his lips. He had always liked you. 

You weren't sure what Lucius had gone off to do or where he was doing whatever exactly, but you relished in the freedom because you'd been eyeing Magical Menagerie the second you all floo-powdered into the shopping district and had been scheming to convince Lucius and Draco to take you there.

Glancing at Draco with softened eyes, he's looking a little bit low-spirited and the weight of the galleons makes one of his arms hang lower than the other, so you pull him along by his shorter hand and shoot him a smile that lights up your entire face and makes his heart oddly skip a beat.

'Come on, Draco,' You egg him on, scratching the inside of his palm with your nails because you know he is ticklish there, and you know it will cheer him up, even if only momentarily.

He lets out a giggle only you can hear but you don't pay much attention because when you arrive outside Magical Menagerie you're bewitched by the sight before you: a grey kitten small enough to fit into your hands locked in a cage at the storefront. You coo at it, immediately forgetting about the blonde boy awkwardly trailing behind you. 

'Wolfcat,' you read aloud the silver tag on the front of the rusted iron bars, 'female, 10 galleons,' 

You whip around to your best friend and grab his free hand, squeezing it in excitement for all that you've got. 

'Draco, how incredibly adorable she is!' you squeal, watching his stormy eyes soften at the sight before him.

He walks up to the front of the cage, poking a wiggling finger in through the bars to antagonise the creature and he is pleasantly surprised to find it rub its head against him, her yellow eyes big and glaring. 

'I suppose she is,' He shrugs his shoulders, pulling a sulking Y/N along to Flourish and Botts in spite of your silent protests in the form of your pouts and glances off into the distance.

You had spent the entire time shopping for school books talking Draco's ears off about the kitten from earlier, so much so he was having to double check you were picking up the right copies of the books as you had placed the wrong ones in the basket too many times.

'Oh Draco, she was the sweetest thing' you went on, lazily dropping a copy of 'Intermediate Transfiguration' into the basket you tasked Draco with carrying.

When the two of you waited patiently out of the front of Flourish and Botts just as you'd agreed prior, you continued chatting as Draco seemingly zoned out, a heavy head in his hand. He thought about a peculiar bit of conversation he had overheard in your family's manor just a mere few weeks before first year began: 'The family owl is enough trouble,' your father would groan, his fingers squeezing the top of his nose bridge.

Draco himself didn't bring one of the three permitted animals to Hogwarts because he himself thought it was all too much effort for a companion and he already had his hands full with Crabbe, Goyle and you, not that he minded having his hands full with the latter.

With a sudden thought, he handed you the pile of textbooks that mere moments ago sat in his lap, practically shoving them into your hands.

'Ow, Draco, that's heavy, what are you…' you trailed off, watching his retreating form as he ran in the opposite direction of the meeting point. 

'I'll be back soon!' he yelled back, but you were left all alone, confused and surrounded by hoards of strange witches and wizards.

Lucius finds you sitting on the stairs outside Flourish and Botts with a puffy pout on your lips, the stack of new books placed carelessly to your side. You've got your chin resting comfortably in your palms just as Draco did and you look to be in deep and confusing thought. He's got with him his own leather-bound book now clutched hard in his hands and he scans the rest of the crowd, but his son is no where to be seen. Pah. Of course. 

'Y/N, where is Draco?' He askes, lending you a firm hand to help you up off the steps and you carefully slip your hand in his and jolt up, dusting off your robes with a sheepish smile.

"I'm not sure, he left some minutes ago and went that w…' you trail off when you glance in the direction Draco ran, gasping as you see the devil himself running towards you, eyes wide as dinner plates when they land on his father whom by now has turned to see his son making a fool of himself. He is clutching in his arms something that appears to be squirming and you squint to try and make out what it is.

A grey wolfkitten lands into your arms and Draco is so out of breath from running when he looks at your dazed expression but he still manages a smirk as you press a well-earnt kiss to his rosy cheeks.

Lucius taps his son on his back softly with his walking cane, raising an eyebrow and managing his own twinge of a smile tantalising the corners of his lips. He watches his son proudly as he is watching you.

The blurs of the everyday witches and wizards spinning around you don't catch your eye because you're mesmerised by the creature in your arms; mesmerised by your best friend, too. You catch a glimpse of the blue sky and see within it the night. 

'I think I'll name her Cassiopeia,' your eyes twinkle like the constellation that falls from your lips and Draco watches the stars swirl within you.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

You're running through the hallways, Draco's hand in yours as you lead him to the Clocktower Courtyard. You are giggling and glancing back to him to make sure he's still keeping up with you and the opulent perfume in your hair blinds his senses. You shiver into him from the bitter winter breeze that stalks you through the castle and he grips your hand harder when he feels your vibrations.

You come to a stop when you're surrounded by greenery taking over archways, absorbing the glory of the courtyard with your eyes closed, taking in its sweet earthy aroma. An old water fountain lays in the middle of it all, guarded by four magnificent stone gargoyles on each corner. Moss and water has stained them a muddy grey, but your eyes are still enchanted from the view; you always liked coming here. 

'Why are we here at this dingy old fountain, Y/N?' Draco groans, stretching a gloved hand to lean on a gargoyle. You gasp as his disrespect and you click your tongue, making him flail his arms as he tries to regain his balance. 

'A dingy fountain?' You're scolding him like his mother usually does, repeating back his absurd view of the world around him. 'This isn't just any fountain,' you say, slithering around it, dancing your fingers from stone to stone, your gaze never leaving Draco's. 'Legend has it if you flick a knut into it while making a wish, it'll come true,'

 The plush rabbit earmuffs on your head rises slightly as you speak, and with a gentle sigh Draco tenderly adjusts your earmuffs back down while anxiously avoiding your eyes as he tenderly touches you.

'Is that so?' he mumbles. 

You nod eagerly at him, presenting two knuts in your gloved palm that you'd been saving in your pockets. He reluctantly takes one, giving you a strange look but you beam in elation anyway, enchanted by the glistening promises of the fountain. Draco holds the knut in his hand, his expression a mix of scepticism and curiosity. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of his wish on his heart.

With a mischievous grin, you look into Draco's stormy eyes and say, 'Alright, on the count of three. One… two… three!' 

Simultaneously you both flick your knuts into the fountain, watching as they disappear beneath the surface with a small splash. You pat your flushed face with an awkward flutter of fingers, seeing if you feel any different, inspecting the grass below your feet just a little closer. The moment stretches, filled with anticipation and hope from the both of you. 

'What did you wish for?' your voice is barely above a croaky whisper but you're unable to contain your excitement and ask anyway.

Draco hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and the fountain. He doesn't dare to admit he wished for you and the weight of his silence crushes you.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Gilderoy Lockhart's charm filled the air like a sweet perfume, ensnaring the hearts of the young Gryffindor girls who hung on his every word. With a flick of his cape, he shed the garment, letting it fall carelessly into the eager crowd below, who scrambled to catch a piece of the famed hero.

You, however, had never been taken by Lockhart's facade. Even in the best of times, you found his antics grating, feigning ignorance whenever your dorm-mates gushed over his supposed heroic feats. One night, out of curiosity, you had reluctantly flipped through his autographed autobiography, but each boastful comment and exaggerated deed only served to deepen your disdain. Despite your love for reading, you couldn't bring yourself to admire a story painted in lies and arrogance.

But as Draco Malfoy was summoned to the stage by Snape to duel Harry, you found yourself eagerly pushing through the crowd of Slytherins to get a better view. You cheered when Draco sent Harry flying across the stage and winced when the tables turned, but it was when Draco summoned the snake that your heart skipped a beat. Watching in horror as Potter seemingly controlled the creature with a strange tongue, you were pulled away from the midst of the chaos by Draco's urgent grip, and he whisked you into the safety of the Slytherin common room.

"That Potter is downright evil, I'm telling you!" Draco seethed, his frustration palpable as he slammed his fists onto the desk. He was a hurricane when he wanted to be, pacing around with a heavy energy, turning from a constellation into a supernova. Potter did this often to him, and although the others insisted he was masterfully exaggerating, you never seemed to think so - something wasn't right with Harry, and now this.

Motioning for him to join you on the worn leather couch, Draco sank down beside you, his head falling heavily into your lap as he let out a weary sigh. You gazed down at him with wide eyes, offering silent comfort as you gently traced circles on the back of his hand. You were always there to trace circles on the back of his hand.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

When Draco tells you he has made the Slytherin Quidditch Team you're sat on the banks of the black lake. The sun is dancing upon the surface of the water, casting reflections within it that didn't quite seem to match with the gentle surroundings you're enveloped in but you pay it no attention because as Draco's words sink in, the world around you fades into insignificance. 

The muggle book he despised that was grasped within your fingertips moments before hits the ground with a soft thump and the paper warps, staining with the green and brown of the ground. There is no room for a pregnant pause because before you can think of a congratulations worthy of Draco's achievements, you've already tackled him in a hug and twigs and dandelions have already intertwined in your hair and clothes; you're already grinning with glee, your faces already inches away and Draco has already licked his lips in anticipation but you press an adoring kiss to the side of his cheek and whisper to him how proud you are of him, in a way intended only for him to hear.

You don't notice the flash of disappointment in his eyes when your lips miss his, or how awkward his movements become. Nothing else matters, because your best friend is Slytherin's brand new Seeker and you can't possibly think of anything else.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Christmas morning brings with it a myriad of thoughtfully wrapped packages from your family and friends, appearing under an evergreen pine decorated with baubles and ribbons in the Slytherin common room. You yawn audibly, rushing to flatten the wrinkles out of your Christmas pyjamas before you run down the stairs from your dorm. Draco is already waiting for you in the common room, leaning patiently against the oak table, his hair slicked back and his own pyjamas ironed completely straight. When he spots you paused at the top of the stairs, his eyes soften and he stretches his arms out in anticipation of feeling you nuzzled into his chest.

The decision to spend Christmas at Hogwarts this year didn't come easy, and you recall with a smile how you and Draco were making fun of students who did just a mere few weeks ago - after all, what else shows your parents love you other than stuffing you away in school over the holidays? But between the entertainment from the Chamber of Secrets being opened and the winter travels your parents embarked on without you, you and Draco both agreed to spend winter this year together at Hogwarts - despite Narcissa and Lucius' best wishes. 

Crabbe and Goyle had also decided to stay the festive winter season to keep Draco and you company - despite your best wishes -  and they now watched with narrow eyes from the couch as your petite figure floated down the girl's staircase and straight into Draco's arms. When he twirled you around the room they audibly wretched in disgust, but you felt like a princess anyway and they became TV static in the background of your mind.

To find a gift for Draco did not come easy. The lead up to Winter break was spent with hours of frustration and punctilious reading in the castle library as you diligently worked to fabricate from the thin Yule air a charmed snow globe containing a singular, shared memory: 

Perched atop the dew-kissed grass surrounding the grandeur Malfoy Manor, air heavy with the scent of blooming night-flowers, the myriad of stars scattered across the heavens blinked like diamonds strewn upon midnight velvet. You saw within the stars a constellation that bore his name, the boy laying so arrantly next to you: Draco. And with a quiet reverence, you pointed upwards in awe, seeing within the stars him, and within him the very stars he had been named after. 

With a soft smile tugging on your lips, you direct Draco to the pine, breaking your gaze buoyantly when you lean down to cradle the parchment wrapped globe that sat so patiently beneath the tree, a swirl of memories replaying in it persistently under its cover. 

'For you,' you hand the package to him, biting your lip in anticipation, and you feel within you a twinge of constraint but your eyes gleam anyway, 'Merry Christmas, Draco.'

Draco couldn't break his gaze from your glowing face. As he tore the parchment away he did so neatly, mesmerised by the mere existence of you. The background of Christmas morning occupied by the calamities swirling in the black lake just outside the common room windows and the intrusive nature of his friends meant nothing to him because in that moment when his eyes found the memory you so tenderly illustrated within the snow globe, he could think of nothing else - and he didn’t want to.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

You're standing in the castle's greenhouse, its windows fogged up with humidity cut through by the slow paths of common snails as they journey into the unknown. The air outside is cool, Winter has started to take its course and the frost of its greedy air snaps; but inside the safe haven of the greenhouse the air is warm and pungent with earthly aromas. 

The vastness of the greenhouse is filled with magical plants and fungi alike stretched out before you but you're humming as you tend to a healthy collective of starthistle, mushing its millets between your fingers to release the powder contained within them. You carefully collected the fine dust in tiny cork bottles and placed them neatly in organised lines on the gardener's desk, just as tentatively asked by Madam Sprout. 

With a flick of your quill, you've checked off another task on the consciously written list and you whip around to work on the next task: watering the asphodel and pruning their tender leaves as needed. You'd been under the instructions of Madam Sprout for the last few weeks, working diligently in the greenhouse and taking care of the housekeeping for the hoards of students taking herbology. 

You couldn't quite put into words why the greenery drew you in, perhaps 

it was the sense of tranquility that enveloped you as you worked among the plants, or maybe it was the reward of nurturing life and watching it thrive under your care. Whatever the reason, the greenhouse had become your sanctuary, a place where you felt truly at peace and you'd often visited to escape the chaos of the castle.

As you carefully watered the asphodel and delicately pruned their leaves, you couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of nature. Each plant seemed to have its own unique personality, its own story to tell. Some were robust and hearty, while others were delicate and fragile, requiring extra care and attention.

Lost in a swirl of thoughts, you didn't notice the approach of another or the creak of the greenhouse doors until a familiar voice broke through the silence of the mist.

'Slaving away to pass herbology?' Draco coaxed, his tone teasing yet warm as he stepped into view from behind swarms of the alihotsy tree foliage.

You glanced up, offering him a smile as your hands continued to prune. Draco had taken to visiting you in the greenhouse whenever he could steal a moment away from his studies or Quidditch practice. Though he often teased you about your love for plants, you could've sworn to see genuine fondness nestled in-between the specks of blue in his eyes.

'Someone has to keep these plants in line,' you replied playfully, gesturing to the lush greenery around you.

Draco chuckled, stepping closer to inspect the asphodel with interest. 'I must admit, I would much rather attend Sprouts lessons than McGonagall's,'

'They're all the same anyway,' Draco grumbles, reaching to absentmindedly mush a leaf between the pads of his fingers.

'Are they?' You beckon, giving him a knowing stare as you pat the soil around the asphodel a little harder than before. 

'Potter,' he sneers, gaze lowering. Something must've happened. 

But instead of delving deeper into the matter, you decide to shift the conversation to something lighter, knowing it is best to not scratch at fresh wounds. 

"Well, since you're here, how about lending me a hand with the watering?" you suggest, flashing Draco a mischievous grin, your eyes sparkling as they always do.

Draco raises an eyebrow, but a playful smirk dances across his lips. "I suppose I could manage that," he concedes, rolling up his sleeves as he joins you at the watering cans.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Draco entered the Slytherin common room cursing the puffing lady in the painting, his steps quiet against the plush carpeting. Crabbe and Goyle had snuck out in the middle of the night to threaten house elves for leftovers again, despite Draco's orders. In spite of his best efforts, Snape had already caught his cronies, muttering scolding admonitions, and sending the trio back to the dorms; but not before confiscating a pile of blueberry muffins nestled into Crabbe and Goyle's arms.

The dim light of the flickering fire cast a warm glow over the room, and the henchmen were ordered upstairs, their heavy footsteps shaking the dungeons. But as Draco made his way upstairs after them, he couldn't help but notice a figure slumped over one of the tables, surrounded by a scattering of books and parchment.

Curiosity piqued, Draco approached, recognizing you, nestled amidst your study materials. Your head rested on your arms, your breathing steady and deep as sleep claimed you in the midst of your studies. Draco couldn't help but smile softly at the sight, finding a certain charm in your dedication to your studies, even if it meant falling asleep in the common room and spending less time with him.

With gentle hands, Draco carefully gathered your belongings, setting aside your books and parchment before lifting you into his arms. 'A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' he scoffed gently and to this you stirred slightly, murmuring soft nothings in your sleep, but didn't wake as Draco cradled you against his chest, your head nestling against his shoulder.

With practiced ease, Draco made his way through the common room towards the staircase leading to the girls dormitories, your soft purrs of sleep tickling his chest in a way that shortened his breathing and sent a flutter through his heart.

As he reached your dormitory door, Draco hesitated for a moment, admiring the peaceful expression on your sleeping face. Gently, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, carefully laying you down on your emerald bed and tucking the blankets around you.

For a moment, Draco lingered, watching you sleep with a soft smile before quietly slipping out of the room, leaving you to rest peacefully in the warmth of your bed.

Unbeknownst to him, Pansy lay awake in her own bed, observing the scene with narrowed eyes, her mind already scheming with endless possibilities. 

[frost-queen]

My mortal flaw // part 6 (Reader x Zuko)

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Summary: Reaching the city of Ba Sing Se, Zuko hopes his sister wouldn't find him here. When you get mistaken for Katara, an unfamiliar boy wages his presence in your life to the dislikes of your prince. How will the great city of Ba Sing Se work out for you? [series]

Iroh was fanning himself, craving for some water… or tea for that matter. Up ahead he saw his nephew pushing forwards. It wondered Iroh, how Zuko could go so long without something to drink. Not able to take another step, Iroh stopped, leaning against a rock. Puffing loudly from walking for almost days now through the Earth kingdom.

“Let me help you.” – you said, jogging up to him from behind. Barely having any strength in your legs as well. The weight of travelling for days on foot without much food or water heavy on you. Joining his side, you moved his arm over your shoulder, to keep him upright. Iroh waved his hand at you, letting you know it was alright.

Iroh nearly sunk through his knees as you kept him upright with all your might. – “Perhaps we should rest.” – you suggested helping him gently down. Iroh exhaled deep sitting against the rock. – “Get up!” – Zuko’s voice startled you. He stared at his uncle, having walked back. – “Zuko surely we can…” – you began gesturing at him.

Immediately silenced by him. – “I said up!” – Zuko cut through. The rest of your words swallowed back in. Iroh was already making his way to get up as you had enough of it. – “No!” – you called back. – “We’ve been walking for days now without proper food or water.” – you reminded him. – “Give us a moment.” – begging as you approached him.

“We don’t have a moment.” – Zuko replied, gesturing behind you. Without any other words, you knew what or rather who he was speaking off. His sister Azula. Ever since he knew she was hunting him down, he had been fixated on moving forwards. If anyone allowed him, he’d track the entire length of the Earth Kingdom just to stay way ahead of her.

Reaching for his hand, you clasped your hands around it, lowering his arm. – “I know you worry, but look at your uncle.” – you told him, forcing him to take a look. Zuko shifted his gaze from you to his beloved uncle. Seeing him puff to catch his breath. – “Give him a moment… that is all I ask for.” – surely the sympathy for his uncle would make him fold.

Zuko closed his eyes with a soft sigh. – “We’ll leave in three.” – he outed pulling his hand away. You bowed your head to him out of gratitude. Turning around, you rushed back to Iroh. Kneeling before him as you took out your flask. Taking the top off it, you offered him the little water it carried. –“No… I cannot take this.” – Iroh said, knowing it didn’t hold enough for the three of them. Shaking your head, you didn’t want to hear it. – “Take it Iroh. I’m not thirsty anyways.” – you lied to not make him feel so guilty.

You offered him the flask once more. With a little persuasion, he accepted the water. Drinking the little from it with some guilt. Iroh gave you back the empty flask as you putted it away. – “Can you go a bit further?” – you asked him, wanting to be sure he was strong enough to continue the journey. Iroh nodded. You made some way for him, getting up so there was room to help him up to his feet.

You dusted Iroh’s clothing, taking him by the arm afterwards. – “One step at a time.” – you told him. Iroh smiling back at you. Zuko waited for the two of you to join him before taking the heavy lead again. Forcing a way through the Earth kingdom with nothing but trees, rocks and ground around for miles. You so hoped you’d encounter a little village soon, just to have a proper meal and sleep.

You were relieved, feeling blessed when you finally saw the city rise on the horizon. It gave you so much strength, you could practically run to it. The three of you walked through the city gates worn out. Iroh looked curiously around. – “I know this city…” – he said taking an observing eye. – “Ba Sing Se.” – he finished.

It made you widen your eyes a bit, having read so much about the great city of Ba Sing Se in books. Never being able to visit it. In truth when you still lived with your tribe, you weren’t able to visit much things. Never going further than your own tribe. Now you were seeing the world with the fire prince you were promised too. All in pursuit of the Avatar. – “Now where can we eat?” – Zuko asked, secretly being hungry for a while too. Iroh chuckled when he heard Zuko’s stomach grumble. Iroh motioned for the two of you to follow him.

You noticed Zuko looking wary over his shoulders. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, seemed to startle him. – “She wouldn’t dare come here. We’re save here.” – you reassured him. Zuko took your hand from his shoulder, holding it for a few seconds before he let it drop at your side once more. – “For now.” – he replied, going after his uncle. Taking a deep breath, you waited a second before going after them. Iroh and Zuko walking into a place.

You were about to head in as well, feeling a sudden hand on your shoulder, put you to a stop. – “Katara.” – a male voice spoke, turning you firmly around. The gesture made you gasp. The boy blinked surprised, then his expression faltered. – “I’m sorry… I thought you were someone I know.” – he said lowering his hand on you. – “You mean Katara?” – you asked seeing him nod.

“You…you kind of … I thought…there aren’t many water tribe girls walking around the Earth Kingdom.” – he told you with a chuckle. It made you look down at your own clothing. They had been through hell, but they were still significant Water tribe clothing. – “If you know Katara, then you must know the Avatar?” – you asked thinking back of when you first heard that name. Kyoshi island. Where the Avatar’s friends nearly ripped you away from Zuko.

Thinking you might be a prisoner, when in fact you aren’t. The boy quirked up an eyebrow at you. – “Do you know where he is?” – you wanted to know. Just curiously, not even sure if you would give the information to Zuko if he did tell you. – “Why so curious about him?” – the boy curled up a smirk. You smiled sheepishly back at him, pulling your shoulders up.

Hoping it didn’t came over as obsessed. The boy than laughed loud. – “I was only teasing. So not Katara what are you doing so far away from your tribe?” – he asked slipping an arm over you. – “First of all, it’s Y/n. Princess to you” – you told him with an elbow punch to his stomach. 

The boy felt the air being sucked out of his lungs, coughing, holding a hand on his stomach. – “Second that is a long story I’m not sharing with you.” – you finished crossing your arms. The boy chuckled again, straightening his posture. – “Royalty. I see now.” – he laughed out. – “The name’s Jet, princess.” – he dramatically bowed before you, making you roll your eyes at him. Jet looked all smug at you. – “Shall I treat your highness to a meal?” – he asked speaking so annoyingly sweet.

“I will provide my own meal.” – you told him, remembering your company. Looking over your shoulder, you wondered why anyone hasn’t started missing you. Surely one of them must have come to look? Shaking the awful thoughts away, you turned around, seeing Jet fall in line with you. – “I will eat alone!” – you called out, shutting the door behind you. The establishment was not overcrowded. Looking around, you searched for your company.

You sighed disappointed, seeing them sit in the corner, already enjoying their meal. Making your way over to them, you came to sit in front of them. – “How sweet to wait for me.” – you said with a sarcastic undertone to Zuko. – “It’s getting cold.” – was the only thing he replied. Too busy slurping his soup with noodles.

Sighing softly, you picked up the spoon letting it swirl in the bowl. Your gaze got drawn to the doors, seeing them open. Seeing Jet enter almost made you spew your soup out on Iroh’s face. Coughing loud, you nearly choked as Jet made eye contact with you. Looking questionable at the company you were with. Zuko gave you some hard slaps on the back to settle down.

Pushing his hand away, you watched Jet come to sit at a table, giving him enough clearance to stare at you. – “Yuk.” – Iroh’s disgust pulled your attention away. – “This tea is cold.” – Iroh said trying to get the taste of his tongue. –“Just drink up old man.” – Zuko replied annoyed, not caring one bit about tea.

Iroh wrapped his hands around the cup. You watched, blinking in wonder as there emerged a warmth from the tea. Eyes widened as you knew Iroh had just heated the tea up in his hands. He blew the steam away before taking a careful sip. It made you look around, hoping no one had seen it. The last thing you wanted was another chase.

The three of you stepped out, fully satisfied. Now all you wanted to do was rest and sleep for days. Iroh was mumbling to Zuko, probably about looking for a place to stay as you followed behind them. Mindlessly looking around at your surroundings. – “Y/n!” – you suddenly heard, eyes widening as it only could be Jet. You turned around, seeing Jet jog up to you. Iroh and Zuko turning curiously around as well.

“I mean princess.” – Jet teased once he was near you. Zuko looked over at his uncle, trying to get some validation that what he was seeing was true. And not some hallucination. – “Are those your protecters?” – Jet motioned with his head at Iroh and Zuko behind you. – “I mean as a princess I figure, you must be protected well.” – he curled up a smile as you laughed sweetly.

Zuko took an annoyed step forwards. Uncle Iroh quickly grabbing him by the arm, pulling him back. Zuko stumbled back, looking confused at his uncle before slapping his hand off. – “No, they are my…” – you paused, not sure how to phrase it. Shaking your head, you didn’t want to go further into detail, not wanting to risk revealing any identities.

“I can show you around? Are you looking for a place to stay?” – Jet asked ruffling his hand shyly through his hair. Zuko looked disgusted at Jet’s gesture. – “We are. Do you know any good places to stay?” – you asked feeling a sudden pull on your arm. Stumbling back as Zuko stepped in. – “We’ll find our own place.” – he made clear with a glare. Jet took a step closer to Zuko, getting toe to toe with him.

“Where I come from, we show princesses more respect.” – Jet said, angering Zuko. Both men glaring at each other. – “She has my respect.” – Zuko made clear. Jet scoffed. – “Clearly.” – he answered smug. Zuko felt his anger boil, wanting to throw hands with him. – “Nephew.” – Iroh said to break things apart. Zuko huffed annoyed, turning round as he grabbed you firm by the wrist.

Pulling you away. Jet took out his sword. – “Hands off her.” – Jet shouted as Zuko paused at the subtle sound of Jet’s sword getting pulled out. Zuko turned glaring at the sword pointed at him. – “Let her go!” – Jet called out. – “Don’t worry princess, I’ll show you respect.”

You stared between Zuko and Jet. – “Let’s… let’s settle down. There is no need for swords.” – Iroh started. – “Shut up old man.” – Jet shouted, silencing him. – “Don’t tell him to shut up.” – you answered bothered at Jet’s tone. You stepped away from Zuko, coming to stand in the middle of them. Zuko wanting to pull you away, but you slapped his hand away. – “You should be treated with respect.” – Jet told you, taking a step back, yet his sword was still up pointing at you.

“You should be taken care of. By somehow who treats you right, princess.” – he finished. – “Like you?” – Zuko shouted with mockery at him. It made Jet clench his jaw. – “Clearly he doesn’t!” – Jet shifted his sword towards Zuko. Zuko inhaled deep, readying himself to launch at Jet if Iroh hadn’t stopped him. Stopping him by his shoulders. – “Enough!” – you called out losing your patience. You were too tired to handle this.

Not wanting to spend another second with these bickering men over respect, you walked off. Iroh coming quietly after you, not wanting to stop them any longer. Jet lowered his sword, gazing at your departure. He got startled when Zuko was up close with him. – “Leave my betrothed alone!” – he threatened before going after the two of you. Jet blinked stunned.

Iroh found a place to stay. A room shaped like a square. On three sides there were beds, curtains pulled before them for privacy. You went straight to one of the beds, pulling the curtains behind you. Zuko sat down annoyed in the middle of the room. His uncle joining him across from him. Iroh set his freshly set cup of tea down on the low stand between them. One look of his uncle, made Zuko sigh loud. – “I was civil.” – Zuko snapped at his uncle. Iroh quirked his eyebrow up. Communicating in silence as he knew how to handle Zuko.

Zuko sighed loud placing an elbow on his knee, chin resting on his knuckles. – “Who was he even?” – Zuko called out annoyed. – “How did he even know Y/n? Y/n’s never been here. Where did he even meet her?” – Zuko said bothered to his uncle. Whining about the fact another boy knew you. – “And the nerve he had.” – Zuko slammed his fist on the table, startling Iroh as it nearly spilled his tea.

Iroh quickly picked his cup up to protect his tea from any further stomps. – “Are you perhaps jealous nephew?” – Iroh casually spoke. – “No!” – Zuko replied, slamming his fist again on the table. – “Why should I be jealous? She is my betrothed. I’m not jealous over some guy taking an interest in her. She’s not going to abandon the agreement for him.” – Zuko let out clearly agitated.

“Then why are you getting so worked up over him?” – Iroh asked knowing just how to nudge his nephew just that little more. – “He’s a guy!” – Zuko shouted getting up annoyed. He stormed over to his side, pushing the curtain out of the way. Iroh chuckled amusingly.

Laying down on your bed, you smiled bashful, having heard it all. Jealous Zuko was something you never thought you’d encounter. Here he was getting all worked up over Jet. It didn’t take you all to fall asleep. Having been too tired to go on for any second longer. Day making way for night. Sudden noises made you wake up from your slumber. Moving restless in your sleep.

The noises getting louder as it made you jump up. Afraid it might be anyone to rat you out. Getting out of bed, you moved the curtains aside. Seeing the room was empty. Both Zuko and Iroh’s curtains still closed. Taking a calming breath, you ventured into the room. Sneaking out to see what those noises were. With one last glance at the others, you left the room.

Sneaking your way into the corridor to where the noises were coming from. Getting closer to it. Hearing it come from just around the corner. Ready to peek around the corner and be faced with the noises. A sudden grip on you, made you spin rapidly around. A hand getting pressed against your mouth to deafen out any screams. Eyes widening as he brought a finger to his lips, shushing you. Jet.

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