#this image is a fever dream but in a good way(?) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kooyabooya · 8 days ago

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LUTHER

m reader x lia // 4k words

It’s a silly rational thought, but common knowledge nonetheless:

You are madly in love with Choi Jisu.

Not even the strands of time could weave a better, clichè story of what’s already been set in stone; or the countless times Lia has made herself home in the throes of your hideaway from the world, every new story and encounter with it’s twist through each shared moment.

Sure, there’s a lot of instances that you and her can recall back on, so let’s gloss over a few:

The first time you invited her presence was for a study session. You insisted that the spaghetti tasted good until realizing that the pesto had expired by three weeks - where she had to stay over for the night unintentionally because you couldn’t even manage to get up to the bathroom. Though, one ice pack to the forehead and the magnetizing hug was more than enough for you to ignore the fact she snagged your lacrosse team hoodie as for her keepsake - hood drawn up and pooling her raven locks to the sides of her face, the hems covering her most of her hand but her fingers exposed - you can’t deny that she looked comfy.

Among the other times, you’re just in your apartment, serenading her with your okay-but-presentable piano skills of covers from her favorite movies. (She had to make you hers when you played La La Land but it sealed the deal.) Not long after that, some of her things start to make their way into your place: the violin case, the scent of cherry blossoms spreading from room to room, and the collection of vinyls hung up in the living room. You don’t complain. There wasn’t a point in saying anything. Lia would disappear from your peripheral for a few minutes and come back with her cropped black tee and your pair of oversized sweats that cover her toes. So yeah, there's no point in drawing up a complaint.

It’s all in the little moments; living within these four walls - filled with memories and moments that you don’t want the rest of the world to see, her on your lap while you’re dealing with deliverables and other times where she’s bringing food for you and her to share. That’s usually how this all goes. Some of the tasks get completed, then you tab out to see what else is left to do, and Lia waltzes in terrorizing the productivity bubble. She doesn’t care because she knows what the fuck she’s doing: cocoa butter hair in messy waves, fixing the watch on her wrist, talking about her schedule for the day. Doing her wasn’t on the to-do list, but was heavily implied, considering the fact you saw her up with nothing but your sweats while making breakfast.

Technically speaking from common knowledge:

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen Lia in your clothes.

You could conjure up all the thoughts in your mind as to why you liked seeing her that way.

–

If you’re being completely honest with yourself, it’s always a wonderful sight to see.

Morning sunlight beams through the curtains as she walks past the open doorway; the highlights alone are trapped in this mixture of honey gold and coffee brown, presenting itself like a Renaissance painting coming to life. One second your vision focuses on the blurry silhouette, the next your eyes are greeted with a fever dream, blessing and inviting all the same.

You’re pinching yourself mentally - just to check - and yes, it is most definitely not a dream. Her eyes stay on you, shifting yourself up until you’re against the headboard of your bed, soaking the image of her: perfectly colored with those dirt-colored eyes and rose-tinted cheeks, radiating so brightly that the worry of drying up your eyes comes as a second thought.

There’s nothing new about this: just the usual lazy Saturday mornings you’ve shared with her.

She sighs so beautifully, having no care in the world. The flutter of her eyelashes is so seamless when her arms are raised up over her head, stretching out the stiffness of those springy limbs and muscles.

You’ve spent countless days, hours, nights even, to piece it all together in everything that revolves around Lia. From the mannerisms and tone she uses with others the readable expressions just by the small quirk of her lip or flared nostrils. Lia proudly wore her heart on her sleeve. You learned right away: a bit overwhelming was the coined phrase you proclaimed. Building each other up where others fell a little behind in: always thinking ahead, taking all of the things into consideration; and Lia was in the same headspace as you, strategizing wherever she saw fit.

But it didn’t take much for you to conclude on the fact that confidence was a weakness.

She was flooding in it, wherever she went. Whatever she wanted, she would get. If things didn’t go her way, she accepted it fully. She’ll happily walk past the open door held by you - not as an expectation, but as one of the many things you’d put an effort into. When you take her out for a date, she’ll show up outside your workplace and return the favor. You snuggle your face deeper into the pillows on a lazy day; because you know that she’s not far, either close by or already up to start the day.

As if the heavens parted the clouds for you after a gloomy day riddled with darkness, you’re pretty sure the same effect is applied here.

She’s in your hoodie (as always). However that doesn’t stop the unveiling of skin little by little the more she does these morning stretches, the fabric at the waistline lifted up to where you see her hips, cast in the cotton of her underwear. You can picture yourself thumbing away at the surface, at the ends where the threads don’t meet, cup your palms shamelessly around the plush of her ass, or even watch her slip on a pair of your pajama pants with her backside blatantly pointed towards your direction.

Okay, she knows what she’s doing. You’ve been in this position for over three years, and you’re still finding out new things to discover.

She clears her throat once she turns around.

“What’s on your mind right now?”

You lean your head back when Lia starts to shuffle herself back onto the bed, hands and legs moving until she finally settles her bearings, straddling your hips.

“Not work, obviously,” you answer, feeling her palms on your face as she tips her head, studying. “I just don’t wanna get out of bed just yet.”

“Funny,” Lia laughs, slipping her fingers behind your neck, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Pretty weird, isn’t it? It’s like we share half of a brain.”

“Except when you were drooling over me a second ago.”

“How could I not?” you muse, darting your eyes away, feeling your face get warmer. “If anything, you bent your ass over for me to see on purpose.”

She tilts her head, and quirks her lips near a grin, she doesn’t need to give you an explanation.

You’re speaking your truth for her.

Her hips press down on your groin, curling her fingers into the ends of your hair, feeling you squirm in the slight change of pressure. “You don’t have to be shy,” voice low and gentle, “I know you, you’re enjoying this.” You see her hand pull the hem of the hoodie upwards, revealing more and more of her waist - ghosting your hands at the uncovered skin; amidst the grey, you’re fighting to urge to pierce the veil, get your palms full of skin and feel and touch up like she wants you to.

“What do you suggest I do, hm?” You ask Lia, tone flat. “Nothing?” Playing on the backfoot in this wasn’t the ideal scenario, but you’re doing what you can to be literal and indirect, “Because I was hoping that you wouldn’t notice.”

But you see: all of that could’ve been plausible if you didn’t sit up on the bed in the first place.

You’re mapping out her face in the back of your mind, imagining the hands wandering all over her legs and hips and waist - admiring the bodywork and fine planes of porcelain, all within arm's reach.

Her breath grazes your cheek, practically turning you to stone. Some thoughts are present in your mind; you’re not sure. The only thing filling your senses was the scent of wintergreen.

Her palm lightly presses into your cheekbone, leaning in for a kiss, but stopping herself by mere centimeters.

Fills the space between the mouths, saying: “I was hoping that you’d do something about it.”

Oh, she knows what the fuck she’s doing.

Lia has kissed you like- countless times. There’s the sweet ones, the ones where you’re both smiling into each other’s faces, the ones where you think time stands still for a few moments, the kinds where you’ve got a bubble entrapping you two, and so much more. All of them have their meanings behind them, but they make you melt all the same.

You could feel her hands roam around your body, legs pressing your hips on opposite ends; every smack and inhale is followed up with a low rumble at the throat, hands shifting up from her waist up to her chest; her forehead pressed against yours, clutching her shoulder blades, keeping her place - she has your full attention now.

A swipe of the thumb across her nipple, then a pinch. The hoodie rucks up higher on her body.

Her arms come into play, speeding up the process of cotton being discarded.

Lia is your block of marble - waiting to be molded and chiseled and chipped away - crafted by yours truly where you’ll get on your knees in adoration and give your reverence as you proffer your lips and tongue all over her body.

She’s so easy to gratify - the way that her sighs and moans mesh into one sound or another, feeling the heat rise in her body. You can tell she’s trying to hold back, murmuring in tongues. Like she’s showing but not telling: I need you baby. I need, I need, I need, I need, I need-

It’s like you - all of you - is oxygen to her, giving her life where she would die if she didn’t have enough. It’s never enough, and you know this. In the cosmos that lie behind those melted shades of sable, glassy, and an ever-growing pit of blackness, where you could see yourself falling into them time and time again because they were only exclusive to you. A forgotten light, an eternal flame, you catch yourself face to face with it once more.

The flush of light crimson makes its presence known across Lia’s face: a response to your touch, one that she simply can’t ignore.

You could feel the dampness of her panties lightly settle on the bulge of your underwear, hear her breath hitch just the slightest, all the while her hips grind against yours.

“Yeah,” she hushes, a sultry smile spread across her lips. “You prefer this over the usual caffeine.”

She laughs softly when you groan into her neck, her arms coiling around your neck and shoulders, tightening the noose. Your hand slithers past her lower back, fingers grazing the lace and sliding underneath the uncovered skin. “Always,” you tell her, looking up while she scratches the back of your head: your one of three weaknesses.

Lia then leans away, crosses her hands at her waist, gripping the hoodie.

When she lifts it- that image becomes your second weakness.

You keep looking without hesitation; the fine line of her shoulders, the blotches of red and pink across the canvas, deliciously sweet. Her breasts supple, but have a firmness to them (a guilty pleasure, you’ll admit); she runs her nails across those mounds because she knows that you’ll get your hands full of them soon, get greedy enough to forget about the rest.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” she asks with a coo. Then, gets her thumb and index underneath your chin, tilting your gaze up. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“Were you always this cute?” you muse.

“You know me.”

“Allow me to rephrase,” you’re backtracking, because you just want to hear it yourself. “Were you always this sexy?”

That earns you a firm grind against your length.

And now, she’s laying it down for real: “I’ll make you shut up if that’s what you want.”

–

Here’s weakness number three:

Lia has your legs spread apart, laying on her stomach, tracing a finger along the grooves and veins of your cock, mesmerized at the mere taste of your balls across her tongue. You’ve got your deal in, grinding her sopping folds along your shaft just as a tease - a preamble. Her hair’s tied up in a loose ponytail as she makes her way up the length, pouting her lips at the tip - anticipating the image of your cockhead sealed around her pretty little mouth - how to suck the air out of your lungs with just one swift motion - she’ll relish the moment, savor it - make you forget all of your worries with one decent.

She has you wrapped around the palm of her hand, literally. And somehow, it feels like you were meant to be-

You could feel the graze of her teeth the more she takes you in, the subtle leitmotif of her humming the more you feel her mouth all over, creating a pantomime of dancing and singing along your length, bringing out all the things that make you speechless.

It’s when she has you like this, where everything just feels right.

“Good?” you could hear her say, but her cheek is bulging with your cock up inside where the sound comes less coherent, but those eyes implicate the message regardless.

“Fuck,” you rasp, feeling her teeth graze just right beneath the tip. She’s got you good. She always has.

You’ve got the rough schematic drawn up in your brain. Testing the waters with a gentle thrust of your hips, shoving her head down deeper where she can struggle just a bit. It won’t take you much to make you cum like this. You imagine her saying - all she needs is to soften you up and next thing you know her palms are sliding down from your chest to your thighs. The gentle cup of your balls in her other hand, puts your length in the prime position to fit you in her throat.

She purses her lips forward, trying to cover the base. It’s cute that she can try, but she makes up for it by flicking her tongue on the underside - at the seam - and yeah, your head hits the board behind you.

Lia is the only one who could practically kill you and give you a second chance at redemption.

Knowing that you’ll take that second chance to return the favor properly.

But this is her turn in the chess match. You actually can’t do anything about it.

She crosses her ankles up in the air, sinks her head between your legs again, maintaining tempo. Her hands come into play, doing all kinds of combinations with her mouth and tongue, lapping up the mix of spit and precum.

You are going to lay there and watch.

Her eyes flooded with determination.

Your cock in my mouth, my hands.

The slide of her mouth is addicting.

Try your hardest not to cum.

She’s fucking unreal.

And not even that-

“I want more spit.” Lia declares, both hands on you now, jerking shamelessly with the classic motion that makes you paralyzed from the waist down. Her knees dig deeper into the mattress, raising her body, head now hovering over your cock.

“Go ahead,” you grit, smiling. A moment of grace - to breathe; you know where she’s leading with this. “I’d love to see you try.”

That phrase alone would be your undoing.

Lia puts you right back into her mouth, with no regard for keeping it lighthearted and casual. The grip in her hair becomes a lot tighter, flexing your hips up while her tongue becomes flatter. You’re biting down a curse spilling from your lips, ears focusing on the unholy sounds coming from Lia instead.

She’s not playing around now - mouth slipping and sliding, humming and moving her head in the many ways where you’ve seen your vision turn white before.

You can’t keep this up for any longer.

The head down, head up, the shimmying of her head, puffing her cheeks, cock slathered and wetter by the second-

You pull yourself away, throbbing. The pop of her mouth and gasp is all that she’s left with.

“Hey,” she says, “you weren’t supposed to do that.”

Her ponytail comes undone while the tip of your tongue is caught between your teeth.

All you give her anyway is: “Oops.”

She throws herself onto you, hoping to catch you off guard, but you were ready. Her lips capture yours, wanting to clean up the mess she made over your cock just now, each lick and smack becoming more and more careless in every liplock.

Your hands find her waist while Lia also looks down at the action. “Need to do something about that, don’t we?” She tells you, grabbing your length and dipping your head into her cunt, making both of you groan in unison. “Fuck-”

“Lia, watch yourself,” you huff, jaw slacking when she slides herself in properly this time; the tightness and heat already washing over you while Lia shifts her panties more to the side. “Okay, holy shit girl.”

To keep your mind off of the unrelenting pressure of her cunt wrapped around your dick, you’re leaving chaste kisses across her chest yet again, feeling her fingers card through your hair and dig into your scalp, the shimmy of her pussy finally stopping once she bottoms you out.

She’s laying it out for you again: “You’re gonna fuck my brains out now, okay handsome?”

Your response is in tandem with her breathless state: “Oh, with pleasure.”

The girl just takes and takes and takes. You could feel her smile on top of your forehead when you feel up her breast, slide your hand down her waist, grip her petite ass while she slams her hips back down on your cock.

You’re gripping wherever you can: her waist, her hips, her ass. Any place where you can fuck around with the vice for as much as possible, fucking her senseless like she worked you up to be.

It’s in the forward-back, the up-down. Her ass isn’t kind to your balls when she’s riding along your length.

This was the best way to wake up in the morning.

Lia’s happily bouncing along on your lap - with you trying to keep up with the pulling of your neck, the tugs in your hair, holding her still where you got your cock at the angle to bring it to her cunt’s hottest, molten spot.

She’s so tight, you conclude, that evidence is pretty natural in itself. You love it so much when she’s not making any sense in her words, only plugging up her pussy in the only way you know how-

“Want it,” she whispers, a profession: “inside, please.”

You’re holding her so close, keeping her in place. It’s a one-way ticket to paradise that you’ll take no matter what; the unraveling - so lethal, and an absolute certainty. The bruises are starting to form along the crease of her legs and hips-

You’re laying it out for her now: “I’m cumming.”

Pumping her full, riding out her orgasm. Everything made sense for Lia in that instant.

Strings of cum painting along her slick walls, claiming the last threads for herself - because that’s how it all goes. You’re shuddering, live wire still reactive, hungry for more as the pulsing starts to die down; slowly, lethargically.

A few beats later-

“Fucking Christ, Lia-”

She laps your cock on the bathroom floor; face painted and splattered in ribbons of white, back against the door as the mat at your feet tries its hardest to not slide against the tile.

She licks up the mess while humming gleefully, looks up at you in sweet and treacherous innocence.

She looks down at the cum dripping down her chest, her waist, and even the spread of slick all over her inner thighs-

You don’t mind lazy mornings like these.

(To contradict yourself: they’re never lazy.)

–

The place gets filled up once again with Lia’s honey-saccharine voice, coming out of the hallway with a towel draped over her shoulders.

You give her a look: the same one where no words need to be said to describe the moment - because it’s a look that she’s seen multiple times - and she can easily read your mind.

The look of love. You have it. And so does she.

Lia later rambles on at the dining table about her recent outings and extravaganza's with Yeji or Yuna, fingers underneath her chin and swirling a spoon around her cup of tea. She looks at you with so much attention, eyes shimmering and nodding along while the morning light starts to creep through the window of your living room. You feed her an apple slice to make sure she’s not bored - she loves that.

In moments like these, you’re thankful that it’s shared with her. From her arms bracketing your hips while you clean the dishes, to piggybacking her back to your room, make her land on her back while she laughs and playfully whines like a kid. You shake your head because any response you say will always get brushed off by her.

It really doesn’t matter what’s being brought up, since things just flow that way so well you don’t even have a second thought after.

“You really went at it with me earlier,” she tells you. “Care to explain why?”

“Well,” you’re grinning cheekily, hand to the back of your head, “Didn’t have time to relieve myself in the past week so-”

“Uh-huh.”

“Guilty.” you finally amend.

Lia knows the best parts about you; knows exactly how and where to apply the pressure in the points you’re most vulnerable at. She’s got her fingers and knuckles in every little nook and cranny in your brain. It’s impossible to fight against.

You could say you’ve got the same regard for her too.

She’s sweet, witty, cocky when it counts, well knowledgeable, and has these sparkles in her eyes where you don’t mind stargazing for hours on end. The overall vibe she presents is so cozy, embracing you to a point where you’d be happy to settle and fall asleep in her arms because you can.

There's no place she would rather be than in your arms, feet on top of yours, slowly dancing even if there isn’t any music playing.

Another tender moment shared: you’ll take it for a keepsake, knowing more of those will come along the way.

Nothing more wholesome could ever be like this: the gentle nose bumps, shared smiles, the quick kisses in each others’ ears. It’s straight out of a classic romance novel or movie -or, even when you’re imagining it’s just the two of you center stage at a jazz club and the band’s playing a slow ballad.

Cheek to cheek you are with Choi Jisu - you’ll want to hold her close for eternity.

“Wanna stay inside for today?”

(Here, you’re probably laughing because Lia was already a homebody, so it’s pretty ironic.)

“We’re already here, so why not?”

#itzy smut #lia smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #kpop x male reader #itzy lia #itzy lia smut #kpop fanfic

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squidwriting · 14 days ago

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#1: Welcome To The Team

✁ — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

⇥ Synopsis After a terrible accident, you had lost your memory. After years of struggling with your identity, a lucky coincidence brought everything back - only to find your life in shambles, and your husband missing.

⇥ Pairing Hwang In-ho x fem!reader

⇥ Warnings Spoilers for Season 1 & 2, angst, violence, graphic descriptions of injuries & death

⇥ A/N: Changed In-ho's backstory (obviously lul) so no spoilers there. :3 Hope you enjoy! 💕

⇥ Masterlist | [#2]

✁ — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Come again..?"

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Jun-ho's story was as grotesque as it was unbelievable. There was no proof, no way to know if he was actually telling the truth. On the other hand, Jun-ho has never lied to you. He had been there ever since you woke up from your coma.

"What is it your not telling me?" you asked quietly, searching his face with your eyes. You had known him ever since he was a little boy. You knew when he was lying - or hiding something.

"Hyung didn't just participate in the games. He...," Jun-ho swallowed thickly, averting his gaze, "...became a part of it. He's the leader now."

The conversation replayed in your mind as you watched Player 456 talk with the man in question: Player 001, Hwang In-ho - your husband of almost 20 years.

Jun-ho had obviously opposed your idea of joining the games. But you were too stubborn to listen to him, too stubborn for your own good. That's what In-ho always said anyway. Maybe he was right. Still, you lost almost ten years of your life to amnesia. If there was even the slightest chance for a way back to how things were... you would take it.

Ryuk Su-Yun. That was the name you chose for the registration. The name you had chosen after you left the hospital to start over, away from everything and everyone you knew - well, except for Jun-ho. You attempted to cut ties with him several times, too ashamed to let him in, when you absolutely refused to see your husband. But Jun-ho was persistent - even more so than you were.

You pushed the rice around in the tin lazily, thinking about your current situation. Thanks to Player 456, you survived the first game without a scratch. It would probably be wise to stick close to him going forward. Then again, that meant you had to face In-ho sooner or later.

A loud commotion ripped you out of your train of thoughts. Looking up, you found In-ho confronting two players who were ganging up on a third one. In a matter of seconds, the two bullies were silenced and groaning in pain, rolling on the floor dramatically. You bit your lip, trying not to chuckle. In-ho had always been a savage when dealing with bullies. The room erupted in applause, with him being the center of attention. You looked up slowly and found him staring directly at you. His face was like a mask, showing no emotion, betraying no thought of his. Swallowing thickly, you forced yourself to smile at him quickly, before immediately turning your attention back to your lunch.

Sleep did not come easy to you that night. In-ho had not approached you after the incident - and you thought about what to do when you two would eventually come face to face.

Funnily enough, you never thought about that possibility when you chased down the recruiter to enter this hell. Judging by Jun-ho's report, In-ho was working behind the scenes, observing these so-called "games". Why was he a participant? Did he recognize your name after all? Or was it because of Player 456 who claimed to be there for the second time?

In-ho... You sighed quietly and turned onto your side. It was strange to suddenly remember your life with him before you lost your memory. That day you regained it was like a fever dream, all the emotions and images from years ago flooding your mind - as if they were never gone in the first place. It was scary, knowing that you lost nearly 10 years of your life. How would your life be now, had not been run over by a truck? Certainly, you would not find yourself in a room with 400 other people literally gambling for your life. "Shit," you whispered angrily, rolling onto your back again, your eyes glued to the ceiling. What had you gotten yourself into?

The light was almost blinding when the beginning of a new day was announced. Music sounded from the speakers, a melody far too happy and cheerful for a grim place like this. You climbed down from the bed carefully, stretching your limbs a bit.

"You are... a strange one," a voice behind you said. "Pardon me?" You turned around, tilting your head slightly. The woman grinned, her eyes widening slightly. "Your aura is different from everybody else's. You're not here for the money, are you?"

Before you could answer, another voice sounded through the speakers, telling all players that the second game was about to begin. As quickly as the woman appeared, she was gone again, leaving you behind confused and slightly startled.

Your eyes scanned your surroundings, making out a few already familiar faces - including Gi-hun and In-ho. You bit your lip, contemplating your next move. It would be unwise to approach him directly. If Jun-ho's report was accurate, In-ho was nothing like the man you used to know anymore. What if he felt threatened by your presence? What if he snapped?

Using a fake name was only a small part of your act. You had to be the woman whose name you were carrying. It was easy when you were still without memories. Now, it was more than complicated. What if you messed up? In-ho was smart, a former high ranking member of the Police. It would be easy for him to debunk your charade if he wanted to. Damn it, why did he have to pose as one of the players anyway? It complicated things to an impossible extent.

"Hey 371! Come on, let's get going," you heard as you were pushed down the stairs gently. Looking behind you, you saw Player 388 smiling brightly at you. "Right," you nodded, letting him lead you down and outside to follow the guards to the next room.

"A playground?" you whispered as you took in the scenery around you. "It's as nostalgic as it is morbid."

Your mumbles remained unheard between the voices of the other ones - and Player 100 who apparently only possessed the ability to scream. The recipient of his ranting was Player 456 again. "That poor guy," you chuckled dryly, shaking your head a bit.

"Players, welcome to the second game. We will begin shortly." Everytime you heard that voice through the speakers, your insides clenched painfully, for it never brought any joy or good news. "This game will be played in teams. Please take the next ten minutes to divide into groups of five."

You cursed quietly. Teams? There was no such thing in this place. Nobody really knew each other, nobody could be trusted; even more so since you still did not know which game you would play this time. How would you ever find good, reliable team mates? What if your team mates let you down and you would all die? What if-

"Hello again," the familiar voice from before spoke to you once more. 388.

"Hi," you answered with a small smile. "Looking for a team to join?"

"Uh, no, actually," he stuttered, rubbing his hands nervously, "we have a team, but we need one more member. If you're interested," he lowered his voice slightly, "we have two Marines and the guy who already won the games," he grinned.

"And...? Who else?"

"Oh," he answered quickly, "the guy who beat up those other two yesterday."

In-ho.

Two marines, a former winner, and a former Policeman. That was probably the best team you could find in this place. Without hesitation, you took 388's outstretched hand and followed him to your new team.

The three men looked at you as 388 approached with you in tow. "This is... 371," 388 said proudly, "a... uhm..." "Taekwondo Instructor," you continued the introduction for him.

"Remind me not to mess with you then," the voice that was still terribly familiar to you said. You would recognize his voice anytime. Chuckling lightly, you bit your lip and willed yourself to look up at him again. He outstretched his hand to you slowly as he spoke up once more.

"Welcome to the team, 371."

#hwang in-ho x reader #hwang in ho x reader #frontman x reader #front man x reader #hwang in ho #in ho #hwang in-ho #in-ho #in-ho x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game story

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 1 month ago

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A Christmas Gift | G.W.

“That's what happens when you love someone,” George replied, smiling. “You want to protect them from anything that might hurt them, even if you know you can't.”

feat. George Weasley x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You go to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to pick out a Christmas gift for your ailing little brother, who adored the shop (and the twins) before he became too ill to go. You find a gift and so much more than you ever dreamed of.

CW: this is really emotional, i’m sorry, but i pinky promise that it has a happyish ending. fred is dead, grief, hurt/comfort, hospital visits, sick sibling/children, some swearing, but also some fun and lightheartedness, plenty of christmasy fluff, first kisses

AN: last Christmas fic of the season!

The early morning snow buffeted at your back as you stepped into Weasely Wizard Wheezes. The store had just opened, you saw someone turn the sign as you finished your breakfast at the Three Broomsticks, but you wanted to beat the holiday rush so you could really take your time.

The smell of cinnamon and woodsmoke, plastic toys and what could only be described as joy, welcomed you inside. An enormous Christmas tree hung upside down from the ceiling, decorated in orange, purple, and gold, with handmade ornaments over every branch and popcorn strings strewn around it. Every shelf was stocked and festively decorated, and soft Christmas music played from the speakers.

You stopped in the doorway, tears welling in your eyes. Your brother would love this. You had hoped that he’d be having a good day today, that maybe, by some miracle, he’d be well enough to come with you. But he’d spiked a fever late last night, and was going in for some imaging today to ensure he hadn’t caught pneumonia…again.

“Morning,” a voice called to you, and you looked up, hastily wiping tears on your sleeve. George Weasley, a man you’d never met but would recognize anywhere, was halfway down the spiral staircase, a cup of coffee in hand. He was dressed in the iconic pinstripe suit, his copper hair a little longer than the last time you’d seen him two years prior, not that he’d remember.

The only reason you remembered was because of your brothers obsession with the Weasley twins. He’d asked to have his hair cut and dyed orange that same afternoon.

More tears welled up, and you cursed yourself, turning away to hide your face. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled, trying to take a deep breath. “I promise I’m not insane.”

You heard him move the rest of the way down the stairs, then approach you, his tall frame taking him across the store in a few strides. He had a bright purple handkerchief in his hand, the triple W embroidered on the corner.

“That’s okay, we like a little insanity around here. What’s your name?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Y/n.” You accepted the handkerchief with a watery smile and dabbed your eyes.

“George. Are you alright, y/n?” he asked.

You sighed, twisting the fabric in your hands. “The holiday’s are just hard.”

He nodded, his jaw flexing, eyes averting from your face to the floor. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher than it had been a moment before. You noticed then the dark circles under his eyes, the air of heaviness around his shoulders. “Can I help you find something?” he asked, pivoting quickly.

“Yes, actually. I’m, uh, looking for a gift for my little brother. But he—it has to be something he can play with in bed. Nothing too loud or messy.” Your heart ached as you said it, knowing he would actually love something loud, messy, destructive, as little boys do, but such things weren’t allowed at St. Mungo’s.

George raised an eyebrow. “Strict parents?”

You shook your head, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “He’s in hospital,” you murmured, hating saying the words aloud.

George’s face fell. “Oh—Merlin, I’m really sorry.”

A flicker of understanding passed between you, your broken hearts beating at the same rhythm for a moment. You knew about the death of his twin, Fred, everyone did, and now he knew your pain as well. That knowledge weaved an invisible string of connection between you, forged in empathy.

“We can absolutely find something for him,” George said, his voice painfully sincere. He offered you his arm and you accepted, needing a bit of steadiness. “What kind of things does he like?”

You started to walk through the store, looking around the towering shelves, at a bit of a loss. “Well, he loves Whizz-bangs, and your Pyrotechtrix.”

George smiled, chuckling to himself. “Fun, but not exactly suitable for a hospital.”

“Exactly. But honestly, anything you recommended, he’d absolutely adore, so long as I told him you recommended it.”

“Oh yeah?” George raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you.

Saints, he’s handsome.

“Yeah, he’s a big fan. He used to beg us to stop in every time we came to Diagon Alley so he could watch your demonstrations.”

George’s smile widened, a flush creeping up his neck. “Well, ah, that’s really—” he scratched the back of his head, clearly flustered by the revelation. “That’s very kind,” he managed with a breathy chuckle.

The door jingled as another customer came in and you tensed, George’s eye flicking towards the new customer, then back down to you.

You moved to slip your arm from his. “I can look around, you go ahead—”

“Oi, Ron!” George shouted, a hand cupped around his mouth, his arm tightening around yours so you stayed put.

“What? I’m sorting inventory!” Ron Weasley shouted back, appearing from the back of the store with arms full of boxes. His eyes quickly scanned over you, your joined arms, then back to George, who was nodding his head towards the door. “Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” Ron turned greeted the customer, dropping the boxes where he stood.

You chuckled, leaning a bit closer to George, grateful that he didn’t abandon you.

“You’re my first priority today,” he murmured to you, close enough that you could smell his amber cologne, and you felt your anxiety unspool for the first time in weeks. For this one thing, this small, Christmas gift hunt, you weren’t alone.

You spent the rest of the morning with George, wandering through aisle after aisle as he talked you through every product you showed an interest in. At first, he seemed reluctant to talk about products with stories tied to Fred, like prodding a sore wound, but eventually he was telling story after story, grinning and laughing at the memories of their countless antics.

He encouraged you to share about your brother as well, and by the end, you were both in stitches from laughing, cheeks sore and eyes watery with tears. It warmed your heart to see him light up at the his brother’s memory, to see the love between them still very much burning, and soothed a bit of your fear.

No matter what happened, the love and the memories would remain.

You finally settled on an Aviatomobile and a few muggle magic tricks, nothing explosive, sticky, or illness-causing. George carried the items to the counter, setting them gently on surface, but hesitated when he reached for the register.

He turned, grabbing a gift box from beneath the counter. Carefully, he wrapped each item in branded tissue paper and nestled them into the box, then rearranged them once, then twice, before finally placing the lid and tying an orange bow around it. Then, he grabbed one of the paper ornaments from the counter, where kids could write little messages or drawings to hang on the gravity-defying Christmas tree, and scribbled something on it before securing it to the bow.

“There we go,” he said, pushing it towards you with a sheepish smile.

You reached for you wallet. “How much do I—”

He shook his head, waving you off. “It’s on me. Least I can do for an avid supporter.”

Tears burned behind your eyes again, caught off guard by his generosity. “George, I can’t—”

“Please, just—let me do this for your brother.” George’s eyes held yours, soft around the corners. “It’s what Fred would do.”

You nodded, unable to speak through the lump in your throat.

“Would you want to, uh, maybe get a drink later? Or coffee?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck, freckled cheeks flushing pink.

You smiled, your heart flipping in your chest. “I’d love to. We could get ice cream at Fortescue's?” You offered.

He smiled back. “Perfect. 7 o’clock?”

“Perfect,” you repeated, fighting a nervous giggle. “I’ll see you later, then.” You hefted the box in your arms and waved goodbye, hurrying out before you said anything embarrassing, or melted into a puddle of goo on the floor.

Halfway down the street, you finally glanced at the paper ornament George attached to the gift.

Sorry, mate. No explosive’s. Sister’s orders. But I’ve got a stash in the back waiting for you when you’re ready. Merry Christmas. - GW

You were fizzing with excitement as you approached the ice cream shop, a soft flurry of snowflakes dancing int the twinkle lights strew across Diagon Alley. Vendors were at every corner, selling steaming beverages, candied nuts, and fried dough. Shoppers wandered from glowing door to glowing door, bundled in thick coats and arms laden with bags. A choir sang Christmas carols on the steps of Gringotts, toads wearing Santa hats cradled in their arms, and you paused to listen while they sang “Carol of the Bells”, trying to collect your scattered mind.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about George for a moment, so wound up that you started getting ready three hours early for a simple ice cream date. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so giddy, so hopeful.

“I like this song,” a familiar voice murmured in your ear and you looked up, finding George standing beside you watching the carolers, the lights reflecting in his brown eyes. He was dressed in a brown wool coat with a Gryffindor scarf around his neck, a white, cable knit sweater and jeans underneath, patches on the knees.

“Me too,” you replied, biting your lips to stop the grin threatening to rise. “How was your day?”

“Chaos. I left Ron to deal with the stragglers. We were supposed to close around six…” he trailed off, his eyes catching on a group of wizards. You followed his eye, and were appalled to find them muttering and pointing at him. And when you looked around, you noticed several groups were doing the same.

Instinctively, you moved closer to him, as if you could shield him somehow.

His fingers twined with yours, warm and calloused. “It’s alright,” he said, turning you to face him. “M’used to it.”

“It’s not alright,” you said, raising your voice and directing a pointed glare at the noisy folks. “It’s rude!”

He chuckled, tugging you away from the carolers. “Easy, love. It doesn’t bother me much anymore. Don’t give them any of your attention.”

You sighed, falling into step beside him, hands still clasped together. “I’m sorry they treat you like that,” you said, glaring daggers at anyone that even glanced in his direction while you walked towards Fortescue's.

“It was worse when we first reopened the shop.” His thumb swiped back and forth across yours, soothing the irritation itching under your skin. “They would come in just to get a look at me. Like my grief was some kind of spectator sport.”

“I can’t imagine having that kind of loss broadcast to the entire world,” you said, glancing at a newspaper stand plastered in the Daily Prophet.

“It’s inhumane,” he replied, stopping in front of the ice cream shop. “But, I’m grateful for it too.”

You raised an eyebrow, facing him in the warm glow of the window.

“Everyone knows how amazing he was,” he murmured, his voice thickening with emotion. He looked down at your joined hands, playing with your fingers. “He’s a hero.”

You squeezed his hand, prompting him to look up at you. “So are you, George," you said, inflecting as much sincerity as you could into your voice. "Y’know, I was there that day, when you and Fred left Hogwarts?”

His eyes widened. “You were?”

You nodded. “I was two years under you, we wouldn’t have crossed paths,” you said, trying to assuage the needless guilt that crossed his face. “But I’ll never forget that moment, watching you guys reclaim the magic that makes Hogwarts, well, Hogwarts. You inspired all of us left behind.”

He gave you a sad smile, his eyes shiny with unshed tears, and brought your knuckles to his lips, brushing a kiss across them. “Thank you for telling me that,” he whispered. “You didn’t get burned, did you?” He asked, worry suddenly creasing his brow.

You giggled. “No, no. No one was hurt besides Umbridge's ego.”

He exhaled, flashing a relieved smile. “Okay, good. Because that would have been a terrible first impression.” He opened the door to the ice cream shop, gesturing for you to step inside.

“My first impression was when you turned Ms. Norris purple during the Halloween feast,” you said, stepping past him and into line, the smell of waffle cones and caramel wafting over you.

George barked a laugh, his head falling back with the force of it, and you smiled. “Better, I suppose.”

“It’s not like I made a great first impression on you, weeping like a sap as soon as I stepped into your store,” you joked, too busy gazing up at his smiling face to notice the line move forward without you.

He shook his head, still chuckling. “No, it was a perfect first impression.”

You ordered your bowls of ice cream, Peppermint Marshmallow Mayhem for George and Gingerbread Dreams for you, and sat at a corner booth by the window, talking about nothing in particular for awhile while you ate.

“So, how’s your brother doing today? You mentioned he had some imaging this afternoon?” George asked, genuine concern creasing his brow.

“He’s doing well, actually. No pneumonia, by Godric’s grace, and his fever broke this afternoon. Still not sure what caused it, but hopefully nothing of concern,” you answered, you heart lifting at his relieved smile.

“Good, I’m really glad to hear that. Now, let me try your ice cream.” He waggled his spoon and you laughed, sliding it towards him. He took the tiniest spoonful, flipping it over to lick it off, and your cheeks warmed at the way his tongue caressed the curve of the spoon.

You knew you were caught when he smirked around the utensil, but he let it slide.

“Here, try mine.” He dug a spoonful out of his bowl, holding it out for you to take a bite with a borderline sinful look in his eye.

“George Weasley,” you teased, shaking your head. “You are such a flirt.”

“Can you blame me? I’m sitting across from my dream woman,” he replied, grinning.

Now your cheeks were really warming, and you leaned forward to take a small bite off the edge of his spoon. Sugary peppermint and creamy marshmallow coated your tongue, and you moaned.

“Good?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Delicious,” you giggled, watching as he ate the rest of the spoonful, and wondered how it would taste on his tongue.

After ice cream, you continued wandering around Diagon Alley, peeking in all the shop windows and sipping warm butter beer, until your noses were pink from the chill, your hair full of glittering snow.

You stopped outside of his shop, the sign flipped to ‘closed’ and only a few lights on inside along with the exterior holiday decor, presumably left on for George.

“I have a confession to make,” he said, stepping a little closer to you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a thrill of excitement pulsing through you. “What?” You asked, picking invisible lint of his lapel just to have something to do with your hands.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I saw you watching the carolers,” he murmured, sliding his glove off and reaching out to cradle your face, his touch gentle, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You leaned your head into his large palm, gazing up at him, freckled, flushed, and starry-eyed. You’d never seen someone look at you with adoration before, and it made your soul sing.

Instead of saying anything, you rose onto your toes and pressed your lips to his, a quick, airy peck. But when you went to move back, his hand held you in place, lips just barely touching.

“Again,” he breathed, his other hand coming around to rest on your lower back. “Please?”

You gave the tiniest nod, feeling like your heart might burst out of your chest, and his lips connected with yours again in a slow, languid kiss, the taste of ice cream and butter beer and him making your head go a little fuzzy, your right foot popping up behind you as you leaned into his embrace.

His tongue caressed the seam of your mouth, but he didn’t push further, just a small tease before winding the kiss down until it ended the way it started, with a few barely-there pecks in reluctant departure.

You sighed against him, lowering back onto flat feet, and he smiled, drawing you into his chest for hug. You slipped you arms under his coat, feeling the softness of his sweater and the warmth of his body envelop you.

“Thank you for this,” you murmured. “I really, really needed it.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tight around your body. “So did I. Can we do it again tomorrow? Breakfast? Sunrise picnic?”

You chuckled, tilting your chin up to rest on his sternum. “Breakfast sounds great.”

George beamed, dropping a warm kiss to the frozen tip of your nose. “I’ll pick you up at nine?”

“It’s a date.” You stole one last kiss before slipping away, practically skipping.

You and George saw each other every day for the next week, whether it was to wander around Diagon Alley, looking at the lights and festivities, or grabbing a quick cup of tea between busy shifts. Neither of you could stand being apart for more than a few hours at a time.

Tonight, George invited you to his flat for dinner and muggle Christmas films, and you were dressed in the ugliest Christmas sweater you could find. With a timid hand, you knocked on his door.

It opened under you fist, revealing George on the other side, wearing a maroon sweater with a giant ‘G’ on the front of it and a sauce splattered apron.

“Hey, love.” He tugged you inside, pressing an eager kiss to your lips before ushering you down the hall, his deft fingers unraveling your scarf from your neck and peeling the coat from your shoulders. You laughed at his haste, spinning and hopping as he removed your boots. He stopped only when he finally saw your sweater. “Oh, darling. You look ravishing.” His hands fell to your waist and he pulled you into his chest, a mischievous grin on his face. “Very fashion forward.”

“Thank you, baby,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. You hadn’t called him that before, but it just rolled right off your tongue, natural as breathing.

He loosed a pleased hum, leaning forward to capture your lips in another, slower kiss. “Like hearin’ you call me baby,” he mumbled against your mouth.

The oven beeped loudly, startling you both.

“Hungry?” He asked with a shy smile.

“Starved.”

He showed you to the dining room, a round table with a vase of flowers at the center, candles strewn on every surface. He pulled a chair out for you and you sat, accepting a kiss on the cheek before he dashed back into the kitchen.

You looked around, having been too caught up in his frantic greeting to take in the space. The rest of the flat was sparsely decorated, purely functional, besides a sagging bookshelf in the living room, and a few photos along the hallway. Not a Christmas decoration was in sight.

George returned with two glasses of wine, the bottle tucked under his arm. “Here we go, a little Pinot Noir for my gorgeous girl.” He set the glasses down then finally sat down in his chair.

“Thank you, baby,” you teased, and he smirked, withdrawing his wand from his apron and waving it towards the kitchen. A moment later, a giant bowl full of pasta, a basket of bread, a salad bowl, and two plates came hovering out of the kitchen, arranging themselves neatly on the table.

“Bon appetite.” He raised his wine glass, a shy little smile on his face, and you raised yours to cheers, so charmed you could cry.

Two hours later, you were curled up on George’s couch, half enjoying Home Alone, half enjoying the feel of each other’s skin under your sweaters, the rich taste of wine on each other’s tongues.

“How come you haven't decorated for Christmas?” You mumbled between languid pecks, his soft lips moving to trail over your jaw.

“Didn't much feel like celebrating this year,” he replied, kissing down your neck, his tongue tracing your pulse.

“And yet here we are, watching corny holiday films,” you chuckled and felt him smile against your neck.

“Things changed.” He lifted his head, capturing your lips in a heavy, open-mouthed kiss that made your blood warm, your heart beat a little quicker in your chest.

Suddenly, something slammed against the window, a frantic scrabbling against glass that had George springing up like something electrocuted him.

“Errol?” George moved toward the window. “No, what the fuck—”

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?!” You cried, jumping up and throwing open the window. Your family owl flew in, landing on the back of the couch. Fear pumped through you and you snatched the letter from his beak, rougher than the poor bird deserved in your panic.

“What is it?” George rested his hands on your hips as you tore it open.

The words on the card made your heart stop.

Mungo’s now, Mum

“George,” you whimpered, sagging against him as terror rocked through you.

He took the letter from your hand and skimmed it. “Go get your coat on, I’ll take you.”

“I—” You were frozen, darkness pulsing at the edges of your vision.

His hands came up to hold your face, shaking you gently. “Honey, we have to go. I’m going to be right here with you, okay? We’re going together. But we have to move now.”

You nodded, clawing through the sludge of fear and clinging to the thread of stability he offered. He helped you into your coat and shooed the owl out, not even bothering to lock up before he was ushering you into his chest.

“Hold onto me,” he ordered, and you did, and suddenly the world was sucked away, a dizzying, horrible tornado of space, and then it spit you back out on the front steps of St. Mungo’s.

“Holy shit,” you gagged, clutching onto George and he held you upright.

“Sorry, love. Never apparated before?” He asked, rubbing your back.

You shook your head.

“Y/n!”

George stiffened, his hands tightening on you, and you looked up.

“Mum!” You cried, rushing to her.

“Oh, hun. I’m sorry to frighten you, he’s okay. Just a scare. I’m so sorry, darling,” she cried, clinging to you.

“Sh, no, it’s alright. I should be here,” you soothed, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. “What happened?”

“He couldn’t breathe, his lungs—pneumonia again,” your mom hiccuped, wiping at her cheeks. “Who’s that?” She asked, looking over your shoulder.

George was were you had left him, hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes bouncing from you and your mom to the strangers mingling on the sidewalk. You could tell his hackles were raised, some protective instinct roused when he’d been startled by the owl.

You waved him over. “Mum, this is George Weasley. George, this is my mum.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” George said, offering her a hand and a shy smile.

She clutched his hand hard and you both winced. “I-you-Weasley—The George Weasley?” She gasped.

“Just George is fine,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

“Oh my, I just can't believe—”

“Mum, can we go see him now?” You interrupted, anxious to see that he was well yourself. “I promise you'll have a proper introduction later.”

“Yes, of course. This way.” She released George and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the hospital.

George hesitated, until you reached your hand out to him. He immediately threaded your fingers together, falling into step with your frantic mother.

A few moments later, you rushed into your brother's room, finding him upright and smiling, some new tubes in his little nose, but all together looking well.

“Mum, I said to leave her alone!” He argued, crossing his arms over his reindeer pj's.

“Hush you,” you scolded lightly, wrapping him up in a hug and kissing his forehead, noting his lingering fever. “How are you feeling, darling?” You asked, pulling back to hold his face.

“M'okay. They let me have some ice lollies earlier!” He chirped, sticking out his neon blue tongue.

You grinned. “I see, that's excellent.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but then you saw his eyes widen, mouth falling open in shock. You turned to see what he was looking at and realized it was George, who was loitering in the doorway.

“Is that—” your brother started, and George looked up. “Wizard—Wizard Wheezes!”

George’s solemn expression shattered into a wide smile as he stepped into the room, his energy shifting instantly. “Hello, mate! I’m George. Heard your not feeling so good?” George reached out to shake his little hand, and he took it, his fingers dwarfed by George's palm.

“No, no. I'm fine!” Your brother replied, shock melting into excitement. “What are you doing here?”

George glanced down at you. “Your sister has been telling me all about you, and how strong you've been lately,” he said, crouching down beside the bed. “She loves you a lot, y’know?”

You stepped out of the way, tears starting to burn behind your eyes. Your mother slipped her hand into yours, watching the interaction with a hand pressed to her mouth.

“I know, but she worries too much,” your brother answered, and George burst out laughing.

“That's what happens when you love someone,” George replied, smiling. “You want to protect them from anything that might hurt them, even if you know you can't.”

“I’m big like you, I don't need protecting!” He argued.

George nodded, pressing a hand to his chest apologetically. “I can tell. But that doesn't mean they don't want to try anyways. And big guys like us have to protect them in return, yeah?”

Your brother nodded, puffing up his chest. “I'll never let anything happen to my sister. I promise!”

You blew him a kiss, and George gave him a high five.

“That's my buddy. Now, let's see if I've got anything special for heroes like you.” George fished around in his pocket, making dramatic faces while he rummaged in what you thought was an empty pocket.

But then he withdrew what appeared to be a toy airplane that would in no way, shape, or form fit in that pocket without magic. Your brothers face lit up when George threw it in the air and it started to fly, ducking and whizzing around the room.

“Hm, that wasn't what I was looking for,” George said with a dramatic frown, and you giggled. He glanced over his shoulder at you, breaking his frown to smirk at your reaction, and started fishing around in his pockets again.

He pulled out a bouncing ball, then a rubber chicken, a set of chattering teeth, a stuffed teddy bear. Item after item came out of his pockets until your brothers bed was covered in toys and gag items, and a dozen nurses were watching in amazement from the hallway. You and your mom were fighting through silent tears, your heart so big you felt it might explode out of your chest.

Most importantly, your brother was ecstatic, playing with this and that and chattering away at George about the different products and teaching him how to do magic tricks George himself had invented.

But half an hour later, your brother’s nurse came in to administer some of his medication and get him ready for bed. He tried to protest, but his new best friend, George, managed to talk him into not only compliance, but eager acceptance of his medicine.

You stole George away into the now quiet hall, Christmas lights illuminating the dark corridor, and threw your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, needing to feel him close, to ground you through the onslaught of emotions.

He wrapped his arms around you, his head turning to kiss your temple. “Need some air?” He murmured, and you shook your head no.

“Just need you,” you whispered, holding him tighter.

He let you cry into his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles onto your back and murmuring reassurances into your hair. When you'd exhausted yourself, you pulled back and he reached up to hold your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“Thank you for doing that,” you sniffled, sliding your hands down his chest, his sweater soft beneath your palms.

“It was my pleasure, love,” he replied, looking you in the eye. “You—him—this, I needed this. Needed you,” he breathed, voice tightening. “I forgot why we did it all, what all the sacrifices were for, and you reminded me. He reminded me.”

You rose on your toes to press a kiss to his lips, not knowing how else to express how you were feeling that wasn't, well, insanely soon.

He kissed you back, passionate enough to steal your breath, but released you when the door to your brother's room opened.

“Darling—oh, I'm sorry. Darling, would you like to come get a cup of coffee with me?” Your mother asked, clearly fighting a grin at discovering you.

“Sure, mum,” you exhaled, reluctantly stepping away from George. “You okay for a minute?”

“Absolutely, I'll keep an eye on him.” He pressed a kiss to your knuckles before releasing you to your mother, a soft smile on his face.

When you returned twenty minutes later, you found George stretched out in the arm chair pulled up right next to your brother’s bed, Rudolph on the television.

“—Fred managed to get the deer into the kitchen with some carrots and loaf of banana bread, and kept him distracted while I tied bells and ornaments—mom’s favorite’s, of course—to it’s antlers.”

Your brother was giggling, curled up with the stuffed bear George conjured earlier, his eyes heavy as he fought to stay awake to hear the story.

“But then we ran out of banana bread and Fred tried to give it some cookies, but by then the deer had discovered the Christmas tree in the corner, with the popcorn strings and cranberries and salt dough ornaments, y’know? So the deer started eating the bloody Christmas tree and we cannot get it out of the house now. It’s found the best sodding snack on earth. So by the time my mom get’s home, half the tree is gone, there’s shi—dirt all over the house, dishes are broken, holes in the walls—”

“What did she do?” Your mom asked, laughing. “I would have sent you out to live with the deer and it’s family.”

George grinned. “We ate nothing but carrots and banana bread for a week. Even for Christmas dinner. It was torture,” he chuckled, turning back to your brother, only to find him sound asleep. “That boring, huh?” He joked, rising from the chair so your mom could take it. But instead, she pulled him in for a hug, surprising him.

“Thank you for doing this, and I’m so sorry about your brother. But I know he’d be so proud of you today,” she murmured, and you saw George’s eyes well, his jaw flexing as he tried to fight it. Your mom pulled back, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then smoothing away her lipstick with her thumb. “You’re a wonderful, wonderful man, George Weasley. And I’m so glad you’re here.”

He nodded, a tear streaking down his face. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s very k-kind.”

Your mother passed him to you, his hand gripping your tightly as he fought to keep his composure. “Goodnight, mum. I’ll see you in the morning?”

Your mother nodded, waving you away while she kissed your brothers cheek.

You led George out of the room and down the hall, finding an empty room to slip into. As soon as the door closed behind you, he sank to his knees, great, heaving sobs wracking his body. You lowered yourself to the ground with him, pulling his head into your shoulder and rocking him back and forth, his tears soaking through your sweater and shaking your whole body.

“I miss him,” George gasped like he was in pain, his grip almost bruising around your body.

“I know, baby. I know you do,” you said into his hair, holding his head against your chest. Your own tears began to spill then, for him, for you, for your family, and his, and you clung to one another as the overwhelming grief took it’s pound of flesh.

Slowly, he began to settle, breathing labored, but his tears subsiding. He lifted his head, looking at you through tear-brightened eyes, his lashes dark and spiked with moisture. You leaned forward, kissing away the droplets on his cheeks and jaw, until you felt him start to smile.

“I-it’s been so long since I—” he cleared his throat, reaching up to cup your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I was numb for awhile, so long I sort of forgot what anything else felt like. I meant what I said earlier, you reminded me of what I’d lost, but in the best way.” Tears welled up again, but he smiled through them. “He would have been so fucking jealous that I got you. But Merlin, he would have loved you so much.”

You huffed a laugh, lower lip trembling as your heart soared. “George,” was all you could manage, and he leaned forward to kiss you, rising onto his knees and pulling into into his chest.

Then, that wild spinning sensation enveloped you again, and in a blink you were back on his couch, exactly as you were before, the credits to the movie rolling on the screen, your glasses of wine exactly where you left them.

“Stay with me tonight,” he asked, trailing kisses down your neck as you reoriented yourself. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, we could spend it together.” He lifted his head to look you in the eyes, and you nodded eagerly.

“Yeah,” you said, laughing as he rained kisses over your face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you have the most wonderful holiday season and start of the new year <3

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runninriot · 5 months ago

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Could've Been You

written for @steddiemicrofic

prompt: shower | wc: 399 | rated E | cw: accidental voyeurism, sexual content | tags: pre Steddie, confident Steve Harrington, Steve/OC (past), Eddie has a crush on Steve, Steve wants Eddie

Eddie doesn’t know why he’s here. It’s not even a party, just a bunch of college students getting wasted, playing stupid drinking games.

"Never have I ever... had sex in the shower" someone says and Eddie feels suddenly sick.

Out of the eight people playing, only one lifts his drink, followed by a chorus of wolf whistles and- all Eddie can do is stare.

The guy drinking is Steve. And the problem is, Eddie knows he’s not faking it.

Because he saw it.

Tried to forget about it ever since, jerked off to the image more times than he can count.

He didn’t mean to watch. It was an accident. He was just minding his own business, already half asleep because it was fucking late, way past the time he expected anyone in the dorms to still be up.

But there they were, barely hidden behind a half open curtain, the noises leaving no doubt about what was going on.

Eddie wanted to leave, wanted to turn around and get the fuck out of there, but his eyes were glued to the scene and his legs wouldn’t move, so he stayed. And he watched.

Saw Steve leaning against the shower wall, one leg hooked over a guy’s shoulder who was down on his knees, mouth busy sucking Steve’s cock while pumping two fingers into his hole.

“You good Munson?” Someone asks but Eddie barely registers it, wordlessly stands up and leaves.

Out in the hallway, he feels like he can breathe again until a hand on his shoulder stops him.

"Hey, are you okay? Your face is all red."

Of course, it’s Steve.

"Y-yeah no. I, uh, just wanted to smoke," Eddie stammers.

"Good. Because for a moment I thought you were ashamed."

"A-ashamed? Why would I-"

Steve’s suddenly so close, his lips brushing his ear as he whispers

"Did you like the show? Did it make you hard? Did you touch yourself to the memory that night?"

Eddie’s souls leaves his body.

"I-I’m sorry! Please, don’t be mad!"

Steve must think he’s a fucking pervert. But why is he smiling like that?

"Could’ve been you, you know. I would’ve let you fuck me against the tiles."

Eddie must be hallucinating.

“Or you could just take me to your room and fuck me there.”

But if this is a fever dream, he might as well just go for it.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficseptember #small riots

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reverieblondie · 7 months ago

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Finding the Tiefling Bachelors Smut

A/N: I really hope everyone enjoys these hcs. Now these are just my ideas if you have ideas or things you feel like should be added please share! I would love to hear what you think! Huge shout out to @f4iryt3a for letting me use their Cal screenshot! I really appreciate it!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader

Rolan: Scholarly romantic, who endeavors to seek experience outside his books

Now I love the idea of Rolan accidentally finding smut/erotica. That dork would get embarrassed so quickly, but I know he would be intrigued as the new master of Razamaths tower. Rolan, of course, has made it his mission to quickly understand all the tomes and books found in its grand libraries. Through his cataloging, he discovered that not all the books are necessarily history books or grimoires, but there is a collection of books that are stories. Needing to flip through for a rough summary of the story quickly, it's when he scans the pages and pauses…

Ardent eyes trail over her shivering skin. His lips come over to caress her body, his hands sliding up her belly towards her breast. Rough fingers pinch and twist at her sensitive buds, making her tremble with a breathy moan. All while his lips trail down lower and lower…biting softly, licking down her mound. Her skin is like silk against his fevered tongue, and no doubt the lower he wonders, the sweeter the taste…

"And to think you thought me intolerable…now look at you, love. Panting like a bitch for my tongue…"

Rolan slams the book closed, his face burning a bright crimson hue. Now, Rolan isn't dumb; he knows what smut is, but he's never actually read it before…And now, as he keeps looking through the books near this one…it seems Rolan has acquired a bit of a collection. He keeps the collection of his newly acquired smut in a locked drawer on his desk.

Now, on late nights, while he's been in his office for hours, his back is tense, and his neck and shoulders are filled with knots. He needs to let out all this unreleased tension, so his hand wanders down to that locked drawer to finish reading that last chapter…

The book has been discarded but not forgotten as it lies on the desk. Rolan's breath is labored as he is hunched over his desk, feverishly fisting his cock, whimpering, and throwing his head back as he lets the images flash in his mind. Doe's eyes stare up at him, his hand with a tight fist of their hair…their tongue rolling and lapping at his ridges, tail rubbing their wet sex as he approaches his high. Fuck How he wished it wasn't his hand but their mouth eagerly sucking him, desperate to take all of him. Rolan's thoughts spur him on more, your nails digging into his tights, your throat so fucking tight, just like he is sure your pussy is. And where would you want in? Your gorgeous face? Your breasts? Or would you swallow?

Rolan's hips buckle faster, his loose hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his neck as he lets out a groan. He would give you all of it; he would make sure to show you everything he could do, how he would study your body just to get you to cum. How he would remember every moan, every tremble, and the way you feel wrapped around so tightly, your sweet voice trembling all those words he dreams you would say. That's when he feels that wave rushes over him, his legs tremble, and a whimper "ah, a-h!" leaves his lips. Rolan has to brace his hand on the desk as he cums in fast spurts in his hand. Catching his breath, he looks at his mess… "Zurgan…"

You and Rolan are friends, but you two still manage to argue most days, and you wouldn't like it any other way. Something about that grumpy attitude just makes your head spin. You want to get under more than just his skin; getting under him would be ideal. It's good that you're patient because you're just waiting for the snap where this teasing finally pays off, and he becomes yours.

You find yourself waiting for Rolan to ask about some magical artifact you found. Honestly, you could care less; you just want an excuse to talk to him and tease him. Unfortunately, you must wait for him…might as well snoop a little. And what do you find in your snooping? A locked desk drawer, intriguing…with a trick you picked up astarion you get it opened to see books?

Oh….smut books…with a clear theme, enemies to lovers; it looks like Rolan likes to argue as much as you do…you can work with this.

Rolan walks through the door, "Okay, what do you have for me?" His voice catches as soon as he sees you sitting on his desk (something he says he hates), watching you read through his smut.

You flick your eyes up to him, "Rolan… I never took you as a smut reader; I would think the Great Master would be too busy…" Rolan approaches you quickly and tries to snatch the book from you, but you hold it behind yourself, not making it easy for him.

"Hasn't anyone ever taught you about privacy!" He stands right in front of you now, his flushed cheeks on full display for you. "Why are you embarrassed?" you taunt; Rolan sighs irritatedly as he struggles for the book. His body leaning in so close, his chest brushing against yours, his hips between your spread legs, his face getting so close to yours. Rolans is so desperate to get the book he doesn't realize how close he is.

"Someone needs to teach you proper decorum!" his voice grumbles. "Is that an offer…" Rolan pauses as he hears you whisper in his ear; he turns to face you, his face already so close your noises brush together. Rolan swallows as his eyes flick from your lips to your eyes. " You're teasing me," he says lowly, dropping the book behind you; you wrap your arms around his neck. "Not unless you want me to."

Rolan lets out a shaky breath before he places his hands on your hips, guiding you to wrap your legs around him. "Must you always have a comeback every time?"

"What? I thought you liked my smart mouth. Perfect for arguing." Rolan gently lays your body down against his desk, his body over you, making your breath quicken, and your arousal ruins your panties with want. "How about I put that mouth to better use?"

You two don't miss a moment to start stripping on one another. "What use? Oh, great master Rolan?" Rolan smiles and leans his now bare chest down, his lips pressing hungrily against yours. Before you can slip in your tongue, he pulls back, relishing in the whine you give from missing his lips. "Like making you moan my name." -Damn that cockiness…

The next few moments are a blur of sloppy kisses, sharp bites to your neck, and the feeling of his hot tongue tracing over your nipples, making your thighs clamp tighter around his waist in a whine. Rolan eggs you on to say his name as his textured cock runs slowly up and down your wet sex. His body shudders with a groan from the feeling of your slick all for him.

Rolan slides into you, whimpering along with you as you finally moan his name, "Rolan~" you can't help but arch yourself as he pumps into you deeper and deeper with every thrust. The more he rocks in you, the rougher he gets, as his nails dig into your ass, lifting your lower body off the bed as you keep clamping down on him from the praise he rewards you.

His cock hitting your G Stop, you feel yourself squeezing down on him as his hazy eyes look down at you with a lazy smirk; he's read enough to know what's happening to you, "Oh? About to cum? Come on… Don't hold back, cum for me."

It hits you like a wave making your whole body tremble as your orgasm on his cock, with a scream of his name. Rolan is quick to silence you with a moan of his own as he leaves a rough kiss on your lips.

Zevlor: An Experienced Romantic

Okay, but can we all imagine Zevlor's shirtless body littered with scars and a nice set of reading glasses low on his nose as he reads some smut/erotica. (Ugh, the dream!) Zevlor, our oldest of the bachelors, has seen his fair share of smut; back in the day, it wasn't odd for some of the guys to hide erotica under their bunks. Though their books were quite different from Zev's. Sadly, those books have been lost to time and the descent. Maybe it was curiosity or the fact that a certain someone has been making his heart race every time they say his name. Now, here he is in the romance section of the library, trying to find one of those old books he used to own. Unfortunately, he only sees books he's not familiar with, so on a whim, he opens a random book…

If someone walked by, it would tarnish her reputation. A high blood in the gardens this late with a man will surely cause gossip. Especially with her legs spread so wide and her guard positioning his cock so deep in her. Her soft voice moaning so heavenly, only causes his cock to throb more. He's meant to be guarding her…If anyone finds out… She's too important, too perfect to be with a man like him…

"I love you." Her voice, like sweet honey, draws him to hold her tighter, to rut in deeper. He drags his lips across her slick skin, tongue lightly licking the sweat from her neck. Finally, he reaches her ear, "Darling flower…I love you more than you can possibly know…" She clenches and flutters with a whimper, and his hips start to move faster…

Zevlor ended up checking out that book, along with three others the lady behind the counter recommended for him. It turns out they had similar tastes…He made sure to rush home so nobody saw what he had, and Zevlor made sure to put the books in a safe place…in his dresser drawer.

It's another one of those sleepless nights. His eyes just won't seem to close, and his body won't relax. Maybe he should read a few chapters in his new book…just until his eyes get heavy…

Zevlor can't help but grunt as he feels his balls twitch, begging himself to stroke his girth faster, but Zevlor is patient… he knows what his body can take, so he continues his slow build. Zevlor spits on his other hand to lube his cock, making it slip faster within his hand. His grunts get louder as his hand moves faster, building up to his release. Zevlor shuts his eyes, focusing on the approaching wave of pleasure, his thoughts immediately going to you. Your body is bouncing beautifully as you ride the old hellrider. Gods, he wants to talk you through it and be your guide to your sweet pleasure before he fills you up. How he would dig his hands into the soft plush of your hips to help roll you deeper, cooing softly to you as you begin to babble, your pleasure starting to build to its peak. Gods, how he wants to hear your voice trembling his name… Zevlors hips start to roll at the thought of your snug cunt and your sweet voice chanting how it's too much and how you're coming to cum. The thought of your cum coating him is enough for his cock to throb as he lets his cum shoot against his abdomen. Zevlor sighs coming back down from his high. As he cleans himself up, he wonders, would you clean him up? Perhaps with your tongue? Zevlor shakes his head and chastises himself for the lewd thought.

You and Zevlor developed a strong bond after everything; you two were supported by each other through getting past everything. Even though Zevlor decided to retire to a small farm on the city's outskirts, you two kept in touch through letters and visits. Part of you wishes that Zevlor would one day invite you to stay at his farm with him permanently…though you are unsure if that is just a silly dream of a lovesick girl…

During one of your impromptu visits to Zevlors farm, you were helping him wrangle the goats, it turns out Philp the Ram is not a fan of yours… So that is how you found yourself crashed into the water trough after running from a grumpy goat. Zevlor was a slew of apologies as he helped you from the water and told you that you could borrow some clothes from him while yours dries. So, while you were looking for a shirt in his drawers, you found a book? Maybe a peek wouldn't hurt…

Turns out that Zevlor is quite the romantic…maybe it's time you confess…but you need to have a plan…

Zevlor was done setting up the tea, but you still hadn't emerged from his bedroom. Perhaps nothing fits you, right? Or maybe you are embarrassed? Zevlor sits pondering for a few minutes before he decides to walk to the room and check on you. You hear his heavy footsteps before you hear his Knock. "Tav? Are you alright?” With a deep breath, you tell yourself it's now or never. "Zev? I'm fine, but could you ... come in, please?"

Zevlor, never one to deny a request from you, opens the door; when he sees you, he thinks his heart stops at the sight of your bare thighs sitting on his bed in his favorite mauve shirt. Then he sees the book on his dresser, and his face turns an impossibly deeper shade of red. Great, you think he's an old pervert. Zevlor is about to explain when you cut him off, patting the spot beside you on the bed. He watches your face blush, "sit with me?" Zevlor sits beside you. The tension is thick in the air as both your minds reel, Zevlor panicking that you think he's a gross pervert, while you are working the courage to make your next move ... something romantic to impress him.

"About the book I-" It was so quick .... but you forget Zevlor was a paladin, a well-trained one at that. So when you turned to kiss his full lips, Zevlor caught your face between his hands. His eyes widen in surprise as he looks at your squished cheeks and puckered lips. Your face reddened, "I'm sorry, I was trying to be romantic... I should have asked to kiss you.” You manage to tremble out through your squeezed lips ...His eyebrows furrow and a slight laugh leaves him “you... Want to kiss me?” He lets go of your head, and it's your turn to laugh. “That and more... if you're willing?"

Zevlar was definitely willing, willing to run his hands over your soft body, while you do the same to his hardened one, tracing his scars with tender kisses as you sang sweet praises into his crimson skin. His Kisses were so soft as your lips pressed together, slowly building up your hunger for more.

It could have been minutes, hours, hells, even days as you two explored each other's bodies. "Slow ... ride it slow ..." his deep voice whispers in your ear as you slowly roll your hips ."Beautiful ... look at you ...” His lips return to kissing a bruise to your neck as you look into the mirror. Your legs spread wide over his thighs, one of his hands on your hip as the other is wrapped around your waist, holding your front as steady as possible as he thrust So slowly into your drooling cunt. You can see your arousal dripping down his ridged cock as he moves it through your snug cunt, stretched so taut for him. Your hands are holding onto Zevlor for dear life as he molds your insides to his shape.

Zevlors pace steadily builds as your insides start to clench on him tighter, and your cooing gets higher pitched. He smiles and meets your eyes in the reflection as he slips his hot fingers to your twitching clit, rolling over it in quick circles So desperate to watch his lovely Tav squirt all over his girth again.

What could be more romantic than watching the one you care for come undone on you?

Dammon: A lover of erotica through and through

It is canon that Dammon likes smut, which inspired this whole thing. Damon isn't one to shout out from the rooftops what he enjoys reading, but he isn't shy about it, either. He enjoys reading smut/erotica, and he isn't going to be embarrassed about that. He finds that his favorite works are Bondage and Corruption Kink-based. Sure, the stories are undeniably hot, but the trust, the communication shared between two people engaging in that level of intimacy he's utterly addicted to…and his library will only grow. Still, he always returns to his rarer favorites…

His hand is cold compared to the burning flesh of her ass. She leans into the touch, losing her grip, but that only earns her a swat that furthers the rosy flesh to a fiery blush…" keep holding your ankles.." his voice is stern, and she wishes he would talk to her for hours like this, She grabs her ankles tighter mumbling a soft apology. He smiles and kisses down her spine in approval, "Good girl. Now, what's your safe word?" She feels his hand sliding across her ass, the tightening in her gut coiling further. "L-lavender…" she can't help but tremble, feeling his hand spread her blushing cheeks. "When do we say that word?" she's fully spread to him now, feeling dizzy in anticipation. "If-if I'm feeling overwhelmed, hurt, or just ready to stop."

He muses at her, bent over, ready for him; he runs his oiled fingers over the metal plug keeping his eyes on her tight entrance…he feels his cock throb from the rush, she wants to slam himself into her ass, but he calms himself with a breath. "Very good, now I'm going to put the plug in, remember to breathe and that it will be cold…"

Dammon only occasionally has guests in his small house, so he has never felt the need to hide his books. So what does he do? He proudly displays them on his bookshelf, rotating out his favorites for a nice reread on his nightstand.

No matter how many times he might read this book, it always excites him. After a long day of pounding away at scorching hot metal it can get a person tightly wound up…and what's better than an excellent book to help wind you down after a long day…

Turns out that winding down is not what his body had in mind for him tonight. It started off as it usually does, his hand lazily stroking his cock, while he read from his book, but as he kept reading, he couldn't help but think about when he saw you last, bright smile, tight trousers, and your shirt barely containing your breast. You always looked like a vision, and he wouldn't mind getting his mouth on if you only asked. Dammons thoughts go to you bent over his anvil as he pounds into your warm heat, his hands keeping your wrist behind your back as you moan for more to show you all he knows. Dammons bites his lip at the thought, continuing to ram his cock into the crease of his pillow folded between his legs. His hand is not enough, and neither is the pillow, but if he thrusts fast enough, he can almost trick himself. It's your plush thighs he's ramming against. Dammon lets out deep moans as he gets closer, his cock weeping at the tip as he thinks of how deep he could go… how he could explore all of you for him to devour. Gods, to feel you cum all over him, to demand more from you till your body shakes from overstimulation. The pleasure he knows his rigid cock could give you. The surge of his orgasm washes over him as his cum shoots into his pillow with a low groan at the instant relief. Dammon throws his pillow off the bed as he catches his breath, so much for relaxing…

After the end of everything, it only makes sense that you would keep in touch with Dammon; every good hero needs a good blacksmith, and Dammon is yours. He was always so reliable and fun to talk to. It only makes sense that you were running his way whenever your sword or armor was nicked. You two slowly boned and found yourself spending hours just sitting and talking to him, telling him your adventures while Dammon just smiled and worked. Watching Dammon work was also an enjoyable experience; he was always so passionate about what he did… you wonder if he's as passionate in other ways

Dammon had told you to come by his place to pick up your weapons, which he was repairing. Having to do some last-minute things, he had set tea out for you and had you wait in his quaint little home. You waited and waited, but he was just taking so long, so you decided to walk around. While you were walking around, you saw Dammon's bookshelf and looked to see if you two shared the same taste in books…

As soon as you picked up one of the books and started to read it, you just couldn't stop. You didn't know if it was shocking, curiosity, or interest ... but what you were reading was so intense, and you just couldn't help how your thighs were pressing together to help ease your growing arousal. "Enjoying the book ?" his voice chimed, making you jump. Slamming the book closed and trying to stumble out an apology, Dammon just looks at your increasingly flushing face, and his smile grows.

Finally, Dammon gently places his hand on your lips, his face completely unfazed as his calm voice asks, "Want me to show you my favorite parts? "- How could you refuse?

What turned into him reading them to you led to you reading it yourself as Dammon ideally played with your hair as he watched you; he Turned to you, finally sharing in a passionate kiss, to where you are now ...

Both of you stripped down to your underwear, straddling Dammons thigh as he leaves slow, sloppy kisses on the column of your neck, "We will start slow...to show you …"

Your hands are holding on tightly to his broad shoulders as his hands slide down your waist to squeeze your hips. His bright eyes take in your blush as he asks if you're okay if you're ready. With a shy yes, you two start as he starts to guide your hips to grind on his thigh; the feeling of your clit rubbing against him makes warm pleasure rush down your spine to spread through you. Dammon just watches your beautiful face contort to the pleasure, listening to your soft moans and trembling Whines, his cock growing stiff as the arousal drips from your panties to leak on his thighs. God, he wants to trace it with his fingertips and have you taste yourself, but he contains himself, telling himself to go slow with you. Dammon moves his hands up to your breast, groping you softly as you continue your soft grind.

You keep rocking back and forth, feeling the tightness in your stomach as you gradually build your pace. From how wet you feel. Dammon knows you are so close to that high, so he decides to help you more. His left hand lowers your bra as his lips kiss your perked nipples before his tongue carefully traces the sensitive skin, making you moan so softly. Then With his right hand, he slips two fingers through your soaked panties to play with your swollen little clit. The feeling of his rough fingertips toying and then pinching softly is enough for that coil to break within you as you squirt on his lap.

"I'm so sorry …" You say in a gasp, but Dammon only shushes you as he holds you to his chest, his expert fingers guiding you through your orgasm. "You have nothing to apologize for ... that's so beautiful, which makes me want you to do it again ... "You whine and bury your face in his neck from his sultry words. Damon can't wait to teach you more things.

Cal: Innocent but wants to learn

There is not enough smut about Cal, which is a shame; he is a cutie and deserves to be included in the Tiefling Bachelor lineup. Cal always thought that there was only one way to get sexual stimulation from a book and those erotic art books people hid in their homes. He had heard of the desire to seek them out. Well, now Cal's grown up, he has needs. It's while Cal is trying to discreetly find one of these books when he comes across smut. Curious why a book like this would be in this section. That is when he figures it out…

He couldn't help how her strong body roused him. It was an accident coming across her during her bath, but even the warrior jumped to action and could pin him down beneath her foot. He just stared at her bare body, shining in the moonlight as the water dripped down her skin. He swallowed his suddenly dry throat as the need to lick up every drip off her body to quench his thirst, but only if she wished it. How he would be a dog for her… "Why are you spying on me during my bath? Are you an assassin or just a pervert?" His rehearsed lines over why he joined her on her journey evaporate from his mind.

"My lady…lady, I wish to serve your every whim…I wish to be your hand…it would be an honor to travel with a noble hero like yourself…" Her eyes narrow before she swiftly drops down to his prone form…Gods, please don't sit on him and reveal to her his aching erection… "careful with your wording… you could easily end up as a squire… or my chew toy.." he tries to steady his breath… "whatever my knight wishes…" she smiles…this should be an interesting addition to her travels…

Of course, Cal quickly bought the book and immediately packed it for home as soon as he left the store. As soon as he got to his room after sneaking past his siblings, he needed to find a place to hide it. The last thing he needed was for someone to see that he had this book. So, after a quick scan of his room, he shoved the book underneath his mattress. Nobody will find it there, right?

Cal was completely immersed in the story; any time he had time off, she was sneaking off to his room to read another chapter or two. Then, late one night, he found that the plot was thickening, and it was starting to stir something within him. Cal springs from his bed and quickly decides to take a cool bath; that should help cool him right…

The bath did little to ease him; all while he was in the bath, his thoughts kept wandering to his book… and you. Now here he is, his fevered skin feeling the sharp bliss of the bathroom's tiled wall against his back, groaning lowly as he fucks his fist. Cal knew it was wrong to think of you this way, your beautiful legs spread open… your hand teasing yourself as your sweet arousal drips more and more. Cal knew he shouldn't be doing this, but that didn't stop him from shutting his eyes tighter, buckling his hips more desperately as he chased his high. All those previous feelings of shame melt away as your sweet voice calls his name, your eyes lidded, telling him to "Watch me, Cal…taste me…" Fuck, his breath picks up as dose his pace mumbling to himself how much he wants you… what he would fo got "Ah, just to taste you… to have you cum on my tongue…" Cal stroked faster, whimpering and moans growing louder at the thought of you pushing him down and sinking your soft cunt onto his cock. The way you would ride him as you screamed for him was the final straw that had his cock spasming, "Fuck, fuck, Fuck!" Cal couldn't help but chant like a prayer as he made a mess over his clean body. Cal looked down at his ruined body, "Dammit… I need to rinse off again…"

Cal was always a pleasant person to be associated with; your friendship started when he thanked you for helping end a squabble between his siblings. After that, you two kept running into each other. First, he sought you out for combat advice, which made you two have friendly chats. You two both find each other to open up about your troubles with one other. Cal says he admires you and all the incredible heroic acts you have done, but you admire Cal and his cheerful, never-giving-up attitude. The world always seemed just that bit warmer when Cal is near…

When you saw that Rolan and Lia were out at the tavern without Cal, you were instantly worried about him. They had told you he was not feeling good, apparently, and that immediately made you need to go see him. So, with a key from Rolan, you made your way to the tower to check in on Cal. When you reach outside his door, you hear a sound that makes you worried…

The air in your lungs ripped from your throat, causing you to let out a gasp as you saw him fisting himself under his blanket. You and Cal locked eyes; he immediately stopped and quickly apologized to explain himself as he was trying to get untangled from his sheets. Poor Cal fell out of his bed, crashing to the floor in a tangled mess of his bedding. Walking over to him, you crouch Where his arm hides his face. "I .. am so sorry ... I ... didn't mean - ""Cal?" Cal Swallows, "Yes ?" You carefully move his arm away so you can look into his eyes. "Do you want me to help you ?" Cal looked up at you with wide eyes before nodding quickly.

Cal's breath was labored as his sweaty hands gripped the sheets as he looked at you in awe. Your hands wrapped around his length as you -Kissed and licked his peddling tip, your eyes watching his adorable face. Then with a final smile and a whisper to relax and enjoy, you start sucking around him, your soft tongue - licking around his sensitive underside making his hip twitch and buckle. Cal thought he must have fallen and cracked open his skull, passing on to the next heavenly realm; how could it be that you, perfect beautiful you, are sitting on your knees eagerly, sucking and slurping on his cock; it just couldn't be real.

Then he felt his cock push to the back of your throat, and he couldn't help from throwing his head back and moaning your name. You relished in the feeling of his trembling as he came in thick spurts down your throat. You had to hold back from laughing as you heard him apologize. Standing up, you smile at his hazy expression and slight smile. You swallowed him down and caressed his cheek, giggling as he pressed frantic kisses on your palm, saying a thousand thank yous. Grabbing his chin, you smile at him as he asks those words you were hoping for. "I .. um. I have never done it, but could I help you ?' Turns out Cal is very good at following directions.

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yup-thats-me · 7 months ago

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—little things • I. Obanai

pairing: husband!Iguro x wife!reader summary: some days can be tough but Obanai is grateful to have his wife right by his side warning: negative self-image, self-hatred, manga spoilers. be warned

“What does she see in me?”

Iguro touched his reflection in the mirror, his eyes glossed over with tears. It's almost been three years since the serpent Hashira married his sweetheart, Y/n. Although their marriage was a strategy devised by their families to strengthen the clans, Obanai is grateful that he does not have to suffer an unhappy marriage like most arranged couples do.

It must be for of his good deed in his previous life that he got a wife like Y/n. She is kind, supportive, understanding and loving. She showed him love and affection, something he could only dream of when he was a child. She understood that when he would distance himself when his past weighed him down, she would give him space but if it got out of hand, she would slowly push her way through and embrace Obanai. An embrace so warm that made all his worries go away, be that a physical one or an embrace through words. She knew how to calm him down.

Iguro knew Y/n loved him, she could never betray him, not even in his dreams. But there are days. Days that his mind tells him that he is not deserving of the love he receives from his darling wife. Days where he hates his heterochrome eyes, days when he wishes those vile women had slashed through his cheeks completely so that he would have been dead. Dying is better than being ashamed of his face. If he were to die, he would not need to bandage his face at present.

But, somewhere deep down in his heart, he knows that it would not have been better had he died. Had he died in his childhood, he would have never met Y/n, would have never known how warm her hand feels against his cheek, how affection feels. He would have died without knowing any of that; something he did not want.

His eyes were closed shut, jaw clenched. Fingers closed in a tight fist. What exactly hurt him, he did not know. But it hurt, oh it hurts so much. It is days like this that he wishes for Y/n’s presence. Sure, he can call her right now. Maybe she is in the bath, getting ready for bed and would be by his side in a minute, but he did not have the heart to busy her with such a trivial matter. It's better not to worry her about his mood swings, she tolerates enough of him already.

“I hate my face, I hate the way my eyes look, hate how weak I am,” he said through gritted teeth. He continued on his list of the things that he hates about himself, immersed in his thoughts so deep that he did not hear Y/n entering the room.

Smiling softly, Y/n stood beside him in front of the mirror.

“I love the cute expressions you make when surprised.”

Her sudden voice made Iguro step back in surprise. He quickly composed himself, turning his face to the side to wipe his tears from her view. There’s no way a man should let his wife see him crying.

Y/n gently put her hands on his cheek, making the man look at her eyes. “I love the way your cheeks get flushed red when I compliment you,” she coaxed, her fingers slowly making their way to the back of his head.

“Love the way you look away when you hand me a present.” Her fingers found the beginning of the white cloth; the bandage. Iguro stared at her. He felt the bandage around his mouth loose a bit but he did not want to push her hand away, not when she felt so warm, so comforting.

His wife pecked him on the cheek, his heart skipping a beat when he felt her lips on his cheek. No matter how many times she kissed him, it still felt like a fever dream. She caressed his face lovingly, her touch almost making him forget that the bandage came off his face; his face was bare, bare for her to see.

“And,” She stroked the scars as lightly as a feather. “I adore your scars.”

He could not force the tears from blocking his vision.

“How can you say you hate these when I absolutely love them?’’

“…”

“My love, when will you see yourself the way I do?”

She gently shook his head making him open his eyes to face her. “Your eyes, my love. They hold kindness in them. How can anybody not love this magnificent piece of art?” Her own orbs glossed over with tears.

“I cannot thank you enough for being alive, today,” a choked sob rippled through her chest. “So please, please love yourself.”

Iguro’s arms wrapped around her neck as he pushed his face into the crook of her neck, his tears wetting the skin.

“And if you can’t,” she whispered.

“Let me love you enough for the both of us.”

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whereforarthur · 4 months ago

Text

Caught Red Handed

Request: this is kinda a crazy one idk but what about where reader is like touching herself secretly whilst george is filming and cos hes got his green screen up he doesn’t realise till afterwards when reader is kinda like flustered

Pairing: George Clarkey x Reader

Category: Smut

Word Count: 3.2k

*****

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation. Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in.- Charles Hart

"Alright guys," George stated excitedly into the webcam, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he thought to himself, Today we're plunging into the world of indie gaming. I found some pretty weird games to go over."

As he began his recording, his fingers danced over the keyboard and the screen flickered with numerous coloring. His girlfriend, Y/N, sat silently on his bed behind him, her heart beating as she watched his reflection in the monitor.

His bedroom was a crowded safe haven of gaming equipment, with gaming and movie posters hanging on the walls and controllers thrown like plastic confetti on the floor. The only sounds that could be heard was George's voice as he was recording, the distinct hum from the computer and the occasional tap of George's foot on the floor. Y/N took a deep breath, her gaze constant on the green screen that separated her from George. She could sense the heat rising up to her cheeks, as she thought about how good he looked and sounded. The allure almost becoming to much for her to handle.

Could she actually touch herself while he was recording, without him hearing her? She had to test the waters.

Her hand moved under the blanket, her fingertips tracing up along her thigh as her pulse pounded in her ears. She nippled her bottom lip to hold back the gasp that fell from her lips as her eyes affixed on the screen's reflection of George's face. His attention was completely on the game, his voice a steady stream of enthusiastic comments over the pixelated landscapes and quirky characters filling the screen. Y/N felt a twinge of guilt, but it was shortly overshadowed by the building of a different need.

Lust.

The smooth fabric of her pajama shorts teased her skin as she moved closer to the bed's edge. She observed his shoulders, which moved scarcely as he leaned forward, his eyes wide with eagerness. His laughter was like a siren song to her, sending shivers down her spine and sparking a fire inside her. She started to move her hand in a slow rhythm, the shallow and erratic breathing building up in her body.

Her brain was a mess of sensation as the voice of George stirred her desire to a fever pitch. The velvety timbre of his words, the way they rolled from his tongue, created bright images in her mind, each more tantalizing than the last. She could almost feel his breath on the back, mimicking when he would whisper sweet nothings in her ear. He was completely oblivious to the silent symphony playing out just behind him. The cadence in his speech, the rise and fall of his inflection, set a metronome in her own building crescendo.

The tension in the air was so palpable, she hoped George didn't sense it. She had to tread carefully, the idea that even a small misstep could divulge what she was doing behind his back, literally. Yet, it become thrilling—a potent blend of risk and longing that only turned her on more.

Y/N's touch became bolder, her fingertips dancing across sensitive flesh, tracing the same patterns that George would touch. She felt her body coiling tighter, the pressure developing like a spring about to snap. Her breath stuck in her throat as she swallowed a moan, her eyes locking close for a brief second. The mattress groaned slightly beneath her, a silent hint at what was truly going on.

It was then that she heard it-the faint click of George's chair swivelling. Her eyes shot open, and she froze, her hand trapped under the blanket. The room was utterly still; the only sound was the soft rustle of fabric against skin. Had he heard? A jolt of panic ran through her, the pounding of her pulse in her ears a furious drumline.

But George said nothing, his gaze to the screen as he froze the game in its tracks. He leaned back, rubbing his neck, and she felt a jolt of both relief and dread realizing he was done recording. He was playing the playback, his eyes scanning over the screen with a critical eye. Y/N held her breath, her heart beating so fast it was about to burst from her chest.

Her hand lay immobile, trapped under the blanket, willing her body to calm down. The room was eerily silent; the only sound was George's voice as he muttered to himself. She watched George's mirrored image-the thoughtfulness of his expression as he went over his recording-and she couldn't help the arousal that bubbled at the sight of him so absorbed in his work.

Y/N took a deep, steadying breath and continued to touch herself once more, her hands taking over their silent dance. The guilt was still there, a gentle whisper in the back of her mind, however her excitement was too strong to ignore, outweighing any guilt or doubt she had. The idea of George's reaction, of him finding out what she'd been doing while he was so intent, took her desire that much further. She touched herself with more purpose now, setting her eyes on the screen and the reflection of his shadow playing on her face as she touched herself.

The tension within the room was so sharp you could practically cut it with a knife, the air thick with the fragrance of sweat and smell of arousal. The blanket was wrapped warm around her, every inch caressing her skin with softness. With every stroke, added her closer and closer and towards the edge till her breathing was only let out in short breathy moans and gasps.

*****

And then, it happened.

George's chair scraped against the floor, and he stood up, stretching his hands over his head with a yawn. He reached for the top of the green screen-his hand brushed the fabric, as he went to pull it down. Y/N's eyes went huge, her heart skipped a beat as he commenced to tug it down. Her mind started to race, conjuring up every excuse in the book of how she could possibly explain what she was doing. But there had been no time.

The screen fell away, and she was shown in full flustered glory, her hand buried under the blanket. George's eyes went comically large as his jaw dropped to the floor. For a moment, the only sound was the deafening silence that filled the room. Y/N felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, her breath catching in her throat. She couldn't believe she'd been caught.

"Bloody hell, Y/N!" George exclaimed, his voice in a tone of shock and amusement. He staggered backward, tripping on a headset that had been strewn across the floor. "What the…?" He trailed off, his eyes darting between her and the her hand under the blanket as the situation finally clicked into place.

Y/N's face flushed a deep crimson as she quickly withdrew her hand from beneath the blanket. "I—I didn't mean for you to see this," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. She clutched the blanket tightly, pulling it up to her chin as if it could somehow shield herself from the wave of embarrassment crashing over her.

George's eyes widened in disbelief, a smirk beginning to play on his lips. "So, were you… touching yourself while I was recording?" he asked, his tone teasing despite the evident shock etched on his face.

Y/N nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor in shame. "I didn’t intend to; it just… happened," she murmured, her voice muffled by the fabric.

She could feel his gaze on her but couldn't bring herself to meet it, the weight of his stare too much to bear.

For a moment, George said nothing; his smirk fell away into a look of contemplation. Then suddenly filled with energy, he sprang from his feet and rushed over to the bed, making Y/N yelp and scoot back. "You naughty girl," he purred low and smooth, sounding like a growl that sent a thrill through her.

"You were so turned on by me you couldn't wait?" He repeated the words back at her with eyes glinting with mischief. "I had no idea my voice turned you on that much, love." He leaned over her, his hot breath fanning across her cheeks, as his hand began to ghost over her thigh, not too far away from where she was previously touching herself.

Y/N’s breath stuck within her throat, the mortification of being found out morphing into something different as George's touch grew bolder. “I…I think it was just too difficult for me to say no,” she answered on trembling voice. The room fell into a deep silence, thick with an energy that felt like current.

"Couldn't stop yourself, huh?" His voice became low and rumbling, sending a shiver down her spine. His hand slipped underneath the blanket and his palm stroked over hers. She gasped when he took over, his touch sending waves of pleasure throughout her body. "Seems like I need to take over this situation, love."

He leaned in nearer, nuzzling his nose into her ear as his hand continued to explore. "You're so wet," he murmured, full of wonder and lust. "What would make you do such a thing?" His tongue traced the shell of her ear, and she couldn’t help it as a whimper fell from her lips. “Was it my voice? My passion?”

Y/N nodded, incapable of coherent words as George’s touch turned insistent. Her body responded in kind, arching into his hand, desperate for more. “It’s…it’s just…” she trailed off, lost in the sensations.

"Just what?" He prodded, his breath hot on her neck. "Tell me, love." His voice was quiet persuasion, a gentle command she couldn't disobey.

"It's just…" She managed to gasp between pants of breath. "It's seeing you so into it…it…it does something to me."

George’s throaty laugh sent a jolt of electricity racing through her veins. “If watching me play video games does this to you, I can’t wait to see what happens when I'm actually touching you,” he whispered against her ear.

He tugged the blanket off her with one swift movement, and she was exposed to the cool air of the room. She was about to protest, but his mouth went to hers, cutting off any sound she might utter. His kiss was deep and possessive; his tongue sliding against hers as if in some silent declaration of intent.

Y/N's body felt electric, with every nerve ending buzzing. She held onto him grabbing his shirt as he kissed her more. His taste was minty with a flavor that was all his own, and she craved more. The world melted away outside the bedroom leaving just them and the thunderous beat of their hearts.

When George pulled back, she gasped for air, her eyes cloudy with longing. He smiled at her - the type of smile that made her stomach do somersaults. "Should we turn up the heat?" he said , his fingers drifting to the edge of her shorts.

Y/N nodded but her voice was lost in a sea of want. She knew she ought to be so much more embarrassed, so much more self-conscious. But with George looking at her that way, there was nothing she could do but crave his touch. And as he began to peel away the last of her clothing, she realized perhaps she wasn't as secretive after all. Maybe this was what she had wanted all along-his full, undivided attention.

His gaze scoured her bare skin, a mix of need and tenderness that made her feel like the most beautiful person in the world. "You're so beautiful," he muttered thick with longing. "And all mine." His hands mapped the lines of her body, sending trails of fire over their wake, to re-familiarize himself with every inch of her.

Y/N gasped as he pulled her pajama shorts down her legs. George's fingertips brushed the inside of her thighs making her tremble. He kissed her with intensity and care, as if savoring every moment. His touches, both soft and strong, caused surges of longing within her. It was as if he could read her mind, knowing exactly what she needed, and was hell-bent on giving it to her.

As he parted her legs and knelt before her, she felt the jolt of excitement in new, uncharted territory with a heart that was racing faster than it ever had. Yet with George, she knew she could feel safe, cherished, and utterly wanted. And when his mouth found her, she knew she'd never felt more alive, more connected to another human being in her entire life.

The world outside of the bedroom was forgotten, eradicated by the sensations that George was coaxing from her body. His tongue danced with a mastery that made her shake, even as his teeth grazed her flesh with just enough pressure. Her hips bucked against his face, and she couldn't help the whimpers escaping her as she grew closer to the edge.

The room was filled with their heavy breathing, the rustling of fabric, the wet sounds of George's ministrations. And through it all, the steady thrum of his voice, whispering sweet nothings that only served to heighten her pleasure.

"You taste so good," he murmured against her, his breath hot and tantalizing. "So sweet and ready for me." His words sent an electric jolt through her and she dug her nails deep into the mattress.

With a final, lingering kiss, he stood, his eyes never leaving hers as he removed his own clothing. The sight of him, bare and aroused, was almost too much to handle. She felt her core clench with need, and she knew she was close, so close.

And then he was over her, looming above her, the weight of his body pinning her into the bed. His hand found her again, his fingers pumping in and out of her in a rhythm that kept tempo with her heartbeat. "I want to feel you come around me," he groaned, his voice rough and husky, sparking her shivering skin alive with gooseflesh. "I want to be the one who makes you scream."

Y/N nodded, closing her eyes as George positioned himself above her, his hard length pressing into the wet heat nestled between her trembling thighs. "It's you," she whimpered on an exhale, begging him. "Please God… it's always been you." And then he thrust upward inside of her—so hard that for a split moment all she could see was stars.

He moved with an elegance that was both deliberate and unhurried, as if savoring every single moment. Each gesture was imbued with a sense of purpose, and his eyes were locked onto hers, unwavering and deeply focused. The intensity of his gaze created an almost palpable bond between them, one that felt magnetic, drawing them ever closer. She could see the smoldering desire reflected in his eyes—a profound yearning that mirrored her own, awakening something deep within her.

Every movement they shared felt special, almost like a promise between them. It was a quiet but powerful sign of his love and how much he missed her. She naturally moved in sync with him, matching his energy and creating a beautiful connection filled with desire that surrounded them both. When they met, it was like they were dancing to an ancient tune, a rhythm that echoed deep within them and drew their spirits together in a heartfelt hug that they wouldn't soon forget.

Each motion was more than just a physical action; it was a sign of his deep love for her—a quiet promise that expressed his feelings. She responded in the same way, matching him step for step, creating a stunning duet filled with longing and passion. Her body arched to meet his, and they moved together in a dance that felt timeless, a rhythm as old as life itself that echoed in their very beings.

With every move, her hips craved his, creating a primal dance that felt like a part of her very being. Waves of rhythm flowed through her, echoing a heartbeat that resonated deep within her soul, igniting a fire of desire that could not be contained.

In that moment when they were united, their bodies came together in a beautiful mix of skin, warmth, and unrestrained passion—more breathtaking than the greatest piece of art ever made. George’s touch enveloped her, a consuming blaze that ignited every nerve ending, and his kiss marked her as his own—a claim that sent exhilarating shivers coursing through her. It was a connection born from a sacred space, a sanctuary of belonging that wrapped around her like a warm embrace, filling her with a sense of home.

As they neared the climax of their shared experience, a fire brewed within her, a force that felt as if it might tear her apart. Her muscles tightened around him, each breath becoming more ragged and desperate. “I’m close,” she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation. “Almost there.”

“Come for me, darling,” he urged, his voice velvety yet roughened by desire, his breath coming in gasps as he leaned closer. “Let me feel it.” With a fierce thrust, he surged deeper into her, a force that propelled her into a dizzying abyss of sensation, overwhelming and intoxicating.

In that moment, everything around them changed completely, bursting into a mix of bright colors and strong feelings. Her body felt like a beautiful piece of music, with each feeling rising higher and higher, creating a wave of joy that filled her completely. She shouted his name, a powerful declaration that echoed throughout the room—her own song of freedom and surrender. George joined her in this intense experience, letting out a deep, primal sound that resonated within her, making her feel a thrilling sense of togetherness.

As the overwhelming joy began to fade, they fell to the floor in a messy pile of arms and legs, their bodies slick with sweat and their hearts still pounding. “I love you,” she whispered softly, her voice delicate like a thread woven into the rhythm of their shared breaths.

He drew her closer, holding her in a tight embrace that felt like home. “I love you too,” he said, his voice filled with a warmth that spread through her heart like a gentle wave. “And I will never let you go.”

For a fleeting moment, they lingered in that beacon of silence, sealing away the weight of their worries and sorrows. Then, with a playful chuckle, George leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Anyway,” he teased, mischief glimmering in his eyes, “try not to distract me while I work.”

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, the sound a soothing balm after the tempest of their passions. "I'll try," she promised, still breathless, her heart racing in the aftermath of their shared intensity, a smile dancing on her lips.

They were all tangled up in the bedsheets, with the computer softly humming in the background, a gentle reminder that there was a whole world beyond their cozy little bubble. But in that moment, none of that seemed to hold any significance. All that truly mattered was the two of them, their deep love, and the shared secret that had led them to this intense moment of pure, unrestrained passion.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @kneelforloki @sunkissed222 @amz824

#british youtubers #imagines #george clarkey #smut #george clarkey x reader #george clarke #george clarke fics

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lxvebun · 10 months ago

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heart shaped kisses RE edition

synopsis: how Leon kisses you/ different types of kisses

content: Re2r!Leon/ Re4r!Leon x gender neutral reader. Some fluff but mostly hurt/comfort. Little bit of blood. Mention of plagas leon and the outbreak. Around 500 words. He's deeply in love with you<3 english is not my first language so i'm sorry for any mistakes!♡

D*rk content blogs do not interact! (*a)

Other heart shaped kisses fics (multi) leon m.list

resident evil 2 leon

Oh my, His kisses are as sugary sweet, and warm as he is. they're always excited and eager and a frequent daily occurrence. From the moment you open your eyes until you close them again in his arms, rest assured he will have pressed kisses to every area of skin available and comfortable for you. It never fails to make your heart beat a little faster and for your mind to blank out for a split second especially when his kisses trail down from your lips to the corner of your mouth, down to your jawline before he's pressing a feathery kiss on your neck right below your ear. He "Ruins" the moment by blowing raspberries into your skin♡ :)

His kisses were always consistent in feeling, passion, and delicateness, right up until September 30, 1998. And can you blame him? With telephone lines being cut and no way to reach you through the mess of car wrecks, fires, and infected, he wasn't even sure if you were still breathing. The utter relief and desperation he channeled into his kiss when he finally got you in his arms again was overwhelming, the blood and dirt staining his skin didn't even matter, you both just needed to breathe in eachother, caress the pulse points on your necks and feel each others heartbeat thump against your chests, just to make sure this wasn't some sick, infected fever dream, just to make sure both of you were here and alive

Re4 leon under the cut

Resident evil 4 leon

Now slightly older and slightly more worn down his kisses are still as warm and sweet as before but a lot more serious, a lot deeper even for casual kisses and he holds you so close you can almost feel his heart beat against yours through your ribcages. It's passionate and breathtaking but under all that when his lips touch yours you can sense a feeling of uncertainty laced into it. Worries and thought's he's usually good at surpressing making it's way to the surface. Is this going to be the last kiss you'll ever share? when he gets called away on a mission he can't decline, will you wait for him, or is the distance too much to handle? do you understand that his love for you is so strong, and runs so deep and never-ending, even if he turns into an abomination with poison running through his veins and a new sense of bloodlust coming from a sick infected mind he would still recognize you, he would still protect you until he's permanently put into the ground?

this Leon's kisses last a lot longer, he doesn't want the moment to end and he doesn't want to feel you pull away along with your warmth and sense of comfort, and perhaps by pulling you so close to him, he can make you linger just a bit longer on his skin. just long enough for the initial worries to subside just for a moment as his thoughts of horror fade away into images of you and the way the sunlight kisses your skin or how the stars reflect in your eyes, it's an addiction, you're addictive…..he's not just going to leave it at just one kiss that's for sure.

Buns notes: I feel like I forgot to edit something in this so if something is incredibly out of place lmk💀🩷

Thank you for reading, angel!<3

#re2 leon x reader #re4 leon x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy x you #re4r!leon #re2!leon #re4!leon x reader #re2!leon x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon x reader

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deadqueerboys · 2 months ago

Text

Baby Fever - Headcanons

Wilbur, Quackity and Tommy. X Gn! Reader (separate).

Wilbur saying the name of his son.

SFW UNDER THE CUT

Wilbur

He was quiet for too long, walking in circles. You thought he would probably be nervous about a new concert, but it wasn't. When you walk towards him and ask him what's bothering him, he smiles. Wilbur places his arms around your waist and kisses you cheek.

"Wouldn't it be nice.. you know? Having a mini you around this house?" Wilbur is so kind about it. He seems happy but concerned about your answer. He would be a great father. He would stop anything to take care of your son/daughter. Even with him being aggressive sometimes, he knows how to take care of someone, he takes care of you!

He's up to anything. Adoption? Let's give this kid a proper house. Pregnancy? He would do anything for it. Insemination? He's ready for that! Of course, he would worry about this kid and the way they would grow up. He wouldn't let this kid have social media for a while, blurring their face on the pictures so nobody does anything wrong with the image.

The thing is, Wilbur would be a great father. He really would. He wants it, he waited for someone who loves him so much they would give him a tiny version of himself. He doesn't mind if it's a boy or a girl. He just want to hold them. Tell them everything is okay and dad is coming home to sing them a song to sleep or maybe tell them a story.

He's pretty affectionate, giving gifts, spending time with them, and bringing them to watch his shows. He writes beautiful songs about his kid, watching those pretty chocolate eyes they got from Wilbur.

Quackity

It was never really his dream. He just liked the idea. Sometimes, he thinks he's too young for that, but he's sure it would make him happy. At the bed, he can't stop at looking for pictures of himself of when he was a kid. You were almost sleeping by his side, until he goes under the covers and hugs you from behind.

"Mi vida, are you sleeping?" Quackity whispers, bringing you closer to him. He doesn't move, only laying his head on your shoulder to be next to your ear. "What would you think if I say.. I want a baby." He giggles. He's smiling, so unaware of your reaction. It doesn't matter if it's a bad reaction, he can try it later. But if it's good..

As soon as you agree, he starts to give you the options. He wanted to get ready for a kid, so he got every single cliche thing he would. He even brought two types of painting, blue and pink. He wouldn't mind using another color if you wanted, but he likes it a little bit traditional.

He would be a great father. He would he a little confused at the beginning, but he knows everything he should. He learns how to change diapers and the proper milk so the kid can eat and get strong. He likes the idea of creating a kid in a healthy way, so the first thing he tries when the kid gets on their sixth month is give them fruits.

Also would hate exposing his children, so no social media or showing the kid on stream. He allows you to post pictures with them without blurring, if it's just you and the kid. He loves showing his family how the kid got his cute cheeks but your eyes.

Tommy

He's too young for that, but he keeps asking for it. He's not very mature when talking about kids, he barely started to think about taking care of himself. He was recently single, and you, as his best friends had to hear everything he wanted to say about having a baby.

"Mate, think with me! A blonde, blue-eyed kid with the most amazing smile, this kid would be like a tiny me! And I'm good as hell." Tommy talks on your ear once again, always with the same talk about getting some random someone pregnant. He even thought about getting a baby with you or Tubbo, it doesn't have to be romantically, he just wants it.

It's really a baby fever, because in the second he starts talking about this, he won't stop. He even teases you, caressing your legs and coming closer like if he was going to kiss you. Everything is a joke to him, but he seems really focus on this thing of having a kid.

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fakescenariosbeforesleepblog · 6 months ago

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By fire and heart Pt 7.

Daemma Targaryen. Second daughter of King Viserys and queen Aemma, you're the living portrait of your mother with the character of a true dragon, as a second daughter you don't have right to the throne but certainly, you will protect your sister's succession by heart.

Warning ⚠️: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to, most of them belong to the TikTok user ccarmyy! Grammatical and spelling errors, maybe this won't be good enough but In my head the story was a good one, it's a long chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Pt 8 is here

It wasn't easy to be in the north, it took you time to make the northern people trust you, but you were persistent, you show that side of yourself that not many people are allowed to see.

You still remember those days involving yourself with the work around those lands, visiting every house in the north to learn about all of them, meeting every lord, by the end you arrived and stayed with the Stark's.

Lord Stark fell quickly for you, not only for your natural beauty and intelligence but also your bravery, your combat skills and your kindness. The rumors about a romance between you and him ran quickly around the kingdom, none of you neglected them, because in fact it wasn't a lie, you and him were more than friends, you proposed to him a future marriage alliance with the only condition to keep the promise of supporting your sister which he joyfully accepted.

The memory lives for free in your mind, you remember every detail of it.

The library was warm, empty, only you and him, sitting in front of the smokestack, he was holding your hand in his when you talked.

«My Lord, I think it's very clear that the north has become my home... I wish to stay, and for that I propose you a marriage alliance»

«Go on, tell me, princess. Between who this marriage would be?»

He was smiling brightly and playfully to you, you returned that smile while rolling your eyes.

«Don't play with me, Lord Stark, you know I talk about me and you»

He left a quick peck on your lips.

«You honoured me, my princess. I will gladly accept your hand and your conditions, but I only have one condition...»

«Tell me, Lord Stark, I'm all ears.»

«I love the free spirit of my warrior princess, having said that, my only condition, is to get married at the time my princess decides.»

Those words sent shivers, you felt your cheeks turning red, he always has been a gentleman, you would renounce your freedom in a good way if it's him who will be your future husband.

Since then, You won the loyalty and heart of the north and with that you knew you would have it at your side whenever you needed.

Your dragon, whitefyre, seems to be pleased being in the north which is almost impossible since Dragons are looking for warmer places, you started to think maybe your destiny was there, perhaps that's the reason why your dragon looks like a snowflake, white scales that shine like diamonds and can easily get lost in the clouds.

In your dreams, you saw yourself flying over the north, those lands bathed in Snow, you saw yourself running through the forest escaping from the flames of your own house, sometimes you saw yourself with a crown over your head but some others you saw yourself burning alive. Of course you never talk about what you see in your dreams because that's all they are, just dreams, but lately you've seen them becoming real, a living proof of it, your dark haired nephews, the fire and the death of some people around you, so it's a constant bug in your brain, you wonder which part of your dreams will be true, you try to have as many interpretations as possible.

You heard the news about the sea snake, badly hurt, the fever attacking him and with that, his brother Vaemond ready to feed himself with the bones of his poor brother, he always wanted to control his house.

Your aunt, Rhaenys put him in his place informing him about Corlys leaving the succession to his grandson Lucerys Velaryon. Clearly it makes Vaemond drawn in his own rage.

You haven't seen your home in a while, you don't receive letters from no one, you sometimes feel like they forgot about you and you prefer it that way, you feel free, unfortunately your happiness can't last forever.

«Dear sister, I hope deeply and sincerely that your stay in the north has been pleasing. I would wish to have more time to write about how much I've been missing you, but we will have plenty of time for that later. The succession of my son Lucerys as the next Lord of Drift mark has been put in doubt, by extension I fear Jace and mine too. I'll need you at home, Rhaenys had to fly to Kingslanding, let's hope it is not to support Vaemond's claim. We will need people to support and defeat your nephew's claim.»

You didn't waste time, you left the north the same day your sister's letter arrived, before leaving you informed Lord Stark that you will announce to the king about your engagement.

The skies of Kingslanding are empty, there's no cloud at the sight, and the warmth of the weather hits you, you land at the dragon pit, the trip to the castle is short, your guard was already waiting for you at the principal door, his face shows how angry he is.

- What is it, Sir? Is there a problem?

- I apologize, my princess, but there's no one who could attend your arrival.

You laugh, clearly no one would be there waiting for you, you take it as a sign that you're not so welcome at home anymore.

- It is fine, we didn't inform them about my arrival. Let's go to find out where they are.

Your guard nods and walks at your side, on your way you can see empty halls, you can barely recognize your home, there are no more Targaryen symbols in the walls, not even the colors of your house.

The few people you see on your way simply smile at you, some of them stop to talk with you, a little conversation and finally one of them talks about the entire court at the training yard watching a prince practicing with the sword.

- Did you hear that, Sir? I think we can take this as an opportunity to catch some attention to the real Targaryen family.

- I follow you, my princess.

And as your informant told you, almost every person of the court was there, some of them were immersed in the friendly sparring while some others noticed your presence. You approach as close as possible to the people who were fighting.

A young silver haired man with a patch over one of his eyes, he's fighting against a guard. Your common sense tells you it's Aemond and Criston Cole.

- My sword, please.

You demand to your guard.

- My princess, I think is not the right time, you're wearing a dress.

- It will make it more interesting and the young prince will look ridiculous after I win.

Not so fine with your idea, your guard gives you your sword. You can see him praying the gods to keep you safe.

You jump in the middle of the men, in a quick movement you send to the floor to Sir Criston making him lose his balance, he doesn't stand up to fight you, he simply makes himself aside.

Aemond is not surprised, he quickly goes against you, the dance of swords, punches and kicks last a few minutes, until you're on the ground, your guard tries to go and help but you ask him to stay in his place, Aemond smiles at you, his sword and yours is close to your throat.

- Give up, dear Sister.

- Never.

He uses more strength and the swords are more and more close to you. Your other hand holds the other side of your sword, you feel the cut but you don't care, you can feel the warm blood running down, Aemond sees it and the strength decreases, that's your chance while he pushes himself back you hit him in the abdomen, he falls and his sword is far from him, you jump over him, now it's your sword against his throat.

- Give up now.

He doesn't say a word but smiles at you with his hands up. You stand up and take a bow to all the lords and ladies who were observing.

«I hope you enjoyed the show, my lords and ladies.»

Your guard quickly has a piece of cloth to cover your bleeding palm. You Walk away, there's dirt on your dress, your sword has fresh blood too but you're happy with your demonstration.

You were passing by in front of a window when Suddenly you saw your sister's carriage.

You walk quickly, almost running and then you hear one of the guards announcing her arrival.

- Welcome home, Rhaenyra!

You yell as soon as you see her, you approach her, her pregnancy makes her look more beautiful than ever. You're hugging her tight when the voice of your uncle fills the silence.

- Daemma, it has been a long time.

- Uncle.

You walk to him and hug him, the scent of his hair always was your favorite, oak and mint leaves. The boys and your uncle's daughter received a quick hug from you.

- I have to warn you, our house is not anymore Targaryen territory. There's green everywhere, it's disgusting in my opinion.

- Aunt, Why are you so... Dirty?

- Your hand is bleeding.

Lucerys and Jacaerys observed and questioned you.

- I was in a friendly sparring with a certain prince. I'm fine, I think he's still practicing at the training yard.

Once inside, you, your sister and your uncle went directly to your father's chambers.

The smell of sickness fills the room, there's a lot of incense, and the room looks sad and dark.

- Father?

Your sister asks. You can see the silhouette of a thin body laying on the bed.

- Who's there?

- It's me my king, Rhaenyra.

- Rhaenyra...

He repeats almost in a whisper, exhausted.

- Yes, I'm here, with Daemon and Daemma.

- Dae... Daemon, Daemma... Daemon. Help me to sit, please.

You and Rhaenyra help him to sit on the bed, Daemon looks at his brother, your father looks like a walking skull, his skin is almost grey, he lost some teeth, for a moment you feel like the worst daughter, you left and never came back, his health is worse than ever.

- it has been a long time...

Your uncle Starts to talk about Corlys Velaryon and the war at the step stones, the petition about who will control drift mark. You want them to stop and not fill his head with all those problems, the poor man is living for miracle, he doesn't even stand up from bed without help.

- Alicent and Otto, attend those business.

- No, brother, listen to me, you have to position at Lucerys side so he will be Corlys successor.

Rhaenyra took his husband's shoulder, she also feels like it's a lot of information for the man.

- Father, there's someone we wish you met.

This takes you by surprise, the servants come in with two baby boys, silver hair, chubby and beautiful.

- Father, Daemma, this is Aegon and this is Viserys.

Two beautiful babies, you smile at everyone in the room, those babies are the most beautiful thing you've seen, the boys started to cry while your father started to groan in pain.

- I'm sorry, please, hand me my tea.

Daemon quickly gives him the tea and as soon as Viserys finishes it, your uncle takes the goblet and smells it. Meanwhile you feel like you already had enough of it. You've seen a lot, you can't tolerate one more second of your poor father's suffering.

You excused yourself and waited out of the room, you felt nauseous, the air was heavy, your lungs needed more and more oxygen.

One of your maidens sees you and runs quickly to you.

- Welcome home! Can I help you, my princess?

- Yes, please prepare me a bath, I'll be there soon, thanks Dalilah.

Your maiden leaves while you take some air, minutes later you walk to your dorms.

Dalilah is waiting outside of your chambers.

- My princess, your bath is ready but... you have a visitor in your chambers.

- Thank you, I'll attend our visitor, don't worry.

Once in, you see the thin male shape sitting on a chair.

- Aemond, what do I owe the visit?

- Why did you come back, Daemma?

You walk around your room without paying him enough attention, you're thinking about what to say, you will not speak about the real motive of your visit.

- Why do you care, dear brother?

- It seems like you're here for our nephew's business, Lucerys...

- What about Lucerys? Is he hurt?

Aemond stands up quickly and takes your arm to make you confront him, face to face, too close.

- Don't try to fool me, Daemma.

- I'm not. I really don't know what is going on with him, I haven't talked to them in years. It's a coincidence I arrived at the same time as them, can you believe that?

He leaves your arm but doesn't lose his distance with you.

- Let's suppose I believe you, then What are the reasons for your visit, huh?

Looking at him so close he looks very attractive, his jaw and his thin lips, the scar that patch can't hide well, he has a mysterious aura, you like how dangerous it feels to be in the same room as him, the adrenaline running through your body.

- Perhaps I was missing my home, perhaps I came back because I have duties to attend.

- What kind of duties?

- Marriage.

You said without thinking about it. He gives a step back and has a little smile on his lips, he observes you carefully and then looks at the books placed in a small table at your side.

- Marriage? Did you finally find a good suitor?

- That's none of your business, Aemond. I already told you what am I doing here, now I'm asking you to leave.

You're acting offended as if his question was the worst thing in the world. He silently nods and walks away. Once your door Is closed you undress yourself and get inside the bathtub, the scents of berries and forest filling your lungs it's relaxing until you hear a noise.

- Dalilah, is it you?

No response. You hear someone sobbing softly. You ask again, «Who's there?» standing up from the bathtub, carefully taking your bathrobe and looking for something that can help you to protect yourself.

- If you don't answer, I'll call the guards.

Suddenly, a young man with silver messy hair, puffy eyes and a red nose is standing close to your bed. He observes you as if you were a ghost.

- Well... Hello stranger.

You speak again. You can't recognize him. But he looks attractive.

- Daemma... Is it really you? You...you Don't recognize me anymore?

He finally answers you, but not even his voice is familiar to you.

- Who... Are you?

- Aegon.

Both are standing there not knowing what to do. In the blink of an eye, Aegon walks to you, his arms are around your body and his face hidden in your neck. Seconds later you react and return the hug, he looks like a man now but he is still that little young boy you left a long time ago. The hug took you by surprise but it is a good sign, maybe after all this time away he still has strong feelings for you, you can play and twist him as you wish.

- Oh my sweet brother, I apologize, I couldn't recognize you, look at you, you're a man now.

- When did you arrive? Why no one told me?

He says without leaving his place between your jaw and neck.

- I arrived today, I didn't announce I would come home.

Your sweet and soft voice on his ear has him In a rollercoaster of emotion, he doesn't want to leave your body, you put your arms down a long ago but the poor man still can't believe you're there, you feel his bulge growing in his pants and pressed against you, that's when you step back, pushing him a little.

- Let me see you well, you have changed a lot these years...

Smiling at him, You place your hands on his face, one is caressing his cheek, the other is busy running your thumb through his lips and jaw, you're acting fool but you really know what you're causing him.

He hides his desire with his hands over his pants, his look is full of sadness and nostalgia. Before your hands can leave his face he catches one of them and leaves it there in his cheek.

- I thought you would never come back...

- Hmm, I thought the same. But here I am.

- Why?

- Hmm?

- Why are you here?

- Perhaps I couldn't handle being far from home anymore... Or perhaps I'm here because of that duty I've been avoiding all this time.

You turn your back at him, walking to the wardrobe, you take one of the dresses there and before you start to dress you ask him to not look, he turns his back, you know there's a small mirror and he will have a small view of your body, just the exact amount to be sure he will be in the palm of your hand again.

- What duty?

- Marriage. Since the queen informed me about your wedding and your two children, I finally accepted I needed a husband (...)

He's lost in thoughts not paying enough attention to what you're saying, observing you through that small mirror, drawing your body shape In his mind, the locks of your hair, the moles on your back.

- Aegon?

- Uh? What?

You laugh when you realize he wasn't paying attention to you.

- I was asking you if you can help me with the buttons of my dress, please.

He clears his throat and walks to you, he has trouble to button the dress.

«It is easier to quit than to put it...»

He murmur. You don't say nothing, you're observing the big mirror of the wardrobe door. He's being careful, as if touching you would make you vanish.

Once he finishes he looks at the big mirror, it is a nice image, you and him, together, in the same space, close to each other.

- We could be good for each other, you know...?

You break the silence and he places his jaw on your exposed shoulder and simply sighs in agreement. You're not saying the truth, you know you wouldn't tolerate him much, you've heard he drinks a lot, he spends most of his days swimming in wine and spreading his seed in every woman he sees.

- But I suppose I will have to be satisfied with one of your brothers or perhaps an old fat lord... We will know soon.

- What?

- It has been so good to see you again my sweet prince, but I have some visits to pay to the queen, the hand and the king if it's possible, you know, to see what we will do with my marriage.

You don't give him a chance to speak and walk out of the room, you were passing by for your father's chambers when you heard the voices of your family and the Queen's voice. You stopped and stood close enough to the door.

You smiled when you heard your uncle talking about the poor welcome they had.

You opened the doors as soon as you heard your sister, questioning the queen about who will decide the inheritance of your nephew. The three of them just looked quickly at you and continued with the conversation.

Before Alicent leaves, you stop her.

- Alicent, I would like to discuss some things... With you and the hand of course, since my father is... Unavailable. I hope I can talk with both of you before dinner.

She nods and quickly leaves the room. Once all of you are alone, the first one to question you is your uncle.

- What do you want to discuss with those snakes, Daemma?

- My marriage.

Both are quiet, no one expected it. You scoff.

- What? is it so hard to believe?

- Who's the man, Daemma?

Rhaenyra is speechless but your uncle demands answers.

- As you know I've spent most of my time in the north. I proposed a marriage alliance. Between me and Lord Cregan Stark. He will support Rhaenyra's claim.

- What are his demands in exchange for his loyalty to me, Sister?

- Not many, At the moment, he only asked to marry me until I decide when the right time is.

Your uncle doesn't look pleased, he never thought you would be married, he always told you no one would be good enough for you. You try to find more arguments that could please him.

- The north is an enormous territory, full of strong houses who would follow the Starks without hesitation. I think it is a great opportunity for us, to have the north on our side.

- But will you be happy living there, sister?

- I will... I am now and I'm sure I will in the future. But I have to act quickly, if Father approves and announces my marriage before dinner, that's why I am here right now, I want to talk to my father. Alicent and Otto will not have a chance to act or go against the king's wishes. That's why I planted the seed of a meeting with them, I will cancel my meeting at the last minute, they would be wondering why or what I wanted to discuss, eventually my father will announce it.

After some more minutes discussing, they leave you alone with Viserys. The announcement of Vaemond Velaryon was in everybody's mouth.

«Father?»

You whispered a couple times before he could make a sound. With difficulty he opens his eye, instantly putting his hands over his head.

- What? Who... is... it?

- I'm... Daemma, Father.

- Daemma? Oh... my girl... You're the living portrait of your mother.

He painfully tries to laugh.

- Yes, dad... it's me. I have some news for you.

- What... happened?

- I... I will get married, I found the right man, Father.

- Did you? Who is him?

- Lord Stark, father.

- An... honorable man. Good for you my girl.

He's starting to close his eyes again and before he falls you speak again.

- Dad, listen to me, I need you to announce it soon...

- Why?

- Because...

You don't know what to say, what would be enough reason for your father to agree to your wishes.

- Because I love him and he loves me, Father. I love him as you loved my mother.

You actually don't know if that will be reason enough, you don't know if you love the man in that day, in fact, you're wondering if it's love in the romantic way or merely the kind of love you have for a good friend

- My dear daughter... Oh...

The pain is coming back to him, you quickly take the cup with poppy milk. He drinks a little and lays again.

- Daemma...

- Father.

- I... I give my approval to your marriage. You... you have... My... Blessing.

- Thank you Father. I would be so happy if you announce it soon, Would you?

Heavily breathing, coughing he agrees, you can't be sure about him announcing your marriage, but you hope at least he can inform it to the queen and her father. You stay at your father's chambers, just observing him, occasionally he talks to you, things with no sense, sometimes he confuses you with your mother, or Rhaenyra, even with Helaena, but you don't care, you feel guilty for leaving him here alone for so long.

Meanwhile, Alicent, the hand and Vaemond are discussing the succession of Drift mark. While Rhaenyra and Rhaenys are talking about alliances.

You're tired of them, allies and arrangements, you sometimes want to fly away, follow Laenor steps, yes, you know about what actually happened to him, your sister told you and some days you really want to do the same but you made a promise, you promised to protect your family.

You were leaving your father's chambers when Rhaenyra came in. She doesn't say anything to you, she simply walks to Viserys.

They talk about Aegon's dream, the song of ice and fire, about to keep the kingdom safe against the enemies. You're not understanding why is she so anxious, talking to him desperately, until she finally says he separated the kingdom when he named her his heir.

- I thought I wanted it. But it is a heavy... Too heavy.

You hold her hand, you never thought about how hard it was for her to be the next In the throne.

- If you wish me to bear it, if you wish Daemma stays at my side in this... then, defend us and my children!

She broke into tears, sobbing, crying in exhaustion. Both left.

The king and the hand are in the daily meeting, usually they're short, the hand informs, the king barely listens. Today the vibe is different.

Your father demands dinner with the whole family. Greens and Blacks together with the living corpse of your father. Will it be the right thing?.

The day it is full of anxiety, you're nervous as much as your sister, overthinking about what could possibly go wrong today.

You have your sword and your dagger with you, maybe it doesn't help to hide how nervous you feel.

Once In the iron throne you feel your body burning in anger, Otto Hightower, sitting on it.

Vaemond Velaryon is the first one to talk, arguments of how it is unfair to leave such a land in the hands of a kid who hasn't been raised there. Same blood as Corlys, an authentic and immaculate true Velaryon.

He's talking about the legitimacy of your nephews and your sister can't contain herself. Defending Lucerys, allegations about how he only cares for himself and his own ambitions, the Queen's intervention gives more confidence to Vaemond.

You're observing the young man at the Queen's side. Aemond observes you too, he looks at you from head to toe, while Aegon looks occasionally to you and your sister.

You were remembering the previous moment with both, you admit they're handsome in their own way, you imagine how it would be to be with any of them, a carnal desire appeared inside you.

Your sister starts to talk when the door of the hall opens.

«KING VISERYS OF HOUSE TARGARYEN, FIRST OF HIS NAME, LORD OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS AND PROTECTOR OF THE REALM!»

Everybody watches your father walking, he walks slowly, observing everybody, he walks to the throne, once there he simply looks at Otto Hightower.

- I'll sit on the throne today.

- Your grace.

Otto leaves the stairs of the iron throne, your father is using all his strength to walk, one of the guards walks to him to help but your father rejects his help.

The crown falls and your uncle runs to help his brother, with the crown in his hand, he slowly and carefully helps Viserys, once his sitting, your uncle puts the crown over your father's head and goes back to his place with your sister.

- must admit my confusion, I don't understand the petition to a succession previously settled. The only person who knows the desires of Lord Corlys is the princess Rhaenys.

- Indeed, your grace.

She answers instantly. Walking in front of the king, talking about Corlys and his desire to inherit his place to Laenor's son, Lucerys Velaryon and her following her husband desires.

Suddenly the unexpected news, about her agreement of your sister's sons and Corlys granddaughters arrangement marriages takes everyone by surprise.

- Well, it's settled... Again. Prince Lucerys of house Velaryon is named heir of drift mark and next lord of tides.

Vaemond can't believe it, he can see his plans drowning in the deep of the sea. He will not let this pass, he starts to talk about how your father broke the laws naming your sister his heir, now doing it again with the future of the Velaryon's house.

- (...) I will not allow it.

- Allow it?

- As I will not allow you to disrespect my father in my presence, Vaemond.

You speak, with your sword in hand, but your uncle takes your forearm and neglects. Your father speaks again

- You're forgetting your place.

- THAT! IS NOT A TRUE VELARYON!

- Leave, you have spoken enough.

Your sister says to Vaemond who's pointing at Jace and Luke. You place yourself in front of them.

- Lucerys is my legitimate grandson, you're no more than a second son of Drift mark.

Vaemond spills his poison around everyone, your uncle is only waiting Vaemond's exact words that will allow him to finish that man.

- Say it.

Daemon murmurs. Vaemond doesn't care anymore about his place or who is he talking to.

- Her sons are... BASTARDS! and she is... A whore.

Everybody whispers, while your father stands up from his place, but in less than a second.

Daemon cuts Vaemond's head.

- He can keep his tongue.

Blood splashes a few people, and a bunch of guard are around your uncle. Your father feels the pain again and Alicent and you run to help him.

- You have to take something for the pain, husband.

- Daemma, your engagement... Your marriage...

- it's okay father, We'll take you to rest, we can discuss that later.

Alicent looks at you in confusion while you decide to act foolish. As if nothing happened, the dinner arrived.

«You don't drink enough» «and you drink more than a Lord of Braavos» «i drink the right amount »

You were talking with Helaena about her children, telling her you bought some presents for them, while she was talking to you about some strange insects she has. You always thought Helaena was a sweet girl, a dreamer as some Targaryen are, too good for a world like this.

Suddenly, your father appears. Tired, but he refused to cancel the dinner with the family, everybody took their seat and you were in the middle in front of your father's chair.

It is an uncomfortable moment, but your father is unaware of it.

- it is an occasion to celebrate... it is a lot to celebrate. My grandsons engagement with their cousins and my Daughter's engagement...

- Congratulations, dear Niece. I hope you have a happy marriage and a happy life ruling the north.

Daemon says loud enough, so everybody can hear it. Alicent looks at her father, both are clearly surprised.

While everybody drinks, more and more toast to everyone's little achievement, you hear Aegon bothering Jace.

- I'm very sure Jace knows how to treat a lady, Brother, there's no need to...

- Or maybe should I explain it to you, sister? After all, you will get married soon, you will need some lessons.

- Keep your tongue when you talk in front of my aunt and my betrothed.

The conversation ends when your father stands up and speaks again, talking about the distance created by all of you. Suddenly everybody wants to talk and make peace, but you feel like it's impossible, everybody has a lot of hate and sorrow inside them, a dinner will not fix what years of secrets and treasons created.

Helaena talks about how Aegon doesn't pay her enough attention or shows affection to her, and while for her there is nothing to worry about, the rest of the family feels sad for her.

- I suppose, in the end, you don't know how to treat a woman either, brother.

You whispered to Aegon. He rolls his eyes and continues drinking. Jace takes Helaena to dance a little while the rest is eating and talking. Your father leaves the dinner before all the mess. Because just as you predicted, when everything looked bright and peaceful, the dinner ended in a mess.

- A final tribute, to my nephews, Jace, Luke and Joffrey, each of them, Handsome, wise and strong...

That was all, the dinner ended in punches and fights, Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged some words in a friendly way after the fight, but the damage was already made.

You were in your dorm, ready to pack your clothes, Dalilah was preparing you a bath once she finished, she helped you to pack some dresses and the left.

You were brushing your hair before getting inside the bathtub when you felt someone behind you, you barely looked at him, was Aegon.

- Don't you knock on the door anymore?

- I used the hidden halls.

- You and Aemond cannot cause trouble, huh?

- It was Aemond, I merely helped him, it was unfair, Two against one.

He walks to you and starts to unbutton your dress, you don't complain about it.

- You said horrible things too.

- If you talk about Jace I was just joking.

- How dare you? talking about how to treat a lady, when you treat Helaena in that way!

You stand up abruptly and walk creating distance between him and you.

- For your information I know how to treat women... When I have affection for them. Helaena doesn't love me, and neither do I, we don't have nothing in common.

- I'm glad Lord Stark is a gentleman who can treat me as I deserve.

You say while you tie your bathrobe and then Aegon makes you face him, holding you by your shoulders.

- What do you mean, Daemma?

- I'll just say he pleases me in more than one way.

That hurts him, your words hurt. You're quiet, observing him, there's something about his face, maybe his chubby chin, or his pink lips, maybe his sad puppy eyes, the dark circles around them, his silver messy hair, something about Aegon makes you strangely weak, you feel that desire coming up to you again, Aegon stares at your lips then to your eyes and once again looks at your lips.

From one moment to another, his lips collide with yours, you hesitate but soon you melt in the kiss, you feel the warmth between your legs while he presses himself on your body, you break the kiss before something else can happen.

- This is not fine, you have to go Aegon.

He kisses you again and you break the kiss again.

- Daemma, please. We both want this. You want me and I want you.

- No, we... I can't! Now leave.

- You know it sister, deep inside you, you know we belong to each other Daemma, you've seen it in dreams just like me, we're destined to burn together.

- Leave, Aegon, just... Leave.

He disappeared in the shadows of the room and For the first time in your entire life you experimented with the desire, the need of touching and being touched, the space between your legs aching and pleading to be filled. You took your bath and dressed up, you wouldn't stay another night. You felt the big wall you built before crumbling with that kiss with those words about dreams, you needed to forget about it, you needed to remember who you were and focus on what you promised years ago.

You left that night on your dragon, flying right back to the north. Without a clue of what would come.

Your poor father, a dreamer, a king who kept the peace while he was sitting on the iron throne, he died the same night you left your home.

That same night, your sister's right to the throne was stolen from her, with that many lords who accepted your sister's claim, died or became prisoners forced to change their loyalty or lose their freedom or... Their heads.

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year ago

Text

Sleepless

a/n absolutely self indulgent because no joke I woke up last night from the most insane nightmare and the first thing I called out to was Simon so here's some fever dream goodness for you. ✨🫴🏼

summary: Simon comfort reader after a nightmare.

warning: nightmares lol

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It was a strange feeling to be the victim of your mind. You could go out there on the battlefield and turn it all off. You could be fearless and deadly. Many shivered when they walked by. You could turn it off. Could pull on a mask and be someone you failed to recognize. But at night, when you were back at the safety of the base and no specific tasks kept you awake, you felt so helpless that you wanted to weep.

Sure, almost everyone had nightmares. Yes, they weren't real. A mix of subconsciously selected images. But there was just something so specific about them. It was so painful, real, and raw that it had you waking up night after night with a rapidly beating heart. Or even worse, covered in sweat as you jolted up with a scream. Those nights were the hardest because you weren't able to find sleep again. Every shadow seemed to be hunting you. Every sound made you flinch as you counted the moments till sunrise.

"Sugar?", your name being called out made you blink a couple of times. Right, shit, a debrief. You quickly scanned the room. All eyes were on you. You needed to come up with something. Something that would land regardless. "We can always just try what most of the team believes is the right...", you started, "What most team believes about barbecue? Right boys, what's your thoughts on grilled sausages?" Price called out, earning a handful of chuckles. A barbecue? Had you been that out of it? This was supposed to be a debrief for the last mission...

"The only flaw was the way we entered. He wants to try to regroup". Ghost's low voice rang from beside you. "Price's wife is celebrating her birthday this weekend and wants us over for a barbecue." You turned your head toward him slightly. His arms were crossed over his chest, his head facing forward towards the team, but because of the mask, it was impossible to see him speaking. "Thank you," you muttered back, running a hand over your face. "You're sick or something?", Ghost asked once again. Maybe you were just imagining him speaking. A man never spoke that much. "Maybe you should go to the medical bay," he suggested, and you shook your head. "Nothing a couple of hours of sleep can't fix," you gave Simon a tight smile as you pulled back from the wall you two had been standing by. Just before you could fully step away from his reach, Ghost swiftly wrapped his palm around your upper arm. "You don't have to tell me, but at least talk to one of the boys. Johnny might...", but you cut him off by placing your hand over his chest, "I'm fine, Ghost, nothing happened." His eyes told you that he didn't believe a word you said but admitting that you struggled to sleep and even more so avoided sleeping because of the nightmares, no... That made you feel too childish.

But Simon wasn't stupid. He had an eye for little things. Little changes. Little energy waves, if you will. And everything about you has been screaming wrong for weeks now. You two weren't together, but he always treated you differently. Not because you were a female. No. Just because you respected his boundaries. Respected his privacy. Ghost still remembered that one night when he was enjoying his two-am tea and you stumbled into the kitchen. A long shirt was the only thing on your body. He had been in a particularly broody mood that night, so even when you asked him a couple of questions, he simply stared at you and said nothing. He was waiting for you to roll your eyes or call him an asshole. But instead, you smiled and started explaining to him how you enjoyed your instant ramen. Without realizing it, Simon found himself smiling beneath his mask. You were babbling about how Price would kill you if he saw the amount of cheese you put in your bowl. "You will not turn me in, right?", you had asked, a handful of shredded cheese in your hand. Simon had simply tilted his head to the side, and you had taken it as a yes, shoving the cheese in your mouth as you giggled.

That side of you had been long gone. Your face has grown slightly ashy. Your eyes were dull. You could barely keep up with a conversation. Yes, you still managed to perform amazingly during missions, but they chipped at the last bits of your strength, and it showed.

If Simon was being honest, he knew what this was about. Your room was next to his on the base, and the walls weren't particularly thick. So it was almost a nightly thing. He just laid there, listening to you whimper. Panting once you were lucky enough to claw yourself out of the nightmare.

He had wanted to come knocking more than once. He almost always found himself with a hand on the doorknob, but he always stopped. Because who was he to comfort someone? He wasn't a big teddy bear. No, Ghost was a man with a past just as brutal and controlling. One that also hunted him from time to time.

Just tonight, it all seemed ten times worse. Simon tried to occupy himself with a handful of paperwork and reports he had to finalize, but your bed was right by the wall where his desk was. Every turn. Every rustle of the sheets. The uneven breathing. Simon gripped his pen tighter. But then, as silent as a wind, a light, "Please," cut through the silence. Simon stared at the wall ahead of him. It was as if the words were engraved on it. Telling himself over and over that he didn't need to get involved. This wasn't his business. He didn't have the right to just walk in. That he...

Ghost pushed back, the chair scraped against the wooden floor. Three long strides, and he was out of his room. Another three to get to your door. It took him a heartbeat to press the door handle down. He wasn't prepared to see your sprawled-out form. The sheets were now mostly laying on the floor. Your scrunched-up face. Hands digging into the mattress. That broke something deep within Simon.

He moved quietly, not wanting to startle you, and just as much, hoping that you would wake up on your own. But your body twisted and turned. The skin growing clammy. It was one of the longest nightmares you had ever had. Not that he was counting, but from the nights he had heard you, this seemed one of the worst. Ghost's mind blanked as he sat on the edge of the bed. What had his mother once said? Shake to wake up, or try to gently pull someone back. No one played nice in the army. You either took it or you ate shit. But still, Simon's cracked and scared hands carefully moved to run up and down your hand.

Another cry slipped past your lips. Simon wished he could kill the person holding you hostage in your sleep. "It's okay," he muttered, trying to remember what comforting someone even felt like. The words felt strange on his lips. "Sug, wake up; it's just a dream," he muttered, pressing slightly deeper into your skin. But it was nothing. Your sweat-soaked face was now covered by stands of hair that had awkwardly stuck all over, but Simon didn't care. He had been in this same place way too many times.

"Y/N," he breathed, moving to clasp your face between his palms, stopping your movement. A breath. One. Two. Your eyes snapped open. A painful inhale pierces your lungs. Hands coming up to grasp Ghost's wrist as your nails dug into his skin. Yet in all of that, it was your frightened eyes that hurt Simon the most. Eyes that now looked so helpless. So desperate. So lost. So in need.

"Simon," you muttered as one wave of panic got overridden by another. "I mean, lieutenant," you muttered, and Ghost couldn't help but roll his eyes, "Seriously? Now of all times, you decide to call me lieutenant." You never addressed him like that. Unless you were pissed off at him and Simon highly doubted, that was the case now.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, brushing your hands through your damp hair. "Did I wake you? Fuck, I'm...", but Simon didn't seem to listen as he leaned over to unlace his boots. Your shivering frame unsettled him. And maybe it was his primal need to protect all women who had ever been in harm's way. Or maybe it was that stupid warm feeling that flared when he was next to you, but when Simon looked at you once again, he simply motioned for you to scoot over.

"What are you..." you muttered in confusion. "You are still shaking, and that looked like one fucked nightmare," Ghost said bluntly as he slowly got comfortable in your bed. You knew that he was a kindhearted person under that cold mask, but this. You were convinced you ground his gears, and now... "You don't fancy lying down?", he asked, almost in a teasing way, making you blink again. You could still feel the aftermath of your dream. Pumping through your veins.

Maybe this was a dream too. Was there a way to fall from one dream to another? But then the same flickering images of the dream you just had came flooding back. One breath . Another. Your hands instantly reached for the man lying not far from you. Were there rules? Things you shouldn't do? You didn't seem to care as you snaked your hands around his neck, pressing yourself closer to him. His warmth seeped through your skin. The rapid heart was now beating against a much steadier chest. "Simon," you muttered. And you knew that he hated it when people called out his name like that. He hated when they dug his identity to the surface, but you needed him. You needed Simon, not Ghost, not your LT.

"Right here, doll," he breathed. "Simon," you muttered once more. His hands had now matched yours; they had just found shelter against your hips. Rubbing slow circles there. "Please," you breathed out. Not sure as to what you were calling out for, but knowing real well that Simon was the realest thing in your universe now. "I've got you, ya? I'm holding you right now. Whoever chased you in your sleep won't get to you now", Ghost said firmly, "I won't let them."

You sighed again on his shoulders, holding him as tightly as you possibly could. "What do you need, Sug?", Simon asked in a much calmer tone now. "Talk to me," you muttered. "Just..."—you almost didn't know how to explain it. Your mind was still holding you hostage. You needed new images. New stories to fill your senses. Draw up new patterns. And Ghost surprisingly didn't miss a beat: "You know Johnny was trying to convince me today that microwaving water is a way of making tea." You lifted your head off Simon's shoulder, leaning back slightly to catch his gaze. "I know; I looked at him the way you are looking at me now," Ghost stated with a huff. "I told him that fuck his war crimes, his soul is going to hell for that alone," Simon added with a shake of his head, and you felt your lips tugging upwards slightly until a light chuckle slipped past them.

"I'm glad you find it funny because I saw it as a disgrace to England itself." His accent thickened, and you could almost hear the smile on his lips as he spoke. You chuckled slightly. "He is a disgrace to this team," you said with a serious look on your face, and Simon was quite the match. "I'll talk to Price in the morning. We'll send him to Neverland." Cackling, you leaned against Simon's chest; his much bigger palms quickly moved to run up and down your back.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked after a moment of silence, but you quickly shook your head. The last thing you needed was to go back. You felt Ghost nodding slightly, "We can talk when you want," his fingers reaching up to comb your hair. "For now, you are safe. I will always keep you safe". The last word came out more like a whisper, but you still caught on to it.

"Simon," you muttered, earning a hum in return,"If you... could you stay?" You were so glad your room was only dimly lit because your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. Ghost let out a slight chuckle. "Does it look to you as if I'm about to go?", he questioned your statement in an almost self-explanatory manner, "Way too comfortable to move now, love." His arms held onto you just a bit tighter, and you didn't skip a beat to do the same. "Thank you," you said softly, knowing that this deserved way more and better words. "Say less; you know I've got you," Simon pressed a tender kiss on your hair, "Now sleep." Reaching to the side, he pulled the blanket over the two of you. "Can you play with my hair?", you said through a yawn. "Already so fucking demanding," Simon chuckled, yet his fingers threaded through your hair straight away.

#simon ghost riley imagine #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #ghost cod #cod x you #cod imagine #cod x reader #cod simon riley #cod simon ghost riley

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kneelingshadowsalome · 7 months ago

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I have the need to ask about something really cliche, but I can't help it. I'm still crying because DOG ended.

May I ask if they will have babies? How Dog König would react if Reader gets pregnant? Would he be proud or happy of having a pup? Does he want a whole pack of puppies?

I'm afraid König will start to hound reader about raising a family with him right after they get married. Poor thing just can't catch a break with this guy :/

A litter of puppies is the ultimate dream for König, some peak fantasy, but he will be happy with just one pup if she decides to act difficult about it. He will pester her about getting off her birth control pills, and gives lengthy monologues about what a great mother she would be. He also whines about how he's too old to produce good sperm if they wait around for too long.

Baby fever König shouldn't be allowed near children because he puts literally everyone into awkward situations (a two meter man with crooked teeth and a broken nose baby talking to a 10-year old can be an off putting sight). One way or another, he will persuade her to reproduce with him, and it isn't even because he wants to have control over how many times they have sex. He actually thinks they should make babies and that he'd be a relatively good father!

What König *actually* likes is the idea of coming home to his family – ever growing, if possible. He already loves this future image of a plump baby being propped on his wife's teat when he comes home, maybe another child clutching at her hem, asking if dad brought any "souvenirs" from his "work trip".

He wants her to feed him homemade lasagna and then sit down at the table and feed their baby too while he eats — König would love to watch a pair of swollen tits being suckled by his very own baby, this beautiful idyll playing out so nicely before him. He would love to see his pretty girl all plush and weary, his perfect wife now in desperate need of a bath and a hug. Reader being a bit too spent and tired to say no to him and his ideas is just what König needs: maybe she's one of those moms who cry at night, wailing that they're too tired to go to their children. This would mean he is needed once again to come to her (and now also the baby's) rescue.

Dog König thinks it's filthily romantic to make love to her with the intention of getting her pregnant, but little does he think about the consequences to her and what this all entails. He promises to do everything right though, and makes a huge deal about the performance itself. Refuses to pull out afterwards, does it only when he absolutely has to and tries to hold her legs and ass up to keep the sperm in, even if she clearly stated that she's not ovulating. When she peeps under him that neither of them are ready to be parents, he shushes her softly, gathers the drooling cum on the tip of his cock, and pushes it back in :(

#dog!könig #stalker!könig #yandere könig

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greenandsorrow · 2 months ago

Text

ΦΙΛΗΔΟΝΙΑ. (i)

HENRY WINTER X SHAPELY!FEM!READER ⏳

☞ Here I am, writing spontaneous filth, a wet fever dream if you will... instead of getting the real work done (my tsh au with an oc). This one is quite suggestive, but I tried to incorporate nice prose in it as well! What if you take what you're about to read as an apology for not making any progress with 'What once was' yet ?? 🥺

☞ I know there are times I say that some smut fics of mine belong in the 'no plot just porn' category, even when it takes many paragraphs to get to the spice. But listen, I write and pace my smut like a female orgasm. (Iykyk☕) I was ovulating when I wrote this and it shows -says the luteal me.

☞ OOC!Henry??, adult themes, kinda slow burn, descriptive, teasing, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public setting, the more you read the hornier it gets, cliché tension-heightening tropes, my first time writing for Henry specifically and for tsh generally

You're a good friend of Richard.

Neither of you was born swimming in money and as a result of your humble upbringings, you both share a sense of wonder at making it into a place like Hamden. However, the main thing that connected you and the brunette Californian when you first met, was your shared desire to become part of the Greek class. Richard wholeheartedly believes that you deserved to be accepted by Julian far more than he did, but the eccentric professor has his own unique -or rather, peculiar- way of thinking and evaluating who is worthy of becoming his pupil and who… simply isn’t.

Unfortunately for you, you didn't manage to enroll in Greek. You didn't quite fit the mold, so to speak. Oh well... French, sketching and sculpting are fine. And Richard makes sure to keep you up to date with his new experiences as part of what essentially is a clique of wealthy twenty-year-olds.

To the untrained eye of a bystander, the brooding umbrella bearer, the ginger fashionista, the blonde twins, and the Edmund guy all appear equally obnoxious and hoity-toity. Still, Richard has given you a retrospective of the Greek class -or at least he tried- because you can't help but poke fun at pretentiousness when you see it.

The first few weeks were relatively calm. You only ever saw the group when they walked out of the Lyceum and you were waiting for Rich. During those moments, you took the chance to observe them more closely, but you were still unsure whether you liked what you saw. Camilla, the only girl in their little clique, would always shoot poisonous glares your way, while Bunny would give you a nod, accompanied by an acknowledging half-smirk.

You first met Francis, by mere luck. You were over at Richard's dorm room when the ginger paid him an unexpected visit -and even though you weren't entirely sure if he was kind out of politeness or sincerity, you liked him. Francis is a nervous man with a great sense of humor and style.

As time bled into the heart of autumn, you started going out with your classmates. There was a cozy little bar hidden in an alley on Vermont where you'd enjoy a couple of drinks, when you didn't have early lessons. While there, you spotted Francis and Charles sharing drinks together. There were some 'scandalous' dating rumors... and you had a feeling they were indeed hooking up. You caught them once on your way back to Hamden. Francis must have noticed you, but the twin was likely quite drunk. You didn't tell a soul and Francis was silently grateful for it.

Weeks turned into months...

And boom! You, Francis and Richard started hanging out around campus. It didn't become a daily occurrence overnight, but when it did, Charles would also join you from time to time. You even started talking to Bunny through your light interactions with his girlfriend, Marion. He definitely stood out from their polished social image, but in a way, he was the necessary ingredient that balanced out their measured and cut off demeanor.

You're not part of the group. If anything, you're even more of an outsider than Richard. The thing with you, though, is that unlike him, you aren't trying to fit in. Bunny is talkative to a fault, so you have no trouble entertaining him. We've already covered Francis. Charles is surprisingly chill and friendly. But despite that, his sister might mirror his appearance, but she certainly doesn't mirror his personality. She seems to tolerate you more than anything.

When Charles casually invited you to their apartment for dinner, her expression had turned so sour that you almost wanted to strangle her.

However, the cherry on top is that mountain of stoicism, Henry Winter. He always seems to be in his own world, his piercing gaze often fixed on something far beyond the crowd. You can't help but notice how he will occasionally glance in your direction, but these moments are fleeting, gone as quickly as they come. There is an intensity in his eyes that makes your heart race, yet he remains an enigma, shrouded in layers of indifference.

While Francis and Charles are engaging and willing to include you in their conversations, Henry's aloofness is what stimulates your curiosity. You sense he is aware of your presence, yet he never acknowledges you, as if you are just a mere afterthought in the grand narrative of his life.

The dinner was a catalyst experience.

As you arrived at the twins' apartment with Richard, Henry's presence loomed large but distant. You felt eyes on you, but it was only Bunny, Charles and Francis who greeted you with cheerful banter, while Henry remained in his corner, a book in hand. His gaze did flicker to your shapely figure, lingering just a moment longer than he intended before he quickly averted his eyes, dismissing you as nothing more than an unimportant distraction.

"Well, well, don't you look like a million bucks tonight!" Bunny called out with a grin, his eyes openly trailing down your curves. "That dress is working overtime, sweetheart. We should get you to wear that to the next charity event!"

Charles chuckled -though there was a slight awkwardness to it- and Francis rolled his eyes. You forced a smile, used to Bunny's crude remarks. Your attention was elsewhere anyway...

Why did Henry refuse to engage, even when you found yourselves under the same roof? He frustrated you as much as he intrigued you.

The atmosphere in the twins' apartment buzzed with lively chatter and the clinking of glasses. As you settled into your seat at the table, you were acutely aware of Henry's presence at the far end. You wore a fitted dress that accentuated your curves, the fabric clinging to your defined figure. You could feel the warmth of the others' gazes, but when it came to him, it was as if a cold, impenetrable wall stood next to you.

As the meal progressed, conversation flowed easily. Bunny dominated most of it, animatedly recounting stories from campus -with Richard often his chosen victim. Occasionally though, Bunny's attention would drift back to you, making some offhand comment about how you should consider a career in modeling. "No reason to hide those killer curves, darling" he'd say with a wink, making Francis groan in exasperation.

Through it all, Henry remained silent, his attention fixed on his plate or the flickering candlelight at the center of the table. Though he said nothing, there was a tightness in his jaw that suggested he was aware of everything -and perhaps disapproved.

You caught glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye -the subtle shift of his gaze when he thought no one was watching, the way his fingers twitched when Bunny's voice grew loud and lewd.

It was maddening. He was magnetic and repelling all at once.

"Henry, what do you think?" Charles asked at some point, finally drawing him into the conversation. For a moment, hope flickered within you that he might engage. But Henry merely shrugged, dismissing the warmth of the moment...

As the evening wore on, you tried to focus on the camaraderie of the others, but you couldn't shake the feeling that Henry was watching you from behind that wall of polite ignorance.

His silence only amplified the tension that crackled between you.

Tension, tension, tension... Or is it your wishful thinking?

Since that dinner, things have warmed between you and the Greek students. You often find yourself in their company -whether it's studying together in the library, thrifting with Richard, going to the opera with Francis and even Camilla, or awkwardly using the coffee machine in the cafeteria with Henry.

Henry has shifted from not acknowledging your existence to silently accepting it. It's a delicate situation and you know better than to push for more. He's far from an average Joe. Initiating small talk with him would feel almost like a personal insult.

Let's focus on today though, shall we?

It's early morning and you're both making coffee in the still empty cafeteria. The small space in front of the coffee maker forces you to stand close, too close. As you reach for a cup, your fingers accidentally graze his much larger ones, sending an electric jolt through you. Henry's hand lingers for one delicious moment before he pulls away, his expression neutral, though you catch the subtle clenching of his jaw.

Is he annoyed... Or did he feel the same tingling sensation you just felt? You apologize quietly and he nods, not saying a word, but the air feels heavier now.

A pause.

You turn to say something -anything!- but he's already walking away, his umbrella and Gucci coat perfectly in place.

It was a mundane thing to happen, really. Boring and normal, unimpressive and simple. Ordinary and meaningless... Something that could happen between absolutely anyone. And yet, you spend the rest of the day replaying it over and over in your pretty head, unable to focus on your classes.

In the blink of an eye and after several cups of mediocre at best coffee, you find yourself waiting for Richard at your usual spot. He emerges with Bunny. Dammit... They appear to be engrossed in conversation. Looks like you're heading back to the dorms on your own...

You sigh.

There's no hurry so you don't leave right away.

The cold evening air bites at your skin as you stand outside the Lyceum, watching as the others come out of it. Francis waves at you and Camilla gives you a brief smile, but neither lingers. And then there's Henry, the last to leave. He steps out into the dim streetlight, his dark coat wrapped tightly around him as he makes his way down the steps.

You hesitate for a moment, debating on saying something or staying silent as always, but frustration gnaws at you and your tongue wins control over your brain.

"Why doesn't he want me there?" you ask, not moving from your spot.

Henry pauses. His eyes -sharp and piercing- meet yours and for a moment you wonder if he's going to ignore you, as he has countless times before. But then he walks over, his steps measured and his expression unreadable.

"You mean Julian" he states in a low voice, but there's an edge to it like he's already thought about this.

You nod, your breath visible in the cold air. "Yes. Everyone else... but not me. Why?"

He regards you for a long moment, his eyes tracing your face... and for the first time you're acutely aware of his smell -expensive cologne and aftershave mixed with tobacco. His presence is imposing, even though his demeanor remains distant.

"Julian is..." he begins, then stops as if searching for the right words. He then looks away, towards the dark street, the silence between you thick. "Particular. He doesn’t take everyone."

The words sting, even though they were spoken with a calm detachment. You cross your arms, not entirely sure if it's to block out the cold or the weight of his indifference.

"That much is obvious. But why not me?"

Henry's jaw clenches, a flicker of something unspoken passing in his dark blue eyes, but his voice remains steady. "You don't need Julian's approval in order to spend time with us."

And then a bit more earnestly "You already know that."

You scoff lightly, taken aback by his response. "You didn't answer my question."

"I did."

His gaze snaps back to yours, something new surfacing behind those cold orbs of his.

You feel like you're standing on the edge of some cliffhanger, but before you can push him any further with your questions, Henry takes another step dangerously close. He looks down at you, taking in the curve of your upper lip, your jawline, the shape of your nose.

"You're not like the others" he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. There's no judgment in his tone, just the acknowledgment of a fact. You blink, taken completely off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"Is that why Julian won't let me in? Because I'm not like all of you?"

Henry doesn't answer immediately. The tension between you feels fragile, like it could shatter at any given moment. Then, in a voice softer than you've ever heard from him, he replies "Maybe it's better this way."

His words hang in the air, loaded with a meaning you can't quite grasp. You search his eyes for something more, some explanation, but before you find anything, Henry steps back, his face closing off once again.

"Goodnight" he says, the tension breaking as he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there confused and more intrigued than ever.

A bottle of cheap wine and late night thinking is your next step.

"When Henry told me that Julian's judgment isn't everything, he revealed a small crack in his otherwise impenetrable loyalty to the professor. He respects Julian and his selective nature, but he doesn't entirely agree with my exclusion.

So Henry has protective instincts... whether he's aware of them or not. He senses that keeping me out may shield me from whatever lies ahead in Julian's world, which he must know isn't as glamorous as it appears...

I am such a philosopher..."

That evening, Henry remained by his car for a good while, watching you as you stood alone in the cold. He couldn't quite explain why your question had unsettled him, why your presence had been bothering him in ways he hadn't anticipated. You unsettled him -not because of what you said, but because of how acutely aware of you he had become.

You frustrated him.

Henry's need for control manifests in how he maintains a physical and emotional distance, even as the tension between you grows. He's hyperaware of how your interactions could escalate if he lets them. That's why he chooses to leave at the end of every single conversation you have. By walking away, Henry reasserts control over the situation, both over himself and you. He's not ready to let his guard down, so he retreats in order to keep the tension simmering rather than boiling over.

It was foolish, he told himself. He had no time for such petty distractions. Still, there was something about you that cracked the surface of his carefully constructed world.

You weren't part of Julian's circle, so you shouldn’t matter. But you did. He hated that you did.

Sexuality and romance... these are things Henry has never cared for. He can analyze them, dissect them from a distance, but the reality is different. He has observed enough to know how they work in theory, yet practice remains foreign to him.

Intimacy is something he has never sought, perhaps because it seems beneath him, too messy and unpredictable. But when standing before you, Henry realized something he hadn't expected... He was curious. Not in the detached, intellectual way he usually is.

A few days pass, but the memory of him looking at you outside the Lyceum is still annoyingly persistent. It's hard not to think about the odd tension between you. You tell yourself it's nothing, but it's not working, not really.

So you decide to head to the library. Not because you expect to see him there, but because your classes are starting to pile up and you need to focus. At least that's what you tell yourself as you step into the quiet, echoing halls. But as you move through the aisles, you spot him.

H. M. Winter

He's seated at a table near the back, away from the other scattered students, his serious expression fixed on a thick book in front of him. The mere sight of him -sharp jawline and tailored coat draped over the back of his chair- sends a jolt of something through you. You hesitate for a moment. You should leave, avoid him. But instead you find yourself walking over, heartbeat quickening, the air between you already charged before you've even said a word.

He doesn't look up immediately when you approach, his eyes still fixed on the book in front of him, his fingers carefully tracing the edge of a page as if he's deliberately keeping his focus there. But then, as you step closer he finally glances up, his gaze moving over your face and then lowering to take in the rest of your body, outfit and all.

Without a word, you pull out the chair across from him, the scrape of wood against the floor cutting through the heavy silence. You take your time, moving slowly. Your body brushes against the edge of the table as you sit, the fabric of your skirt clinging to your curves in a way you know he notices -even if he doesn't allow himself to look.

The scent of old books and cologne in the air adds to the heat building between you. You cross your legs, shifting slightly in your seat while you unpack your bag.

Time goes by.

The quiet hum of the library envelops you both as you sit across from each other, textbooks and notes now scattered on the table. You focus on actually studying for the most part, though you can still feel his bespectacled eyes shift on you from time to time. When you move in your seat, the hem of your skirt rides up slightly, revealing just a hint more thigh. His eyebrow twitches in response before he sharply returns his focus on his book, but not before you catch the encouraging micro expression...

You pretend not to notice, but the warmth crawling up your neck betrays you.

As the minutes tick by, the space starts to feel smaller than it should, the quiet charged with something unsaid.

Without the presence of the others, the air between you feels different -more electric and less restrained. With no one else to see, neither of you has to pretend anymore. Henry's usual detachment falters, his eyes lingering longer than they should, tracing the curve of your leg that has been exposed. This time, instead of shying away, you let the moment stretch.

Alone with him the rules feel different, unspoken boundaries becoming temptations to cross.

You lean forward ever so slightly -the movement causing your blouse to dip just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of cleavage. You pretend to adjust the papers in front of you, but you know exactly what you're doing... The corner of your mouth quirks up in the faintest hint of a smirk when you catch the way his stormy, blue eyes flick down momentarily.

Henry adjusts his glasses, the subtle motion giving him a moment to compose himself. His eyes narrow. His voice is steady, level, as he finally addresses you -but there's clearly an edge to it.

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

His gaze locks onto yours now, no longer avoiding the obvious. It's a challenge spoken softly but laced with a mix of curiosity and frustration. He's intelligent enough to know what's happening, but inexperienced enough that your boldness throws him off balance.

His hand tightens on the spine of the book.

It's a good thing you put on this little lacy bralette in the morning, because it does your assets more than justice. You sit up straighter.

Henry's gaze falls on your generous cleavage again, before it darts back to the forsaken book he's been pretending to read for the past hour. His ears turn a slight red, an indicator of his flustered state. And oh, the way he clears his throat... It tells you everything you need to know.

"I was just wondering if I could see your notes. You know… so I can get a glimpse of what Julian teaches you lot. Or is that Latin? Richard mentioned you're working on a translation or something..."

"Yes… It's Latin."

"Can I see?"

Was that a provocative thing to ask? Maybe.

Indeed, Henry stiffens at your question, the directness of it catching him off guard and you even catch a brief flash of uncertainty behind his gaze.

"I… suppose you can" he mutters after a small pause. He fumbles slightly with the pages in front of him, which seems like an unusual action for him -to fumble. His square-nailed fingers brush over the worn paper of the translation he's been working on, but you can tell his focus isn't on the text. As he slides the notebook toward you, you notice the almost imperceptible tremble of his upper limbs.

"Thanks" you say, offering him a small smile. Then, you lean even closer, supposedly to examine the translation -to expose more cleavage.

...he bites the bait. Henry swallows hard and you don't need to look up to know that his eyes are fixated on your supple bosom. His breath hitches audibly as he sees more of your assets than is appropriate.

After another charged moment, with you still 'reading' from his notebook, Henry straightens up, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the hardness that has formed in his pants becomes impossible to ignore.

He's never felt anything like this before. The sudden arousal surges through him, unwelcome and overwhelming, making his skin prickle under his usually immovable composure. Crossing his legs, he tries in vain to hide the evidence of his arousal. It's a humiliating thing to be so out of control, to feel his body reacting when his mind is frantically trying to impose some order. He disappoints himself by being so... so affected by something as simple as a glimpse of your breasts.

Henry adjusts his glasses once more. His body is betraying him right now, a true traitor, a meek renegade, pulsing with a need he doesn't know how to handle.

You're delighted to see him bite his lower lip, making his internal struggle more tangible to you...

Before...

Before he blurts out... "You're not wearing a bra, are you?"

The question echoes in your ears, blunt and so so uncharacteristic of him, but his eyes are wide and his pupils dilated. You understand that the words must've slipped out before he could catch them. Still, you don't give him an answer.

His normally pale complexion flushes a deep shade of red, the realization of what he just said hitting him like a freight train. His hand tightens even more around the notebook -knuckles white- and he looks like he wishes the ground could swallow him whole.

For a second it seems like he might apologize, but no words come out of his mouth. Instead, he shifts again, the discomfort of his confined erection making him painfully aware of what he assumes are your bare breasts under the fabric of your blouse...

Henry's mind is working without his permission as it tries to decide how your skin must feel against his hands. You've clearly gotten under his skin and he's struggling to maintain the control he's so used to wielding.

He can't help but steal another peek at the dip of your blouse, admiring, longing. He also can't help but imagine running his palms over your unconstrained breasts. The breath he takes does little to calm his racing heart, or the stirring in his expensive dress pants, the ache becoming harder to ignore with every passing second.

His hand moves to close his notebook, as if to signal that this study session is over, but the awkward energy still crackles between you. On top of that, you're not ready to give up, not now that you finally have him wrapped around your finger.

"Are you leaving already?" you ask, something playful in your voice.

Henry hesitates, fingers lingering over the notebook, his usual confidence visibly shaken. He clears his throat, glancing at you and then quickly away, as though torn between staying and the uncomfortable predicament in his slacks.

"I… hadn't planned on it" he murmurs, speaking more to himself than to you. He uncrosses his legs, the icy gaze returning to meet yours, betraying a mixture of reluctance and undeniable attraction. "But maybe I… should."

With a touch of sultry innocence, you turn your attention back to your own book, supposedly accepting his sudden departure -while also positioning your arms so they press your breasts together, accentuating your already tantalizing cleavage. Of course he tenses as he sees what the new position does to your body...

You turn your focus away from Henry to glance around, noting the empty chairs and half-abandoned tables. It looks like most students have left -or are leaving- for dinner. It's just the two of you now, tucked into a secluded corner, as if the quiet solitude of the library is conspiring in your favor.

Time has slipped by unnoticed, a realization for him as much as for you.

The soft glow of the lamps casts long shadows across the rows of books. The library has quieted. The world outside is fading into dusk. The room feels still, almost intimate. The building's ventilation is the only sound left, along with your breathing.

Henry isn't sure if he should feel relieved or more uncomfortable now that it's just you. The absence of others only sharpens the tension, leaving him acutely aware of his body's betrayal. He aches with need, his arousal throbbing painfully against his zipper, each pulse a reminder of how far out of control this has spiraled.

As if on instinct, his hand moves to his lap, fingers brushing against the strained fabric of his pants. His gaze is fixed on your cleavage, drawn to the subtle rise and fall of your chest with each breath.

Your luscious skin has Henry's breath growing shallow, each muscle in his body tensing as if bracing against a storm. His thoughts also betray him -he wants his face there, buried between your soft mounds, suffocated by them, losing himself in you as if he were a Roman indulging in the decadence of an orgy.

His breathing grows even more labored as his eyes fixate on your hands, now massaging your plump assets. This is unfair. Unbearable. Infuriating. Under any other circumstances, he'd be appalled by such lewd behavior. Yet, in all honesty, his frustration is less directed to you and more to himself -for being weak enough to succumb to such a primal, lowly instinct.

Lust.

Lust...

But… is it really so lowly?

Lust for a woman. Lust for a man.

Lust for food. For alcohol.

For a sports car, a tailored suit, an ancestral estate.

Lust for knowledge. For the thrill of experience.

Lust for life.

It has always been about hedonism. The pursuit of satisfaction, the fulfillment of one's desires. Yet Henry had never felt it like this before, not in its pure, unrefined carnality. Even the excitement for Julian's praise pales in comparison to the one he experiences now -with his face contorted in pleasure, as he stares at your coy expression. His chest tightens as his gaze shifts from your cleavage to your face, struck by how utterly radiant you look. He's never truly taken the time to notice it before, let alone appreciate it... The fullness of your cheeks, their youthful glow, their intoxicating freshness, healthy and ripe like apples.

It's a stark contrast to his own face, or even Camilla's, or Richard's. Their cheeks are hollowed from sleepless nights, their skin pale, only flushed when warmed by too much wine. But you... oh, you. The blood flows effortlessly, naturally, deliciously to your face as you meet his gaze with that knowing expression.

He feels more sweat forming on his brow and his hand -oh, damn him- is already moving, rubbing slow, small circles over his aching crotch.

It dawns on him, then.

A revelation as visceral as it is absurd. He's never quite grasped why literature so often wields cannibalism as a metaphor for love, for lust. But now, with his pulse racing, his breath faltering and his thoughts consumed entirely by you, he understands. He wants to devour you. Consume you wholly, utterly, and without remorse.

"You look so... so..." he gasps, his voice strained and trembling with unspent desire. "Play with your... play with your- Oh God!"

You can't help but grin at his unraveling. You've done it. The mighty Henry Winter reduced to a needy mess, his carefully cultivated composure shattered like glass. He's acting like some desperate, hormonal teenager and the power you feel is almost dizzying.

Teasingly, you raise your top just enough to give him a good glimpse of what's going on underneath. His eyes widen, hunger and disbelief etched across his face as he's treated to the sight of your lingerie-clad breasts, the delicate lace doing little to hide your hardened nipples.

A hoarse groan escapes him, while his hand strokes his length -the slacks barely covering anything. Whatever hesitation or awareness of his surroundings he had before has vanished. At this moment, he doesn't care who might see the two of you.

The mix of pleasure and frustration is overwhelming him. His underwear has become far too tight for his engorged member and with a muttered profanity, he unbuckles his belt. In one swift motion, he shoves both his pants and underwear down -just enough to free himself.

His thick, hard cock springs forward then, standing tall and heavy. The sight of it catches even you off guard.

"Henry, what-"

"Shut up!" he growls in a voice that's low and rough, dripping with need. His hand wraps around his hard length, giving himself a few slow, deliberate strokes. "Just sit there and look beautiful while I take care of this."

His eyes aren't their usual icy blue anymore. They're darker -almost molten- and they fixate on your cleavage with an intensity that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

You glance around, a flicker of apprehension sparking within you. The thought of getting caught lingers at the back of your mind, but the darkness outside and the deserted library reassure you. Thank God your table is tucked away in a secluded corner.

With a teasing smile, you lift your top again.

Henry's reaction is immediate. His eyes glaze over, his head tipping back slightly as his mouth falls open in a silent moan. The sight of your perfectly-rounded breasts seems to unravel him entirely. His hand moves faster over his pulsating shaft, the tension in his body building with every passing second.

"Please… please" he rasps, his voice almost breaking.

The desperate plea sends a jolt of heat through you. You press your thighs together -the throbbing between them is growing more and more. You lean forward just a bit, your tone dripping with feigned innocence.

"Please what?" comes your whisper.

His lips part again as he struggles to form words. "Please... touch yourself... Your n- nip-" He can't even finish his sentence, his composure completely shattered as his cock throbs violently in his hand.

"Now, please!" he gasps.

You feel a flicker of shyness at first but decide to indulge him, pinching your nipples gently between your fingers. Henry's gaze is unwavering, his breath hitching as your fingers close around your hard, (color) nipples. The groan that escapes him is loud and unrestrained, his hand now moving furiously over the length of his leaking cock.

When your hands push your breasts together, his expression shifts entirely. He looks hypnotized... Utterly transfixed by the sight. You can tell he's imagining his face there, buried between your mounds and lost in the warmth of you.

His body begins to tense, every muscle coiled tight as his release inches closer.

The moment is abruptly interrupted by the sound of footsteps and you immediately hurry to cover yourself, just as a boy approaches to retrieve a forgotten notebook. Henry's hand also retreats and he straightens in his seat, doing his best to appear somehow worldly. The boy barely glances at either of you before leaving, blissfully unaware of what he nearly walked in on.

Once the intruder is gone, you turn your attention back to Henry. His chest heaves. He's still catching his breath, face still red and damp with sweat. Ebony hair disheveled, round glasses slipping down his nose. With a shaky hand, he pushes them back into place, looking almost... human for once.

In this moment, he's not the calculating and untouchable Henry M. Winter. He's just a man -a flushed, trembling and utterly undone by you man.

"Show them again."

With the intruder now gone, silence blankets the library once again, thick with boiling tension. Still, you don't give him what he wants right away, liking the control you have over him.

"You were saying?" you murmur with a sultry undertone.

Henry's eyes snap back to yours. His hand hasn't stopped and it's picking up speed again, moving with urgency.

"I… I can't-" he breathes, his voice tight.

"Don't hold back." Your words are laced with mischief. "Let me see you, as you see me..."

That's all the encouragement he needs, really.

"You're-" he gasps out "going to-" another gasp escapes his lips "make me... ah- c- come..."

Henry's words are broken and almost incoherent, as he dangerously teeters on the edge. His breathing is ragged, every muscle in him taut with anticipation.

His grip on his erection tightens, his thumb brushing over the swollen tip, smearing pre-cum as his breathing grows more erratic. Oh Lord, he's so so close, his mind utterly consumed by thoughts and images of you -your breasts, the tantalizing curve of your perky nipples...

The weight of your gaze -intent and deliberate- feels like a physical touch and the unique cadence of your voice echoes in his head, soft yet teasing, pulling him closer to the brink.

His movements become frantic, his breath hitching as the coil inside him winds tighter. He's watching you, every detail of your parted lips and flushed skin, your teasing smile as you slowly trail your fingers over the tops of your breasts.

And then he falls apart.

Henry's hand freezes over his manhood as he looks into your eyes, his body trembling with need. "Can I...Can I come on them? Please?"

The raw need in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, igniting the flicker of power within you. You lean forward quite a lot, giving him an even better view of the soft curves he's begging for.

"Are you asking nicely?" Your is voice soft but also dripping with seduction.

Henry's jaw tightens as his restraint slips further away. This is embarrassing, it's debauchery, but he's in too deep to back away now.

"Please" he repeats, his voice breaking, the desperation evident.

His hand resumes its movement, jerking himself harder now, his focus entirely on you and the unspoken permission you haven't yet given.

You glance around quickly, the library as quiet as it's been the whole evening, the shadows growing darker as the last traces of daylight fade completely. A thrill courses through you at the sheer audacity of the situation. Meeting his gaze again, you slowly tug your top down to expose more of yourself -your cleavage a tempting canvas for his impending release.

"Alright, Henry" you purr. "Go ahead."

His head falls back at that, a strangled moan escaping his lips as the tension in his body reaches its peak. His hips jerk forward and his hand works in a frenzy, chasing the release he's been holding back for what feels like hours. His entire body tenses, veins standing out on his forearms and neck as his climax overtakes him.

The first thick, hot streak spills out, landing on your breasts, followed by another... and another. His release is messy -almost overwhelming- each pulse marking your skin in stark contrast to your flushed complexion. The sight alone seems to prolong his orgasm, his strokes slowing only as his body begins to shudder with overstimulation.

For a moment after that, the library is filled with nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing and the soft hum of the lights overhead.

Henry blinks, his gaze dropping to where he's left his mark, his lips parting in something like awe. His glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, his hair tousled and for once, he looks completely undone.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes still locked on you, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. Finally, he manages to adjust his glasses, his voice coming out hoarse and unsteady.

"You're… incredible" he mutters, almost to himself.

You lean back slightly, satisfied and victorious, watching as he shakily adjusts his clothes. The post-climactic haze softens his usual sharp edges.

But then his gaze snaps back to yours, -vulnerable and searching- like he's trying to understand what just happened, or what it means.

You grab a tissue, breaking the tension with a teasing smirk as you clean yourself off. "You're not going to forget this, are you?"

Henry's lips twitch as if he's fighting a smile, but his eyes remain serious.

"No" he says simply, his voice steady despite the faint tremor of his hands. "I don't think I could if I tried."

His answer causes you to chuckle softy. You begin to gather your things, breaking eye contact to avoid lingering too long in the still charged atmosphere. As you stand, you glance back at him, offering a small smile.

"See you around, Henry."

He doesn't respond, only watches you stand and leave, his expression a mix of longing, frustration and something deeper he hasn't fully realized yet.

As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't help but feel a spark of exhilaration. You've rattled him -really rattled him- and something tells you this is far from over.

ΗΔΟΝΟΘΗΡΙΑ. (ii)

Soon.

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