#this is quite long just as a warning to the less interested

[kavlitzlver]

2007 tom and f!reader go to the same school blah blah blah and then they do it in a classroom when the classes are over OR hcs about how they go to the same school both sfw and nsfw thank u

OKAY I LOVE THIS IDEA i can work with this, just hope you like it <33

be quiet.

Tom Kaulitz x Fem!reader

summary: You and Tom go to the same school together and secretly have been friends with benefits for quite some time now, neither of your other band members or anyone else at school knows, but seeing each other in school all the time and not fuck is harder than you both thought….

warnings : rough sex, p in v sex, fingering, oral sex

——————————————————

I feel his hand on my lap, slowly moving towards my inner thigh, his thumb stroking the soft skin of my legs that peeked through the tight black skirt I was wearing. “Tom..” I mumble as i nudge him, he grinned at my widened eyes as i scanned the room for any curious looks from our classmates, scared that someone might notice. It was so weird that no one noticed the looks Tom and I gave each other recently, how we behaved less like best friends but more like a couple, I feel like he didn’t even notice it himself. We’ve been sleeping with each other for a few months now, one day he’s my best friend and we’re goofing around like always, the next his hand is wrapped around my neck while he’s deep inside me. It was confusing.

“Been too long y/n….need you” he whispered into my ear, causing a shiver to run down my spine, those words alone were enough to just take him right here and there, to send me over the edge in the middle of class.

“After school ‘kay?” I take his hand and place it back down on the table, nudging him in the shoulder “We’re in the middle of-“

“Y/n. Might wanna share what you and Tom are talking about? Sounds interesting” the teacher interrupted us, making me flinch away from him, I shook my head and focussed back on the lesson. I saw Bill turning around to us and giving me a silly look, I knew that he knew something was going on, it was Bill, he sensed those things. “After school at my place.” I say to Tom, not even looking at him when I felt his hand back on my thigh, he was so needy, so horny, all the damn time, I cross my legs, automatically making it impossible for him to arouse me, I could hear his sigh as he tried to focus back on the lesson.

—————————————————

Math class was over, I started packing up my stuff and was about to leave the room when I felt a tight grip around my waist. “Wait a sec.” Tom smirked, pulling me back to our seats, “Lets skip Biology hm?” he had that lustful grin on his face, his hands tightened, his tongue playing with his lip ring, I couldn’t say no, not to this look, not to him staring me up and down like that. “Can’t wait till after school..”

“You guys coming?” Bill stopped mid way, looking at us with crossed arms and raised eyebrows, i clear my throat. “Go ahead, we skip” Tom responded in a confident voice, knowing Bill would never skip a class in the last week of school. Bill nodded disappointedly, heading outside the classroom with Georg and Gustav, who looked just as confused.

I watched as Tom walked to the entry of the room, closing the door and locking it after making sure no one had seen us. I was taking off my jacket when I felt his two warm hands on my waist, his fingers digging into my soft skin, pulling me back in a swift motion, he presses me close to him, showing me how hard he is as he started kissing my neck. I was tense, unsure if that was really a good idea, wouldn’t we get in huge trouble when someone catches us?

“Tom I-“ he turns me around in a quick motion, my words being interrupted by a rough kiss, his hands wandered down to my thighs, gripping my legs and lifting me up on one of the tables. “You look so good in that skirt…so fucking good” his raspy whisper send shivers down my spine, he groaned into my neck as he grinder against my core through the soft material of my skirt. I let myself fall into the moment, shaking off every concern I had when I found my way into his jeans, unbuttoning them with the other and taking out the belt through the loops in a rough motion, throwing it somewhere on the floor.

The grin on his face as I started to slowly run my fingers along his length was unbearable, the way his eyes turned so lustful, he was making me insane, I get a hold onto his cock and start moving my hand back and forth, causing his grin to turn into a gasp, his head leaned back.

I take his pants off, letting them pool at his feet when I get off the table and down on my knees, my hands placed on his waist, my tongue liking the tip before I almost swallow him whole, the room now filled with his groans as he grabbed my hair into a ponytail. His moans like music to my ears, a grin formed on my face as I saw the pleasure I caused him. “Fuck…..”

“Get up….need to hurry baby” I shivered when he called me that, he never did before, I do as he said and sat back down on the table, i didn’t even bother taking of my skirt when Toms finger already played with the thin material of my panties, pulling them to the side and entering his middle finger into me in a swift motion, leaving me a moaning mess. He curled his finger just the right way to hit my g spot, his dreads falling into my face as he sucked on the soft skin of my neck, leaving marks just as always.

“Tom we need to hurry…” Moans cut off my speech, he nodded and exited my core, a gasp leaving my mouth as he licked my juices off his finger, positioning himself before my entrance. He entered me roughly, his hands on my waist as he pushed into me hard, not even stopping so I could adjust. “just like that..” he groaned, digging his fingers into my flesh. He quickened his pace even more, mouth open as he moaned in pleasure, his heartbeat racing just as mine as he kissed me roughly, his tongue intertwining with mine. I broke the kiss as i couldn’t contain my whimpers, sensing that i’m close to reaching my peak, “gonna cum..”

“I’m not done.” he grabbed me by my neck with one hand, the other now found a way under my skirt, his thumb circling around my clit when my legs began to tense, a satisfied smirk resting on his face as he witnessed the effect he had on me. My eyes were shut, mouth open as one moan escaped after the other when suddenly we heard someone trying to open the door.

Tom stayed inside me, but slowed down his movements as he continued to move in and out, his hand now roughly placed on my mouth to stop me from moaning. It seemed like whoever wanted to enter was now gone and Tom quickened up his pace again, rubbing my clit with his thumb and buttoning me completely until I was a moaning mess and reached my high. Tom was near the end too when his movements became sloppier and he finally released himself.

“Good girl…so…so good” he mumbled as our foreheads touched, “mhm…” i nod trying to catch my breath. I watched as Tom put his pants back on, handing me a paper towel to clean myself up before he kissed my neck one last time. He brushed my hair behind my back when a grin appeared on his face “hickeys look good on you.” I slapped him on the shoulder, my hand immediately on my neck when I ran to the mirror in the front of the classroom.

“I told you to stop doing that”

He opened the classroom door, completely ignoring my complain, “let’s go…before someone sees us”

——————————————————

Tom and I waited outside the school for the rest, seeing Bill, Georg and Gustav walk out the door, laughing about something.

“You guys wouldn’t believe what Sophie heard in one of the classrooms-“ I looked at Gustav with raised eyebrows, “Two people were having sex in the last lesson!” Georg continued where Gustav started, laughing his ass off just like the rest when Tom gave me a playful look, smirking at me. I faked my reaction, gasping when I kicked Tom in the chest.

“What?! Who would do that?!”

“Someone like Tom would…” Bill winked at his twin, I was right, he definitely knew.

[ruushes]

Would love to hear your Zevran thoughts <3

original and ultimate babygirl 🥺

first impression: so i actually knew he was gay romanceable before starting origins and went in with the intention of gay romancing him pretty much solely bc i thought it was cool you could be gay in a video game. i didn't really know much else about him going into it, so his intro was like, holy shit i'm in love with him 😂😂 and i only liked him more and more as the game went on, I’ll admit I took a lot of his humor and bravado at face value at first and the depth of character that unfolded was unexpected and really cool

impression now: it might seem like i love him a normal and reasonable amount given that i don't draw or post about him that often but that's just bc the more i like something the less and less i talk about it out of embarrassment 😅

favorite moment: so so so hard to choose 😭😭 maybe the dialogue after you kill taliesin if you push him to make the decision of what he'll do next himself:

cautiously testing unfamiliar agency.... the look for validation... 🥺

idea for a story: gestures vaguely at the complete origins novelization and chronicle of whatever weird thing he and ailill have going on that exists perfectly in my mind and materially in unconnected 500-word scraps of dialogue that don't even amount to anything you could call a wip 🤦‍♂️i think the last thing i worked on was a bit about how on the morning after zev's recruited he has another chance to finish the assassination and kind of commits to the idea of staying instead

unpopular opinion: i think understandably and naturally people tend to focus on positives when making fan material (i do it too like 90% of my sketches are cutesy shipping art lol) but i'd also like to see more of him being flawed? like i feel like a big part of the appeal of him as a character is the 'healing from trauma and starting anew' theme, and healing is so difficult and messy and nonlinear, not something that gets resolved by falling in love over the course of like nine months, you know? but i don't really fault people for not exploring that, it's just something i'd be interested to see more of (':

favorite relationship: zevwarden naturally😌 especially in the context of wardens with a similar desire to die, where they can sort of figure out how to want to live again together

favorite headcanon: i've been poking around in the toolset and looking at the differences between the m and f romances and i think there's a case to be made for a reading where there's an element of internalized homophobia and/or trauma impacting how he looks at relationships with men that goes beyond generally preferring women. his gendered dialog with men tends to be more physical than emotional, there are instances where suggestive gendered dialog alludes to violence with m wardens and not f, he makes some skeptical comments abt the idea of being in a relationship with a man. i don't have evidence at hand and i certainly don't think everyone Should think this way or anything, i just find it interesting to think about preferences and how they can be impacted by experience in the context of being bi, and how it could both complicate and enrich an mwarden relationship

[nereidprinc3ss]

drunk in love

in which fem!reader gets extra affectionate with spencer when she's drunk and he's just happy to be there

fluff! warnings/tags: drunk!reader, tooth-rottingly sweet fluff, spencer loves you so bad, short n sweet, that's it a/n: this is for the person who requested spencer taking care of drunk!reader and they're just being really cute and kissy and i lost your request i'm sorry but i hope you see this!! if you guys like this pls let me know, i have spencer helping drunk!r with a bath locked and loaded and its also so cute oh my god i love him goodnight

“Spence,” you say, voice pretty and airy as a song, pressing butterfly-light kisses with soft lips all over the side of his face. 

“What?” he asks fondly, fighting to keep his grip on you secure as you keep trying to fall down and bring him with you. This bar isn’t necessarily a dive, but he’s sure the floor is still sticky and he’s not interested in checking. 

“I really love you so much. I love you so much more than anyone else has ever loved anyone before.” It’s the fourth or fifth time you’ve told him you love him so much in ten minutes, but it doesn’t feel any less wonderful to hear. “Say it back!” you pout, settling against his chest. 

“You didn’t give me time to say it back,” he explains patiently, looking down at you and brushing hair behind your ear. “I love you so much, too, baby.”

Suddenly you’re too flustered and shy to make eye contact. 

“Call me that again.”

Spencer’s brow furrows. His smile flickers wider. 

“What? Baby?” You nod into his chest. He smooths your hair. “I call you baby all the time.”

“Because you love me?”

“Because I love you,” he agrees solemnly. 

You squeak, covering your face with your hands. Not for the first time tonight, he wonders what exactly was in those drinks Penelope kept ordering for you.

“Kiss?”

He gently grabs your wrists. 

“You have to show me that pretty face if you want a kiss.”

Your hands slide down your cheeks and you tilt your head up. Now that your face is on display, pretty and shiny in the low lighting, Spencer ducks down and kisses you sweetly, one hand on the back of your head, the other pulling your wrists down and out of the way. He makes sure to not let it go on for too long. There are still plenty of people around, but more saliently, you are quite drunk. 

“Good?” he asks, brushing a thumb over your cheek as he pulls away.

“Can we kiss forever?”

“We can try,” he muses. 

“I love you,” you say again, plainly. “I wish there was a word stronger than love. I feel like I’ve said love so much it’s lost all its meaning.”

“Keep saying it,” he encourages. “I like hearing it.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whisper. Spencer leans down for you to cup your hand to his ear clandestinely. Sweet vanilla perfume still clings to your warm skin, lingering on your neck, mixing with the smell of fruity cocktails on your breath and making him dizzy. “I think JJ has a crush on you.”

He chuckles, straightening. Grieving the loss of your scent for just a second in the back of his mind—until you’re pressing against him anxiously, and it returns. 

“JJ is married, babe. I don’t think so.”

You pout. 

“No, but I really think she does! It makes me sad!”

Spencer doesn’t believe it for a second, but he knows hard logic and persuasion aren’t really going to do much for you right now. So he loops an arm around your waist and reigns you in. 

“You don’t need to be sad, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter who has a crush on me because I have a crush on you.”

“Just me?” you ask anxiously. 

“Just you. You’re the prettiest girl in the world. I have a huge crush on you.”

He realizes his voice has taken on that saccharine quality that Derek would give him shit for, and it’s probably visible in his eyes as he leans close to you, but he doesn’t care at all. 

You raise your chin, wordlessly asking for another kiss. He delivers. The fabric of his shirt tugs where you grab onto it, attempting to bring him closer even when he draws away from the kiss. Of course he allows it, narrowly avoiding stepping on your toes as you pull him to you like a dog on a leash. 

“Can we go home? I wanna cuddle.”

Oh, yeah. If Derek were present he’d have the most ridiculous, shit-eating grin on his face right now. Luckily he’s not here right now, and even if he were, Spencer would still brush your hair aside and say, absolutely we can go home and cuddle. 

“Of course we can. Do you want to say goodbye to everyone?”

“Mm… can we Irish goodbye?”

He chuckles. 

“I think you should say thank you to Penelope for buying you all of those ridiculous drinks that are making you so nice.”

You make a face. 

“I’m always nice.”

“You’re not always this nice,” he reminds you with a small smile, resting his hands on your waist. You frown. 

“In my head I am.”

He kisses your head. It’s impossible not to. 

“I know. Come on, let’s say bye. I want to go home too.”

“You think I’m not usually nice?”

“Of course I don’t think that. I think you’re so nice.”

“Oh my god, can we get ice cream?” You gasp, already distracted and pulling him along by the hand as you weave through the sparse crowd. 

He smiles to himself, happy to follow your lead as long as you don’t let go. 

“We can definitely get ice cream. We can do whatever you want.”

[selineram3421]

здраствуйте можно сделать реакцию на ревность аластора

Translated:

Hi, can I get a reaction to Alastor's jealousy?

Yes.

Jealousy Headcanon 1

Alastor X Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ platonic to romantic, violence, all caps in bold italics = SOUND EFFECTS, implied torture/murder, gore? eyeballs, possessive? Alastor wants all of your attention ⚠

Alastor has never felt jealous! How absurd of you to think that! Hahaha! Ha... Who is that demon taking up your attention?

He always had your attention.

You could be talking to the Princess but still focus on him.

Hell, you could be checking in a guest and still keep up with his tale of the day.

But now it was quite odd.

There was a demon coming by the hotel, not to see if they were interested in the cause but to use up his friend's precious time.

Even now the beastly thing walked up to the check in counter and started up a conversation with you.

He watched from the bar.

"Hey! I see its dead as ever in here.", the dragon demon grinned as they leaned on the counter.

"Not true~", you had replied. "I checked in four new guests!"

Yes, you had a knack of persuasion. Able to convince many to do almost anything. Sometimes even him.

"Oh yeah? How many sinners walked in?", the scaled creature leaned close.

Far too close for his liking.

"I just told you how many.", you replied and placed a finger on the dragon's snout, pushing them back as well. "Personal space."

He didn't like this demon.

Everything about them set something off. Their manners, their way of speaking, the way they move-

"Oh come on, I don't bite sugar cake~", the beast took your hand and kissed their way up to your elbow.

The way they t̵̬̥̻͂̿̈́ȏ̴̒͠u̸c̷̈́̊̆́̓͘h̷e̴̖̖͒̓͂͋̎ḑ̴̣̋͜ you.

"Nope!", you yanked your arm away and held it close. "None of that.", you laughed nervously with an uncomfortable smile.

It looked wrong. Your smile should be a happy one.

"I said I don't bite!", they laughed and tried to grab at your arm again. "You know I'm messing! When's your break?", they leaned over the counter, still trying to get at something to pull you closer. "I know a good bar to go to, or we can go to the club! I'd like to see your ass in something a little less-"

"Ew, no.", you rejected and backed away.

"Come on!", they started to climb on the counter. "Its just one time! I'll even help you get in and out of your clothes.", they grabbed onto your sleeve.

That's ENOUGH!

He quickly shadow traveled and snatched the wrist of the dragon.

"I believe they said no."

The beast growled with a sneer before looking at him, freezing up once realizing who had their wrist.

"I was just joking man. Haha..", the dragon looked between him and you. "I understand! I'll back away. The slut is yours."

"Excuse me!?", you said angrily.

His antlers grew, the low static that hummed now raising up in volume.

"₵₳ⱤɆ ₮Ø ⱤɆ₱Ɇ₳₮ ₮Ⱨ₳₮?"

"The slut-"

SNAP

He held the demon's snout shut as they screamed and cried over their broken wrist.

"Now, there is a no killing rule in the hotel.", he said and then grinned menacingly. "But that doesn't apply outside."

His smile widened after seeing the panic in their eyes.

"Dear.", he turned to face you. "Has this guest overstayed their welcome?"

You stared at the beast with such a terrifyingly hateful glare.

"Yes they have.", you replied, crossing your arms. "I'd like to keep a souvenir, for memories."

And then you gave him that lovely smile.

"Alastor, do you think you could get me a dragon eye or two? I hear they make nice details to things."

"I'll make sure to get them.", he released the demon, only for his tendrils to take hold of them. "I won't be long.", he reassured, lifting up your hand to kiss the back of it.

He saw you blush before he 'escorted' the demon outside.

After finishing up (and calling Niffty to clean up), he returned with two freshly picked dragon eyes.

You thanked him with an odd little gleam in your eyes. No doubt your mind jumping idea to idea of what you could create with them.

Now with the pest gone, he would have your attention again.

Just like he wanted

"Thank you Alastor. I'll be able to make something interesting with these."

"I can't wait to see what you make this time."

Perhaps he'll ask you that question sooner than later.

Of course he has to prepare everything to properly court you.

I am using a website to translate requests. Please let me know if I have translated anything wrong.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@willowaudreykeyes @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @lbcreations-blog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[mggslover]

Stuck

In which reader finds herself stuck in an elevator with her colleagues.

Pairing: Hotch x Reid x Morgan x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: fingering, oral (f and m receiving), face riding, p in v sex, overstimulation, masturbation, breast play Word count: 5,4k A/n: I'm ovulating, so you know what time it is 🤭 I'm really nervous to post this, so I hope you will enjoy!

“Oh, you guys are such babies!” You laugh as Spencer and Derek refuse to step into the elevator, explaining how they’ve been stuck in one before. 

“It’s not funny, Y/N,” Spencer chimes in. “There are six elevator deaths per year. Not to mention ten thousand injuries that require hospitalization.”   

You roll your eyes at his comment, just as Hotch walks toward the elevator. “See!” You exclaim. “Hotch is joining us, and he saved you last time. We’ll be fine.” You add cheerfully.

“You’re coming?” Hotch asks, holding the elevator door open. You nod, pulling Morgan and Reid with you by their arms. 

You chuckle at their nervous reflections in the mirror as the elevator starts moving. A sudden creak causes Derek to snap his head towards you. “It made the same sound the last time!” You were just about to shut Derek up as the elevator shakes and the lights start flickering. 

“Not again!” Spencer whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to fall to his death at any given moment.

Hotch inspects the tight space, his expression grim. “It seems like the electricity went out…” 

“Actually, there are a lot of reasons why an elevator might stop,” Spencer interjects. “It could be worn-out suspension ropes, and it actually happens quite regularly that the motor overheats the safety sensors of the-“ 

“Let’s just solve this problem, shall we?” You cut him off, nudging Morgan out of the way to hit the red button on the panel. 

“You think that’ll do something?” Morgan asks, brow lifted. 

“It will alert someone that we’re stuck. We have to wait until somebody comes and gets us out of here.” Hotch adds. 

“Well at least I’ll be missing my meeting with Strauss,” I sigh in relief. 

“It was at twelve, right?” Spencer asks. 

“Yeah,” you respond with a nod.

“Statistically the average wait time to be rescued from an elevator is less than an hour,” Spencer continues, checking his watch. “That means you could still make it in time.” 

“Now that’s just what I wanted to hear,” you say sarcastically, earning a grin from Morgan. 

“We can only hope we won’t be in here for that long,” Hotch mutters, his impatience visible as he leans uncomfortably against the elevator doors. 

“Okay… so now what? Want to go over a case to pass the time?” 

“No, no cases please,” Morgan groans. “We’ve had three in a row. I’m done.” 

“Morgan is right. We’ve done enough cases in the past few days.” Hotch agrees. 

You mutter an “alright” as you sit down with your back against the elevator wall, smoothing out the crinkles in your skirt. The others look at you with uncertainty. Eventually Reid decides to sit next to you, exchanging a soft smile. Morgan follows suit, sitting in front of you. Hotch remains standing. You leave him be and turn to Spencer. 

“So Reid, I’m sure you’ve got enough interesting facts to pass the time.” 

Spencer looks surprised by the request, not used to directly being asked to share his facts, but his eyes quickly brighten, eager to share. “Well, actually, there are a lot of interesting things to say about elevators. There are approximately 20 million elevators worldwide,” you chuckle at his obvious enthusiasm. “The first elevator was created in 236 B.C. by Archimedes, a Greek mathematician. He used a water wheel and tied animals together with rope to create a lift mechanism.” You hum in interest. “They used lifts in the Colosseum, right?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” he responds excitedly. “The system was powered by eight men who would turn this massive wooden shaft connected to ropes. It could hold more than 600 pounds!” 

“Oh come on,” Derek says, his hand falling to his knee. “You’re telling me you’re actually interested in the mechanics of ancient elevators?”. 

Hotch glances at Morgan, silently agreeing with Derek’s skepticism. 

“Derek Morgan…” you feign offense, placing a hand on your chest. “Don’t act like I’m not curious about knowledge. At least Spence’s got something interesting to say.” 

Spencer blushes faintly, appreciating your defense. 

“Hey, I know facts too,” Morgan says smugly. “How about there being 7000 languages in the world today.” 

“The overall number is actually closer to 8000,” Spencer corrects him. “You only counted verbal communication.” 

“You guys are going to have a facts competition now?” You ask, bewildered. “It’s way too hot in here. I need some light conversation.”

“I agree,” Hotch mutters. “It is getting a little warm.”

You glance up at the AC in the corner of the elevator, which is clearly not working. It probably shut down along with the power. There’s a brief silence before Reid speaks up again. 

“I never thought I’d be trapped in an elevator with my colleagues,” he muses. “It’s a little cliché.”

“Cliche, how?” Hotch asks, intrigued despite himself. 

“You know how, in movies, a group of people get stuck in an elevator and they have to learn to overcome their differences to escape?” 

You shake your head in confusion, “I think I only know the dirty movies where they get stuck in an elevator,” you laugh. 

Spencer blinks at you, clearly thrown off. Derek chuckles at the scene, and even Hotch manages a faint smile. 

“I should’ve known you’ve only watched the dirty ones,” Derek teases. 

“What about you, pretty boy?  Ever seen a dirty movie?” He asks Spencer, grinning. 

Reid looks flustered. “I grew up in Vegas… I’ve seen some things.” 

“Ah, Vegas,” you say, sighing dreamily. “The place where you can’t drive for a minute without seeing a giant porn billboard.”

Morgan grins, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Sounds like my kind of place.” 

You laugh and kick his leg playfully. Morgan winks at you, enjoying the lighthearted banter. You glance up at Hotch, who is still the only one standing. 

“What about you, Hotch? What’s your favorite dirty movie?” You ask with a mischievous grin, but your expression quickly drops when you see his stern look. 

“Watch it, Y/L/N.” Hotch warns.

“Come on, Hotch,” Derek says. “Let loose a little!”

“See it as the universe’s sign.” I press on. 

“How is being stuck in here a sign of the universe?” Hotch asks, brows raised.

“Well, no way would you willingly take a break yourself. Now the universe got you stuck in here and is forcing you to relax,” you explain, with a playful gleam in your eyes. 

To everyone’s surprise, he slowly lowers himself to the floor, sitting down next to you. 

You exchange surprised looks with Derek and Spencer. All amazed at how you managed to get Hotch to sit down.

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, scared to say something that will make Hotch change his mind. You’re glad he joined you, but it’s hard to ignore the rising temperature now that another person is sitting in close proximity to you. 

“How long has it been?” you ask, fanning yourself with your blazer. “I’m starting to sweat.”

“Thirty-five minutes so far,” Derek replies, following your lead and fanning himself. 

Hotch looks mildly uncomfortable, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Spencer, however, looks the most miserable using the collar of his sweater vest to wipe his face. 

“You guys should take your jackets off,” you suggest, eyeing Morgan and Hotch. 

You don’t need to tell Derek twice, as he removes his jacket, revealing a black short sleeved shirt that looks a lot more comfortable. Hotch looks reluctant to do the same, but eventually gives in, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. You take a peak as he reveals his broad, muscled shoulders for a moment, before readjusting his shirt. Hotch notices your glance and his eyes shoot up to yours, catching you in the moment as your cheeks flush. You quickly look away. 

“Oh, she’s enjoying the view, alright,” Derek smirks and you give him a warning glance.

“Shut up. I was just surprised Hotch would give in.” 

Morgan grins and nudges Hotch with his elbow, “Look at that, Hotch. You’re surprising us all today. First you smile and now you’re taking your jacket off. What’s next, dancing a jig?” You and Spencer snort at his comment. Hotch rolls his eyes at Morgan’s teasing but can’t help a small smile from appearing on his lips. 

Spencer struggles with his vest and you give him a hand. “Here, let me help you”, you say as you scoot closer, pulling the vest over his head. The fabric feels soft, but incredibly warm in your hands. You don’t know how he managed to keep it on for this long. Reid is taken aback for a moment, but mutters a soft thanks. Morgan and Hotch watch the exchange with interest, clearly amused at the sight of you being so forward with Reid.

“Now it’s your turn, you’re the one who insisted,” Morgan states, and you can’t help but agree as you take your blazer off, giving a satisfied hum at the immediate relief.

“I’ll open up some buttons too, if you don’t mind,” you announce as your fingers start working on your blouse. You don’t give them a chance to respond, since it seems only fair. Their eyes widen at your gesture, all of them staring at the sight of your blouse slightly opening up. Morgan lets out a low whistle, “Now that’s a nice view.”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff as you stop unbuttoning, showing just a hint of your lacy bra. Morgan’s eyes linger on the sight, clearly enjoying the view. Hotch and Reid look like they’re struggling to keep their cool. Reid is the most flustered of all, turning bright red as he focuses on his hands. Morgan glances around at the others, seeing them struggle to keep themselves composed. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, enjoying the effect you’re having on them. “You know, you’re driving all of us a little crazy here, sweetheart.” 

You let out a small huff, “Give me a break. You’re wearing shortsleeves, I’m the one wearing a blouse.” 

Hotch speaks up, his gaze lingering on your blouse. “That blouse does seem a bit warm.” 

“Thank you!” You say, glad someone is on your side. 

Hotch eyes stay focused on you though, or specifically the bit of exposed collarbone and the lace that’s hugged around the swell of your breast. Your breathing heaves when you find Spencer taking occasional peaks as well, watching with a mixture of awe and embarrassment, finding difficulty in looking away. 

“Let’s just all take our shirts off, I want it to be fair”, you quickly exclaim, done with the heavy tension that’s driving you crazy. Hotch and Morgan exchange amused glances as Spencer eyes turn big, taking in your proposal. 

“All our shirts, are you sure about that?” Derek asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Then at least you won’t eye me like that.” 

“Oh, I think I’ll eye you only more.” Derek teases, licking his lips. 

“Just take your damn shirt off.” 

Derek chuckles and raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright. No need to get feisty.” He says as he lifts his shirt off in a smooth motion. It’s a known fact that Derek is jacked, but seeing him in a setting like this, abs glistening with sweat and pupils still dilated from looking at you, is on a whole ‘nother level. 

You’re glad the attention is taken away from your peering eyes as Hotch follows suit, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a clearly defined muscular chest with just a hint of hair. You start doubting your suggestion as it feels like the room is only growing hotter. You look over at Spencer, seeing whether he’ll be the next. Spencer hesitates for a moment, his eyes darting between the other’s bare chests and your unbuttoned blouse. His chest heaving with his breath, suggesting that he’s more affected than he’s letting on. 

“Come on, pretty boy. Join the party.” Derek says.

“I’ll go first,” you assure Spencer, not wanting him to suffer under peer pressure. Your hands start working on the buttons. Spencer’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him.

“See, it’s not that hard,” you reassure Spencer, folding your blouse and placing it next to you. 

“I don’t know about that. You’re making things pretty hard, baby girl.” Morgan comments, making you laugh. 

“You’re way too dirty for your own good.” 

Morgan grins. “Can you blame me? I mean, look at you. You’re looking mighty tempting right now.”

You softly smile at the compliment and focus back on Spencer. “You’ll feel a lot cooler, I promise,” you encourage. 

“I don’t know. I’m not as… toned as the others.” It hurts you to hear how he’s comparing himself to his colleagues. 

“Do you truly think I care about that?” You ask him. “It’s not a competition. I just want you to feel comfortable,” you speak genuinely. Spencer looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of mockery or deception. When he finds none, his face softens and he nods. He lifts his shirt over his head, revealing a body no less impressive than the others. 

“Not too bad, pretty boy. You’re looking pretty good without that vest on.” Derek compliments. 

“You do,” You agree, as you fold his shirt and place it on top of my blouse. Spencer gives you a sheepish smile, grateful for your help. Glad he decided to take his shirt off as he felt the cool air hit his chest, “Yeah, that does feel better.” 

You look around the room, the scene for sure one to be put down in the history books of the BAU. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve entered a new step in our colleague bonding,” you awkwardly chuckle, trying to lighten the mood but the air feels charged with an unspoken tension that’s impossible to ignore. You can feel their eyes on you, the way they linger, the weight of their gazes following your every movement. You try to ignore it, to stay professional, but your body betrays you. You shift slightly, adjusting your skirt, and that’s when you feel it - the subtle brush of Hotch’s fingers caressing your arm.

You swallow hard as you look away. The air around you is suddenly too tight. You want to curse your body as your nipples harden under his steady gaze, there being no way to blame it on the cold. Derek notices the exchange and leans in, the heat between you two palpable. 

His voice is low and husky, “You're all worked up, sweetheart. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” 

Your pulse quickens, the sound of your heartbeat almost drowning out his words. “I’m not the only one,” you counter, voice quieter, but the challenge in it is unmistakable. You feel Spencer shift next to you, his body tense as he feels like he’s been caught staring at your chest. “Don’t be shy, genius,” Derek teases. “We’re all thinking the same thing right now.” You can’t help but smile at Spencer’s flustered look. “It’s… It’s hard not to, when you-” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as his eyes dart away from your breasts. 

Hotch is still standing by the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the dynamic play out. “We’ve been stuck in here long enough. I think it’s safe to say we all want and feel the same thing.” The air thickens with desire as he dares to say the thought that’s been occupying everyone’s mind. You glance at the others, seeing how Spencer is adjusting himself in his pants and the way Derek is watching you, his gaze so intense it almost feels like he’s touching you. 

“Guess it’s only fair if we all just… give in to it,” you murmur, your eyes flicking between them. The suggestion is there, unspoken but understood. 

From there on everything feels like a blur. You hear Hotch growl behind you as he wraps his bicep around your neck, pulling you in as his lips crash against yours. You whimper against his mouth, which gives him the opportunity to let his tongue slide in. You welcome his tongue with yours as your hand moves to squeeze the arm around your neck, making full use of the circumstances to feel up on his muscles. 

“You’re always driving me crazy when wearing this skirt,” Hotch groans in your ear as his teeth pull on your earlobe. You can find no other way to respond than let out a high pitched sound of enjoyment as his free hand kneads your ass through your pencil skirt. Spencer watches the scene unfold in front of him. How his boss roughly grabs and kisses you, manhandling you. 

 “I- I don’t know about this…” Spencer stammers. 

Morgan turns to him, breaking the intense gaze he had on you and Hotch. “Don’t worry Reid, she’s enjoying it.” 

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, uncertainty in his voice as Hotch is pulling on your hair, giving him access to plant kisses and bites on your neck. 

Morgan grins, “Let me show you how sure I am,” he says as he steps towards you and Hotch. He rolls your skirt up to your stomach and lets his fingers slide over your panties, cursing when it easily slips between your folds, creating a wet sound. You moan at the friction, not in the state to feel embarrassed by how wet you are. 

“See Reid, she loves it,” Derek points out, licking his lips as he pulls your damp panties to the side. Spencer lets out a groan as Derek reveals your glistening pussy, his hand subconsciously squeezing the bulge in his pants for any form of release.

“Let me see,” Hotch insists, removing his lips from your neck. Derek slides a finger through your folds and proudly displays the stickiness to Hotch. 

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?,” Hotch whispers, his nose pressed against the side of your face. “Just been begging to get in a situation like this so we could all fuck you the way you deserve.” You whimper at his dirty words and hot breath on your skin. Your legs feel like jelly as he grinds himself against your ass. Derek continues to apply pressure with his hand as he lets his fingers rub up and down your lips and clit. 

Spencer’s eyes are burning holes in your chest. He just can’t understand how no one has touched your lovely tits, while they’ve been teasing him the entire time. 

“You can come here Spence,” you purr, hypnotizing him to walk towards you. He swallows as he’s close enough to touch you, close enough to hear all the little sounds you’re making as you’re being touched all over. 

“Can I-?” You don’t let Spencer finish his question as you quickly nod, throwing your head back as his finger grazes over your nipple, sending a direct spark of pleasure to your clit. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers mostly to himself in awe as he cups your breast, the shape fitting perfectly in his large hand. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. It’s ironic how his sweet compliment is the thing that's making you shy.

Derek slips a finger inside of you with ease, and you bite your lip to hold back your mewls. “Don’t do that. I like the way you sound.” Spencer encourages, resulting in another moan from you, loving the effect his words have on you. 

Hotch unclasps your bra from behind and Spencer helps him by pulling your straps down, letting your breasts fall free. Hotch grabs your left breast, kneading it with his strong, calloused hands as he rolls your nipple in between his fingers. Spencer uses the momentary distraction to bend down and experimentally licks your nipple, humming at the sensation. He gives a couple more licks to your breast as he pulls your nipple in between his lips, sucking on it as he flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud. 

You feel overwhelmed by the way all of your erogenous zones are stimulated at once; Hotch licking and biting on your neck and ear, while massaging your breast and grinding his hardness against your ass. Spencer’s swollen lips and wet tongue tracing over your nipple as Derek caresses your thighs as he adds a second finger into your pussy. You realize that this is what pleasure is supposed to be like. The zones on your body are all connected and you haven’t experienced true bliss until those spots get triggered at the same time. 

“Morgan, is she ready?” Hotch asks, breathing heavily. 

“More than ready, sir,” Derek grins as he takes a step back. He lets his fingers slide out of you, making you whimper at the loss of contact, but then Hotch turns you around so that your chest is pressed up against the elevator doors where he was standing. 

“I need you for myself,” he groans. Derek tosses a condom from his jeans and Hotch catches it, ripping the package with his teeth while pulling his trousers down to his knees, not wanting to let a single moment go to waste. Your hands are pressed against the wall as he slowly enters you. 

“Oh my god… I feel so full,” you whine and you swear you could feel him grin as you register that he’s not even fully inside of you. You let out a long breath as you feel his balls make contact with your ass. 

“You’re doing okay there, princess?” Derek chuckles and you nod. Hotch slowly moves his length out of you as he slams his hips back in with a groan. You gasp as you wrap your hand around the back of his head, keeping yourself steady as he continues thrusting into you. His growls feel hot against your neck. His sweaty chest pressed up against your back, leaving you completely in his grasp.

“You feel that angel? How your pussy swallows my cock?” You let out a cry as you nod your head in agreement. 

“I don’t understand Y/N. You’re a big girl, use your words.” 

“Oh god…’’ Your head spins as he pounds into you. “I’m not going to tell you again Y/N, use your words.” He orders. 

“Yes!’’ you cry out. ‘’God yes Aaron, it feels so good. I can feel you so deep inside of me.” 

“Say my name again.” He moans as his hand trails down your stomach until it reaches your swollen bud. “Aaron, please… I’m so, so close.” He gives some quick taps to your clit, making you squirm in pleasure as your knees give out. His strong hands grip you by the waist and he hoists you back up on his dick. “I’m almost there honey, you can keep it up, be good for me.” 

You let out a string of whines as he uses the palm of his hand to swiftly move against your folds, indirectly bringing pleasure to your clit. You can’t take it any more, pressing your nails into his arms as you crouch down in front of him, shaking as your release hits you. Hotch groans loudly as his dick slips out of your pussy. His dick twitches as he takes off the condom, painting your back with hot spurts of cum.

You have your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath as you’re still riding down your orgasm. You hum as you feel the soft material of Spencer’s sweater vest against your back, cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, kneeled in front of you. You nod your head and softly smile at his tenderness. 

“Yeah. I feel really, really good.” You answer, making Spencer return your smile. With him in front of you, you notice the visible outline of his bulge pressed against his thigh and reach out to touch it. Your fingers lightly brush over his length, causing him to shudder. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask sensually, looking in his eyes. 

“Not really,” he responds, taking you by surprise. He sees your expression and quickly corrects himself. “It’s not like I don’t want you to! I’d- I’d love you to do…”, he’s not actually sure what you planned on doing to him. “Whatever you would do. I just-,” his voice softens, meeting your gaze. “I really need to know what you taste like.” 

Your cheeks warm, feeling your arousal grow. “Okay,” you exhale. Spencer extends his hand, helping you up. You find your blazer and bundle it up for Spencer to lay his head on. You’re amazed at how willing he is to get down on the floor, ready to eat you out in a very nontraditional and arguable unsanitized way. You hover over his face as you get down on your knees, letting out a hum as his breath tingles your pussy. Spencer kneads your calves and runs his hands up the back of your thighs. He tilts his head up, placing a wet kiss on your inner thigh.

“Feels good,” you mumble. Spencer responds with a hum against your skin, the vibration causing you to moan. He grabs your thighs, slowly pulling them further apart. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he admits, sticking out his tongue and licking a stripe up your folds. You moan, arching your back. Through hooded eyes you spot the figure of Hotch. He’s sitting against the wall in front of you, lazily stroking his half hard length as he stares at you. 

Just when you were about to question where Morgan was, you catch him in your periphery. He holds your gaze as he approaches, coming to a stop right in front of you. His belt buckle hangs open, but it doesn’t look like he’s touched himself. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to take up on that offer genius here denied.” You grin at him, hands reaching out to his belt. Spencer is keeping himself busy, licking and sucking up your juices. You pull Derek’s pants down, gasping as his dick springs free, slapping against his happy trail. You groan in delight as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He tilts his head back at the contact. “Fuck baby, your hands feel so warm and soft.” You lean forward and let some of your spit dribble down on his dick, making him hiss. You move your thumb in circles over his tip, mixing your saliva with his precum. When it feels like it’s wet enough, you move your hand up and down his length in a steady motion.

His tip grows red and you cannot resist licking your lips before putting your mouth on him. He feels heavy in your mouth as you take him in deeper, stimulating him with your tongue as you suck. His hands tangle in your hair, holding you as he moves in sync with your movements. 

Spencer moves a hand up the curve of your ass while he uses the other to unbuckle his belt. He slides his hand in his pants, rubbing himself over his boxers as he relishes in your taste. His lips nibble on your labia as his nose tickles against your clit. 

“Don’t get distracted, baby girl,” Derek states, softly pushing your head back down. You swallow around him and try to up your pace. Derek takes your breast in his hand, massaging it. As your nipples harden he takes one in between his fingers, pulling on it. You gasp at the sensation, making his dick slide deeper down your throat. 

“Fuck! Right there baby, that feels so good,” he pants. You blink away tears, continuing the steady movement of your head and swirls of your tongue. 

Spencer’s dick starts feeling too hot in his boxers and he pulls it out, so that it lays against his stomach. Your pussy is absolutely dripping because of the swipes of Spencer’s tongue and the taste of Derek in your mouth. Spencer can’t keep up with licking you clean, your wetness dripping down his chin. He reaches out to grab his length, the skin to skin contact overstimulating him. 

You notice Spencer getting restless underneath you. Derek’s dick pops out of your mouth. “Are you okay, Spence?” You ask. He hums against your clit in response, you let out a high pitched moan and instinctively bend your knees. “Sorry,” you apologize as you want to tilt your hips back up, but Spencer pulls you back down by your thighs, making you sit on his face.

“Oh god…” You moan as he starts devouring you. He keeps a hand firm on your ass as he starts jerking himself off to the beautiful sounds that you’re making. You lazily tug on Derek’s cock, too distracted by Spencer’s tongue. 

“Oh Spencer, I’m going to cum,” you whimper, mouth open and brows furrowed in pleasure. You start grinding yourself on his tongue, seeking your release. You find the perfect spot and Spencer presses the tip of his tongue against your clit, as you fall undone. Spencer laps up your juices and squeezes the load out of his dick as it splatters on his belly. You lift your hips to give Spencer some space. He moves away, joining you on his knees as he sits behind you, pressing featherlight kisses to your back. 

“I’m not gonna last that much longer,” Derek announces, who’s been stroking himself to your orgasm. “Come here, then,” you invite as you take him back in your mouth. Placing a hand on his thigh for support, you use all of the energy that is left in you to suck him off. Your free hand reaches out to play with his balls, which seems to be the trigger for him.

“Fuck, Y/N, baby, I’m going to cum!” He groans deeply as he fills your mouth. You quickly swallow his load, eyes watering as he pulls you in by your head, needing your lips on him as he rides out the aftershocks. 

“Fuck… You’re amazing, sweetheart.” He sighs, letting go of your hair so that you can catch your breath. 

-

“Who the hell is in there?” 

The voice outside is sharp and gruff. Everyone’s heads whip around, startled. Hotch swiftly buckles his belt as he strides towards the elevator doors.

“This is SSA Aaron Hotchner of the BAU. I’m stuck here with three of my agents.” 

The voice responds quickly, dripping with disbelief. "Why didn’t you morons use the emergency button?"

Your colleagues look at each other, then shift their gaze to you, all with accusing looks plastered on their faces.

"Hey, don’t look at me! I’m the first one that pressed the red button!" You say in defense. 

The voice outside huffs in frustration. "Red? It's a black button."

You blink in surprise, your gaze snapping to the panel. You crawl up to get a better look, and sure enough, there's a black button, boldly labeled ‘EMERGENCY.’

"What in the world?" you mutter under your breath. "Then what the hell is the red button for?!"

The voice outside laughs sarcastically. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I’ve been working here for six months. Don’t blame me because you can’t read." He pauses, clearly shaking his head. "FBI agents, my ass."

You blink in disbelief. You share an incredulous glance with Derek, then burst out laughing, your frustration giving way to amusement. "Seriously?" you mutter, shaking your head. 

Derek notices how Spencer’s been unusually quiet. “Speak up, kid,” he urged. 

“I’ve known what the buttons do the entire time,” he says, voice casual.

You and Hotch both turn to look at him, eyes wide. “What?!” You both exclaim at the same time. 

Spencer shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you about those movies where people overcome their differences to try to escape. I wanted to see how we would solve it.”

Derek’s mouth drops open. “You’ve been sitting here the whole time knowing exactly what to do and didn’t say anything?!” 

Spencer smiles, looking almost proud of himself. “It’s a team-building exercise,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it.”

You shake your head, laughing in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable, Reid.”

As if on cue, the elevator jolts, and the soft ding of the doors opening fills the space.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞.

Synopsis: What I think Alastors wife would be like, if he had one of course.

Warnings: mentions of blood, pinning, harassment?, Alastor being himself, not in a specific time period but at some point shifts to hell? Let me know if anyone is interested in a part two!!

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity Writes (event)

Alastors wife probably didnt like him at first, and that’s a guarantee. He likes a challenge, but Alastor also likes being liked by people. It fills his ego, makes him feel good about himself. He likes to watch people stumble and fall but quite literally cracks under the pressure of doing just that when it comes to winning you over. Chances were he was constantly trying to figure you out, for two reasons. One, being that he didn’t understand how you couldn’t like him. I mean come on, look at him! He’s got the charm, the manners, the style and the class, the status. What more could you want? The second reason being, the more you denied him, the more he took it as a challenge, the more he wanted you.

Well, surprise surprise, you dont like people with an image to keep up; and to his dismay, that’s exactly what he does. He projects an image. One he refuses to change, and even after marrying you, still doesn’t drop the image, but starts to become more real and honest with himself.

“People who project an image of themselves to others are just trying to fool themselves into being someone they aren’t.” Was what you told him.

Alastor had also asked you out multiple times before you finally said yes. Everyone knows Alastor is very picky with the people he chooses to surround himself with. Everyone he associates with is either there to serve him, or to provide him with something, even if they’re unaware of it. Which only made you trust him less. What purpose did you serve him? What if one day he found you no longer useful and tossed you to the side? Well what were you to do then?

Denying him proved to be a challenge in itself, seeing that he’s quite literally everywhere all at once.

He’d try cheap tricks first. Buying you gifts, constantly showing up at your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers or a stuffed animal. One time he even got you a whole gift basket of your favorite treats. How sweet~ if it was actually about you and not him just trying to patch up his ego. Well at least that was what you thought on the matter.

If that didnt work he’d resort to going ghost. After all, people only miss you when you’re gone right? Well not in this case. He had left you alone physically, at least to your knowledge, but he had still kept a close watch on you. Why, he just knew it would bother you that he suddenly stopped! Until he overheard you speaking with a friend about how happy you were to finally get some peace and quiet. Well that simply wouldn’t do. After all, you should always make an impact, and what kind of impact would he be leaving on you if you went back to your old boring life? No no that just wont do dear.

He’ll start showing back up at your doorstep, taking you on surprise outing to force you to spend time with him. He’ll take you on a walk around a nearby park, a restaurant one day, the picture show the next. He has a long list of places to take you, so you’ll never go to the same place twice! Get your dancing shoes because he’s gonna take you out to the town for the night, after all the city never sleeps! This is when he becomes less forceful, but more of a decent calm. He begins to listen more when you speak, and you actually begin to care about what he’s saying, what a shock!

It’s almost like a switch flips after your outings. He’ll take you to an orchestra show, snickering to himself when he sees your eyes begin to water as the show closes out. He’ll force you to hold onto his arm as he walks you across the street on a rainy night, making sure you don’t slip or trip on the wet pavement. If you ever do, he’ll try his best to catch you and if he doesn’t? Oh what a nightmare, it seems he’s fallen too! For you that is~

You two begin to feel closer, not only physically but emotionally. He gets you to open up about your personal struggles, and in turn, he’ll share some of his own, but not too much. He doesn’t allow himself to be fully and completely vulnerable with you, not yet. But he does try his best to sympathize with you when you share your piece of mind with him. He feels accomplished to know this part of you, and his ego is the last thing on his mind anymore, but instead you take up all the space.

He doesn’t use pet names for you, not cute ones anyway. He’ll call you his devilish belladonna, especially if you love flowers. His creepy spider Lillie. He’ll often speak in the ‘language of flowers’, and will educate you on it if you don’t know so you know exactly what he’s talking about.

He’s the type of person to correct people in public to make them feel stupid, but he never does that with you. Instead he’ll wait until it’s just the two of you and tell you jokingly how wrong you were. You’ll get upset because he let you look like a fool, but in his mind he’s just protecting your feelings. If anyone else corrects you, they’ll have their mouth sewn shut that’s for sure!

He never gets you the same bouquet of flowers. They’re always different, and every week or so you have a new one. He keeps a separate batch for himself so he knows when to get you another. That being said he also makes the bouquets himself, he does not buy them for you already made.

When you finally take Alastor up on his offer to court you properly, he is over the moon about it! Finally, you seem to be coming to your senses dear! Though you quickly follow that comment up with a “Let the blood rush to your head first.” He just bats his lashes at you with a smile. You always know how to make him feel so loved!

Gets very jealous very easily. If he sees you laughing with someone that isn’t him, he’ll size them up before deciding if they’re a threat or not. Heaven forbid anyone actually put their hands on you and uh oh! Limb of the floor someone come get it!

His possessive nature is rooted in abandonment, and thus being said, he has deep attachment issues to you. You are never out of his sight when you two begin dating, and you’re hardly ever far from him in general. You two dress similarly too, especially if you’re from the same era. He’ll switch up your wardrobe slowly so it complements his.

He isn’t one for strong PDA unless he feels like he needs too or just has a strong want too. Usually it’s an arm around your waist, or you hanging onto his arm loosely. The most he’ll ever really do is a kiss on the back of your hand or to your temple. That being said, he’s like this for various reasons.

One, he has a lot of enemies, which means that not not only does that put you in danger, but if you’re also a powerful overlord, it puts him at risk too, though he doesn’t care much about that part.

Second, he doesn’t like physical contact much, and though he always makes an exception for you, he has his image and pristine reputation to keep up. Which you extremely dislike but tolerate because it’s Alastor and if he hasn’t changed much in centuries, nothings going to change ever.

Alastor is very very fond of you, whether you believe it or not. Your fiery attitude has him whipped more than he likes to admit. He’ll joke with other sinners that he’d sacrifice you to save himself but you both know that isn’t true, his nervous ticks prove it to be false, if you do say so yourself.

He’s very fidgety. He’ll tug a piece of your clothing or twirl a strand of your hair between his claws. If you claim he’s messing up your hair he’ll cast a tornado of shadows around you to fuck it up even more, and then smiling at you lovingly when you threaten to cut his ears off because you can’t tell if they’re his hair or just furry ass ears. You always give him a good laugh.

Other sinners are actually convinced you both hate each other, but turf wars on the news show that you two are the most in love when you’re wreaking havoc on innocent sinners for no possible reason other than the fact you two had an argument and the best way to settle it? Dancing in the rain, which actually isn’t rain, just blood falling from the sky because you like to kill people for fun.

“My darling looks the best in red if I do say so myself! Especially if she’s dressed by another’s remains, oh the beauty!”

Alastor has and will continue to get in his feelings about you and his mother getting along so well. He loves you both to pieces, so seeing his two favorite people together makes his dead heart swell with joy.

He’ll ask you to accompany him to the tailors, he values your opinion more than others so you often make adjustments to his suit and he’s just like ‘Whatever she says that’s what’s going on the suit.’ You also make him your personal dressing doll, trying different patterns and styles on him for fun. Alastor is a true skinny jeans hater and he will die on that hill, again. He really appreciates the 60’s style, but prefers to stick to his own decade.

He will take you out hunting with him, and the two of you share breakfast together with the fresh meat you’ve caught. He only gets the best quality for you because he refuses to have you two ‘eating like chums’. A restaurant tried to lie to the two of you, saying their meat was high quality and fresh. Alastor killed everyone in it and you two shared remains like a true power couple. Hells finest of course. ;)

He’s very critical of picking out jewelry for you. Hunting for the perfect ring for you took him ages, mainly because he knew exactly what he wanted but no jeweler had what he wanted all in one ring. So instead he forces them to make him a custom one. Torn limbs and bloody parts later, you have the ring that Alastor worked so hard to give you. He proposes to you Extermination day, claiming he’d love to spend another year in hell with you before the angels come to rip you two apart from each other. It was such a sweet day, at least to you it was.

The type of relationship where he plays the piano and you sing. He loves when you sing and will gush about you to anyone in sight even if he doesn’t know them.

Is very needy in private. He’s a stage 10000 clinger, and will stick to you like his life depends on it, but will be damned if anyone catches him. You don’t tell anyone about it, you like the private life.

You two have cook offs all the time. You make the hotel staff judge, and ultimately Niffty is the tie breaker because she’s brutally honest. Once she told Alastor he should stay out of the kitchen because women were better at it for a reason… harsh!

He was fine though, he got her back by ridding the hotel of bugs. He knows she likes chasing them around and for that she sobbed at his feet for ten minutes asking him to bring them back. It didn’t take much actually, Sir Pentious brought them back on his own, much to Charlies dismay.

He loves to read with you. You two often read a book and once you both finish you have a tea session over it. It starts off being about the book and then somehow shifts to just gossiping and talking shit about the other overlords, except for Rosie, we love Rosie in this household.

Speaking of, Rosie is usually where you get your clothes from. She’s a sweetheart when she isn’t picking pieces of muscle from her teeth, that sharp smile is a killer! She loves to talk about Alastor with you, and usually she’s where you go after you two have had an argument. You’re also her personal Barbie doll. She puts you in outfits and she and Alastor judge over them. Nine times out of ten you leave her boutique with a new wardrobe every time.

Now let’s talk about Vox.

Honestly the whole reason Vox knows about you is probably because he was digging through Alastors shit. But when he sees you? Oh lord, this man is HOOKED.

He doesn’t even know how Alastor managed to get you entangled with him. He finds out about you when you and Alastor aren’t dating yet, and he basically jumps at his chance to try to be with you.

Vox will forever consider you the one that got away, you can’t change my mind.

Alastor has proven time and time again that he’s basically better than Vox. He took a seven year back, came on the radio one day and boom all his viewers were back. In Alastors mind there’s no competition, just Vox being obsessed with the fact Alastor said no.

Valentino uses it against Vox all the time, and it will always make Vox buffer.

[downbadf0rficppl]

pink in the night

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Some interesting rumours have been circling around about Bucky. Little do you know, it's kinda your fault.

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: Porn with a bit of plot, SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, soft Buck, SMUT!!!!

AN: Sorry y'all! It's kinda a bit shit but listen, it's self-indulgent so idc :) This is kinda inspired by 'Pink in the Night' by Mitski which I was listening to while writing this. Have a good rest of the week, y'all <3

Repost

Bucky had a love-hate relationship with being your neighbour. On the one hand, he loved seeing your face as you left your room every morning, hair not yet slicked to perfection, and sleep still evident on your face. You seemed a lot more innocent in the morning - conversations more idle.

On the other hand - and perhaps as a downside to his more sensitive hearing - you drove him crazy with the knowledge of things that perhaps he wasn't supposed to know.

This night was no different. You had headed off to bed after a long day, bidding everyone in the kitchen a good night. You grabbed a water bottle before slipping into the elevator, Bucky not far behind. You stepped out of the elevator together and you wished him sweet dreams before slipping into your room. Oh, his dreams were going to be far from sweet.

You see, your beds were pushed up to opposite sides of the same wall, so he could hear you relax on your bed. He could hear you shuffle to strip into just your underwear, and how your hand slipped into your panties. He could hear how your breath hitched as you circled your clit, and your soft moans as you plunged your fingers into your cunt or as your vibrator dipped in between your folds.

He could almost envisage you doing it - a forbidden porno that took root in his mind every night that he heard you finger yourself to completion. The rosy pink flush that you would glow as you came all over your hand. Your heavy rise and fall of your chest as you came down from your high. The small smile that would adorn your face as rolled over to fall asleep - the oxytocin released coursing through your veins.

He felt disgusting as he did - one of those creeps that he intended to protect you from for the rest of his life. But after you'd fallen asleep, he'd hop into the shower to cool his body and his mind - to throw the detestable thoughts of you to the far corners of his mind. But as he fell asleep, you'd re-enter his mind in a different way. A more safe-for-work way. You'd be in his arms, cuddling him and whispering sweet words of encouragement. You'd be cooking him dinner while he told you funny stories about his life with scrawny Steve in the 40s; he'd be washing the dishes while you sat on the counter tell him about your day. He'd worry for your well-being - not as an overbearing coworker but as a loving, doting boyfriend. Maybe husband.

Bucky was getting ahead of himself - he'd have to work up the courage to have more than a few-word conversation with you. But for now, wishing he could hold your hand would have to suffice.

Being Bucky's neighbour was not much easier. Especially when he was completely oblivious to your plight. Even the slight brush of a hand made your heart flutter.

You loved seeing him early in the morning - he always seemed less reserved when he was fresh from a good night's rest. He was faster to smile, faster to laugh. It was nice. You woke up at an ungodly hour to see him just before he headed on his morning run. You couldn't deny that the morning light did wonders for him - you were always left wanting more when he dipped into the elevator.

Oh, and the sounds. Your hearing was not quite as superior as Bucky's, but you definitely heard things that left you clenching around thin air.

You knew Bucky wasn't one to self-complete often - in fact, it was rare that you ever caught on to the act. But you had caught the odd broken moan coming from his room. You turned into molten mush, the weight of your arousal buckling your knees. If there was any sound that could turn you to putty, it was that.

You didn't how many times the idea of Bucky fucking you had played through your mind, but each night a different variation brought you the same ending - your fingers deep in your cunt, coaxing you to a climax.

Every night, you wished his cock, tongue, fingers were filling you up instead of yours, leaving you aching and wishing for more. You wanted to run your nails down his back - leaving permanent reminders of your love for him - while he nipped at your neck - leaving marks claiming you as his.

Sometimes, your brain caught up to your thoughts, reprimanding you for your possessiveness. He wasn't yours, you had to remind yourself, even if you wished he was. For that, you'd have to actually have to have more than a few-word conversation with him - which to be honest, seemed impossible. So you stuck to your nightly wishful dreaming, hoping one day he'd be yours. Only yours.

Summer was the worst for Bucky. You were the type to spend hours upon hours out in the sun, coming back with a budding tan and rosy complexion - it did nothing to quell the budding images flashing in the back of his mind. You. Under him. Panting. Moaning his name as he brought you to the edge. Over and over again. Face glowing pink as you gaze up into his eyes, drunk on love and his cock. Bucky had to excuse himself to splash cold water on his face.

It didn't help that the clothing you wore did nothing to help his imagination. The semi-sheer tops, the shorts, the swimsuit and bikinis. Every time he saw you, he immediately had to duck back inside to deal with 'a little problem'. More like a very large, very hard, and very obvious problem.

Still, he enjoyed your company more than he had for the better part of his time living in the compound. He listened to your stories, your jokes, helped solve your issues. He felt that - even if you weren't quite what he wanted you to be - your relationship was blossoming into something quite beautiful. And that made him feel a lot braver - he introduced a little comment here and there, a hand always on your waist or the small of your back. He flirted with you from time to time: just to gauge a meter on your reactions, he'd tell himself, as if this was an experiment to crack a hypothesis that had been perplexing scientists for years.

The sun was peaking over the top of the trees surrounding the compound when you woke up. That was a rarity in summer, given that the sun rose at nearly 5am. Still, you didn't miss out on the opportunity to watch the sunrise, curling up on your windowsill with your blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

You heard Bucky opening his door, and you ran towards yours, grabbing your phone and slippers on your way. You opened your door just as he closed his. He was dressed in gym wear - as always - since he was going on his morning run around the compound track. It was a nice track - one that you rarely frequented - going in and out of the forest behind the compound, totalling about 4.5 miles in distance.

He took you in, eyes bulging as they raked over you. You looked down, following his gaze. Shit. In your rush to see Bucky, you'd forgotten that your nightwear had consisted of some flimsy shorts and your bra - that you had thrown on after waking up to save a modicum of dignity, should someone burst into your room. It was too hot for anything else. You crossed your arms over your chest, which indefinitely made the issue worse as Bucky's eyes lifted way over your head.

"Looking good, babe!" Nat yells, walking across the landing toward you both. Clearly, Bucky had been intending to go on a run with her, maybe fit in a quick sparring session. You sent them on their way, with a 'have fun' and 'don't have too much fun.'

As soon as you were back in the comfort of your room, Nat elbowed Bucky hard.

"Oww! What the fuck was that for?" Rubbing his metal arm, for the convincing act.

"Oh please, you big baby. You have a fucking metal arm, get over yourself." She looked down, "You have a bit of a situation going on down there."

He looks down, embarrassment flushing his cheeks bright red, and subtly tucked his hard dick into his waistband.

"You wanna go sort that out? I won't hold it against you," Nat said, hitting the button to call the lift, "I promise not to tell Stark. Scout's honour." She jokingly holds up 3 fingers. Bucky swats her arm gently.

"No point."

Nat gasps, "No way. Don't tell me Mr. Winter Soldier can't have sex."

"Not sex," Bucky mumbles, "Just jerking off. Can't seem to - you know - finish."

Bucky had a history with Nat. They'd known each other for years. That kind of history made this kind of conversation somewhat less uncomfortable.

Nat burst into laughter. So much for not being uncomfortable.

The lift stopped on Sam's floor. He stepped in, gazing warily at the scene in front of him: the Black Widow doubled over in laughter, and the Winter Soldier embarrassed and uncomfortable in the corner.

He begged to be let in on the joke. Nat wheezed between laughs, "He - can't - fucking - cum!" Bursting into another bout of laughter, with Sam close behind, Bucky jumps out on the next floor, heading to the roof for some fresh air. He catches you up there, trying out some morning yoga. He sneaks up behind you as your stand up, grabbing your waist. You shriek, hitting him hard in the chest, before melting into his embrace once your brain caught up to the situation.

"Not fair!" You pouted, pausing your peaceful music, "Yoga's supposed to be peaceful!"

Bucky chuckles, pulling you into another hug, feeling you wrap your arms around his neck.

"I thought you were going on a run with Nat?" You whispered into his ear, your cheek resting on his clavicle.

"She ditched me for Sam." Bucky opted to leave out the real reason why he had left Nat and Sam in pieces in the elevator.

"Sucks to be you, Barnes!" You laugh pulling away and stepping back onto your mat. "Now leave me alone - just 'cause your friends abandoned you, doesn't mean you can bother me."

Bucky pouted, causing you to laugh before you turned back to your Yoga. He stood there and watched you for a minute, before heading back down to the gym. He strung up a punching bag, before wrapping his flesh wrist. Bucky took all his pent-up aggression and frustration out on the punching bag, allowing no respite between each jab, cross, and hook.

He stayed in the gym for over 3 hours, working every bit of stress out of his body. By the time he left the gym, the sun was high in the sky and a long day of paperwork and training awaited. Bucky headed up to his room for a quick shower - washing all the sweat off his body.

He felt lighter heading downstairs for breakfast - the weight of his arousal pushed far back in his mind. There was nothing he could do about it anyway.

Since deciding he would pursue you honestly, he couldn't seem to finish, no matter how hard he tried. You had been the only thing to push him over the edge - it seemed his body couldn't do it without you. It was frustrating beyond belief. He'd tried other things, porn, erotica, even thinking back to good times before the war. Nothing helped. It was as if his body was finetuned to you - only you knew the magic password to release him. Figuratively and literally.

When he reached the kitchen, he was privy to a welcome sight. You, in your combat gear, grabbing some granola bars before you jumped on the quinjet. You and Stark were heading on a surveillance mission in Guatemala for the week. You were reaching up to the top shelf, stretching on your tiptoes for the expensive granolas that had been kept on the top shelf. Bucky's granola bars that he had put there to stop anyone else from stealing them.

He reached up from behind you and grabbed the box, placing it in your hands. You looked guilty. You'd been caught red-handed.

"It's fine, doll. Take as many as you want." He said, leaning back against the counter, resting on his forearms. Your face flushed red as you grabbed 2 or 3, shoving them into your bag and turning around to fill up your water bottle.

You shivered when his hot breath fanned across your exposed neck, "Just remember that you owe me."

He was gone by the time you turned around.

The rumour had spread like wildfire while you were away.

"Did you hear that Bucky can't have sex?"

"I heard that Bucky can't - you know - cum?"

"Apparently, his time at Hydra fucked him up worse than he realised."

"He can't even masturbate you know?"

The rumours were getting out of hand, but he let them swirl. There was an ounce of truth to them, even if Hydra had nothing to do with his current predicament.

No, that blame could only lie with you.

When you got back, Bucky had just left on a 4-day-long mission with Sam - which meant you heard all the rumours and Bucky wasn't there to defend himself.

You heard it first when you dropped your suit off for dry-cleaning. One of the tech guys was whispering to Marta, the woman who looked after the dry cleaning of suits, about Bucky's apparent inability to ejaculate. You were shocked. Where the hell did they even get that information? You dropped off your suit and headed back up to your room to shower.

You then heard another mention of it when you went to drop off your reports. Two of the agents that were being reassigned to Steve's team - that were currently on a month-long mission in Chad - were gossiping outside Tony's office.

" - and apparently she ran out crying. Thought she wasn't good enough for him or something along those lines. I don't know."

"Yeah, apparently the breakup was grizzly."

"I feel bad for him you know, all of the shit he went through with Hydra, and now this?"

"Yeah, man, really sucks."

Your face blushed a bright red. What the fuck? Where did this rumour even come from? You knew for a fact that Bucky hadn't had a girlfriend since living in the compound so wherever that part of the rumour came from was completely untrue.

You had to get to the bottom of this.

You spent the better part of the next 2 days collecting bits of information from conversations between people around the compound. You found out that the rumour had originated from a conversation between Nat and Sam, which an agent had overheard while they were on their run. It had been twisted as most oral stories were leading to this big misleading idea that Bucky was unable to even get it up and that he was unable to please a woman. You were sure the latter part was untrue. You'd heard the way he moaned alone in his room - you were sure that you could cum just from his moans alone. He wouldn't even need to touch you.

You didn't think the rumour would affect you when Bucky got back. After all, you knew at least some of it to be false. But when he got back, his beard grown out a little because he couldn't shave it while he was away, you felt embarrassed. Not because of his supposed 'predicament' but because you felt as if you had found out something that you maybe weren't supposed to know.

Bucky caught on quicker than you would have liked. The night after he got back, Tony had thrown a little get-together to 'celebrate midsummer'. Realistically, Tony just wanted a reason to go out and drink with his friends. You had avoided Bucky most of the night - not necessarily intentionally, but Bucky still felt slightly hurt and more than a little confused.

He caught you alone on the balcony, looking out at the stars.

"Did I do something?" He said, sneaking up behind you and making you jump. Nervousness and insecurity laced his every move, worried that he had hurt you in some way that he couldn't possibly imagine.

You shook your head violently, scared to make eye contact with him. He lifted your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"What's wrong?" You turned back to face the sky, embarrassment filling your chest. He laced his metal fingers into yours, "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"It's stupid."

"No, it's not. Nothing's stupid, not if it's you." Your heart fluttered at his words.

Your eyes met his steady gaze, "It's really stupid." His eyes begged you to go on, "It's just that - um - when I got back I - um - heardthisreallystupidrumourandIshouldn'thaveletitgettomebutbasically -"

Bucky placed a hand on your waist, drawing small circles, "Breathe."

"Someone said you had trouble pleasing women." You let out quietly. If it hadn't been for his enhanced hearing, he probably would have missed you. His grip on your waist tightened, "Bucky?"

"Trouble pleasing women? That's a new one." His deep voice cut you to your core. You let out a small whimper as the arousal pooled in your panties.

Bucky didn't miss that either.

He grabbed your arm and led you through the party. No one gave you a double look as he lead you into the vacant elevator, slamming your floor number and pushing you up against the wall.

"Think I can't please a woman, huh? Think again. Don't think I don't know what you think about when you cum all over your hand, whining my name under your breath." You whined lowly at his words, feeling how he pushed his hard dick perfectly in line with your throbbing pussy, "Isn't that right, slut? That's what you are, aren't you? My perfect little slut?" You moan at his degrading statement, pushing your pussy further onto his cock trying to find some friction.

"So needy," He tutted, his condescending tone only heightening your arousal. The elevator door pinged and Bucky picked you up bridal-style, kicking the door to your room open. You regularly forgot to lock it while heading down to dinner - for once, both you and Bucky were glad.

He dropped you on your bed, unceremoniously, eyes raking over you ravenously. The heat rose up your face, as you shifted under his unrelenting gaze.

"Oh baby, you don't how long I've been waiting for this." He leaned down locking your lips in a passionate kiss. His palm landed just above your knee, caressing up your leg towards your upper thigh. His hand slid under your dress, cupping your ass. He left a light squeeze, making you gasp into the kiss.

He leaned down, grabbing you with ease, flipping you both so you were straddling his waist. He tangled his flesh hand in your hair, the metal one possessively gripping your hip. He brought you down to his lips for another kiss - even when you were on top, he made sure you knew that he was in charge.

He toyed with the hem of your dress, eyes raking over you once again.

"Off."

You pulled the dress over your head, leaving you in your bra and panties. You felt seriously underdressed, especially considering Bucky was still in his jacket. He reaches up, joining your lips in another kiss, and reaching around to remove your bra. He tosses it to the side, running his knuckles over your pebbled nipples. You moan loudly, panties soaked. He takes his time pinching and squeezing your nipples, licking and biting as he went. The alternate sensations of one warm hand and one ice-cold heighten your arousal ten-fold. You buck your hips over his jeans, the sensation of his fly between your sensitive folds throwing you into overdrive.

His grip on your waist tightened once again. "I can feel your cunt throbbing, honey." You whimpered pathetically. "Go ahead, use me to get off. I know you want to."

Your hips started bucking off their own accord, clothed pussy running over the fly of his jeans. They started slow, getting a feel for what exactly you were doing. Bucky's hands started pushing you faster, setting a faster groove. The coil in your stomach began to tighten as your bucking became more erratic. You teetered on the edge of an orgasm when Bucky stopped you.

"Beg." He restarted your pace, faster and more erratic than before.

"Please, please, please, please, Bucky, please let me cum, please..-" You babbled, tripping and stumbling through your pleas. With a searing kiss, he gives you permission.

"I love you, I love you, I love, OH-" You fall off the edge of one of the hardest orgasms you've ever had, head empty with only one thing on your mind. Bucky.

You feel Bucky manhandle your body so your back is lying on the bed and he is towering over you. He asks you if you want to go on and all you can do is nod your head vigorously.

He chuckles, "I like your enthusiasm baby, but I need words. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, YES!" You shout, breathlessly, already needing more.

He's fully naked and it's all you can do to not stare. He's definitely a well-endowed man, and he definitely has no problem getting it up.

"Like what you see?" He smirks, and you slap his thigh playfully. He pulls you further toward the edge of the bed and lines his dick up with your slick folds. He slides in slowly, holding your chin up so you keep eye contact with him. He watches as your eyes roll to the back of your head in satisfaction. You've never felt so full in your life. He presses into you slowly, feeling the way your tightness engulfs him, allowing your body to adjust to his size. You whimper softly as he pushes in - you never realised just how desperate you were for him.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He chuckles, watching as tears leak out of your eyes. His condescending tone was back, and all it did was make you hornier. You babbled incoherently, "Gone dumb already? What a cock-drunk little slut you are."

He trails a metal finger up the side of your torso, watching the goosebumps left in its wake. You whimper again.

"Such a needy little baby. Only I can take care of you like this, right? Only me."

"Only you." You affirmed, pressing a kiss to the arm near your head.

He pulled out almost entirely, before slamming all the way back in. You screamed in pleasure, and Bucky set a brutal pace. He pinned your arms above your head with his right hand, and his left hand came to wrap around your throat. The significance of that was not lost on you. He loved you enough to not hurt you, even with his metal arm.

"I love you, baby. You know that right?" Bucky looked you deep in the eyes, "You know I love you right?"

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," You babble back, lost in the throes of passion.

Bucky found your clit with his metal hand, pressing and flicking gently. You felt your muscles tighten for a second time, and you grabbed the sheets throwing your head back as you came harder than the first time.

Bucky came moments later, deep inside you with a loud moan. He pulled out slowly, collapsing next to you. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling yourself into his neck.

He chuckled at that, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a bear hug. You stayed like that for a minute before he untangled himself from you and carried you to the bathroom.

He turned on the shower and you both stepped under it, cleaning the sweat and cum off your bodies. Your legs felt like jelly, so you leaned heavily into Bucky as he washed you off.

"Stay awake, doll, just for a second," He said, shaking you awake each time you dozed off in the shower.

Bucky pulled some of your clothes onto your body, before setting you down on the bed. He gave you a quick kiss to the forehead before promising to be back soon.

He snuck into his room wrapped in a towel, before throwing on the first pair of sweats he could find and dashing to the kitchen for a cup of water.

He snuck back into your room, to see you already dead asleep on the bed. He slipped under the covers, tugging you closer to his chest, and smiled.

Through your grogginess, you nuzzled into his chest. "I love you." You whispered, your lips resting against his heart.

You woke up to the sound of soft snoring in your ear and sunlight streaming through the window. You smiled. You untangled yourself from Bucky's arms, disappearing into your bathroom to pee. You wash your face and brush your teeth before diving back into Bucky's arms.

Your legs were still sore from last night, but you didn't care. You were Bucky's and Bucky was yours. The very thought put a massive smile on your face.

"What's tickled your feather this morning?" Goddamn, his morning voice was sexy. You smiled and pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

Bucky smiled through the kiss. He picked you up by the thighs, carrying you while he brushed his teeth and splashed his face.

The compound was pretty silent, barely anyone was awake after drinking the night away. So, while Bucky made you pancakes for breakfast, you asked him the question, "Hey, Buck, where did the rumour come from?"

He looked at you, vaguely embarrassed, "You know that day, when me and Nat were gonna go down to train?"

You face flushed red, "When I walked out in my underwear?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I got a hard-on, like a teenage boy."

You stifled a laugh.

"So, Nat said, do I wanna go deal with it? And I told her I couldn't."

You looked at him confused, "Why not?"

"Cause of you," he said simply. You looked at him even more confused, "You were the only thing I got get off to. I tried everything else. Porn, erotica, even thinking about old sex. Nothing worked."

You flushed red again. "Oh god, I've weirded you out, haven't I?" You broke off his impending spiral with a kiss.

"I love you." You said, placing a kiss on his bare chest.

He looked at you with such love and reverence that you felt like you might combust under his gaze.

He kissed you again and all you could think was, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I love you I love you I love you.

fin.

buy me a coffee

[mikashisus]

Maybe One Day

SYNOPSIS: kinich was sure about his feelings for you, and he was aware of the ones you harbored for him. yet, there’s one thing stopping him from telling you…

PAIRING: kinich x gn!reader

warnings: slight angst, subtle die jokes

wc: 1.6k

notes: mostly fluff, but u guys know me by now, i can’t ever write anything without angst in it. played thru a bit of the 5.0 quest (NO SPOILERS GUYS!!!!) and i actually love kinich sm. another one of those quiet but gentle characters (๑>◡<๑) reminds me a bit of xiao - and that’s not bc of the color scheme lol. anyw enjoy!

part 2!

Pen scratched loudly against paper as you eagerly jotted down more notes in your journal.

Early mornings high in the canopy of trees were serene and chilly. It was still a long while until the sun would rise, and when it did, you'd return to the villa the locals offered you and continue your work inside.

The sweltering heat of Natlan was nothing to scoff at. You've been to Sumeru before, where there was hot weather all year round. Yet, just when you had gotten used to the heat, the research for your thesis demanded you to go somewhere even hotter: Natlan.

You couldn't handle hot weather. Whenever the weather reached just above what one could describe as 'warm,' you felt like you were going to melt into a puddle on the ground. That's why you knocked out all of your research in the early morning, when it was cooler, and retired to your lodging after the sun rose so you could avoid a potential heatstroke.

Already, you began to feel a shift in temperature as dim light peered over the horizon. It was easy to see the sunrise from here, perched in this gargantuan tree.

It was peaceful up here, and it gave you a wonderful view of the whole of Natlan. You could see King Deshret's Mausoleum from this height, too, and you silently thanked yourself for not ever being interested in his ancient technology.

If you had to stay in the desert for a prolonged period of time, you would’ve found a hole to crawl in and never crawl back out.

On the way to Natlan six months ago, your escort told you that the only way to get there was through the desert. He knew of your great distaste for hot weather, and so he was fully prepared to hear you whine and throw a tantrum over the ordeal. However, instead, all you did was pout and tell him to get a move on and "get this over with."

A cramp formed in your hand, and you had to pause your note taking.

As you massaged your hand, you admired the first signs of light creeping over the horizon and allowed yourself to get lost in the sounds around you: Water rushing from the nearby waterfall, the chirping of birds, the rustling of foliage, and the bellowing of Yumkasaurs. You could faintly hear the whispers of the locals as they exited their houses, though their conversations were incoherent from this distance.

Although the weather was atrocious, you absolutely adored the sights and the sounds of Natlan. It felt lively and bright.

You opened your eyes and looked down at your journal. Five more paragraphs to go before you could rest for today.

"I was told you've been up here for quite a while," a soft voice interrupted, causing you to jump, "didn't I tell you to take more breaks, Northerner?"

Your lantern knocked over, and you quickly reached forward, catching it before it could fall victim to its inevitable demise in the valley below. You were incredibly high up. You could barely see the ground from here, much less where the waterfall beneath you ended.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you placed the lantern back at your side and turned to your visitor, who wore an amusing smirk on his face.

"And didn't I tell you not to sneak up on me like that, Kinich?"

The boy in question didn't answer you. Silently, he joined you at your side, and that was when you spotted the bowl of grainfruits he held in his hand. He offered it to you.

"Breaks are necessary, you know. Especially when working on research papers."

You took a bite out of one of the fruits and sighed. "I'm well aware. But I came here solely for my thesis, not for a vacation. Besides, if I was given a vacation, I probably would've chosen to go—“

"'Home'?" He finished. You nodded.

"Yeah. I would've gone home." Another sigh, longer this time, left your lips.

"You miss Mondstadt, then?" He asked, taking a bite out of a grainfruit and setting the bowl between you two.

"You bet I do!" you exclaimed, flipping back to the first page of your journal. Notes from your entire family occupied the page. You gently ran your fingers over them.

“Before I left Dornman Port, my family gave me this journal and told me to do great things in Sumeru. They even wrote me notes as a reminder to 'keep pushing when times get tough.’��

Your family knew you too well. They knew you were someone who pushed themselves way too hard— an overachiever.

Whenever you felt burnt out, you read their notes, and it gave you the motivation to keep going. To keep achieving great things. To seek the answer to what ‘freedom’ truly meant to you through your experiences.

Kinich was silent for a few moments. He was someone who preferred silence, and oddly enough, you were too. Though, it hadn't seemed that way when the two of you first met.

When you first met, you had just arrived in the settlement belonging to the Scions of the Canopy, and you were just about ready to collapse onto the ground because of heat exhaustion.

Thankfully, you were aided by not only Kinich— who happened to be nearby —but also a few others from his tribe. When you recovered, you complained to the high heavens about the heat, and Kinich was very close to dragging you up Teticpac Peak just to push you off. He already heard enough whining from Ajaw, he didn't need to hear more from a foreigner who never once stepped foot in Natlan.

He was fully prepared to ignore you from that day forward, only to become intrigued when he got a glimpse of your research.

Later, he was surprised to find out you were actually from Mondstadt, the Crown of the North. Not only that, but you were from the far, far north reaches of Mondstadt— Dornman Port —nearing the border of Snezhnaya; And suddenly, all your complaining about the weather made sense.

Although the two of you were mostly polar opposites, you became fast friends, and Kinich's favorite way to say hello was to sneak up on you when you least expected him to.

His interest in you eventually became noticeable to Ajaw, and as soon as that little yellow and green bastard pointed it out one night, Kinich knew he had to lock him away whenever you were near.

He couldn't risk the chances of Ajaw blurting it out in front of you.

He wanted to believe you felt the same way. After all, you would've gotten tired of him by now if you didn’t. That, or you might've stayed away from him simply because he looked a little intimidating. Either way, he was glad you stuck around.

He ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him you'd one day have to leave.

As soon as you wrapped up your research in Natlan, you'd have to return to Sumeru's Akademiya and continue on with your life. Maybe you'd even take a trip back home to Mondstadt to see your family and possibly even attend a festival.

He remembered hearing you talk about one of them, a seemingly important one. It was one that he couldn't pronounce for the life of him, but he loved hearing you say it because he liked hearing you speak in Mondstadt's language.

He wondered what a Statue of the Seven even looked like in Mondstadt. He had never seen any pictures of one, not even a picture of what Mondstadt's Archon looked like. From rumors, he heard the Anemo Archon was completely absent from Mondstadt, and you somewhat confirmed those rumors.

"I wouldn't say Lord Barbatos is completely absent," you said once when he asked, "we believe the wind in Mondstadt is Lord Barbatos himself. So with that logic, he's still with us, just not physically like other Archons."

You sighed softly, finishing off the last grainfruit in the bowl. "Thanks Kinich."

Sending him one of your dazzling smiles that always made his heart beat a little faster, you scooted closer to him and bumped his shoulder with your own.

He raised a brow in confusion. "What for?"

"Everything, I think…” You answered. “For helping me when I first arrived here, for always looking out for me... I'm really thankful."

He was silent, though you knew his silence was not him being dismissive. He was either pondering, or he just didn't know what to say in response.

Eventually, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close. The sudden action made you tense up before you relaxed against him and rested your head on his shoulder.

The sun was rising over the horizon now, and you could deal with the rise in temperature for a while if it meant you got to stay like this with him.

"Don't thank me for anything." He said finally, under his breath.

Maybe one day, he'd tell you of his feelings, because now he was sure of how you felt towards him. But today was not that day.

Time was counting down to the day you had to leave, and he knew he wasn't ready for you to go so soon. Six months had come and gone in a flash.

It wasn't goodbye for good, as you swore you'd come back to Natlan the next time you had the chance— whether it be for research or for a much needed vacation. Yet, a goodbye, regardless of if it was a "see you later" or a proper "goodbye," it still hurt all the same.

Maybe one day, when the war in Natlan came to a close, you could show Kinich around your homeland, just as he did with you. But until that day came, Kinich would wait.

As long as it took. "As long as the wind blows," like you'd often say.

notes: i have a discord server! join if u’d like to chill and hangout! it’s fun, i promise :))

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 1

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Koschei the Deathless Sorcerer was killed by the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

It was less dramatic than it sounded. At least Azriel thought so. 

And if Lucien hadn’t been a fucking idiot and put himself into a position to be kidnapped by the very same deathless sorcerer…then they wouldn’t even have been in that kind of situation. 

But he had been and so it ended with Azriel so magically exhausted that he collapsed the very same moment Truthteller stroke true once more. 

At least Koschei was slayn. 

And the only reason Azriel had gone to rescue the red-headed male in the first place was the fact that  Lucien was Elaine’s mate. Lucien was the male Elain loved. Azriel couldn’t let him die. 

Couldn’t let Elain feel the devastation of a mating bond broken by death…so his decision making had been quick. Either he would manage to get Lucien free…or he would die trying.  There wasn’t many things that he wouldn’t do for the female he loved. Even when he knew it shouldn’t be. 

Azriel had never been very good at knowing when enough was enough after all, wasn’t he?

No price was high enough to pay when it was about Elain’s happiness, as far as Azriel was concerned.  

He hadn't expected to wake up, and yet… there he was. Alive and whole.

*I hope it was worth it, Master,* the shadows sniped at him.

He blinked, taking in the dim light of the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His room in the House of Wind.

“You are a fucking idiot, you know?” Cassian hissed at him from his place at his bedside and Azriel blinked at him.

"Lucien?" he brought out hoarsely.

"Not as much as a fucking scratch on him. Thanks to you," Cassian responded. "You on the other hand...Madja thought you were going to fucking die from pure magical exhaustion!"

Even Azriel he had...it would have been worth it. Lucien had made it out alive - and that was all that mattered in the end. Elain would be happy. That was all he cared about.

He didn't say that aloud though. 

He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Three days," Cassian growled. "Three. Days."

Azriel sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in his muscles. It felt like his entire body was one giant bruise, every inch of him pained and sore.

"Lay back down," Cassian snapped.

Azriel shot him a glare, but sank back onto the bed nonetheless. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Just tired."

"Yeah, well, we'll let Madja be the judge of that," Cassian snapped. "And when you are feeling better, I am going to kill you for going off on your own!"

Azriel just gave him a weary look. "Better me than you," he said dryly. He closed his eyes, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over him. Cassian had Nesta to think about. Azriel didn't. Azriel just had himself.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Cassian demanded.

Azriel didn't have the energy to answer

He dosed off, feeling the shadows twine around him. They were muttering, words he could c quite understand, bitching under their breath but for once it was comforting.

He woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his limbs were heavy. He groggily blinked at the room, feeling like he was in a haze.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone. Cassian was still there, as was Madja.

Azriel groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head was throbbing, and his vision was a little blurred. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.

Cassian and Madja both looked at him, their expressions relieved. "How are you feeling?" Madja asked him, moving closer to the bed and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Like I was hit by a wagon," Azriel admitted. His muscles felt tight and sore, his body heavy with fatigue. His wings felt like they were made of lead, and every movement took a huge effort.

"That's unsurprising considering you nearly magicked yourself to death," Madja said gruffly. "Your body had a tremendous amount of stress and strain put on it. You're lucky to be alive."

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of other options," he pointed out.

Madja just let out a huff and began prodding and poking at his body, running her hands over his wings and checking his pulse. Cassian watched anxiously from the side, his arms crossed over his chest.

Azriel bore her ministrations in silence, trying not to wince as she poked and prodded at him. He knew she was just trying to help, but it didn't make the ordeal any more pleasant.

After what felt like forever, she finally stepped back, nodding to herself. "You're lucky, shadowsinger," she said gruffly. "You're lucky you're so damn resilient," she said, and he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or just an observation.

He looked at her blearily. "I guess I can add that to my list of things to be proud of," he muttered sarcastically.

Cassian barked out a laugh, but Madja just rolled her eyes. The door opened at that moment. "How's he doing?" Rhys demanded.

Azriel wanted to let out a sigh at the sight of Rhys. He loved his brother, but he didn't have the energy for a lecture right now.

Madja turned to Rhys. "He's weak and he's stupid," she snapped. "But he's alive."

Rhys let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Thank you, Madja," he said. "Would you...give us a moment?"

Madja nodded, patting Azriel's leg as she got up to leave. "Rest," she ordered. "And no strenuous activity for at least a week."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Rhys turned to Azriel. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.

"I was thinking that I was saving Lucien's life," Azriel replied evenly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I couldn't let him die, Rhys."

"Wouldn't that have made it easier for you?* Rhys demanded sharply mentally. *You are the one that fancies himself in love with Elain.*

Maybe it shouldn't hurt him as much as it did. He didn't fancy himself in love with her. He was in love with her. Had been in love with her and Rhys had been the one to order him away from her, which had given Lucien the opportunity to swoop in and Elain had...Elain had given in. Given in to that Siren Song of the Mating Bond and was very much in love with her mate now. 

It hurt to hear Rhys say it like that, like it was just some passing infatuation that he'd gotten over.

*Lucien is her mate,* he responded simply. He didn't say what he really thought. He didn't say that he would rather have Elain be happy and never talk with him again than to have her wilt like one of her flowers because her mate had died and the mating bond would be broken… He didn't say that he loved Elain enough, that her happiness was more important to him than anything else. He didn't say any of that.

*At least you are recognising that now,* Rhys said with a snort.  Azriel didn't flinch. Didn't react.

He hid away in that little corner of his brain he went to when everything became too much. Where he could just shut up all his feelings, all these pesky emotions, and just be...nothing. Nothing. That's the only thing he still had left.

He just shrugged, schooling his face into a careless expression. "I did what I had to do, Rhys," he repeated stubbornly. "Lucien is a good male. He didn't deserve to die."

"Elain wants to thank you," Rhys said suddenly.

Azriel's stomach twisted as Rhys mentioned Elain. He felt a pang of longing in his chest, a desperate ache to see her, to touch her, to hear her voice. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't subject himself to the torture of seeing her with her mate, seeing her happy in Lucien's arms.

So his answer was definite: "There is no need for that," he said simply.

Rhys gave him a sharp look. "Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "She's been worried sick about you."

But Azriel just shook his head, even as his heart thudded in his chest.

*You can keep it together for 5 minutes,* Rhys snapped into his mind.

"Rhys," Cassian said carefully. "If he doesn't want to, just let it..."

"He's being ridiculous," Rhys snapped, interrupting Cassian. "Elain is family.”

Azriel grit his teeth but didn't respond. He didn't have the energy for an argument right now. He just wanted to sleep.

*See her for 5 minute snad then you can sulk like a spoiled child until you feel better about yourself,* Rhys bargained drily.

Azriel hesitated. He knew he should see her, knew that it would make things easier for everyone if he did. But the thought of seeing her, seeing her happy with Lucien when he was so miserable, was like a knife to the gut.

"Does it even matter what I want?" he asked, his voice flat.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, looking at him with exasperation. "Az, stop being so damned stubborn. Elain has been worried sick about you - the least you can do is let her see that you are alive."

Azriel didn't say anything. Didn't respond. He just stared at Rhys, feeling like every fiber of his being was being pulled apart. He wanted to see her. Wanted to see her more than anything. But he knew that once he saw her, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. He would break. He would shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Just...come on, Az," Rhys said finally. "Let her see you. She needs to know you're alright."

Azriel knew he couldn't say no. Knew he couldn't hurt her like that. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine," he said softly. "But just for five minutes."

Five minutes. He could do five minutes. He had to. For her…

She was still as achingly beautiful as she always had been. These devasting brown eyes, the caramel curls...

Azriel's breath hitched at the sight of her, and he felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. Love, longing, sadness, and that bittersweet pang of being so close to something he could never have.

Behave, Rhys warned him sharply.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to push back that wave of feelings that threatened to drown him. It was just five minutes, he reminded himself. Five minutes. He could do this.

The shadows swirled around him, welling up with intensity, shrouding much of his body in inky blackness and Elain flinched back from them.

She had never quite warmed up to them. Azriel was just thankful for that display, for keeping her away from him as she entered the room, Lucien on her heels.

"How...How are you feeling?" she asked him, her voice soft.

He could tell that she was worried, that she was concerned for him. It warmed something inside him, and he hated himself for it. 

"I'm fine," Azriel answered hoarsely.  "Just tired.

"I...thank you," Elain said softly, binting her lip. "If you hadn't...if you hadn't killed Koschei and freed Lucien...I...Thank you, Azriel."

Hearing her say his name again was like a punch to the gut. It was both a comfort and a torture, to be so close to her and yet so far away. He swallowed hard, biting back the words that threatened to spill out.

"You don't owe me any thanks," he said quietly. "I just did what had to be done."

"I do owe you my life," Lucien disagreed. "Thank you. Without your interference...I wouln't have survived, " he said flatly.

Azriel just shrugged, feeling a wave of bitterness wash over him. He had saved Lucien, had risked his life to save the male who was mated to the female he loved. It was a strange sort of irony.

"It's fine," he said roughly. "I'm just glad I got there in time."

He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at Lucien. It hurt too much. So he stared at the floor, willing the shadows to consume him entirely.

"We are all just happy you are feeling alright," Elain said softly. "I...I was worried about you. Everyone was."

Azriel forced himself to look up at her, his heart clenching at the sincerity in her eyes. She really had been worried about him. "I'm alright," he promised her, his voice rough. "Really. I just need some rest."

Elain hesitated, taking a step forward. He could hear her heartbeat, could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. It was torture to be so close to her and yet so far away. It was torture to know that she was so close and yet so unattainable. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He held onto that last shred of reason he had.

She tugged a piece of hair behind one delicately arched ear...and that was the moment he saw the gold and pearl ring that decorated her ring finger.

"Congratulations." He wasn't sure how he even brought out these words...how he managed to make them sound...appropriately happy for her.

It took a herculean effort to say those words, to offer a smile that barely reached his eyes. Every fibre of his being was screaming in protest, yelling that he should have been the one giving her that ring, that he should have been the one by her side. But he pushed back those feelings, burying them deep down inside of himself. He couldn't let her see how he truly felt. He couldn't let her know how much it was tearing him apart to stand there and look at her. Look at her with her mate, with the male she loved, the one she had chosen. 

"Congratulation," he repeated, his voice a little rougher than before.

"It wouldn't have been possible without you," Elain said, with a smile.

Azriel just nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He couldn't find the words to respond, couldn't find the words to express the tangle of emotions swirling inside of him. He just sat there, feeling more alone and isolated than he had in a long time.

Elain took another step in his direction, seemingly ready to reach out, but Cassian intercepted her. placing a gentle hand on Elain's shoulder. "He needs his rest," he said softly. "Let's leave him be for now."

Azriel felt a pang of gratitude towards Cassian. Elain hesitated, looking torn.

"I wish you every happiness," Azriel brought out his voice hoarsely. Not even a lie.  It was the frank truth in these words and Elain gave him a smile, before Lucien's hand came to rest at her lower back, guiding her out of the room.

Thank the cauldron. They were gone. 

He slumped back into the pillow.  He was falling apart. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He just wanted to be left alone, to lick his wounds in peace.

"Az..." Cassian said carefully, but he cut him off.

“I am tired,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “I need to sleep.”

The shadows swirled around him tighter. 

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look, before Cassian nodded, "Alright," he said. "Get some rest."

He laid down properly, closing his eyes, calling the shadows to him wordlessly. They swamred around him immediately. Damn Near suffocating him.  It was the only thing that kept him from starting to sob.

The shadows embraced him, wrapping him in their inky blackness, shielding him from the outside world. They were his only comfort, just like they had been for centuries. 

*We are there, Master.* They promised him softly. *It will be fine, Master.*

He didn’t believe a fucking word they said. 

*We are not willing to lose you, Master. We aren’t interested in finding a new master,* they told him seriously. He choked out a laugh that turned into a sob. 

*Sleep, Master. We'll keep watch,* they promised him.

And they did. 

Bone deep exhaustion meant that at least his sleep was dreamless. At least that was given to him. It was a small mercy. 

When he woke up again, Nesta was there, sitting in an armchair reading.

Azriel blinked, feeling disoriented and groggy. He sat up slowly, wincing as his wounds protested the movement. Nesta looked up from her book, her expression neutral.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him quietly.

"Fine," he answered, his voice hoarse. He was fine. He would be fine. 

"Thank you," Nesta said suddenly.

Azriel looked up at her, surprised. He wasn't even sure what she was thanking him for.

"For what?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“You nearly got yourself killed to save my sister’s mate. I think Thank you is the least I owe you," Nesta said drily.

She mustered him with grey eyes and he knew that she knew. Knew that she knew or at the very least could guess about his feelings for Elain and probably be right. She wouldn't say anything, but she knew.

He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was over with. Done. 

Lucien and Elain could be happy and Azriel…Azriel would hide away somewhere. 

"You don't owe me anything," he waved Nesta off weakly, but she didn’t seem to want to take the hint, sticking out her chin. 

"Yes, I do," Nesta disagreed. "You are the reason why my little sister is happy right now," she told him fiercely. He swallowed down the unkind words at the tip of her tongue...didn't say anything. Didn't.... He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t…

"Is there anything I can do?" Nesta asked him, her voice soft. "Anything at all, Az?" H knew that he could ask for anything and Nesta would do her level best to give it to him. She was stubborn like that. He had half a mind to ask her to use her silver flames to put him on fire and put him out of his misery. 

He didn’t. 

Even that wouldn’t fix it. 

There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing to make it any better. There was nothing that could...that could fix the ache in his chest.

"Porridge," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Porridge?" Nesta repeated incrediously.

"Porridge with honey. I am hungry," he repeated, meeting her gaze. Food. Food. More Sleep. More Work. He could fill his waking hours with useless things and everybody would be happy. 

Nesta just looked at him for a moment, then inclined her head.

"Porridge with honey. Alright," she agreed. Just a moment later a massive bowl of Porridge with honey drizzled on top, appeared on his bedside table, so hot it was steaming. Seemed like the house was in a mood to spoil him. He even got a whiff of cinnamon from it.

"Thank you," he thanked Nesta's creature aloud as the shadows fetched the bowl and held it up for him to eat a spoonful. "What are you reading?" he asked Nesta, changing the topic. 

She was polite enough not to say anything about it. 

Nesta held up her book. “The newest Sellyn Drake novel,” she replied.

"Is it any good?" he inquired, stirring his porridge gently.

“It’s brilliant," Nesta gushed, her eyes devoured the pages as soon as she looked down to continue reading.

"You seem to really like it," he pointed out, taking another bite of his porridge. "It is brilliant," Nesta agreed readily. “The plot is so intricate and twists and turns and the characters are so deep and complex and their emotions are so real and the romance is so...” she trailed off, blushing slightly.

He opened his mouth to respond...but then he heard her.

Mor. Of course.

He couldn’t deal with Mor. Not right now. But there she was, Rhys hot on her heels.

Nesta heard her too, rolling her eyes, curling back up on her chair, making it very clear that while she was going nowhere, she was letting him deal with it on her own. 

And he didn’t want to deal with Mor. 

But there she was. 

Mor came strolling into the room, her usual confident smile firmly in place. Rhys just looked at Azriel, his expression unreadable.

He didn't say it.  But Azriel knew. Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.  Either it was about Elain and Lucien...or about Mor and Emerie. Like Azriel would ever do anything to put that in jeopardy. Like Azriel was a jealous child that wouldn't allow Mor to be happy on her own terms. Like...

Azriel ignored the sharp pang of hurt that shot through him at Rhys's look.

Still it was better than looking at Mor…he couldn’t bear to look at Mor. 

 Didn't want to look at Mor, in her usual bright red, skin baring dress, that clung to all her curves...didn't want to look at the female he had spent centuries in love with even when he had known that she was never going to return his affections...it hadn't helped him. He had still been in love with her.

And he had still hoped...hoped against all hope that maybe...maybe there would be a time where she would return his affection...that maybe there would be a time where...

But there wouldn't. He knew. He knew. And he had still been in love with her.

Would have given damn near anything for her attention, for that broad smile on her face to be directed in his direction...would have given anything for her to bound over to his bedside and envelope him in her arms...to feel her soft skin against his as she hugged him fiercely, cinnamon and citrus enveloping him.

Now...now it felt like somebody was pouring salt into a gaping wound. Now it felt as painful as the fire and oil on his hands had. She was flaying him alive and she wasn’t even aware that she was hurting him. 

"How are you feeling, Az?" Mor's voice was gentle, concerned. He knew it was genuine, knew that Mor really cared about him. But he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when his heart was bleeding out just from the sound of her voice.

"Fine," he answered, his voice flat. "Nothing that sleep won't fix," he promised her, even as her hands fluttered around him as she sat down on his bedside...

She was so close. He could reach out and touch her, could feel the soft fabric of her dress against his fingertips. He clenched his fists, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

But he couldn't help it. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He could see the concern there, the worry. He felt a pang of guilt for putting that look on her face. He didn't want to cause her any distress. 

"I'm just glad you are feeling better," Mor sighed, gently patting his arm. "You had us all worried for a moment there," she admitted softly.

Even just the touch of her hand felt like she was branding him. He wanted to flinch away and forced himself no to.

It was like a bittersweet poison, the way she touched him. It was so familiar, so comforting. But it was also so painful, a reminder of what he could never have.

He looked away, staring down at his hands. They were shaking, just a little. He clasped them together, the monstrous scars that covered them, standing out starkly.

The shadows trembled around him, pulling nearer, growing darker and Mor watched them with a raised eyebrow. "Worried, are they?" she teased him slightly.

*You are fine, Master,* the shadows promised him. *No more fire,* they promised him fiercely. But it didn’t help. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.

Mor seemed to sense his discomfort and stood up, her hand slipping from his arm. "Just rest and get better soon, alright?" she said softly, taking a step back.

"Thank you," he thanked her, his voice hoarse.

He risked a glance up at her, just a quick look. Her face was soft, her eyes filled with warmth. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest and he had to look away again. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

"We should let him rest, Mor," Rhys said, giving Azriel another look.

"Right, right," Mor agreed, already turning towards the door. "Rest up, Az," she said again, giving him one last smile as she disappeared out the door.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as she left the room. 

Gone. Thank the cauldron. He couldn't take much more of her presence, not right now. 

He didn't even want to know why Rhys had accompanied her. Probably because he was worried that Azriel wasn't going to behave.

What was he supposed to do instead? Tell Mor about how much she had hurt him over the centuries? How she had given him jut enough scraps of her affection to make him yearn for more but never telling him that she didn’t love him like that? 

He wasn’t going to do that. 

He didn't want to look at Rhys right now, didn't want to face the scrutiny of his high lord's gaze. He just wanted to be left alone.

He knew that Rhys was watching him, that the male wanted to say something. But Azriel didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear the lecture, the warning. He just wanted to be left alone.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of his own breathing. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. Maybe if he just pretended to sleep, Rhys would leave him alone.

"He's tired. You should let him sleep," Nesta said flatly.

Leave it to Nesta to tell Rhys to stuff it, he reflected weakly. He heard Rhys sigh, but he kept his eyes closed. And after a moment, he heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. 

Alone. Safe. Mostly at least. 

Life went on. It always did.

The exhaustion went away after a few days... he caught up on Paperwork in the meantime. He sent the shadows off to find him one information or other and they didn't even bitch to him that badly, which told him that even they felt bad for him.

Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.

So he did. He behaved.

He did his job. He did everything Rhys could possibly want from his spymaster. 

He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. He did his job and he trained and he did everyhting that was expected off him. 

And then he hadn’t tortured himself enough… and he went to visit Rosehall.

Where his mother lived.

Under the Mountains had it’s own kind consequences. This was one of them: His mother didn’t even want to talk to him anymore. 

50 years without him...and his mother had made herself a new family. A family that he wasn’t welcome in. A family that she wanted him nowhere near. He couldn’t fault her for it. Not at all.

She had been half a child when she had had him and it hadn’t been by choice.

So who could blame her for making a new family with people that weren’t as fucked up in the head as he was? Not Azriel.

Azriel didn’t blame her at all. Azriel left her in peace. He didn't reach out. He made sure that she was fine, that she had enough money to never worry about it and otherwise dissappeared from her life. 

His shadows kept an eye on her…He shored up the wards around Rosehall and caught a glimpse of her. And then he left it at that. She looked happy. That’s all he cared about.

Happy and safe and…she didn’t need him. She didn’t want him around her either, and he could understand that too.

And still, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much. 

But 

*You know the rules,* he told the shadows quietly. *You don’t need to report to me about her anymore. Keep an eye on her and only tell me if she is in danger or hurt.*

*Yes, Master,* they agreed readily. 

So he went back to the House of Wind. Back to Velaris…Back to work. 

He went back to his routine, back to his duties, back to his mask of indifference. He hid the pain behind his usual stoic facade, only letting his shadows know how much it hurt. He threw himself into his work, using it as a way to distract himself from his own loneliness.

And when he wasn't working, he would spend hours and hours in the training ring in the House of Wind, working himself to exhaustion. Anything to try and drown out the ache in his heart.

For gods sake, he even attended Elain and Lucien’s mating ceremony. And gifted them an appropriate gift. He behaved just like Rhys wanted him too.

He even summoned up a smile for them on their special day, hiding his own pain behind a mask of false happiness. He congratulated them both, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight of Elain's beaming face. But he didn’t let it show. He behaved. Like Rhys wanted him too.

He stayed for the whole thing. Stayed for the dancing, stayed for the feast. Stayed until he could physically take it no more. And then he had retreated to that training ring again, beating his pain and loneliness out on whatever dummy he could find.

He was so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending. Tired of pretending like nothing was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to just scream and rage and shout and cry. But he didn’t. He held it all in. Bottled it up like he was so good at doing.

He was in the bathtub, sluicing off the sweat he was drenched in…shaking off his wings just because he could move them however he wanted to

*You should go out, Master,* the shadows suggested seriously. *Go out and find a female.*

He just snorted. *Not interested,* he sniped back harshly. *I am not getting my heart broken again.*

Everybody could just fuck off and leave him alone. Even when he was aching…aching for somebody in his life that loved him. For whom he could be everything. Somebody he could dote on. Somebody that wanted his attention, that wanted his love…that would like his ruined hands on their body and wasn’t paid to simply acccept it. 

*You could let us pick her!* the shadows suggested brightly.

His eyes snapped back open and he glared at the shadows swirling around the room. *Absolutely not,* he said firmly. *I mean it, you stay out of it.*

*We can’t do a worse job than you do,* they sniped at him. *Neither The Seer nor The Morrigan would have suited you at all.*

*Excuse me?!* 

*You heard us, Master,* the shadows said, sounding far too smug for their own good. *And you know it.*

Azriel just glared at them, feeling his temper start to rise. *I know I wasn’t good enough for them,* he snapped. *You don’t need to tell me that.*

*You think you weren’t good enough for them?!* The shadows asked him incredulously.

*They deserve better. So much better than me,* he said quietly. "I'm not good enough for either of them. Never was.*

What was he, after all? An Illyrian bastard? A monster? Either? Both? 

He had never said it out loud before, not even to himself. But in that moment, lying in the water, his heart so raw and exposed, he couldn't help but speak the truth that he had always known but never admitted to himself. "I'm not good enough for either of them," he repeated softly, the weight of his words settling heavily on his chest.

He knew it was true. Mor was a golden ray of light, the embodiment of beauty and grace. Elain was sweet and gentle and kind, a pure soul in a sea of darkness. 

And what was he? Damaged. Broken. Scarred. Inside and out.

He had done unspeakable things, things that would haunt his nightmares for centuries to come. He was nothing compared to them. He was darkness, they were light. And they deserved better than him, far better than him.

Even if he had loved Mor with every fiber of his being, even if he had yearned for her with every beat of his heart, even if he had dreamed of her every night, it didn't matter. It had never mattered. Because he wasn't good enough for her. And he never would be.

He wasn’t good enough for Elain. The mother hadn’t thought it to be prudent to make them mates. Both of his brother had been gifted with a mating bond, but not him. That should tell him everything he needed to know abotu the state of his own soul. 

So why…why should he even try anymore. 

Why shouldn’t he just stew in his own misery, alone and heartbroken and a monster and expect everybody to just leave him alone? There was no point of putting himself out there again. There was nothing out there for him. Nothing but more pain.​​

So he closed his eyes again, sinking lower into the water, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He let out a long sigh, his mind already racing with thoughts of his next missions, his next assignments. Because that was all that really mattered now. His job. His duties. His responsibilities. That was all he had left.

Behave. That’s all he was good for. 

*Alright, that’s fucking enough,* the shadows snapped. *You are not letting The High Lord talk to you like that any longer, Master.*

Azriel was so surprised by their fucking vehemence that he could just stare at them. 

*The Morrigan used you for centuries to make herself feel better about herself,* the shadows snapped. *She used the feelings you had for her and that she was very much aware of to strangle you and keep you in line.*

Azriel swallowed. He knew they were right. He knew that Mor had used his feelings for her for a long time. She had led him on, given him false hope, only to yank it away time and time again. It had been a painful cycle, one that had left him feeling used and broken and worthless.

*She could have stopped at any time but she never did,* the shadows hissed. *But instead she hurt you on purpose. Instead of turning you down, she slept with other males to show you that you would never have her!*

Azriel felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Mor had flaunted her other lovers in front of him, making it clear that he would never be enough for her. She had used his devotion to her as a weapon against him, wielding it whenever it suited her needs. And he had let her. He had been foolish, desperate enough to cling onto any scrap of affection she might throw his way.

*And The Seer?! Granted she has never done that, but her feelings for you weren’t particular deep when she replaced you on her affections with The Fox as soon as you weren’t available anymore! If she had cared, truly cared, she would have thought about what happened during Winter Solstice,* the shadows snapped.

*And The High Lord? Don’t even let us get started on him,* the shadows snapped. *You haven’t even done anything since that Winter Solstice, and he keeps behaving like some kind of despotic Overlord, worried that his orders won’t be followed. If you wanted to punch him in the face, you probably had every right to it,* they mumbled.

Azriel couldn’t help but snort. 

*You deserve better, Master,* The shadows told him fiercely. *You deserve somebody that loves you.* 

. He wanted to believe the shadows. He wanted to believe that he was good enough, that he deserved more. But the scars on his body and the memories in his mind told him otherwise. He had done terrible things, things that he could never undo. How could someone like that be good enough for anyone?

*Alright,* he finally agreed weakly. *Find me a house,* he told the shadows, as he closed his eyes.

*A house? What kind of house?* the shadows gave back, sounding surprised.

*A house,* he repeated. *A home. Somewhere in Velaris. Find me a home.* Something that could just be his.

A home. The idea sent a flutter through his stomach. He had never…never truly had a home. Had something that could just be his and nobody else’s. Just…a place that was his, where he could be whoever he wanted, where he was accepted and loved...it was appealing. Maybe even more than just appealing.

He closed his eyes, picturing it in his mind. A cozy little house, just large enough for himself. Warm and cozy and filled with light.

*That’s what a male needs to take a wife after all, right?* He asked, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Was that what he should want? What he was supposed to want? He had never really thought about getting married before. But now, at the mention of it, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. A wife...a family...love and companionship. It all sounded so…so nice.

*You want to get married, Master?* the shadows asked curioulsy. *To whom?*

*You pick,* he told the shadows. They swarmed out in pure excitment. Azriel couldn’t even remmeebr the last time they had been so excited. 

He couldn't help but chuckle at their reaction. Maybe they would do a better job than him. At least they could probably sieve out females that were in a romantic relationship or preferred females themselves. 

*Find me somebody that I could make happy. Somebody that….Somebody that could want me.* Some long-suffering female for whom Azriel could maybe try to be enough. Somebody that would love him.

*What should she look like?* they asked seriously.

*I don’t care. Find me somebody that loves me and she’ll be the most beautiful female to me anyway.*

[hannieehaee]

BAD HABIT (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: hiding his secret crush on you was already hard enough for jungkook, and after getting bit by a spider, he'd now have the grueling task of hiding his brand-new superhero identity from you.

content: spiderman!jungkook, f2l!jungkook, based on mcu's spiderman and is supposed to take place during/after civil war but with an aged up spiderman, college-aged Jungkook and reader, picture tattoo-less 2019 jungkook, pining, slow burn-ish, afab reader, smut, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 878 (teaser); 9.4k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: august 6th

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: writing a spideykook fic is a right of passage for every jk fanfic writer

masterlist | kofi/patreon

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"Oh my God, did you see what he did last night?", you excitedly shoved your phone in Jungkook's direction, showing him yet another news article detailing Spiderman's newest act of bravery.

"What, did he stop another bank robbery?", Jungkook showed disinterest in your interruption, continuing to pay attention to what was playing on the TV.

"Okay, booo! Why are you so lame about him? He's so cool," you complained, setting your back against the couch again with a frown.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "Just don't see what the big deal is about him. There's cooler superheroes out there."

With the light from the TV shinning on the two of you, you allowed the content from the movie to consume you for a bit before arguing back. You always argued back when it came to Spiderman. This was practically routine to Jungkook by now.

"Like Iron Man? Sure, Tony Stark's cool, but think about it — Spiderman's probably just a regular person like you and me. Can you imagine doing all he does while keeping it all undercover?", you rambled on, "Also his body's crazy," you added as an afterthought, almost whispering it to yourself.

Jungkook couldn't help but chuckle at this, inadvertently looking down at his own abdomen before responding, "How do you know he's got a nice body under that suit?"

"You can literally see his abs through the suit! Duh!", you tutted at him as if he were an idiot to question you.

"Ah, right. My bad," he chuckled, "Okay, whatever. Just pay attention to the movie. You can ramble about him all you want after we finish, okay?," he held up his pinky towards you in a childish fashion, grinning when you giggled at him and intertwined your pinky with him, grumbling a 'fine' in mock annoyance.

Now with you both putting your focus on the movie, — Jungkook's all-time favorite, Back to the Future — Jungkook had the opportunity to lose himself to his own head, thinking about your recent obsession with Spiderman — New York's newest hero.

After Spiderman's recent appearance at an encounter with the Avengers in Germany, followed by a more prominent presence in the streets of New York with a revamped suit, you had instantly formed an intense interest in the masked man. Prior to that, the hero was mostly a man hidden in the shadows — a myth to all those in Queens. Almost immediately upon his return to New York he became a sensation across the world, but specially around the area in which he'd serve the people and fight all evil around.

Among all those fans stood you, maybe the biggest of them all.

It didn't take you long to develop a liking to the masked man upon his sudden resurgence. Jungkook had known you to get overly invested in your interests (there had been a few instances throughout your friendship where you'd demonstrated as such), but he never thought you'd be the type to develop such a blatant crush on someone you virtually knew nothing about. Past the fact that he was the youngest addition to the Avengers, there was not much information about Spiderman out to the general public, yet you were quite loud about your crush on him to everyone you knew — especially to Jungkook, who just so happened to be your best friend.

Unfortunately to Jungkook, you were entirely unaware that the man you were actually crushing on was your best friend in disguise.

And even more unfortunate to him, you were even more unaware of Jungkook's own crush on you.

Did this count? Were you technically crushing on Jungkook?

He chose to go for the most pesimistic answer and assume that your interest in Spiderman would immediately die upon finding out his real identity. Throughout your many years of knowing each other — all through the ups and downs of middle school and high school all the way to university — you'd never once shown anything but platonic interest in him.

To be fair, Jungkook also never gave you any clear indication of his feelings for you. He liked to think that he was discrete about it; that you had no idea of the embarrassing crush he'd been cultivating since freshman year of high school. Fortunately, you appeared to be far too oblivious to it, leaving Jungkook to hold not one but two life-altering secrets, never once considering letting you in on either of them.

For now, all Jungkook could do was make up lame excuses for his sudden absences and to grumble any time Spiderman's name was brought up. Part of him held disdain for Spiderman due to having to keep him a secret from you, but most of his dislike was born out of jealousy over your interest in him. What did he have that Jungkook didn't? Nothing! But he could never tell you that, leading him to a never-ending dilema that he could entrust in no one.

The movie left his mind for the next of the night, much more so when you seemed to become disinterested again, cuddling against him as you prepared to let yourself fall asleep. This was common in your relationship, though it was always strictly platonic. It always left Jungkook wanting more, but still content at having you by his side.

...

you can check it out today on my ko-fi or patreon by subscribing to either one!

[heeseungsbm]

・₊✧ Kiss Me Thru The Phone‧₊˚☏♡₊˚

lee heeseung

₊˚⊹❥pairing❥: idol ! heeseung x female reader

₊୧ ‧₊❥summary❥: the hardest part of heeseung's job was being separated from you; it drove him physically insane. he was determined to find a way to satisfy his insatiable cravings—his intense desire for you, one way or the other.

❥ genre: smut with plot, fluffy ending :)

⊹₊ ⋆❥warnings❥: sexting, heeseung is very horny, phone sex, masturbation (male & female), dirty talk, edging, fingering (female), orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, nicknames (baby, good girl).

❥ heeseung’s dialogue is in pink.

:‧₊˚ ⋅❥wc❥: 7k.

thank God, the fate tour and its excessive, completely unnecessary extensions had finally come to an end. there wasn't enough of a word to describe how relieved heeseung felt to be done.

don't get him wrong, heeseung loved being an idol. he loved the rush of adrenaline he got from performing in sold out shows, and having hundreds of thousands of beautiful girls losing their composure over him was quite the ego boost.

but tour? uh uh. not heeseung's thing.

while it was an amazing experience in many ways, it had its dreadful downsides; the lack of sleep, the pounding headaches from jet lag, the body sores and bruises from practicing for hours and hours on end, leaving him with literally no energy for anything else. privacy was practically nonexistent, it'd become a distant memory. heeseung literally had no space to himself. everything was a group activity.

however, not seeing you for months was the worst, most agonizing part of it all. who would want to be away from their girlfriend for nearly half the year, and then the longest time they'd get to be with her was 2 weeks? sure you guys made it work, but that didn't make it any less torturous.

at the end of the day, when the arenas went empty and the stage lights grew dark, heeseung was a male with hormones. a man who got horny, just like any other. nothing could fulfill his desires the way you did, he absolutely hated not being able to have sex for long periods of time.

of course there were quick and easy alternatives he could've ran to, but unlike his members who had numerous one night stands and groups of girls signing NDAs to give them a good time in their hotel rooms, heeseung didn't care to fuck anyone who wasn't you. sex to him was intimate, an expression of his passion and devotion that he only took pleasure sharing with one person.

one person he was deeply in love with, which is you.

it was hell on earth having to bust a painfully quiet nut while his members slept in the same room as him, or having to sneak away and jerk off in the bathrooms. even in heeseung's sleep, his filth lived in his fantasies past his eyelids, it's all he could dream about.

sex, sex, and more sex.

every part of you—your lips, your voice, your scent, your body, your touch. it was like a drug to him, and your absence gave him the most excruciating withdrawal. he couldn't wait for the tour to end so he could finally be with you, even if it was just for a little.

he was sick and tired of cumming in his palm.

backstage, heeseung sat criss-cross applesauce on a chair, fidgeting anxiously and taking deep breaths to try to calm himself down. enhypen had just finished their last show in japan which he was more happy about, but the whole day thoughts of you ate at his brain like acid. his erection would not go down for the life of it, no matter how hard he tried.

he did push ups, played mobile games to try and distract himself, but nothing was working. he was so fucking horny that he couldn't think straight, and his body language spoke louder than words.

the more he fed the thought, the more he realized there was one thing he could do. heeseung kept an entire folder in his phone, loaded with your explicit photos & videos for when he desperately needed to get off. you are the only thing that made him incredibly hard, and the only thing that led him to actually finish. he had no interest in porn, it needed to be to you.

he was helpless and desperate, discreetly covering the unsettling sensitivity in his lap. his heart raced rapidly and he felt like all eyes were on him, focusing on the hardening feeling that he longed to ease. after what felt like hours of contemplation, he decided to surrender to it and text you, knowing you were the only person who could fix this.

maybe he could get something new from you to use, and hopefully find a place to use it.

hello lovebug

he texted you, the ding of your phone striking you confused as you applied soap onto your back. you rinsed off your hand and reached out of the shower curtain for your phone to see who it was.

no other than your boyfriend, of course.

oh hey, you're done for the day?

heeseung sat eagerly waiting for your response, his eyes glued to the screen. when your message came through quickly, he let out a sigh of relief, happy that the wait wasn't long.

thank fucking goodness i am😂

are you busy rn tho baby?

the bubbles indicating typing appeared, and after a few seconds your messages sent.

😂hope it went well

and kind of, in the shower

a sly smile spread across heeseung's face, flashbacks of your naked body gleaming with water running through his mind from when you last showered together.

oh wow

can you do me a favor?

his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he waited in anticipation.

sure what's up

you didn't even have a chance to place your phone back down before you heard another ding, he was replying unusually fast.

can you make me a video while you're in there?

your eyes widened at his text, a mix of surprise and intrigue coming over you at his request.

omg

ok, but what kind? lol

heeseung chewed his inner cheek at your question, thinking of what to say back. he knew exactly what he wanted to see, he just didn't want to come across as... obnoxious.

anything baby

just something to cum to, if that's okay with you?

typical heeseung, always asking for nudes. you didn't mind giving him what he wanted though, it gave you a sense of empowerment and validation to be able to fulfill his need for you with just the simple sight of your body.

you grabbed some more shower gel and squeezed a generous amount of the fruity substance onto your chest, rubbing the suds to create a lather. you posed as you took selfies with your tits in the frame, recording a couple clips for him seductively massaging your bubbly boobs, showing different angles to flaunt your soapy body. after picking the best ones, you pressed send and resumed your shower.

Attatchments: 5 Images, 2 Videos

enjoyyyyy😘😘😘

heeseung felt his phone buzz twice on his thigh as he impatiently shook it on the chair, sending a wave of butterflies straight to his tummy. he scanned his surroundings, and thankfully everyone was busy having their own conversations and doing their own things. but just to surely make sure nobody was looking, he covered the side of his phone screen with his hand as he opened your messages.

damn.

his face lit up at how much you'd spoiled him, gawking at your pretty face complimented by your wet hair, and your plump boobs covered in bubbles. he looked like a dumb dog, his eyes stuck and his lips parted, almost drooling as he watched how your hand fondled your tits.

you're so sexy

i wish i could fuck you right now

he could feel his face getting hot, his palms growing warm and sweaty. his dick pulsed in his pants, he needed to find somewhere to be alone, and soon. otherwise, he was going to cum in his pants.

"hyung, are you okay?" jake asked as he came up from behind, noticing the red flushing of his friend's cheeks and the jittering of his thigh.

heeseung flinched dramatically, nearly dropping his phone on the ground in the process. he quickly shut his phone off and placed it face down on the table, hoping to God that jake hadn't been standing there for long,

"you seem extra tense today," he teased, placing a hand on his elder's shoulder. "your cheeks are as red as a tomato."

"do not fucking touch me," heeseung hissed, removing jake's hand off his shoulder. he released the tension in his body by cracking his neck on both sides, then his knuckles one by one.

"sheesh. somebody needs their dick sucked.." jake joked, bursting into laughter at heeseung's uptight behavior.

well, he wasn't wrong. that's exactly what heeseung needed, actually.

"oh yeah, you wouldn't believe what happened to me earlier," jake exclaimed, his voice full of enthusiasm. "these two girls were hanging out in the lobby, and they would not leave me alone! until i let them give me a 2 for 1 special, if you know what i mean," he elbowed heeseung, a playful grin on his face. "never came so fast in my life. one was twisting with her hand, while the other was sucki—"

"will you shhhhh!" heeseung silenced jake, placing his hand over his mouth. he wanted to gag, he was disgusted by the thought of rotating between multiple girls for pleasure. "im on the phone with my mom, you freak," he quickly came up with a lie, removing his hand from jake's mouth. "do you know somewhere i could take the call, privately?"

jake chuckled, because obviously he wasn't a fucking dumbass. heeseung was the freak here.

"there should be an empty dressing room a few doors down from here. it's down the hall, the third silver door on the left," he said, pointing in the direction of the exit. "hope you and mom have fun," jake shot a wink, before scurrying off to continue flirting with backup dancers.

gosh, what a freak.

heeseung sighed in relief once jake left, thankful that his lie cut the conversation short. it was suffocating having to interact with anyone when thoughts of you would corrupt his mind, especially with someone as oversharing as jake. he got up from his chair and made his way out of the backstage area, squeezing between cameramen and staff, reciting the directions jake gave him in his head.

back at home, you finally finished your shower and skincare, moisturizing your body with butters to seal your routine. you threw on some pink lace panties and a soft silk robe heeseung bought you not too long ago and you entered the room you and heeseung shared, lighting a few vanilla-scented candles, casting a warm glow across the room and adding a gentle fragrance to the air. with the lights dimmed, you yawned in fatigue as you made your way to your queen-sized bed, diving into its cozy embrace. 

even with the room clean and your body refreshed from your shower, you couldn't shake the emptiness you felt without heeseung's presence. you missed the nights he would come to bed and shower your neck with kisses, how he'd hug you tight from behind until you fell asleep. your eyes fixated on his empty side of the bed, a pang of loneliness striking your chest. you moved closer to his pillows and clutched them tightly, as if they could somehow fill the void he left behind.

meanwhile, halfway across the globe, heeseung stood outside what he believed to be the place jake recommended. he frowned as he examined the blank door in front of him, how weird that it had no label, and not even a handle. but it was in fact, the only 'third silver door on the left'. with uncertainty he pushed it open, quietly creeping in and letting it close behind him.

empty dressing room? way to lie to a lie, jake.

heeseung stumbled through the crowded darkness, blindly swatting away at hangers of clothes as they grazed his face. he hugged his body with his sleeveless arms as the AC blasted painfully cold air, and to make his matters worse, there was no light switch. well, at least to his knowledge after feeling around for one. this was clearly not a dressing room, more like an ... abandoned closet.

with the help of his phone's flashlight, heeseung managed to make his way to the very back, the area thankfully warmer behind a rack of performance costumes. he could not believe he'd sunken this low; going all this way to masturbate in such an ominous room like this. but at the same time, anything would be better than walking around with the sexual urge that plagued him all day.

he resigned himself to sitting on the floor, sighing as he sank against the wall. he unlocked his phone and went to your messages, his thumb hovering over the screen as he checked to see if you replied to any of his previous texts. 

he scoffed in a bummer, no text back.

heeseung's mind started to race with possible explanations; maybe you were just asleep. or maybe you were flat out ignoring him, he couldn't help but wonder if he had gone too far with his request for nudes. but his desire for you consumed him, heeseung ached to hear your voice and feel closer to you, even if it meant connecting purely through the phone.

to tell the truth, he'd been fantasizing about having phone sex with you for as long as he could remember. he always craved the idea; how good it would feel to listen to you touch yourself while he did the same, how pretty you'd moan for him, how it wouldn't take long to make each other cum. he thought it was the least you two could do with the distance, he just never knew how to ask.

the need coursing through his body was intense, the only chance he'd have to make his fantasy a reality was now, alone in this closet. who knew how it was ever going to go, but it was worth a try. he began texting you again, in hopes of fast replies like before.

you were lying in bed on twitter, how coincidental that you were searching for a new fancam of heeseung, unaware that you had him on delivered. his flurry of new notifications put an end to your scrolling, literally making you freeze in place.

hey

are you still up baby?

please call me if you are

your heart began to pound out of your chest, your pupils dilating at the words "call me". it'd been roughly a month since you were able to, due to heeseung's hectic schedule and all the time zone differences. at least at the start of his career you two were able to text and facetime throughout the day, he even fell asleep on the phone with you every night. but now that enhypen's popularity was increasing rapidly, you and heeseung barely had any time to talk consistently.

like, ever.

after multiple sets of deep breaths and practicing how cutely you'd speak, you clicked his contact and looked away as you pressed call. you couldn't bear to look at the screen as the phone rang for what felt like eternity, your stomach cartwheeling as you waited for him to answer.

heeseung sat in the dark, his phone serving as his only source of light as he looked through his collection of you, trying to find whatever would help him get off the best. suddenly, his screen flashed and he squinted as it abruptly brightened up his face, following his loud ringtone.

shit, it was you.

with no hesitation, heeseung swiftly swiped the green button to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. he cleared his throat as the call began, with the biggest smile on his face.

"hey, baby," heeseung greeted you.

that sweet word, baby. it was like a warm hug and a loving kiss intertwined into one, it made your insides melt every time. "hello mr. celebrity," you playfully said back into the phone, curled up on his side of the bed. "what are you up to?"

heeseung laughed at your playfulness, your honeyed voice immediately sedating him. he'd missed it terribly. "nothing much, i've just been thinking about you. nothing new, right?"

he sounded so gentle and velvety, making you more shy than usual. to be fair that's how heeseung always made you feel, everything with him gave you first time nerves. "i've been thinking about you too, babe," you confessed.

"how are you feeling?" he asked you, his speech smooth. "it's late over there, isn't it? did you eat dinner yet?"

you sighed. "well i guess i'm okay, you know. just waiting for you to come home." you couldn't help your uncontrollable smile, you felt like a middle school girl on the phone with her crush. "and i had a chicken cesar salad for dinner, with a strawberry-banana smoothie."

"ahh. that's good baby, sounds yummy. we had really good catering today, i thought you would've liked it," heeseung happily shared with a smile. no matter where he was, there was always something that made him think of you, in some way shape or form. "i really wish you could've been here with me, y/n. all i am without you is stressed."

you pouted, also sad that you had to stay home. the plan was for you to come along with him, but the company didn't want to risk heeseung's personal life getting leaked to the public. you spoke back, "well, i'd imagine all the dancing you do helps relieve some of that stress? no?"

heeseung rotated his neck that was sore from performing, placing his hand on the nape of it. "well yes, but no... not enough." you could hear the distress in his voice as it rasped. "honestly, i'm feeling a bit crazy right now." 

dear God above please forgive me, you mentally implored as arousal began coiling within you. and how terrible, heeseung was simply just expressing himself. but damn did he sound good, his voice was deliciously hoarse. something about him sounded so captivatingly different, you just couldn't put your finger on it. whatever it was, you can't lie.. it had you squeezing your thighs together.

you spaced out as he kept talking, staring at the spinning ceiling fan above you. the line soon went silent thanks to your trance, causing heeseung to worry. "um, y/n... h–hello?"

"oh! im sorry," you quickly apologized, coming back to reality. you took your phone off your ear and put him on speaker mode, sitting more upright against the headboard of your bed. "im here, babe. you just... you sound really good."

heeseung smiled to himself, taking great pride in your compliment. "you like how i sound, huh?"

"mhm," you hum in agreement. "i missed your voice."

"i miss you, just.. everything about you." he sounded low and sultry, sending a chill down your spine. "i really wish i could touch you right now."

the corners of your lips curved into a smile at the thought of heeseung's perfect hands, how big they were compared to everything on your body. you missed his touch so badly. "i miss you so much more," you replied, filled with longing. "wish you could touch me too."

those words were just what heeseung wanted to hear, and he was trying so hard to not unzip his jeans and jerk off while you talked. he desperately wanted to tell you how hard you were making him, how bad he wanted to cum, how bad he wanted to listen to you fuck your fingers on the line. but he knew that needed to ease into it gradually, like a gentleman.

heeseung moved his hand underneath his sleeveless top to smooth it over his lower stomach, trying to relax. "you're in bed, right? what are you wearing?" he asked, hoping it was little to nothing.

it caught you off guard, wondering what he could possibly do with that information. "yeah, oh, uhhh... one of the robes you sent me for my birthday," you tell him, your fingers idly playing with the string of your robe.

"oh," he raised a brow, picturing your bare body in the silk. "so, nothing else? just the robe, baby?"

"well, if you're not counting underwear, then i guess.." you nonchalantly replied, looking at your nails.

"mmm, i really like that." heeseung bit his lip, thinking of all the pretty undergarments you'd wear to bed. the lace, cheeky underwear that you'd wear turned him on so much, he always insisted you kept them on while he fucked you. "they're pink, aren't they? your panties, i mean."

"mhmm, they are," you responded with a big smile, as he was surprisingly right. "wow, you know me so well."

"i do, don't i," he smirked. but his cocky smile deliberately faded as he remembered where he was, and how he didn't have much time. he had to get this whole thing over with before someone went looking for him, and found him. "i need to tell you something, baby. it's been on my mind for a while." 

"oh, um..." the suspenseful tone in his words scared you. it felt dramatic, like he was about to break up with you or something. "well go on, please." 

"well, there's really no other way to say this, so." heeseung began, his voice deepening lower than before. "i really miss having sex with you, y/n." he continued, little more confidence in his voice, "since we won't be able to see each other for a while, i was wondering if you'd be interested in trying something."

phew. why the hell was that so hard? he felt like a bulldozer had been lifted off his body.

the way heeseung spoke was rich and penetrating, his voice sending a pulsing feeling to your core, making you clench around nothing. "oh i—i miss it too," you agreed shyly, nearly spacing out again. your mind was flooding with the filthiest flashbacks of those unforgettable, sinful nights of that only the two of you knew about. "what did you want to try?" you asked him with a curious tilt of your head.

heeseung took a deep breath, hoping you'd welcome his proposal. "phone sex," he cleared his throat. "... what do you think of the idea?"

fuck he sounded so hot, goodness gracious. God help you again.

you didn't expect heeseung to ask you something like that, considering the fact that he'd never done anything like that in front of you before. yes, you guys had sex, and he clearly used his hand when he needed to. but you'd never self pleasured together before.

finally, you managed to find your voice after a long pause, your words coming out in a soft, shaky tone. "you... you want to try having it?" you asked, your fingers tracing the contour of your thigh to ease your nerves.

"i do, but what about you, baby? would you like to?" heeseung waited patiently, praying in his mind that you'd say yes. the denim of his jeans brutally outlined the shape of his cock, it was begging to be freed from his boxers.

"to be honest, im not sure how well i can do it," you vulnerably admitted. "it might not be as good as you're hoping for."

but the throbbing between your legs grew stronger as you considered his offer, your mind racing with indecision. heeseung clearly really wanted to try, and it couldn't hurt to experiment a little. you took a deep breath, the thought of pleasuring him outweighing your uncertainty. "since it's for you, we can try."

heeseung was beyond thrilled that you agreed, more than happy. but he knew you more than anyone, and he felt concern at the slight hesitation he could sense. he wanted to make sure you truly felt comfortable, it was important to him for both of you to enjoy it.

"don't feel nervous, i'll be here to guide you through it. you can trust me, okay?" he gently assured you, soft but somehow authoritative. "if at any point you don't like it just tell me, and we can stop."

you smiled at heeseung's reassurance, the nervousness immediately leaving your body at his consideration. "you're so sweet. don't worry, i want to. i trust you," you assured him. "we can start now, if that's what you wanted."

heeseung let out a sigh of relief, feeling calm after hearing your affirmation. "great," he replied, the corners of his lips curling slightly. "give me one second."

he unzipped his tight-fitting jeans, feeling a sense of freedom at finally being able to relax. he reached for his aching cock out of his Calvin Klein boxers, groaning as it sprung straight up and slapped his stomach. his precum spilled from his pink, cut tip, he gulped down a thick swallow of air as he spread the leakage across the head with his thumb. "are you comfortable?"

"mhmm," you hummed, pulling the covers over your lower body, seeking warmth and privacy even though there was no one to hide from.

"close your eyes for me baby, i want you to imagine me there from now on. just trust me, it'll feel better with them closed." heeseung wrestled the impulse to jerk his impressive length that stood proud in his lap, but he wanted to get you going first. "are they closed yet?" he asked you, closing his own.

you closed your eyes, the darkness making his voice seem even more seductive. "mhm, they're closed."

heeseung's breath hitched slightly at the sound of your compliance. "good, baby. i want you to focus on my voice, nothing else matters. okay?"

"okay," you tell him, your heart racing faster now, the intimacy of the moment heightened by your inability to see.

"touch your body for me," heeseung muttered huskily, authority in his voice. "you know where to touch first, right baby?"

"mhm, i think so." you gasped as you slipped your hands inside the silky fabric of your robe, your fingers trailing gently along the sensitive skin of your neck before moving to run along your collarbones, then downwards to gently caress your bare chest.

"where are you touching, love?" he sweetly asked.

"my tits," you responded, massaging your tender breasts and playing with your hardened nipples between your fingers.

"mmm, good girl. spread your legs for me," he lowly instructed, spitting a long glob of saliva onto his cock and smoothing it around the length as he felt it drip down, giving the shaft a firm hold with his fist. "move your hand to where you want me to touch you, baby."

your body responded to his commands like a puppet on a string, unable to resist his allure. you were on your back, slightly propped up by pillows as you opened your legs, wandering your hand down to land between your thighs. "okay, i did," you quietly replied.

"you want to touch it so bad, don't you baby?" heeseung taunted you, his teasing revealing your own longing to touch your sensitive flesh through the fabric. "wanna play with your pussy so bad for me."

"yes please," you begged him. "please let me."

"you can baby, you can touch for me." heeseung granted you permission, and he could already hear a change in your breathing, it became shaky within seconds.

you rubbed your covered pussy, pressing down right where your clit was swelling. your folds left a big puddle on the thin material, your underwear entirely soaked, absorbing all of your arousal. "heeseung," you softly moaned his name as you groped your wetness, "my panties, they're ruined."

heeseung threw his head back against the wall, the thought of your pussy being so wet that it seeped through your panties made his cock grow painfully harder, harder than it already was. it pulsed violently, throbbing as it cried to be stroked up and down. "you wanna be a good girl and touch your pussy for me?" he asked, his voice deep and saturated with his need to touch himself.

your voice cracked as you answered, "yes, want to touch so bad."

heeseung could cum off of how sweet and submissive you sounded right now alone. "go ahead and touch baby, tell me what you feel."

you slid your fingers underneath the damp fabric and massaged the surface of your folds, your stickiness glazing your fingertips. "im wet, i'm really wet."

"that's perfect, baby." his tongue darted out to wet his lips, visualizing running the head of his cock between the wet lips of your pussy. "touch your clit and play with it."

your body twitched as you began to toy at your sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing yourself like heeseung would with his perfect fingers. you took deep, trembling breaths against the mic of your phone, turning heeseung on so much on the other side.

he let out a sharp moan as he finally glided his hand up and down his wet dick, applying immense pressure to his sensitive tip. he didn't need lube, his precum and saliva were just enough. "can you hear it, baby? stroking my cock for you, just for you." he grunted, lowering his phone and bringing the mic near his hands, allowing you to hear every wet, sloppy sound of the friction.

you whined, rubbing delicate circles on your clit as you listened to the slipperiness of his cock. "shhh...it. f-fuck," your teeth sunk down on your bottom lip, in slight shame of cursing.

heeseung's fist rhythmically twisted around his cock, his chest rising and falling heavily with each lubricious stroke. his thigh muscles spasmed at the heavenly, warm sensation from his hand, his toes tingling in his shoes. it felt so fucking good to finally be able to jerk off. but still, nothing compared to how you felt. "put your fingers in your fucking pussy." he demanded it of you, more than ready to hear it.

with your imagination fixated on the thought of heeseung's cock in place of your fingers, you carefully teased your tight entrance, sticky and slick from how bad you wished he was home to fuck you. you hissed as you pushed one in, then another, deeply past your tight walls.

your soft moans let him know that your fingers were inside of you, and heeseung smiled to himself at your obedience. "i need you to talk to me, baby. does it feel good? feel good to finger your pussy for me?"

"feels s-so good," you trembled, spreading your legs further apart as you gradually slid your fingers in and out of your hole. your mouth hung open at the immense pleasure, it was blissful to finally have something penetrating you after so long—you hadn't touched yourself since he left for tour.

heeseung routinely licked his lips as he steadily stroked his cock, your whines and whimpers into the phone bringing him a different type of contentment. he wanted to hear more, he wanted to feel like he was there making you feel good. "moan for me some more, baby."

just the sound of his voice alone guiding you was stimulating, it was hypnotizing. you were completely under his spell, and in your current state, there was nothing you wouldn't do if he asked. you pumped your 2 fingers deeper, moving them in and out of your tightness with care as you let yourself get louder. "miss you, miss the way you fuck me," you whined, trying your best to sound as pornographic for him as possible. "im ... so tight," you squealed, searching and exploring for that sweet spot that he always reached.

"yeah?" heeseung jerked himself off with a more firm grip around his girth, attempting to mimic the tightness of your wet cunt. "tell me, tell me how tight you are for me."

"im so wet, and tight for you," you shakily moaned into the mic as you fingered your pussy, the squelching driving him crazy. "just for you, hee." you switched back and forth between fingering yourself and massaging your tits for more simulation, taking your fingers and spreading the wetness on your nipples, then fucking them back into your pussy.

"such a good girl. keep playing with your pussy for me baby, just like that." heeseung praised you as his adam's apple moved up and down in his throat, breathlessly talking you through your pleasure.

he took his lower lip between his teeth and sucked on it, his breathing growing increasingly heavier. his right hand weakly held his phone against his ear to hear you whilst he thrusted his hips upwards, fueling his desperate grinding into his left hand. he was still a little paranoid about someone coming in and busting him for doing something so immoral, so nasty, but he wanted to vocally please you the best he could. so, he didn't back any sound that came from his throat.

you could hear the ruffling of heeseung fucking up into his hand, it was so intense that you could've sworn you started to feel it. the vulgar profanity that left his lips made your pussy so wet and slick, you completely melted into the mattress at the sound of his filth against your ear.

you couldn't believe how quickly the phone call had changed within a matter of just 7 minutes, here you were playing your pussy on the phone while heeseung moaned like his life depended on it.

you physically couldn't stop, and neither could he on the other side. heeseung relished his salacious fantasy, his mind entirely fogged with lust for you. he never wanted it to end, because you sounded so good. it made his cock so fucking hard, how he was the only one who got to hear you this way; so cute, whiney and breathless, so desperate for him without his touch.

"oh my g—fuck me," you moaned, pumping your fingers faster into yourself. "you're gonna make me cum," you quivered as you pleaded for him, cream dripping from your hole and wetting your sheets.

heeseung let another warm pool of drool fall from his mouth onto his dick, reminiscing how moist and warm you felt in his head, his wet hand picking up the pace. he could feel it in his stomach; he was going to explode if he kept stroking himself at this speed. as torturous as it felt, he slowed down his hand's movements, choking on air as he occasionally let go of his cock to edge it and reserve the buildup.

you tortured your clit with the tips of your creamy fingers, the pleasure becoming so overwhelming that a tear rolled down your cheek. "hee, i-i'm gonna cum," you faintly whimpered, your clit starting to feel too sensitive to touch.

"cumming already, baby?" he let out a stifled moan, his primal desire for you to cum surging. "good girl, cum all over your fingers."

you'd never heard heeseung be this vocal, but you completely submerged in it, loving how careless and expressive he was being. it was a side of him you hadn't known before, and you couldn't get enough.

he mumbled profanity under his jagged breaths and begged you to cum for him, his fist fucking his hand with more force to the thought of being inside you. he could hear the speed of your fingers getting faster and faster, and all that mattered to him was that you were close to cumming—because he damn sure was.

heeseung panted, gripping himself tighter and stroking faster, so fast that his hand began to cramp. he furrowed his brows and his mouth fell wide, his nose scrunching as he felt his sweet release seconds away. "oh fuck... fuck y/n, i'm gonna cum, fuck! im—" his orgasm took over his entire body, spurts of his hot semen oozing out of his tip and dripping down his length, making a thick white mess all over his hand. he moaned in ecstasy as his cock relentlessly leaked, his abs clenching as his seed spilled onto his jeans.

it was disgusting.

you mouth salivated at the obscene sounds of heeseung reaching his peak of ecstasy, and it wasn't long before your own body succumbed to its own waves of pleasure, cumming with him at the same time. you shrieked as you uncontrollably squirted all over the bedsheets, leaving heeseung's side drenched with the liquids from your body. your legs shook violently and you could barely catch your breath, lost in the overtaking overstimulation.

heeseung was far from done, he absentmindedly pumped his cock in a slower, teasing rhythm, milking out his remaining ropes of cum to the sweet sounds of your climax. there was so much, it just kept coming and coming, and coming.

you knees so fell weak that you lost feeling in them. you gasped as you opened your eyes after seeing stars for so long, moaning with heeseung in unison as you both came down from your highs. you slowly removed your fingers out of your pussy, a string of milky wetness following as you brought them into your mouth, tasting the sinful mess you made.

"i j-just changed these sh-sheets," you stuttered as you caught your breath, still shaken from your orgasm. "i made such a mess."

heeseung also was still recovering from his intense release, his breathing heavy and rapid. he let out a long, satisfied sigh, his body relaxing and his cock falling soft as he basked in the afterglow of cumming so much. "let me see the mess you made, baby," he pleaded to see it, desperate for visual proof. "show me."

"you are so freaky," you jokingly snickered, a rasp in your voice from all of the high pitched moans that escaped your mouth. you snapped a picture of the icky mess of cum between your legs and sent it to him, closing and tying your robe back up after.

heeseung's jaw clenched as he opened the photo, his doe eyes round with awe. "woah... that's so hot." he couldn't help but run his tongue over his lips at your downward pov, the sight of the white, creamy essence on your pretty pussy making his cock twitch, despite it falling back tender. his mind raced with thoughts of you and what the two of you had just done together. "i really missed hearing you like that, you're so cute."

"oh stop," you blushed, your heart swelling with affection for him. it was reassuring to hear that he enjoyed how you sounded, you felt a bit better about your performance. "it wouldn't have been possible without you, though."

heeseung chuckled softly, a cocky grin gracing his features. hearing that from you gave him an ego boost. "it felt good, didn't it baby?" he asked, hoping you enjoyed it as much as he did. though he knew you did, there was no way you faked those noises.

"mhm, it felt really good, thanks to you." you nodded with a smile, reminiscing about it already. "i'm glad i tried something new with you."

he grabbed his softened cock that was still hot and sticky, putting it back into his boxers and zipping his jeans back up. "im glad i could help you, thank you for helping me." he mellowly replied, playing with the goopy aftermath of his own release between his fingers. "there's so much i want to do to you, baby. when i get back we'll make up for lost time, yeah?"

"yeah," you softly tell him, getting aroused all over again. you put your finger between your lips, gently nippling on it with your front teeth. a shiver ran down your spine, knowing full well how things tended to get when there was a gap of time in between seeing each other. you didn't know how much longer you could wait. you needed heeseung, you needed the real thing, your fingers could only go so far.

"okay, i have to go now. it's time for you to get some sleep anyways," heeseung said gently as he stood up from the closet floor, shivering from the pins and needles sensation in his legs from his seated climax. "i'll give you a call tomorrow. alright?"

you couldn't help but feel sad that he had to go, you wished he could stay on the phone forever. "okay," you doubtfully sighed, "i hope you know that i don't believe you."

heeseung chuckled into the phone, shaking his head at your insistence. "why? i will call you, you'll see."

you weren't completely reassured, your doubts still lingering. "you promise?"

heeseung's voice softened, his tone earnest. "i promise, baby."

"pinky promise?" you ask him, your voice getting sweeter.

"pinky, pinky, promise." he echoed into the speaker, making you giggle. "double pinky promise. now do you believe me?"

"you pinky promised, so i'll be waiting on it," you smiled, satisfied with his assurance. "goodnight, heeseung."

heeseung's heart wrenched at your words of goodbye. he missed you already, and he too didn't want to go, but he knew had to get back to where he was supposed to be. "goodnight baby, i love you."

"aww. i love you too bubbabear," you say back. "so much."

"but not more than i love you," heeseung's voice turned childish, "never ever."

you got out of bed, still damp between your legs, and the sheets beneath you soaking with your evidence of pleasure. "okay, you can hang up now."

"no, you hang up."

"no you hang up," you spat back.

"no, im not hanging up," heeseung argued with playful defiance, "so you can go ahead, hang up."

"whatever," you rolled your eyes, "just hang up."

"no, you."

"no, you."

heeseung laughed, he knew you'd go back and forth forever if you had the chance. "fine, i'll hang up. but only because i love you."

"oh but that sounds... manipulative?" you replied with sarcasm, "i love you too, by the way."

"sweet dreams," he wished you, before blowing a kiss into the mic. "give me a kiss back, baby," he cutely asked, waiting for you to reciprocate it. "kiss me through the phone."

"gosh, you are so corny," you complained, knowing you'll do it anyway. "wait! let's do it at the same time," you suggest.

"even better," heeseung agreed, full of excitement. "on three."

you counted to three together, both of you bringing your lips to the phone and kissing it, making a long mwah sound.

"aww, i love you," you gush at him one last time.

"you're so cute. i love you more," heeseung sweetly replied, before cutting the line.

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

♡ྀི hello my beautiful followers, its literally been a year since my last post, i'm terrified😅i feel like i lost my writer's spark but if this does well, i have plenty of filth in my drafts waiting to be posted!😟

[etheries1015]

Fem!MC X platonic Twst - missing the "girly" things.

General warnings: Fem reader, very Self-indulgent. If you don't relate, please keep scrolling along <3 not very proofread. No pronouns are used, but the concept of "girliness" and "girlhood" is very strong.

The boys have noticed their prefect act a bit different lately...a cloud of loneliness hovered over your head. As the only girl of Night Raven College, it was incredibly easy to feel left out and miss the things you were once interested in back in your world. You held a strong façade of prestige and uncaringness, but what happens when that mask begins to crack? How will the boys of NRC put your woes at rest? ...with a wonderful slumber party, of course!

First coming to Twisted Wonderland, not many could tell you were well-versed (Or at the very least, incredibly interested) in clothing, face Care, and jewelry. Although your personality screamed more or less "Gremlin" at times, and were a "well-known and respected honor student" all the same- you had a rather "girly" side to yourself.

However, you had limited options on having a non-existent budget, but a few of the students took notice of the longing in your eyes whenever you passed by something you desired to have back in your life. The cute earrings, the pretty dresses and skirts, the headbands...a mix of classy and modern, things of that nature.

The first time you were able to get your hands on a half way decent outfit that suited your tastes and you wore it out, others stared in shock. You were still the cheery and "weird" gremlin prefect that had crude humor and silly dance moves, yet something about seeing you in such...frills and 'flamboyance' was not what they were expecting. It suited you, though.

You soon found yourself being handed such outfits. Vil had taken it upon himself to gift you expensive brand outfits that he saw your eye when walking around town, Malleus gifting you a few outfits from Briar Valley that he felt would suit your tastes, Kalim gifting you the cutest earrings he had ever seen (little fruit charms, bows, all sorts of colors and unique charms). Even Riddle introduced you to tea cups that fit your aesthetic to decorate your kitchen with!

Though, the more they saw this side of you, an influx of confessions also came in toe. You were revered as the only female in school (who also managed to stay at the top of the score board, despite your magicless disposition). This came with the struggle of being pursued, more so after they could see just how cute you could dress yourself up.

Despite all these new changes, you felt a tinge of... sadness. You were happy that they were all willing to accept you with open arms and indulge in your desires such as gifting you the cutest of plushies, clothes, jewelry, decor... that didn't stop you from missing fun slumber parties, girl talk with friends, giggling about your love lives, sharing clothes and doing each others makeup and painting nails. You confided all of this to the number one group you could have possibly spoke to about these issues of yours.

the pop music club.

A knock came upon the door at odd hours of the night, upon opening it in your nightgown, you revealed quite a sight. Cater, Kalim, and Lilia along with a few other choice students were all in gorgeous nightgowns, their hair done up, holding blankets and pillows with hands full of bags of what you could tell were snacks, makeup, nail polish, and other slumber party commodities. With a bright smile on your face and a giddy giggle, you let them in gushing about their cute appearances. You all lay out the blankets and pillows in front of the TV in the lounge (kindly gifted to you by Idia) and pulled out the snacks and lay them out for everyone to grab at in their leisure.

"We aren't girls," Lilia pointed out, "But at the very least we can enjoy the things you mentioned before! Oh how I love a good love story, shall we share our love lives?"

"We can do that while we put on these face masks! Look, this one is a panda!" Kalim exclaimed, holding up a large bag of face masks and other types of...random things he thought would suit the party. (He pulled out one of those toe dividers for nail polish, he had no clue what it was but Jamil told him he would need it for later.)

"Oh, I brought you this super cute and frilly nightgown (y/n), Trey said one of his sisters didn't wear it anymore and he thought it would look good on you. Go! Try it on, Then we can take a BUNCH of magicam photos. Don't we look like pretty dolls?!" Cater gushed, handing you the night gown. You took it with grace and skipped away to your room, giddy and unable to hold back your excitement.

It wasn't long for more guests to arrive in frilly pajamas and cutesy hair accessories. A string of familiar faces entered, and you soon found yourself braiding the hair of Leona, Vil, Idia, Malleus, Silver...You were shocked to see even Epel made an appearance simply to make you happy.

"I learned how to braid a little bit," Silver smiled gently at you, "And a few other hairstyles. I would be happy to try them on you," He said. You looked at Silvers' perfectly French braided hair and makeup that made him look nothing less than an angel, you nodding in immediate trust. You soon had hair that was done so elegantly, adorned with flowers and gems.

"Let's be clear, I ain't a girl!...but.." Epel blushed, "I-if it'll make you happy...i'll let ya braid my hair. Just this once!"

Floyd and Jade even came along with their faces caked with makeup and the most flamboyant nightgowns you have ever seen, laughing away at their silliness.

"Look Floyd," Jade pointed at your makeup which was lightly placed on by his hand, "I told you these colors perfectly suits (y/n)'s skin." Floyd boo'd and insisted to take off the colors Jade had chosen, holding out the most...vibrant and interesting color palate to exist. You only laughed and backed away, shaking your head and begging floyd to leave your precious face alone.

They truly indulged in everything you had missed out on, even if they weren't your "girlfriends," they were so adamantly ready to try, simply to see you smile once more.

It was a night of snacks, makeup, nail painting, chick flicks, karaoke, gossiping, and frilly fun. You truly underestimated just how much the boys took a liking to you and wished to ease your worries and make you feel a little more at home, and you couldn't have asked for better friends than them.

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ footprint in the snow ˎˊ˗ cregan stark

cregan stark x fem!lady!reader words: 12.1k synopsis: "The stones of Winterfell have always been blissfully cold against your palms, and Cregan’s presence has always naturally attended you." notes: hi!! this is my first cregan fic [so pls be gentle] but im excited to write for him more... still trying to work out his character but. ily @useralba and @dipperscavern ... febu frong anyways <3 i didnt edit this sorry but hope u all enjoy <3 warnings: canon-divergent au; dance does not/has not happened. north-centric AS IT SHOULD BE. characters aged 23+. slight jealousy, betrothals & poorly made up politics (actually made up so much lore sorry i do that when im nervous), brief mention of parental death, fluff, friends to lovers, smut (fingering, slight breeding kink), brief finger sucking what, light dirty talking. masterlist requests are open.

FOR AS LONG AS YOU’VE KNOWN, THE EVE OF WINTER HAS BEEN SAID TO COME IN A SHARP WHISTLE DOWN THE MOUTH OF THE PEAKS TO THE NORTH. 

Sharp, precipitous - the wind that breaks bones and scatters breath; it howls through the northern curls of the Wolfswood, piercing its glacial breath through trembling needles of pine, hissing up and over the stone of the North Gate. Tales of chipped slabs of sharp, which fly from the Old Tower in a gale of old; stealing the breath from lungs old and new, whipping away parchment, stealing flight and life from those southern ravens white of feather as far as the Bloody Gate. 

As a babe, your mother would sing of the sharp teeth of the Threnody; nursemaids and maester alike whispering of its wail against chamber doors even in the deepest of the castle. Your father, a less cagey spirit - still, he’d not stop the furrow of brow at the blow of hard iced snowdust that gathered within the stables on the outskirts of baileys. 

And perhaps it is not yet time for the howling of the wind when the wolves still linger in the woods; when life may still yet subsist away from the spitting crackle of hearth within castle walls - but you do not feign ignorance. 

Winter is coming. 

It comes in wind; and, just as the Threnody of old, it is subtle and piercing, perniciously beautiful. 

Lord Stark of Winterfell sits at the end of the hall, in a fur cloak that nearly swallows over the bulk of his wide frame; the lick of flames over his skin dance with the murmured din of the crowd as you watch, a cat-eyed weariness from your corner spot. It is not often this loud, though the Great hall has been much more full as of late - with the Southern company from the Reach, Winterfell has bursted at the seams just in the eve of Wintertide. A less than optimal time to host guests; but your Lord is a steadfast one, and knows an opportunity for trade when he sees one. 

Your father speaks to him - you watch the men with vague interest until the elder catches your eye across the assembly; a gesture of his hand, beckoning you to their side. And the Lord Stark, face young, weathered - handsome as he is dour in the torchlight, nodding with a surprisingly warm gaze when your eyes meet.

You do not heed your father’s summon; you remain rooted instead, struck with a sudden fatigue as some odd taste of jealousy from the nest of your bosom peeks into your mind, whispering of the woman who sits only three tables away from you. 

The Southern Rose. Her father, a man visiting to treat in way of increased wheat and salt trade with Winterfell; preservation starts soon, the harvest has found its end - leaves curl tight as a grip frozen in fist now, even near the Neck. She accompanied her father - words whispered from advisors of a potential betrothal - and as she is a girl just two years your junior, your father had instructed you to accompany her through her visit to Winterfell. 

Truthfully, you’ve found her quite wonderful - a sweet girl, though fairly plain-minded: innocent smiles, soft polite nods. You spent the fortnight riding through the Wolfswood, needlepointing - tasks rather simple, though torturous only when you caught glimpses of Lord Cregan and his men in the yard, in the halls, or treating. A yearning festered in your breast during these past days - a desire to attend matters of the mind instead of, perhaps, such soft matters. 

Though no fault of her own. A kind girl, you do swear by the gods - though each simpering look to the man who walks with Ice at his back twists a dagger deeper into your gut; A fine wife for a wanting Warden, the lords had advised - and you, with an ear pressed to the closed oaken door of Cregan’s hall like some bright-eyed maiden. An alliance with a house South would allow for a stake in the Southern lord’s trade route to Dorne; A smart match, perhaps, if Cregan searches for reach outside his North. 

You’re not particularly convinced he does. 

Though the hearths are large and heavy tonight, you yearn for that curling reach, that whisper of agony that cradles limbs into chests - and with a spare step towards the crack in the hall’s entrydoors, cool air pierces the tissue within your chest. 

Outside is the swirling ink of the owl’s hour. 

If you could see through the song of night, up and over the walls of stone which keep the first whispers of Threnody at bay - you might find the ridged roofs of Winter Town; and even beyond, those breathing hills that bring the Kingsroad up and back down. And cold, that creeping wolf, that slither of ragging which drags clouds to the ground and whispers promises of winter. 

You press your lips together; Who would wish to look beyond such persevering beauty? 

Cregan’s voice is low across the hall, though you can hear it through the din of the feast as he converses with his men; a swirl of affection, that comfortable specter in the corner of your thoughts. A glance back through the oak door to that sirened wail of glacial, ancient breath; the southern rose… and you, a pine in wildflowers. 

The yard below the great hall swirls with untouched crystals; miniscule, they glimmer in the open air and twirl in a mesmerizing dance - the ale in your palms is much too warmed by the blood that pumps through you.

A young man beside you gestures rather agitatedly; and you, bristled with the realization that you allow the creeping draft to leak into the hall, step forward once, allowing the doors to once again shut. The hall is warm and your mind is fuzzy; you step away, hugging the outskirts of the wall and avoiding the heat of your cheeks. 

Lord Stark rises in your peripheral when you begin the short promenade returning to your seat.

It is inevitable at any feast, his company - Cregan, a man only three namedays your senior and, even before becoming your Lord, a very close companion. Youths tied up in the training of noble roles, you and Cregan got on rather well - your father advised Lord Rickon, as a vassal house of the Starks; now, he serves Rickon’s son just the same. 

Your brief respite near the exit of the hall is short-lived when his boots pave their way towards you, bisecting your path though you pretend to pay the man no mind, a grin growing on your lips - there is only a breath of his own amusement in the short cat-and-mouse game you begin on the way to the trestle table; the stones of Winterfell have always been blissfully cold against your palms, and Cregan’s presence has always naturally attended you. 

Trots of hooves through the Wolfswood, trailing steps hurried through halls to keep up with long strides – a brief nod in passing when Maester Kennet would end the young Stark’s studies early. You’d learned to shoot a bow with him and his late brother in that very yard below; shared huffs of amusement when your arrow sailed wide. 

And even now, well over your youth; it remains how it has always been, with your roots so very sunk into the hard earth of the North; the Kings of Stark over your family’s barony of land just half-day’s west of Winterfell. And when Lord Rickon drew his final breath - and some years later, too, when Bennard’s slow relinquishment darkened the skies - you never dared worry of how life might change. 

You call him Lord Stark now - though in the quiet moments, he oft prefers Cregan; still the boy who convinced your father and his own to let you attend seasonal hunt, who sat with you in the rookery for hours of silence when your mother left the mortal realm; who did not protest when you insisted you did not wish to discuss it; who wiped tears from your weary skin so they’d not freeze; who waited patiently as you watched wind blow needles from the pines and ravens drop from clouded sky. 

And you, still with some melancholy whisper from the air that blows crystals over the hills towards Last Hearth; a Threnody of your own, your chilled craving despite the warmth of your soul. Cregan calls you my lady now - though he was keen to do so just as oft in youth, despite the blushing of your cheeks and quick glances to the snow-licked ground. 

He approaches you this evening with a storm of a stare and a hint of a smirk that, to any other, would look merely as his usual stoic countenance; though there is a bright in his eyes, a twitch upon his lip as he takes in the shifting of your boots upon the stone. 

You busy yourself traveling to your seat without tripping upon your feet - but still he meets you, eyes hooked upon the curve of your jaw and sliding over the apple of your cheek when you arrive to your spot, concealing your smile with a nod. 

A cacophony of laughter from the wolf’s council - you feel much more at home when the attention is off you and your Lord, hidden in the backlit corner. 

The hall is warm; warm, when all you can see are dark locks, drawn brows, pink lips, stubbled jaw. Your heart clenches when his arm brushes your own, if only for a moment.

 “Lord Stark.” Your voice swims; a wavering, perhaps from the mead that lingers on the back of your tongue, or at the stare that hooks itself upon your own. His eyes take you in - slowly, as if appreciative - an active repression of any fluttering at such a gaze, knowing him much too well to allow yourself a stirred feeling. 

“My lady,” He greets back; he’s obscured you with his height from the brunt of the hearth’s breath - a small relief, as your chest grows hot under the slow roll of his tone and your eyes fall from the mountain of his comportment. His gaze finds the doors at the hall entrance before returning to you, alight with something less than mirthful but not completely chastising. 

“Is the feast not satisfactory?” A drop of tease in a river of adherence; you hear it though, you feel it - and with the flow comes a tide of affection in your stomach. A small smile that smoothes your hot cheeks, “It is wonderful,” You mend, biting your lip, “I am rather keen to find momentary respite outside, though.” 

He seems sated enough with your words, nodding just once. “You’ve always been one for the cold.” He absently observes as his eyes flick to the table briefly, “I suppose you’ve been kept inside the walls too much as of late, aye?” 

A reminder of your recent charge - of the girl, eyes shining as clear as day, gazing upon the mountainous frame of Lord Stark from across the hall.

She much prefers the hearth to the raw air; and you’ve done nothing but acquiesce, placating the whims of the girl who might one day be your Lady Stark - an unpleasant thought, though one that could very well be a reality. Your throat tightens in a bough of unwarranted jealousy at the thought and, with a tight swallow, you nod to your Lord, gaze leaving his own. 

 Your fingers trace the silver prongs upon the table, left after you’d finished your meal half-eaten in search of the whispering sirens of flurry in the courtyard; you do not find it within yourself to speak, and perhaps that is why Cregan worries so for your disposition. 

“You’re distant tonight,” he decides, eyes lingering for a moment longer on the flush of your cheeks - perhaps from the drink, perhaps from something else entirely - and though he is just inches away now, he makes no unnecessary movements - an approach calm, unwishing to ward off a skittish creature. A wolf upon a pup. 

You, in your avoidance of his ownsolemn disposition, nearly miss the opportunity given for you to respond - and so you start with a breath and a lifted stare. 

“Perhaps it is because I was not seated with all you lords at the grand banquet table,” you quip; a rather surprising use of attitude in front of such company. An inkling of rather instant regret - you ought to watch your tongue around the members of the Household. 

Mercifully, Cregan only provides you with a stern glance and a lifted brow, that trickle of amusement only a breathed whisper across the cool gaze of piercing eyes. 

He certainly is aware of your quiet yearning - perhaps in a degree more at least than your yearning for himself, which has never been spoken but has often been rather obvious  - but instead to follow your father’s footsteps; an advisor to the Warden, a trusted voice, in the eve of wintertide. 

You have, for all the exhausted topics Cregan and yourself have touched upon in your many years of companionship, not outwardly admitted such hypnagogic desires; implied, perhaps. But a dreamy wish, a foolish one for a noble girl like yourself. 

His eyes swim between your own, perhaps waiting for more words that do not yet come. You should apologize for your tongue, though away from any other ears, it is oft that your Lord prefers you to speak candidly, uninhibited by much courtly restraint. It is indeed the most common times you’ve been successful in pulling a chuckle or laugh from the man. 

Though this time, he makes the decision for you. “Too much ale?” 

You lift a brow in challenge of the amused tone that barely leaks through, setting the mug down upon the banquet before you. 

“Too much heat,” You excuse instead, hoping your fuzzy mind does not lead to slurred words as your jaw directs his gaze to the massive hearth that threatens to swallow him from behind - and then, with that quiet voice once again, “I apologize for my tongue, my Lord.” 

A frown that looks heavenly on such a countenance- and a brief flush upon the strong ridge of nose; he shifts, vague but endearing from one large trunk of leg, corded with thick muscle, to another. 

“You need never apologize for a gift. So long as you know well enough when to use it.” He murmurs - and after a stilled moment, you nod with tight lips, heart thumping quietly; unintentional as it may be, such words from him sends your desire for him into a gallop. 

In an effort to conceal your affections, you laugh quietly against the heat of your cheeks. “You will come to regret such words, surely.” Your jest falls upon his ears and he hums low, finishing the ale in the mug held by large hands, eyes burning into yours even as he finishes the last gulp. “I doubt that, my lady.” 

There is a draft that catches the edge of your skirts; it carries, beckoning you - the doors have opened, and Lord Cerwin steps outside with a swift nod to Lord Stark and yourself. Some break of the seal which held together your remaining composure; you let out a breath, eyes flickering back to the storm of interest that watches down upon your visage. “I regret I could not attend to you these past weeks.” He murmurs again- rather talkative this eve, it seems. You eye the goblet dwarfed in his large palms; perhaps the ale has done him in as it has you. 

A flip of your stomach, heartbeat picking up at his words - attend you? He must see your expression; for he shifts as flames lick up the leather upon his back. “It has been nearly a moon since I placed a blade in your hand.” He mends, face solemn; a breath from your lips as you exhale shortly. Ah. 

Many days - wind whipping at your cheeks, piercing through your heavy cloaks; Cregan’s few minutes found in spare days to show you parries and ripostes, castigating gently when you try a cheap sweep at his legs and barking in amusement when you fall upon your backside. 

A small burst of cracking embers rise from the hearth just over his stalwart shoulder - you smile at the man before you, watching his own lips twitch at your small huff of amusement.

 “There were more important matters,” Your voice light. “-Negotiations, alliances,” You clear your throat, “matters of the realm.”

His eyes, hawkish as he shifts once more; the shadow of his figure swallowing your own frame as your hand falls onto the table to stabilize yourself against his stare. “Aye,” He nods, gaze briefly flicking to the row of men at the front of the hall; your father finishes his ale, in discussion with Lady Gilliane and the Southern lord. “Tomorrow eve they set for the Kingsroad. And they will have my trade agreements.” His words come as some promise. You’d well noticed the thirty men and women preparing to leave Winterfell; they are guests at this feast indeed. You resist a snarking comment in rebuttal, instead heeding his politeness - and nod slowly.

Another guest leaves the feast and you follow the swish of her skirts and furs with your stare. Just out those ajar doors, tendrils of flakes fall from the skies. You long to feel them kiss the crown of your head, feel them settle upon the downy cloak that sits crooked upon your shoulders; a small draft that kicks again, and the chill begins to settle your flaming cheeks. 

The Southern Rose sips upon a goblet of sweetwine across the way with her few ladies-in-waiting; she smiles brightly at you across the hall and you smile back, aware of the brooded stare upon your visage from beside you. “Only trade?” You finally wonder, unable to look at Cregan, finger tracing the wear of the wood below your palm. 

After a small breath - Lord Stark must direct his glance towards the previous subject of your attention before turning back to you, a frown carved by the gods into the solemnity of his gaze. 

Your heart jumps when he shifts, his arm brushing yours - fingers, large and calloused, adjusts the clasp upon your cloak, knuckles kissing the line of your jaw before dropping away. 

Your cheeks are impossibly hot, though his are just as well. “Only trade,” he echoes, though there’s something within his tone - some secret assurance, one which sets your stomach in warmth. It is a simple silence which follows; his cloaked arm is warm against the fabric of your gown, though you do not mind it. 

“I would not keep you any longer from your respite.” He finally decides, gesturing to the open oak doors, to the pull of chill; A dulcet resonance - you stare at the crawl of flames around his ribcage, flicking over the bulk of muscled mass swathed in furs. You nearly request he join you, though it is swallowed by the polite nod he sends to the girl who sits across the hall, watching with curious eyes. 

“You have a good evening, my Lord.” You bid him, heart fluttering at the pearly soot of his gaze, at the warmth that leaves you as you take a step aside to gather yourself. 

His eyes do indeed follow your movements, tracing the familiar bend of your spine from your peripheral. 

“You as well, my lady.” 

THE NIGHT BRINGS HOWLS OF WINTERTIDE.

And the morning reaps a chill that does not subsist from the core of your bones - even when you pace through the outer hall of the Great Keep, fingers tapping anxiously against the fabric of your skirts, cheeks sharpened by a flurry across the yard. 

There is a great excitement that has stirred in your chest; some disbelief, tethered to the echo of men’s swords in the yard and of hushed whispers between bearded mouths in the halls - though as you recall Maester Kennet’s words written and delivered to your bedchambers late last evening after the feast, you cannot help but bite a smile back between your lips. 

Schooling such girlish giddiness in the brunt of impending adversity, still your heart swells; a glance up the spiraled stones of the Keep’s exterior, you eye the grimed window of your Lord’s study with a huff of disbelief. 

Maester Kennet informs you Lord Stark has accepted your request for private audience - just thirty minutes past your initial supplication - and so you begin to creep your way up the inner spirals of the structure, tracing the old stone with some newborn interest. 

Your hands do not waver when they knock, though you’d hesitated just a breath when you’d made it to his study; Enter, you hear him call - ever practical in his deep tone; a flutter of affection blossoms, spring in the forest of your heart. You once again wipe your perspired palms along the length of your silvered cloak before heeding his beckon.  

The long croak of the oaken door behind you drags against dilapidated stone; with a scratch, the hinge shuts and you slide into the warm chamber, blinded momentarily by wintering light. 

Your lord looks up from his own desk and you trace your gaze along the outskirts of the study; a rather humble room, if the beauty of Winterfell’s castle could ever have such a thing - leatherbound histories, candles that once wept tallow, waxy tears now hardened into dots of bone upon his desk. 

Lord Cregan indulges in his own sweeping glance over your figure wrapped in only lighter furs, your hands clasped and twisting before your dark dress. 

“My lady,” he greets - a girlish tickle within your stomach spurs at the use of title, as though you’ve not bore it your whole life. 

“My Lord, good morrow.” You greet, resisting a short rock upon your toes. 

Cregan leans back in his chair, thighs spread as he wastes no words. “You awaited my acceptance from Maester Kennet,” He observes. At your nod, he continues, “You’ve no need to request an audience when you wish to speak with me. I’ve told you just as much before, have I not?”

Your smile, though faint, is genuine; you relieve yourself of the distance between you and Cregan, finding your seat with gentle grace just across him. You fix him with a glance, “And just as I’ve told you,” you echo, “-as long as you remain my lord, I shall remain mindful of your duties,” Your brow raises just so. “-Whether you wish it or not.” Your voice is rather coy, unable to contain the giddiness in your heart that arises, despite your maintained perplexion - the root of your visit to the Lord in the middle of the morning. 

For half a moment, a flash of amusement upon Cregan’s lips at your familiar stubbornness; but then, he leans forward - large palms curling over the chair’s arms; you eye the worn wood enviously. “Of what do you wish to speak, then?” 

You take a breath; a sweltering heat has begun to stir at the base of your neck - perhaps under the icy stare of the man before you, or the quick gallop of your heart within your chest; outside, the same whistling howl of winds that laces itself through the song of the hounds in the kennels below. 

“I’m…” You shift after beginning, eyes flicking to the quill and ink well that lie abandoned beside him, letter halfway handscribed. A surprising bout of shyness you’ve been struck with under his attention, under the memory of the letter delivered to you last eve. 

Your frown is one of far-off considerations, recalling the information that’d been served with your evening tea while you prepared for slumber last night, a syrupy sleepiness to your hands from the remnants of the feast’s mead; News, given by way of Maester Kennet’s handscript, informing you of your new station. 

A twist of anticipation and determination; you level Lord Stark with eyes icier than his own. 

“I suppose I’m rather surprised that you’ve appointed me to your council, my Lord.” 

The truth is blunt - it feels relieving to rip it off your skin; and so you press on, watching the stern visage before you, wondering if you’ve ever noticed him looking at you without such tender absorption as you see now. 

Your voice continues, strong. “-It’s uncommon for a woman to serve on the Warden’s council, unless she is the Lady of the House.” You fight to ignore the thunder of your heart at such a sentiment - you, Lady of the House - and add with a voice just as strong, “-and we both know I am no such thing.”

A call of raven outside; and a laugh bubbling off somewhere in the courtyard below, melting into a long howl of a hound in the kennels. Cregan watches you carefully, holding your gaze; moments pass under his stare, but you do not squirm - no, as always, you stare back.

 “Would you not accept?” He wonders finally, tone rather unbiased - and for a brief moment, you believe his question is directed towards your latter sentence; a drop in your stomach, though you recover in a breath, swallowing thick. 

You rush to deny it in your accidental hesitance. “-No, my Lord, I'm honored. It’s just rather…unexpected.”

The quiet looms, a cloud rolling over the morning sun; eclipsed in the backlit shadow of daylight by his frame, you begin to pick at the thread of your dress. A fine gown, hand-needled by your own hands just a fortnight ago. 

And then, with a breath; his lips twitch ever so slightly - merely a brief uptick, but you know him. His stare, stark as the wintered sky as he nods curtly - you fight your own grin at the shift. 

“You’ve a good mind for these matters,” his voice is even, face serious. “Some at my table will do well to learn from you.”

You let out a soft laugh, not particularly out of amusement but rather out of surprise at his words, heart stumbling. “I wasn’t aware you thought so highly of me.” You admit, though you both know this to be untrue. 

His gaze doesn’t waver, and neither does his opinion. “I’ve always thought highly of you.”

The words lodge themselves true into your chest. 

And yes, you’ve never been one to underestimate your own intellectual prowess, nor to shy away from an opportunity; though your mind still reels in befuddlement, and you press to hear more, to understand. “You have wiser men - those who served your father well before you.” You observe, tilting your head; a wintery sunbeam ices through the looser strands of your hair, and Cregan's grayed pools trace their colour in the sun. 

“Aye,” He nods as his gaze returns to your own, “Your father is one of them.” 

He is firm; an intimidation in his broad frame, the haloed bright of snowed refractions around his head. “Though it is not about who is wiser, nor who has served longer. It’s about knowing when to speak, and when to hold your peace. When to challenge me.” And Gods be good, his lips curve slightly; a whisper of a smile, some sweep of chilled wind over the face of a mountain.

Your heart stirs at his words, a rush of emotions that burst below your composed exterior. Memories of mulish disagreements, of sliding glares at his youthful visage and stubborn stomps of your foot. Your voice remains firm, though rather surprised. “Challenge you?” You echo with a small smirk. 

“Aye,” he responds without hesitation. “Many lords surround themselves with voices that tend to echo their own thoughts. But you,” His gaze never leaves yours; pinned you remain, eyes unblinking against his, “-you will tell me what I must hear, even when it is hard. Will you not?”

Heat that blossoms over your cheeks as you nod at him - your throat is incredibly dry, “Yes, my lord.” 

He hums, eyes in a brief flash over your sat figure before returning to you. “Good.”

And in the burgeoning moment, a pounding of your heart; you shift in your seat, flattered as a beam of wintered light graces the colour of your stare.

Your fingers still their nervous picking at your gown as you take a slow breath. “And if I do not always agree with you? If I say no, when you would rather hear yes?” 

Cregan leans in just slightly. “I trust no other as I trust you. You'd not dare speak something you do not believe, simply because it pleased me.” 

An absence of concern in your heart at his words, instead filling you with a fierce warmth that curls around the sweet ice coursing through your veins. “You have my word, Cregan. I will advise you as best I can when needed.”

His expression does not waver; though there is a flicker within his gaze. “I never doubted it.”

And then, a gust of breath from the heavens; a rattling gentle against thick pane of glass, though a chill still finds its tendrils in your bones when hard flakes of snow whirl against the exterior. 

“The Southern company leaves this eve,” You observe, eyes glancing out the window, “It will do them well to set off before supper. Lest they become caught in the storm of Wintertide.” And then in your mind, an echo of lovely, sweet laughter; and a curl of unwanted envy at the woman behind the voice, a haunting within your own mind. You are plagued, it seems - thoughts of her kneeling before the weirwood, of his cloak round her shoulders. 

“Aye,” Cregan's voice pulls you back, “We'll not hold meeting until they have left. House Cerwin’s host returns this eve, and I must attend to them.” 

He rises, then - and you, with him, fingers clenched as you register his words informing you not with any air of casual discussion, but rather as a Lord does his vassal. You tamp a grin, nodding instead, following the warm guide of his hand hovered above your back towards the door. 

“I will see you at my table on the morrow, my lady.” He promises when you turn back to him; with a rush of affection, you let yourself smile.

WIND WHISTLES BETWEEN NEEDLES OF PINE AND LEAVES OF OAK IN THE GODSWOOD. 

A rather divine earth upon which you kneel, mind clear with the prayers you whisper to the heart before you. 

It is growing cold, steadily these days - and though you have known the North your entire life, you rather forget how biting it can be when the afternoon snowfall comes. 

You’ve seemed to have forgotten today, as well - your spine shivers just so, the cloak around your shoulders much too light for the tempest that has grown in the skies; flakes that kiss your braids and lick down your cheeks as you finish your intercession, eyes opening to meet the bleeding stare of the heart tree. 

You choose to remain despite the frost that curls around your knees - and after a few moments of quiet, there are footsteps in the snow. 

You know quite well the heavy drags of boots over the whitened crust of earth - a silence that echoes through the woods that you know can only be your Wolf. 

He arrives, perhaps only moments before you register his presence; you had not known he had returned. With a thrill, you wonder if he came straight to you once crossing the gates back into Winterfell. 

“My lord.” you greet, nodding as you feel his warmth behind you - and you can almost imagine the shake of his head at your knelt form. 

“A northerner should know better than to come out in the cold without a proper cloak.” 

A faint smile tugs at your lips, though you don’t yet turn from the tree before you. “The snow came after my prayers. I wasn’t unprepared.” You defend with a twitch of a smile - and then, just to your side, a leather glove extended for your grasp. 

He pulls you to your feet with ease - and there you find Cregan, the low pool behind him echoing the breath of cloudy sky. His eyes are warm and knowing when you trace his irises with your own gaze. 

Flakes continue, shed from the heavens; A white crown of winter falling upon his hair as he takes you in. 

“I came to speak with you.” He says after the moment of quiet you allow; he drapes his thick outercloak upon your shoulders though you glance at him rather sheepishly at the gesture, second in nature in your long years of companionship. 

It is remiss that your first few days appointed in the new station has seen a lack of advisory; alas, Cregan has finally returned after two days with Lord Cerwin and his host, and you will adjoin this evening for strategy.

“I thought as much,” your voice is soft; perhaps residual from your prayers whispered into the listening quiet of the Godswood. “Of what do you wish to speak, my lord?” There is indeed much to discuss now that the company has left Winterfell - winter comes soon enough, and the Wall indeed calls for your Lord’s visit. 

His voice is only rougher as though the words take a coaxing to admit, “Before you were appointed, the lords at my table…” he begins, and your brow lifts as he stares ahead to the tree. “they spoke of a match.”

Your heart stills; you turn to face him fully, swallowing the dip in your stomach. “A match?” you repeat. 

“Aye,” he confirms, “the Southern Lords proposed I take one of their daughters to wed,” He is rather impartial in tone. “Though my men… they advise I take a bride from the North.” 

Perhaps it would be more of a surprise to you, had you not spent the better part of your freetime pressing ears to the council doors; indeed you are familiar with the pressure upon Cregan to take a wife. 

“And…” you begin carefully, “Will you wed the Southern Rose?” 

His jaw clenches; a flutter of flakes against skin though his gaze still holds you with an intensity to make your blood hum; “I denied betrothal to her,” he murmurs, breath puffing in a soft cloud of mist against thicker snowfall; he grows more quiet, then, and it stirs in your chest. “Though as for the proposal set before me by the men of my hall…” He pauses just briefly, and you blink snowflakes from your lashes. “It was not something I rejected.”

A sacred stillness; a raw breath from you as the implication of his words hit you - here, in the Godswood, before the heart tree.

The cloak he’s brought, wrapped around your shoulders, warming your chilled flesh; a kiss of sage and leather as you watch his visage - patient, waiting. Devoted.

A breath puffs from your lips in exhale. 

“You speak of me,” you whisper; his eyes remain on yours, anchored to the press of your teeth into your bottom lip. 

“Aye.” His response is firm, evergreen, rooted. “I speak of you.”

The trees of the Godswood whisper in that quiet way they can; breaths of creeping air that lived long before your ancestors were here. They watch you, how your fingers curl tighter into Cregan’s cloak - how your veins pump with the same blood that runs through his own. You had known this was a possibility - hints from your father’s mulling eyes as you and the Lord had returned from sparring lessons, cheeks winded and amusement laced into small glances and brushes of arms. 

There is a long yearning affection that burns in your heart when you glance back up at his looming height, a small smile teasing your lips. Perhaps, as your fingers brush over heavy fur, you seek to cut through the thick silence which has found you tense with anticipation.

“Well,” you begin lightly, hoping to mask the tremor in your voice, “I suppose you would not be the worst choice for a husband, Lord Stark.”

Cregan’s brow lifts slightly at your words - and a flick of amusement swallowed by a softening; he does not brush off your words with the same playful jest you offer. A step towards you, a hand seeking your own, leather against worn leather. A hollow gust of wind across the gulley of pine to the side of you, and a red bloodleaf falls to your boots. 

“I hope,” he says slowly, eyes anchored on his thumb across your knuckles. “to be the best I can be.” he continues, his voice unwavering as snow dusts his hair, his cloak.

You can only nod through a thick swallow, heart thundering. “You could never be anything less.” You ensure him. His lips part, pink against the light of afternoon; warmth spreads through your chest as his tongue wettens them just so under your watchful gaze. 

“You’ve spent your life here,” he murmurs, “The North is in your blood as it is mine - Winterfell has always been yours.”

Cold, which nips at your skin and aches your bones - it is so distant now. Now, when his breath plumes between you gently. Now, as your hand squeezes his own, even faintly; Now, in a smile that you must bite back as your mind floats, his words rooting into your heart. 

You grin, and it’s softer now. “You make it sound as though it’s already decided.”

Cregan’s broad form towers over you as he leans - though an effective protection from the wintered wind, you feel a shiver down your spine. “I would not presume to decide such things without your consent,” he ensures, “But the thought of another standing beside me… it has never felt right.”

And perhaps, then, he’s always known of your yearning - for how could you not know so familiar the face which looks you back in the mirror, whose heart bleeds your own blood; to know is to love, perhaps. You smile, your other hand falling onto his chest - beneath thick furs, beneath leather and tunic, a heart beats strong. 

A palm, large and calloused as it graces over your cheek; you press involuntarily into his burgeoning warmth, a small smile upon your lips. “It is a good thing I suppose, that I could not imagine leaving Winterfell.” You admit - and then, fixing him with that same intent stare he brings to you: “I will marry you, Cregan.” 

His breath, stuttering only momentarily as his eyes search your own - and then, a clear of his throat. “Then it will be settled,” his thumb lingers against your cheek, his touch warm against the cold that swirls - and it is more than what you'd wished for your whole life; after all, the Threnody would chase you right back to Cregan if you'd gone anywhere else.

“I will be yours, my lady.”  

THE HOWL OF THE THRENODY IS A NEAR SONG ON THE DAY OF YOUR WEDDING.

The tub has been placed rather precariously aside the larger of windows awarded to your chambers; you sit in the smoldering heat of the bath, tendrils of oiled steam snaking up and curling into fog at the corners of your vision. 

Outside, scarce birds chirp - a morning early enough, although in this sharp of wintercoming the creatures prefer to retreat to their nests as you stir in your own, sighing away a small dreamy breath. 

It has been five and a half moons since your betrothal; your eyes flicker with a bout of excitement over to the wardrobe across the way, wherein hangs your gown and maidencloak awaiting your presence later this afternoon. 

A smile unbounded, you press palms to your cheeks, attempting to cool them under the thought of what will come tonight. The handmaids have been asked away; a peculiar request from you, but you wish to enjoy a moment of serenity before you begin the day’s preparations - of which there are many - and you worry they will scarce find a moment to eat and enjoy themselves before they are tasked with your hair and your body. 

It snows only in the way trees shake dust from their bones - a heavier pile of white which burdens lower limbs, and you watch the ground of powder stir when it is imbued by the weight. 

Winter is near; words for so long, though now, it is true. And a fine day it is, the Gods have blessed you and Cregan - but indeed, the last of the alpine flowers have curled around a layer of frost, the lakes and ponds have crusted into flat planes thick of ice. Threnody, its whistling song in the dead of night, beckons - winter comes, and the North is prepared. 

A hand falls submerged in the bathwater and you lift it once more with a stinged gasp; the skin over your middle knuckle is cracked and near raw. Maester Kennet administered a salve to it daily since your return with Cregan, Lord Cerwin, and your father - a weekslong trip to oversee the fortification of supply lines in the coming of winter’s harsh brunt. 

Split skin, cracked by the iced wind; and a warm palm to hold you, lips brushed over the top of your temples in a murmur. Your cheeks burn hotter than the bathwater enveloping you; Cregan.

And true that when you lie in your lone bed each evening, plagued with an aching and catch-of-breaths that find you after the memories of chapped lips brushing your own, firmly tender touches that are more fleeting than they are anything else. When you are plagued with such thoughts, you truly think it had all been so much simpler before the betrothal. 

Simpler; glances across halls - stolen moments while he’d chide to you in lessons, quiet words in the library or prideful smirks during a hunt in the Wolfswood. Anticipation is a torturous excitement, perhaps - his hands, you used to wonder - how would they feel against you? 

And you know now - how they hold your cheeks, caress your shoulder, your back; you know, yet you must wait to let them truly hold you, to truly touch you how you so desire. 

A sweet torture, restraint has become. Touches, kisses - far too brief, far too constrained. Your gaze falls upon the stain of red through the Godswood outside, your stomach turning with anticipation, with hunger. 

And yet, the day advances. 

A knock at your quarters starts you just slightly, clearing your throat as your head turns to the door. A stare at the oak, wondering if the doors to your marital chambers will look so similar as these. 

The oils of mountain thyme and coltsfoot bead upon your skin when you sit upwards slightly, wondering aloud who awaits behind the door. 

“-It is me, my lady.” 

Not your handmaidens yet, it seems - Cregan’s voice jumps your heart into a gallop. 

With a flush, you press your lips together, grasping the edge of the tub to rise from the tendrils of steam - the bleeding bundle of leaves which hemorrhage the treeline in the distance abandoned. 

Perhaps only now, as you pad over thick furs upon stone to reach your robe, do you wish you’d allowed your handmaids to remain with you; if only to aid you with some slip that is less revealing than the thin satin you slip on. The stone beneath your feet is warm; you bite your lip gently. 

“Come.” You call; only a breath before the oaken creaking reaches your ears - you’ve pushed your hair back, droplets of oiled bathwater cascading down your temple, over the edge of your chin, kissing the skin of your chest exposed with the loose robe you tie. 

Perhaps you should better ensure your modesty - though by nightfall he will be yours, and you his. What difference does it make now, to let him see you?

Cregan’s frame is backlit by the corridor; a broad figure, ducked only slightly in such tall stature, shoulders brushing the stone sides of the frame - your eyes meet, though swiftly he averts his gaze, turning his head rather sharp as his chest shutters only slightly. 

“My apologies.” His voice holds some tight restraint; you have no power to stop the warmth that spreads upon you at his tone, some hint of arousal at the drop in timbre. “I did not realize…” He trails off, lingering in the doorway - a glint of amber over his dark hair and you swallow a flustered giggle before it can escape your parted lips. “I will return when you are not occupied.” He decides. 

You interrupt gently, shaking your head as your fingers press to your damp palms; an earnest hope he will not leave, now when he’s already here. “There’s no need to apologize,” you gesture to the table and chairs beside the hearth. “You may stay, Cregan. Please.”

His gaze does not return to you yet; palms, large and calloused with life and labor - you press your thighs together in a momentary weakness as your eyes trace over thick forearms that remove a thick fur cloak, dragging over veins which swim up skin kissed by afternoon light. 

A quiet grunt when he sits himself in the chair, thighs spreading as his eyes finally meet your figure once more - gray as the clouded heavens, penetrating as you cross the room to follow him; how those eyes follow the trail of damp water droplets slipping beneath your robe’s loose collar - how they find the rivulets that slide down the bare of your thighs, dripping just slightly onto the stone beneath you. A heat in your cheeks, spreading low over your neck, chest - and lower more, as you find yourself before him, waiting for his eyes to flick up to your own. 

Your chambers in Winterfell have always been much too large in your opinion, for just one woman - though they hold a most divine view of the Godswood; now, the room is impossibly small with the frame of him, silent, watching you slide into the chair across him. 

“Does something trouble you, Cregan?” You wonder finally, searching the face drawn by a stern brow, how his jaw flexes at your question. 

A half-shake of head; a beam of light once again has found his face, an ethereal sight of such a man softened by the wintered sun. He hums, “I came to…” He pauses momentarily, as though struggling to find his words; his eyes once more wavering as a bead of water slides down your damp leg. His eyes flick back to you, swallowing, “I came to ensure this marriage is not being forced upon you.” 

A startle from you; though spoken with a lilt of care, such blunt words hit you rather suddenly, and your heart pangs. He does not see how you crave him, even after these last moons? How your cheeks grow hot under his attention, how your arm laces through his when he walks you to your chambers after meetings - how your lips seek his own in every darkened corridor you might scarcely find? 

 How you return your affections for him each time he murmurs them into your ear in solitude - how you have loved him since long before there was such a word? 

 “I’ve never been more certain of anything.” Your voice does not hesitate; neither does your heart. His eyes, so dark in the yards of Winterfell, so bright by light of your solitary quarters; though he does not respond for a brief moment, and in the silence you grow concerned. 

“Cregan,” your voice is soft as you lean forward just so. “Do you want this?”

He blinks at that - daring to be surprised by the question - and for a moment, as his lips part, no sound comes out. The hesitation upon his breath strikes your heart; faint doubt lingers in your chest. 

“I’ve thought about it long before the idea was brought to me.” He admits; a deep tone, eyes fixed upon yours as he murmurs. “Before it became a matter of duty,” his gaze is as steadfast as the words which fall from his pink lips, “I wanted you.”

The breath upon your lips hitch; a warmth that sprouts within your heart begins to spread, against the wide windows behind you, against the man who sits with knees nearly touching your own. 

Tonight, you will meet him under the leaved arms of your ancestors; of those haunted, ancient spirits which call to you in the wind, who blow the Threnody through sharp ravines, who watch you with solemn edict. You will whisper words that have waited upon your tongue for years - he will drape his cloak upon you, and you will taste his faith when your lips find his own under the sight of the Old Gods. 

Dark, his hair blows gently in the quiet of his breath - and perhaps struck by the sheer beauty of the North within him, that steadfast stare cooling the heat upon your skin - you rise from your chair.

His eyes, a hawk; they watch you, head tilting back as you rise to stand before him, your palm gracing his arm; a tinge of pink that creeps over his countenance, a low snowcloud over the breath of dawn upon his cheeks. 

Under your palm are the thick muscles of his bicep; and a heat, one from his skin through the tunic, melting you just the same as his own breath catches. No hesitance from him at your boldness - instead a large, warm palm comes to cup the back of your thigh as you stand before him; and a thumb that traces over the goosepimples that grow at his touch. 

A slide upwards and over his shoulder - your breath quiet, nearing labored as a rising growth of hunger stirs in you. Your eyes catch the armoire across the way, where you know your wedding gown awaits; the material gentle, lined with fur and coloured the refraction of cloud and snow - and wolves, silver and embossed with the darker patterns of your own house sigil. 

The thought stokes your mounting desire for Cregan; your hand slides along the thick warmth of his neck, turning to cup his jaw. Rough stubble which catches on the soft of your palm when your thumb strokes his cheekbone; and eyes, those dark lashes, fluttering only slightly when he blinks up at you - silent, waiting. 

You do not make your lord wait much longer. 

“Cregan,” you whisper, eyes finding some wonderfully reflective taste of devotion laced through his own stormed gaze, and your breath falls with your confession. “I have long wanted you. I wish not to wait anymore.”

His chest moves with a breath - and in lieu of words, a calloused hand wraps around your spare hand, pulling it towards his own shoulder; guiding you. 

With hot cheeks, you allow it - his breath is warm as it hits your cheek, though you gasp when his hands move once more with a gentle motion towards his lap.

You stumble slightly against his powered tug; knees, knocking together as you’re drawn upon his lap - and a small, breathy laugh from your lips. Some flutter of anticipation within you as his own hands come to steady you, taking in your flushed cheeks as he holds you firm atop him, steadying you with a hint of a smile ghosting his visage.

 Gods - you’re close to him, now; closer than you have ever been. And his clothing, fine and smelling of sage, is warm against your robed figure - intoxicating. 

“We need not wait much longer,” He murmurs now, “We’re to marry tonight.” 

As if you’d not been aware - a smile grows on your face as you shake your head. “Yet it seems so very far away.” You sigh. His eyes do not waver; and in a passing moment, a bird calls outside.

Longing falls in puffs of breath from Cregan’s wanting lips; drank in and breathed back out by your own, you shift only slightly, feeling the stutter of his breath, how his chest brushes your own with each inhale.

You both simply stare - allowed, finally, to enjoy the arresting starkness of beauty laced through your veins and his own, that sturdy, hardy northern resolve that persists in the truest of souls. 

Outside, there are preparations; household members prepare the hall - polishing the long trestle tables, setting goblets and trays. Cooks prepare a feast in the kitchens - garlands of evergreen and coltsfoot lifted to archways, Maester Kennet gathers texts and prepares the ceremony. 

The skies are calm, low swirls of snow-caught breaths fluttering up and down when boots fall upon the ground. Outside, the sun bleeds its love unto the harder layer of snow fallen during the eve previous - and you will follow that path, that leads out to the Godswood tonight. 

“You’ll have all of me soon enough,” He promises - and the tone; a deep stirring within you. 

Your eyes fall to the man you’ve known for your better life; and still he watches you, hands firm and unyielding, gaze quite the same, melted only by the breaths that come from your lips and caress his own. Love, held in communal - that is what you feel when his hand slowly slides up the ridges of your spine, his chin tilting up to where yours begins to fall, as if called upon by the same spirits.  

And slowly, shyly - as if you do not know Cregan as you know yourself, as if you do not know how he breathes, how he speaks, how he is -  you lean forward. 

His eyes flutter closed just as your own do, his fingers flexing against your waist. 

The kiss that comes is nearly tentative; gentle as it is, it still shoots through you, a deep warmth and need when his mouth presses, a test against your own. Your fingers curl, of their own volition searching nape of neck, strands dark of hair. 

His own hands, one sliding up your spine, thick arm circling you, pulling you into his orbit - and the other, resting where your hip meets the breath of thigh; a thumb, pressing just so into the divot, curling around the top of your backside, warm against the thin of your robe. Heat surrounds you when you pull away just a bit, your breaths mixing, eyes opening to flicker between each other. 

And he pulls you back to him once more, a small hum in his throat when his lips slide to part against your own. Gods - you shiver, hands grasping the thick muscled frame of his shoulder and neck, shifting to press up into him, chasing that tingling chill of hunger. 

Perhaps it is when you shift upon his lap once more, growing hot in your burgeoning desire - or perhaps when his tongue slides against your lip and you part them, coaxing him into you; he tenses, then, pulling back as muscles fall rigid under your hungry palms. 

Your fingers trace the rapid beat of his heart beneath his skin. A teasing tug upon your lips, exhilarated at the blush that’s grown across his cheeks.  “Have I made you nervous, Cregan?” your lips brush, tantalizing against his.

Cregan’s hand tightens slightly on your waist, the other reaching up to cup the side of your face; his palm dwarfs your visage, thumb brushing along your cheek before pressing against the soft flesh under your jaw, coaxing you to look up just so. 

“No,” he says, though his voice has muffled itself as he brings his lips to the soft patch of skin against your throat, lips ghosting your own pounding heartbeat. Shivers of arousal through you; and a near growl as he hums, “though you have made me an impatient man.”

A thrill through you at his words - an admission rather echoed by your own sentiments, you nearly let out a small mewl at the aching desire gathering between your thighs. 

And as his teeth scrape over the junction of your neck, you tug him gently back to look at you- a dark gaze, clouded by the anticipation of your coming union, of the coming night that will be spent within each other’s arms, finally. A sunbeam wintered and frosted across his chest and yours; they rise and fall together in your shared breaths of desire. 

It’s hungry, eager when your lips once again find each other - noses sliding against each other, a sigh into your mouth. Cregan’s palms paw at your waist; and as you’re pulled tighter against his sturdy chest, the feel of his body hard beneath you sends a shiver of anticipation. 

His hair is silken under your fingers; tugging gently as you deepen your embrace, Cregan lets out a short groan into your mouth. The sound vibrates through you - an ache of arousal that bleeds through each layer of skin, clothing, tissue that separates your soul from his own. His own grip grows rather impatient when your hips seek more of such a feeling; a raw, urgent indulgence, your mind reminds you there is still a wedding to be had - that you will need to prepare for it very soon. 

The press of lips, a hot, open-mouthed trail down your jaw, your neck - and you gasp softly, your body arching into his palms. “Cregan,” your voice is a near whimper, some unspoken plea as you shift upon his lap once more. 

A grunt, his lips pulling back from your flushed flesh - and a puff of air and a tightened grip to hold you against him as he murmurs. 

“You test me, woman.”

It is a valiant effort on your part to resist a grin at the desperation laced through his breathy grunt - though you simply hum, smiling sharply. A thrill of need - breaths fall fast from your lips, spurred by the arousal that grows within his own dark stare. “Do I?” You wonder - and a stern look no more than teasing upon his visage, lips glossy with your previous kiss. 

“Every day of my life.” He grunts, then - a low tremor of restraint that begins to break with a tempered softness he holds only for you. “You know what you do.” He murmurs upon your lips, large palms reaching the expanse of your back, tugging you into him. 

With a flutter, you admit, “I do.” And how very close you are to giving in; to wait until this eve seems torture when you could simply ask him to take you right here, right now. A glance of heat between you and your soon to be husband - his breath falling upon your lips. “And do you know what you do, Cregan?” You wonder, a static of hunger spurring your hand to catch his wrist in your own grasp. 

Eyes watch with hawkish interest when you guide his hand lower, lower - he drags his rough palm over the downy satin of your robe, swallowing thickly as you press his hand the the warm, damp skin of your upper thigh. His breath is hitched - perhaps given up on a response, or rendered unable to from the heat of your flesh upon his own. 

A whisper of a curse, perhaps upon his lips - his eyes break from yours, the mountainous frame of his shoulders under your palm. It seems he has finished speaking with you - a tension has snapped, the final thread pulled; and though he teases you with a light kiss now, his fingers - they are not so patient. 

A trail - one previously led by you as you’d tugged his palm to your thigh - is slow, achingly so as his fingers slip under the hem of your robe. Your breath hitches, now - and he, with a rumbled voice: “Tell me. Tell me what feels good.” 

Shivers of arousal send your spine curling to seek his warmth; your hips buck just so, feeling the length of his own hunger press deliciously into you. “Cregan,” You can only murmur, and his head tilts just so. A tease - a gentle one at that, but still what you’d not expected; indeed it sends jolts of desire through your body when he hums, fingers digging just lightly into your thigh. 

“Use your words, my lady,” His voice orders you, though there is some desperation in his wanting tone, “I’ll not move until you tell me what it is you desire.” 

You've waited much too long for him to stop now, to duck and retreat merely from some pious embarrassment; and in your bout of shivered hunger, you groan. “Touch me, Cregan.” And, perhaps as a last-ditch hope he will indeed understand the extent of your desire, “I’ll do anything.” 

A guttural sound escapes from Cregan's throat - the growl of a wolf, the howl of wind through a valley; and his lips brush over your jaw teasingly soft, as if savoring the power he’s found over you despite the strain of his own hunger. He says nothing, heeding rather quickly to your request. 

Sharp gasps from you in succession when his thumb slowly presses over the pooled heat - a stolen breath or two before you let out a quiet moan, hips instinctively bucking into Cregan’s touch. 

“Easy,” And his voice is no more than a whisper, some tender coaxing as his other hand steadies your hips, drawing you into the slow-burning torturous circles he draws with his finger. It is indeed a sensation you’ve tried to explore yourself on many restless nights in these very chambers - but his fingers sturdier, calloused, gentle - and his presence, warm and loving against the bright of day. 

It is wholly too much and not enough at once, and when he shushes you gently against your lips, a shiver thrills down your spine. 

Your hands grasp at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as the pleasure slowly burns through you - his fingers explore you, your molten heat; and his lips press warm and insistent upon yours. A slip into the depths of him; some choice warranted only by breath of desire, by the knowledge that come this evening he will be your husband and you his wife. 

His forehead falls against your own, breath uneven as you slowly buck your hips, letting his other hand guide you in a motion that sends pleasure curling around the tips of your fingers. “Wife.” 

The word spurs you; with a jolt you whimper into him, voice breaking desperately as you keen into his large palm. Your lips find the thick column of his neck - a warm smell, saged and spiced; your teeth grazing along the beat of heart upon his throat, a grumble low in his chest. 

“Husband,” You respond, though the word is strangled as one finger, dragging through your molten heat, prods at the entrance of you; with a gasp, you whimper, “please, please.” 

He hums, shifting only slightly beneath you; a whimper from you as the heel of his hand presses deliciously onto your swollen bud, tensing your thighs as you swallow dryly. 

“My sweet wife,” He repeats, brows drawn as his eyes rove over the exposed flesh revealed from your loose robe, “Tell me, how does this feel?” 

Your eyes pitch back, hair tangling in his grip around your back as you shiver, his hand pressing into your cunt - “Good,” You respond pathetically, unable to formulate any semblance of reflection when you begin to see spots of pleasure in your vision; your fingers sliding to grasp at his neck, at his hair. “I’d- I’d like more,” Your face burns at the meekness of your own tone; only in the girlish fantasies, in dreams of Cregan climbing to share your bed under a heap of furs, have you allowed yourself to consider such things falling from his mouth. 

A kiss to your throat, the nip of teeth gentle against your jaw. Perhaps, if you were any less enraptured with the thrill of his touch, you’d feel the small smirk that presses against your throat.

His breath is warm, though you nearly jolt as one finger presses slowly, languidly into you; you keen as he groans, feeling your tight warmth envelop him. 

A very slow torment as he begins to move his fingers against you - you’ve grown rather speechless in pleasure.  Eyes lidded, cheeks hot, lips parted as you watch him; and he nods smally, murmuring, “-Is this what you needed?” 

A kiss to your lips, silencing any broken response that attempts to fall from your hungry mouth, fingers curling to fist his tunic as slowly, another finger joins his first. 

His other hand, a strong grasp - he guides your hips in a slow roll that leaves you both breathless and gasping, your slow peak building after only a few moments. 

Once again, his forehead falls against yours; the uneven stutter of his breath falls against your skin as he watches you intently, eyes gauging every sound you make, each furrow of your brow in pleasure as he takes you apart. “You mustn't-” You swallow, unused to your voice laced with such desperate pleasure, “-you mustn't dare stop,” 

He dares to chuckle against your throat - a brief vibration as fingers press deeper into you, reaching the spot within that has your eyes rolling to the ceiling; you’re suddenly staring at him wide-eyed as his thumb finds your clit, and with a near whimper, you buck your hips. 

And then he pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours - his thumb still lazily circles over you, pushing you closer to the precipice with every pulse of heat. His countenance is more gentle, though he watches your body keen into his touch with brows furrowed and a strong inhale. 

“Tonight,” He murmurs, thumb stroking excruciating strokes over you, “I will take you as my wife, and you will take me as your husband.” 

You’re nearing the very edge of bliss, muscles rigid, his voice low and thick as you buck against him. “We will finally have each other. Completely.” He promises, his stormed eyes never leaving yours. It mounts such pleasure; your eyes flicker to the armoire, wondering how he might use his strength later this evening to rid you of the gown’s intricacies; how his touch might burn you - how your touch might burn him. 

How he might sound, as he finally pushes inside of you - taking you, as you’ve so yearned for him to; how you might one day be gifted by the Gods and swollen with his babe, round and glowing. How he might give you many children, and they will be rooted with the same fierce durability, same gentleness, the same love their parents have forged their whole lives. 

Shivers down your spine as Cregan’s hand cants your jaw to face him once more, cradling your flushed cheek as his fingers take you apart so easily - so intimately, so knowing. 

How could it ever be anybody else? 

And that gentleness, so at odds with the raw need in his touch, so known by you - he, so known by you - each slow stroke of his fingers within you, dragging pleasure in waves. He says your name and it echoes in the pounding of your heart.

“Tonight, I will make certain that you feel all of me.”

You’re helpless at the pleasure he’s built - his thumb moves with a maddening precision as you clutch him, sage and pine and wildflowers and love; your lips part with a moan, the last threads of control loose.

“Do you wish for that?” he murmurs, thumb pressing down just slightly harder, sending a fresh wave of heat through you as you desperately try to stave off your crest if only in hopes he will never cease the words that fall from his honeyed lips. “Have you yearned for it, every night as I have?” 

You are unable to respond as his words and ministrations bring you to your crest of pleasure, shuttering as your body bends into your peak. He grunts when your hand tugs at his tresses; though his hand does not cease as your cunt clenches around him, pleasure swirling and clouding your mind. “Yes,” you moan out finally, ecstasy pulsing through you as his lips trail over your jaw with jagged breaths. 

His name, pressed from your lips into his heated skin as he guides you slowly through your wave. “Cregan,” You exhale breathlessly, lips pressing to his skin as you begin to fall from your peak, aftershocks tremoring through you. 

His hand, leaving your hip to soothe up your spine - and an awakening of hunger when he presses you against the hard line of his own arousal; a shiver at the craving hunger it awakes within you. 

Your legs have lost their tight rigidity; you are rather slumped within his grasp, the afterwave of your peak rendering you rather sensitive. His fingers slide out of you slowly, and you watch with parted lips as he brings his hand between your heaving chests. 

A hunger rekindled when his fingers slide past his own lips, a grunt as he tastes you upon his tongue; and a whimper from yourself involuntary and helpless, unable to do anything more than pant in desire. He must see the hidden desire, as he grows merciful - with a slow motion he drags his thumb, to you - and slicked with yourself, over your bottom lip. 

Your taste on your own tongue - earthy, mountain thyme and desire - sends a shiver of unknown desire through you - never in your darkest, impurest desires could you have imagined Cregan here, as he presses his thumb past your parted lips and upon the flat of your tongue. You stir against him and his breath hitches; a promise of the eve to come as he pulls his hand away from you. 

It is upon his lap, with his arms around the bend of your spine, that you rest - within the heart of Winterfell’s castle come clangings, shouts of merriment as the beginning of the celebrations are set. 

Your cheek upon his shoulder, his head against yours as you both relish the small bit of solitude you’ll have before you rejoin finally within your marital chambers this evening. 

And, as it came, the day advances once more. 

Your heartbeats have slowed, though his arousal is a present reminder pressed against the soft of your inner thigh; he presses his lips to your temple, emitting a reluctant sigh. 

“I regret to leave you.” 

You knew it would come; though you mind not, for in only a few hours, you will be with him once more. 

“-but there are preparations yet to be made.” His fingers trace a gentle path along your neck - similar in devotion and exploration as the one you trail over his sturdy chest. 

A playful thought crosses your mind as you consider him returning to his own chambers to prepare for your wedding: “Will you be shaving before the wedding, my Lord?”

Cregan's brow arches - perhaps at your use of his title or the question itself, as he inquires in response, “Would you prefer I do?” 

You beam at him, cheeks heating in memory of the first time he’d asked you if you’d prefer he shave: No older than ten-and-four, when he’d returned from the Wall with his Lord father and you’d faked horror at the sight of the stubble gracing his young visage for the first time. He’d not listened to you then, though you were rather boisterous and impressionable as a young girl.  

Much has changed. 

“Yes,” You decide after a moment. He grins at you and it sends your heart into a race, his hand pulling your inner wrist up to his lips. 

“Then it is done,” He decides, stubble tickling your soft skin as he presses a chaste kiss to your wrist. “I will call your handmaids back, if you wish.” 

A gentle nod from you and he presses a kiss to your warm cheek, returning to his full height and setting your rather unstable legs onto the stone floor. 

“I will see you this eve, my love.” he promises; your heart flutters at the term.

And after one last kiss to your knuckles, you watch him shut the oak doors of your chambers - the wind howls down the slopes outside, though Winterfell shines cold and unstirred. In the distance, the bleeding leaves of the heart tree shimmer, spreading a warmth through your chest as you slowly ease yourself back into the tub, waiting for the maidens to return and begin the preparations. 

Birds chirp outside; there is already a new signet and silver wax prepared and sitting upon your desk - it boasts the sigil of the Direwolf. It is forever yours.

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[evilgwrl]

Simon Riley x Reader

Back Door

Summary: Simon wanted to explore more than just your pussy

CW: Anal, ass play/fingering, spanking, praise and degradation, no protection (PLS USE A CONDOM, JUST BC U WONT GET PREGNANT DOESNT MEAN U WONT GET AN STD!!!!!), established relationship (I love bf simon <3), aftercare, vibrator use!!, reader watches porn and gets caught, I don’t go into detail about prep bc I’m not that educated on it but pls use prep before anal intercourse <33

WARNING: BEFORE ATTEMPTING ANAL OR ANAL INSERTION PLEASE USE PROPER LUBRICATION, SPIT IS NOT ENOUGH AND CAN SERIOUSLY TEAR OR PERMANENTLY DESTROY YOUR ANUS RESULTING IN LIFE LONG INJURIES. PLEASE READ THE RISKS AND TAKE PROPER PRECAUTIONS AS WELL AS DOING IMMENSE RESEARCH (NOT PORN) BEFORE ATTEMPTING IT. NEVER LET ANYONE FORCE YOU INTO ANAL SEX, ESPECIALLY WITHOUT PROPER CARE OR THOUGHT.

Masterlist

You had heard mixed reviews on it, curiosity sometimes peaking through you as your girlfriends ranted about how good it feels, how full they felt, how sexually liberated. You were a subject to torture, your mind constantly battling between bringing it up to Simon or not.

Fingers twitched against the XXNX.com browser, horny digits darting between the three letters ‘a’, ‘n’, ‘l’.

Your shorts were undone, wrapped around your rigid ankles, your pointer finger pressed against your swollen clit, running a figure 8 in a quick motion as you watched the woman squeal in pleasure, her ass stretched with the sensation of a cock inside it.

It was taboo. Beyond taboo. It was something always frowned against growing up, always seen as profoundly dirty but maybe that’s what intrigued you.

You moaned in unison to the porn star on screen, her breasts bouncing against the white sheets she was spread out on her, ass flushed in the air as she was pounded to from behind, the man grunting in pleasure before thick ropes of cum spurted from the tight crevice, pooling down her pussy lips as she whined.

You clicked on the next video, not quite satisfied as you groped at your tits, perky nipples peaking through the fabric as you held your knees closer to your chest, feeling your orgasm coiling with desire as your eyebrows scrunched at the delicious sensation.

Simon could hear you. You were never one to be quiet. Pesky thing, he thought, he had only gone to the gym for less than two hours and you were this horny already? Surely him pleasuring you on his tongue earlier was enough, desperate pussy clenching against his muscle as you squashed his face between aching thighs.

He creaked towards the slightly ajar door, taking in your flushed frame, your knees knobbling against your belly as your tits shook with every pleasurable jitter that ran through you. Your pussy squelched as you occasionally ran your fingers through your soaked slit, lapping up any slick to lubricate your throbbing pearl.

Brown eyes darted towards the screen, taking in the dramatic title “HORNY SLUT TAKES FAT COCK IN HER ASS”. He raised a brow, a cocky smirk spreading across his face as he crossed his arms against his burly chest. You were interested in anal? How come you never told him that?

He can tell you were close, the way your hips bucked and soft pants fell from your lips as your actions got sloppier. Such a desperate thing, you were.

Simon cleared his throat right before a moan ripped through your parched lips, your eyes darting in fright as you stared at the intimidating figure watching you at the door.

“Simon? When did you- When did you get home?” You gasped, rushing to pull your soppy panties up as you stumbled to the door, instantly turning off the explicit video you were watching.

“You wanna explain to me what you were watching?” His tone was mocking as he stalked closer towards you, a deep arrogance and knowing lingering through every syllable.

“I- Uh- just stumbled upon it.”

“Hm? That right? So you don’t want me to fuck you in the ass? Treat you like a used slut? You know, like what you were just watching?”

You were lost for words, endless stutters leaving your lips as you tried to make do with what you were attempting to say. You let out a loud huff, pushing past him dramatically as you stormed to the bathroom.

“Aww c’mon baby, at least let me make you cum.”

Simon was enjoying the slow torture, stalking like a predator as he awaited the perfect moment to gnash his jaws across your neck and snap it, taking you as his. His to use, his to breed, his to own.

Maybe it was the way he teased you with his words, lapping seduction through the air just with the pure sultry tone he pronounced each syllable. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, dark eyes flickering with wanton need for you, lashes darting down as he stalked your frame. Whatever it was, it made you crack as you lifted your ass in the air on the bed.

Two fingers dipped into your slick, teasing between your folds as a deep laugh left his lips, a whine escaping yours.

“Stop teasing me,” you hissed, your sheer exposure sending a wave of humiliation through you as a hand spanked down on the fat of your ass, flesh jiggling under his warm touch.

Simon dug in your bedside table, delving through the clutter before rough fingertips felt the plastic ridged bottle. Desperate digits smeared the cool lube against your asshole, teasing the crevice as a quick smirk moved across his lips.

You and Simon had never really experimented with it before, the most being an occasional finger during doggy, but with him really paying attention to it now, it felt so real, so different.

“Relax for me baby,” he cooed, his voice soft as his spare hand rubbed the curvature of your back, comforting you. Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as you felt him coax a finger in, his already double the size of your own.

He worked another finger in, the tightness coiling around him as he lapped in the slight resistance. You felt a moan leave your lips as his fingers worked a smooth pace, walls clenching around the intrusion.

It was strange… different, but the fullness did something to you.

Simon’s hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you flush against his chest as he worked his fingers inside your back hole, soft pants and whines slipping past your tongue as your eyes fluttered shut, soft murmurs of his name filling the room as he praised you.

“Both holes take me so well, don’t they baby? So fucking good to me.”

“F-Fuck, Simon, I feel so full,” you cried, clenching instinctively around his finger as he smacked your ass in return.

“Think you can handle another?”

You nodded lazily, soaking in the pleasure as he bent you forward slightly, working more lube onto another digit before pressing it into you. He didn’t move for a second, allowing you to grow used to the tight stretch. The pain simmered slowly, your body relaxing at the naturalness of Simon’s touch.

Three fingers worked inside you, careful not to hurt you or go too deep as they focused on working a rhythm, letting you feel the pure pleasure of having another hole stretched by your Greek God of a boyfriend.

“F-Fuck,” you moaned, tongue practically lolled out of your mouth.

“Dirty fucking slut for me, sucking my finger threes in, ain’t you?”

“N-Need more, Si, please.” Your voice was dripping with arousal, eyes rolling back as you hummed at the filling sensation.

Simon grunted in satisfaction, slipping his three fingers out gently, softly rubbing at the puckered hole before he began to undo his pants. You bent over, your ass flushed in the air as you buried your face into the sheets.

You could hear the cap of the Lube bottle opening once more, followed by a continuous squirt of the gel, before more fingers prodded at your hole, working the substance around and into you.

“Baby, before we do this, if you want to stop at anytime, don’t even bother using our safe word, the moment you say stop or no, I’m pulling out. I won’t be mad at you either, this is completely about you. Your pussy’s tight enough for me.”

You nodded resulting in a harsh slap.

“Say you understand,” he snapped.

“Yes, Si, I promise I’ll tell you if I want to stop.”

You could hear the sloppy sounds of lube against his dick, his thick hands working his cock before you felt the mushroom tip line up at your hole. You winced as you felt him push in, his three fingers still not quite enough to make up for the sheer size of him.

Simon paused at the jerk of your body, holding your hips tightly before you whispered out an, “I’m okay, keep going”. Simon worked his thick length in bit by bit, taking his time as he continuously checked up to make sure you were okay.

At 3/4 of his length, Simon relaxed his movements, feeling you clench around him as you whined.

“Such a tight fucking hole, Jesus Christ,” he hissed, his hand coming down on your ass, the subtle print beginning to form.

“Please move, Si,” your voice coming out in short pants as you gripped the sheets, the sound of lube squelching as he began to rock back and forth, working his cock inside you.

Once you seemed more comfortable, your wanton moans filtering through the air, his pace fastened, gripping your hips like a vice as he occasionally spanked your ass, enjoying the way it moved as his hips slapped against the fat at a bruising pace.

“Dirty whore for me, let’s me fuck whatever hole I want.”

“Fucking filthy, takes me so well in her ass.”

“That’s a good slut for me, you love getting your ass filled, don’t you? Say it.”

His movements were quick as he fucked the right crevice, grunts leaving chapped lips as he practically growled out, harsh slaps delivered on your bruised skin, skin he would kiss later.

You were a series of whines and cries, strings of expletives leaving your mouth as your own fingers toyed with your neglected clit, rubbing the delicate bud at a quick pace as you screamed out at the fullness.

“Gonna cum soon,” Simon groaned, his pace growing more sloppy as he began to reach his high, your own fingers working faster against the sensitive bud.

“Come inside me, Si, please, need you to fill me up.”

Your words were practically sent from heaven, rolls of white meeting his vision before he let out a guttural grunt, hot pumps of cum filling you up as you whined at the sensation, your own orgasm quickly following.

You both panted, sweat engraved on your skin as your boyfriend slowly pulled out, cum leaking from the abused hole down to your cunt, both holes clenching around nothing as you collapsed.

You could feel a reassuring hand rub against the heat of your ass, shushing you as you breathed against the cotton sheets.

“Stay here baby, lemme get you cleaned up. You did so well for me.”

If you could take one thing from this experience, you were so glad you got caught watching porn.

WARNING: BEFORE ATTEMPTING ANAL OR ANAL INSERTION PLEASE USE PROPER LUBRICATION, SPIT IS NOT ENOUGH AND CAN SERIOUSLY TEAR OR PERMANENTLY DESTROY YOUR ANUS RESULTING IN LIFE LONG INJURIES. PLEASE READ THE RISKS AND TAKE PROPER PRECAUTIONS AS WELL AS DOING IMMENSE RESEARCH (NOT PORN) BEFORE ATTEMPTING IT. NEVER LET ANYONE FORCE YOU INTO ANAL SEX, ESPECIALLY WITHOUT PROPER CARE OR THOUGHT.

Sorry this is a piece of shit :(((

[lavenderspence]

her possessive trigger | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader | Word Count: 1.5K

Content warning: professor!spencer, jealousy, a lil bit of possessiveness, cuteness at the end

Summary: they could look at him all they wanted, but they needed to know he was yours. or the reader announces to spencer's students that he's taken

A/N: this was actually written back in june and i’m just now coming around to posting it. But lavenderspence writing for her husband spencer is back. Heavily inspired by my love for professor!reid and my desire to slap all of his student fangirlies and proclaim him as my own in a heavily possessive manner. you too? Oh, enjoy then🤭

masterlist

The auditorium was dark when you first walked in. His voice rang around the space, successfully gathering the attention of everyone present. Words like “victimology”, “modus operandi” and “signature”, the same ones you’d used for years, left him in quick succession, as did their explanation and usage in your profession.

He was captivating, an educator’s role suited him just right, but that was hardly new information. You’d seen him thrive on sharing his knowledge for years, be it as an FBI agent, or as a guest lecturer over the years. 

When he’d been offered to take on a class for the semester, alongside his work with the BAU, he’d been more than happy to. 

He loved it, and he told you as much regularly. And even if he didn’t, you’d still be able to tell. He loved challenging young minds, hopefully shaping the next generation of BAU profilers. 

His students loved him too, that much was evident in the way they hung onto his every word and explanation. Their hands raised with questions, taking part in the discussion, and diligently taking notes. They were dedicated to their studies, and to the subject Spencer taught. 

Or, most of them were. 

The other part, multiple young women it seemed, were far more dedicated to checking him out, than the class itself. 

You didn’t need it spelled out for you, you didn’t even need to see their faces. The art of reading people from a distance was deeply engraved into your being after years of working with the best. And then another part of it was your love for the man at the front. 

Your eyes ran around the room, the profiler in you working over time. 

Two brunettes sat near the front, third row, right side of the auditorium. Both their bodies turned towards the center of the room, following along with Spencer’s movement. One was casually leaning back in her seat, trying her hardest to mask her interest in her professor, and for anyone less vigilant, she might have been successful.

The girl next to her twirled a piece of hair around her finger, head moving left and right, but judging by the lift of her cheek, you could tell she was smiling, probably a little shily. It wouldn’t surprise you if her eyelashes fluttered too. 

A row in front of them sat a blond, hand constantly touching her hair, or her face, even fanning it. It was mid-March, the room wasn’t hot, but quite the contrary, a bit chilly. 

And then there was a girl, a few places to the left of the blond, whose hand was constantly in the air. Her voice was smoky, with questions that hardly contributed to the topic at hand, but Spencer let her ask them anyway. He even went so far as to answer as he would any other question.

Even though you knew he’d long ago picked up on her behavior, much like you had, he still indulged her, just like any good educator would. She looked just a tad too interested in the class, but maybe far more interested in him. If you had to guess, she had it bad, judging by the way she readjusted in her seat, every time her eyes met Spencer’s, even for a second. 

You knew Spencer was handsome, maybe even more so than that. He was beautiful in ways you found hard to explain sometimes. His curls, soft and golden-looking in the sun, the barely there scruff you could still feel against your palms and lips as you kissed him goodbye this morning. The suit, and how well it fit him, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and the cardigan vest that made him look soft, when you knew he was anything but when needed. 

But there was so much more beauty on the inside, just as long as you wanted to see it. A heart that spans miles, big, always ready to give, but rarely willing to take. A godfather, proud to be one, and a smile that could light up whole skies, out of happiness, out of love. Your own little search engine in a body, facts, and statistics, as long as you wanted to listen, and you always did. 

How he was with you, his love like no other, and his eyes lighting, the green in them even more prominent, just with you in the room. How calm he was, whenever in your presence. Patient, even when you couldn’t be, and he could bring you back down from any ledge you found yourself stuck on, or whatever worry sat heavily on your mind. 

He brought out the best in you, and you let the best of him out too. 

And even knowing him as well as you did, and loving him as much as your heart allowed you to, and knowing how he loved you, with everything he could, there was a part, if small at that, that couldn’t help, but feel taken aback by this behavior. 

Maybe taken aback wasn’t the right word, but jealous felt more appropriate. 

There was no need for those feelings to arise, insecurities that bore no weight. Your relationship was as secure as the sun was bright if the stunning rock on your finger was anything to go by. 

But maybe it wasn’t really jealousy either, but the desire to protect, maybe even to possess. 

It sounded ridiculous, to an extent, because Spencer could protect himself just fine. He wasn’t an object that could be picked up from a shelf, and owned. 

He was your equal, in every way that counted, your other half, your best friend, your closest confidant. 

And maybe that’s where that protectiveness stemmed from.  

Because as you looked around, women, without knowing him, and who he was beyond his looks, and as deep as you and your BAU family knew him, sat there, gawking. 

And as the lecture was coming to a close, the desire to cement the fact that Spencer Reid was happily in love, and soon to be much more than just a boyfriend, arose. It was petty, very much so, but at that moment, pettiness won over. Because the man in front, the same one those students were thirsting over, was very much your own, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

“Before we end today’s lecture, any questions?” 

No hands rose at the question, except one, your own. 

He pointed at you, giving you permission to ask the question, and his hand reached for the light switch. 

Just as you started speaking, the room was illuminated in light, and his eyes focused on yours, and you winked.

“Uhm, Dr. Reid, I was wondering, do you happen to have a girlfriend?” A silence so defeating followed, as every head turned in your direction as you stood from your seat. Spencer, the dork smiled big, and then he laughed, surprised, and maybe a little bit proud at that moment. His laugh was rich, attracting a part of the attention back to him, as you started walking in his direction. 

“Wasn’t expecting a guest lecturer today,” He raised a brow just as you reached him, and you just shrugged, smiling. “Class, this is Supervisory Special Agent Y/L/N” Spencer introduced you, as you looked on over his class. 

“Soon to be SSA Y/L/N - Reid” You added, looking at his students sitting in multiple stages of processing the information. He laughed, and instead of looking shy or even embarrassed by the display, he just looked happy, and proud. Maybe it was the knowledge of the fact that you were his, and his desire for everyone to know. 

Soon after that, he dismissed the class and you watched as the auditorium emptied, students turning to look at you both as you pulled him into a big hug, followed by a gentle kiss. 

When you separated, he looked at you with a huge smile, lifting a brow, “You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He picked your hand, bringing it to his lips to lay a kiss right on your ring before he rubbed it with his thumb. 

“No, no I couldn’t. They were looking at you like you were a piece of meat on a platter.” Your reply was swift, a smile just as big.

“Is that jealousy I detect, and a bit of possessiveness?” He was amused by the fact that you wanted to stake some kind of claim on him in front of his students, but secretly, he felt happy you loved him enough to do it

“Noooo…” You didn’t meet his eyes, playing stupid, but you knew he saw right through you.

“Wait until I tell Morgan about this,” He said as he picked up his satchel. 

“Aww, that’s just mean, Dr. Reid.” He pulled you towards the exit, arm wrapped around your waist, possessively. You may have seen the girls looking at him, but he saw the boys checking you out just the same. 

Maybe that was why he felt happiness when you stated you weren’t just a colleague, but rather his soon-to-be wife.

“Don’t I know it, Mrs. Reid.” And then he pulled you into another kiss, this time, a little more urgent, and very much possessive.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[illyrianbitch]

Lights, Camera, Love!

Pairing: Reader x Rhysand

Summary: Rhysand, Hollywood's hottest heartthrob, has everyone smitten—everyone except you, his co-star. But when rumors of your feud begin to affect the show's ratings, your producers propose a last-ditch solution: a fake romance to salvage your public image and reignite fan interest.

Warnings: cocky Rhysand, just two snippy co-stars, ianthe, co-parent feysand, helion and amren as big hollywood peeps

Word Count: 4.7k

a/n: this is a lil series ive had tucked away with some inspo....lets see if ayll fw it enough hehehe. dedicated to @milswrites and @daycourtofficial bc their love for this pushed me to pick it up again

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was unprofessional, truly. 

You wanted to roll your eyes, to scoff and walk off set. 

But instead, you simply shifted uncomfortably in your seat, adjusting the hem of your dress as Ianthe, your overly enthusiastic interviewer, fluttered around Rhysand like a lovesick butterfly. Her giggles grated on your nerves as she leaned in a little too close, her hand lingering on his arm just a second too long.

Ianthe was known for her probing questions and flirtatious demeanor— it’s what made her such a popular source for exclusive interviews. Not only did she know the right questions to ask, but she knew exactly how to ask them in order to get what she wanted: juicy gossip, something she could feed on. It wasn’t a coincidence that her last name held such a resemblance to the word parasite. She was one. 

You didn’t want to do the interview to begin with. The upcoming release of your newest season meant various events and panels that left you unsettled and anxious. You loved your job— loved your character even more. But being in the public eye alongside Rhysand was hard. Suffocating, really. 

It felt like hours that you sat there with a practiced smile, waiting as she conversed with Rhysand. The studio lights were warm, and the backdrop behind you— a cover of the show's logo— made you feel a bit more comfortable. But still, the unease persisted, and you counted down the seconds until this interview was over and you could return home. 

"So, Rhysand," Ianthe said, her voice silky smooth. "You've become quite the heartthrob lately. How do you handle all the attention from your adoring fans?"

Your first instinct was to laugh. Your second was to roll your eyes. The third was to vomit in your mouth. You somehow resisted the urge to do all of the above, settling for biting back the rising nausea at the shameless flirting. 

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, a charming smile spreading across his face. "It's all part of the job, I suppose. Though, I must say, the fans are incredibly supportive. It's their enthusiasm that keeps us going."

Us. This time it physically burned you to not roll your eyes, even subtly. Your lips curled into a pained smile. Ianthe didn’t seem to notice the forced gesture, her gaze locked onto Rhysand as if you weren’t even in the room. 

You looked down, absently playing with a ring on your index finger. The metal felt cool and familiar, and you smiled faintly at it, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It seemed to fill your lungs with a steadying breath, one that was enough to gather yourself, to steel your resolve and endure sitting beside someone who sucked up all the oxygen in the room without even trying.

It took a few more minutes before Ianthe was turning to you with an expectant smile— perfect white teeth. Veneers, most likely. The smile was strange up close and you resisted the urge to lean in and expect them further, to search for any signs of hidden pointed teeth, sharpened to resemble that of a predator. 

You blinked, tilting your head and welcoming her attention with a large smile of your own. Certainly not as perfect, but a lot less unnerving, you hoped. 

 “Y/n,” She started, readjusting herself in her seat. “You look beautiful. It’s always nice to see you.”

You gave a small nod in acknowledgement. You’d talked to Ianthe a few times, mostly on red carpets and press events. Never longer than a minute, never past fake pleasantries and a kiss on the cheek—- from her end. 

“Thanks Ianthe,” you said, smile still plastered on your cheeks like glue. “It’s always a pleasure talking with you.”

There was a glint in her eye that told you she didn’t believe a word you said. At least you both had that in common, perhaps you could bond on your shared love of bullshit. 

 “Tell me, what's it like working alongside Rhysand? He seems to have quite the presence on set."

You paused for a moment, considering your response carefully before delivering it with a smile. 

“Rhysand is an experience. Even after years, he still manages to keep me on my toes.”

What your statement really translated to was: Rhysand was a cocky asshole. Everything was about him. All. The. Damn. Time.

"It's truly remarkable how he commands the attention of everyone in the room. It's as if the rest of us simply fade into the background when he's around.” 

Because he’s an attention whore. 

You didn’t say the last thought— as much as your body screamed at you to. 

Rhysand's smile tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation dancing in his eyes before he masked it with practiced ease. "Well, thank you," he replied smoothly,  "I suppose it's just the natural magnetism of a true star."

He delivered his words as a joke, as if you both shared a similar, endearing humor regarding one another. You fought to conceal a satisfied smirk, knowing that your veiled dig had hit its mark. 

Ianthe continued to prattle on, her questions growing increasingly mundane as the minutes ticked by. There was a lull—a brief moment of respite where Ianthe paused to collect her thoughts. 

It was Rhysand who broke the silence, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. "I must admit, I've always admired Y/n’s dedication to her craft," he said, his tone almost earnest. "It's not easy to disappear into a role the way she does."

You bristled at the backhanded compliment, knowing all too well that beneath his seemingly benign words lay a razor-sharp edge. It was a surprise to you that Ianthe didn’t pick up on it, her dull eyes and bright smile still worn on her nauseatingly beautiful face. 

"Well, Rhysand," you replied, forcing a tight smile, "I suppose we all have our strengths. I can’t coast on charisma alone.”

His smirk returned in full force, a wolfish gleam in his eyes. "Ah, but isn't that what makes us such a dynamic duo, sweetheart?" he said, "The perfect balance of substance and style."

You fought to conceal a frustrated sigh, to bite back the snarl you wanted to make at the annoying nickname he’d adopted for you recently. He knew it drove you nuts, knew it made you want to call him something less sweet. 

As much as you wished to continue the conversation, to match his veiled insults with ones of your own— that were sure to be far more clever, you knew that this verbal sparring match would only serve to prolong your agony. Instead, you plastered on a diplomatic smile, nodding in agreement as Ianthe launched into yet another round of inane questions.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It felt like an eternity before you were freed from the clutches of the interview. 

Ianthe stood, flashing you a smile that felt more condescending than friendly. "Thank you both for coming," she said, her eyes lingering on Rhysand. You watched as she scanned him one last time, eyes drinking him in like a fresh glass of wine. 

You forced a polite nod. "Thank you, Ianthe. Always a pleasure."

She gave you a look that made you feel small, but you quickly swallowed it and turned away, heading toward the exit. As much as a nice, warm bath was calling to you, you had lunch plans with Lucien and were itching to be in the presence of someone you actually liked. 

"Well, that was entertaining," Rhysand commented, a smirk playing on his lips as he caught up to you. 

You glanced at him, trying to keep your irritation in check as you quickened your pace, offering a few spare smiles to the employees you passed. "If by entertaining, you mean tacky, then sure."

His smirk faded slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He raised a brow.  "Tacky? I was just keeping things lively."

"Lively," you repeated with a laugh. You stopped, the movement so abrupt that Rhysand almost bumped into you. You turned to face him with a flat look. “You’re a shameless flirt."

His eyes narrowed at you— a deep blue that you swore at times was almost violet. His head cocked to the side and you shrank deeper into yourself, feeling somewhat at odds and uncomfortable in his burning gaze. The smirk tugged harder at the corner of his lips.

“Well, isn’t that the whole point?”

You scowled, opening your mouth to respond. But before any words could leave your mouth, a familiar voice filled the air. “Rhys!”

A head turn led you to catch Feyre’s eye as she walked towards you, a bright smile on her face. Her eyes lit up as her gaze landed on you and Rhys, one hand holding onto the smaller one of her son. 

You watched as Nyx, quite possibly one of the prettiest kids you'd ever seen, ran up to Rhysand with a joyous laugh, opening his arms up, wide and expecting. In one swift and natural movement, Rhysand scooped him up effortlessly, his earlier annoyance instantly dissipating from his features. 

“Hey, buddy,” Rhysand said, his voice softening as he kissed Nyx’s temple.

Against your better judgment, a smile tugged at your cheeks at how brightly Rhysand’s face lit up. He pulled Feyre into a quick, sweet embrace, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

If there was one thing you were willing to give Rhysand credit for, it was this.

His breakup with Feyre had been incredibly public. The divorce, the fallout—both of their reputations took a hit when it came out that she had initiated the divorce, later compounded by her being outed on a date with a woman from her past. Yet, despite everything, they both managed it with such grace.

Feyre was incredibly sweet. You never truly understood how Rhysand landed her in the first place, how they had been married for over five years, so deeply in love that they started a family. You thoroughly enjoyed her company, even though it wasn’t as often as you would’ve liked. She was still Rhysand’s family, after all, and you took every chance you could to avoid being around him when it wasn’t necessary. 

But Feyre was a large reason you enjoyed your job. She eased the anxiety that came with joining a cast that was already so close, essentially taking a role that had belonged to her— even though your character was introduced after hers was written off. 

It was clear that despite everything, Rhysand and Feyre had managed to maintain a bond, not just for their sake, but for Nyx’s. The love they still shared, the ease with which they navigated this new chapter of their lives—it was something you respected, even envied a little.

You averted your gaze, fingers running over the cool metal of your ring as you turned to leave, but Feyre called your name, her voice as kind as usual. 

You paused, looking back at her. “Yeah?”

Feyre’s smile was warm. You took her in for a moment, how naturally beautiful she was— how she exuded a certain energy that you could only describe as regal. A smile fit for a queen.  “How was the interview?” 

You shrugged, giving a small smile. “The usual. Ianthe was...”

You pursed your lips as your voice trailed off. There were many ways you could finish off your sentence but you weren’t sure how diplomatic you could be anymore or if Feyre would be bothered by an honest review of your interviewer. 

Feyre leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A bitch?”

You laughed, catching Rhysand’s glance as he looked over for a moment. His attention quickly returned to Nyx and you turned back to meet Feyre’s beautiful blue eyes. “Exactly.”

Feyre shook her head, a sympathetic look on her face. “She was always so condescending with me, too. It’s because she’s desperate to sleep with that loser.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder, jokingly but lovingly casting a glance back at Rhysand. She clicked her tongue. “Poor delusions.”

Another laugh left your lips and you nodded, suppressing a grin. “Yeah,” you drawled, “She wasn’t very subtle.”

Feyre raised a brow. “I don’t think subtly is in that limited vocabulary of hers.”

Your eyes drifted to the small interview set, where Ianthe was still standing, talking to someone and sparing regular glances over at Rhysand—a predator about to make her move. It was best for you to leave now, you thought, to avoid watching the inevitable hunt. 

“I should get going,” you said, turning back to Feyre. “I have plans. But, it was so nice seeing you.”

Feyre beamed, putting a hand on your arm. You briefly took in the ink that covered her forearm, the delicate, beautiful tattoos that you always wanted to admire further.  “You too,” she said, “Let’s have lunch soon.”

You nodded, a genuine and pleased motion. Your conversation with Feyre was the first one today that you didn’t have to fake any polite mannerisms. “I’d love to.”

Casting one last glance at Rhysand, you watched as Feyre approached him and put a hand out to Nyx. Rhysand smiled down at her, a soft, familiar look that made your chest tighten with an emotion you didn’t care to examine.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was 10:00 am when you were called into the production office, a room nestled in a quiet corner of the studio lot. You were tired, having only slept a few hours the night prior, and you could feel life slowly dripping back into you with each sip of coffee. The area was relatively private, shielded from the prying eyes of paparazzi, so you opted for comfort over glamor, dressed in jeans and a simple hoodie—nice, big, and comfortable.

Helion was usually meticulous about these meetings, ensuring both you and Rhysand were well-prepared and informed ahead of time. This sudden summons felt off. You didn’t know what to expect, and that uncertainty weighed heavily on your mind as you pushed open the door to the conference room.

Rhysand was already in the room when you arrived, effortlessly lounging in a chair with the kind of put-together look that only seemed to accentuate your own disheveled state. It made you hate him even more. You didn’t attempt to hide your scowl. He glanced up as you entered, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Phew, you'd think it was a Sunday and you were hungover," he remarked casually, a small smile playing on his lips. 

You shot him a pointed glare, resisting the urge to snap back and opting to take the open seat next to him, sitting back to take a sip of your coffee. 

Rhysand leaned over into your space, reaching a hand to tug at the strings of your hoodie with a grin on his lips. You swatted his hand away with a deepening scowl. "Cut it out."

He chuckled lightly, settling back into his chair. "So, what do you think this is about?" 

“No idea,” you sighed, crossing your arms defensively. You gave him a pointed glare. “What did you do?”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “And why are we automatically assuming I did something?”

“Well when are you not?” You titled your head. “Doing something, I mean.”

Rhysand caught onto the meaning of your words instantly. He narrowed his eyes at you before something crossed his features. Then, he was leaning in again, a smirk on his face as he scanned your own. “Are you feeling a bit left out? You’re always welcome to join.”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a scoff of disgust as you maneuvered yourself to lean farther away from him. “You’re shameless.”

The door clicked open, and your attention snapped over as Helion entered the room. You began to offer him a smile, but the motion died on your lips as you met his gaze. 

You loved Helion— as an executive producer, and the main man regarding your public relations, you’d formed a great relationship with him. It helped that you were best friends with his son, too. But today his typically buoyant air was clouded, his expression wearing the weight of serious deliberation. It was one you could only compare to that of a disappointed father about to deliver bad news. Beside him, Amren followed like a silent storm cloud. 

Amren, on the other hand, was someone you didn’t have a favorable relationship with. She was Rhysand’s personal agent and she excluded the same energy he did— something that tasted a lot like pretentiousness.  Her sharp gaze swept the room, and you instinctively avoided meeting it.

If Amren was here, and Helion was wearing that stern expression, it could only mean trouble. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

You and Rhysand shared a quick, knowing glance, a similar confusion mirrored on both your faces. You straightened yourself as Rhysand offered a disarmingly charming smile. 

"What's going on?" he asked.

Helion exchanged a glance with Amren before sighing heavily. He leaned forward, slapping a piece of paper onto the table and pushing it toward both of you. 

The first thing that caught your eye was the TMZ logo— something that made your stomach drop instinctively. You bit at the inside of your cheek, your eyes repeatedly running over the headline. You looked up through your lashes to meet Helion’s expecting gaze. 

Rhysand's voice was incredulous as he spoke. "Did you... print these out?" 

You casted a quick glance of disbelief at him. Idiot. He paid no mind. 

Helion ignored the comment, taking a seat across from you as he leaned back, crossing his arms. He gave a nod towards the two copies before you. “Go ahead. Read," he instructed calmly, his expression grave. The tone alone made you shiver from its unfamiliarity. 

You picked up your copy, scanning the bolded headline and the accompanying pictures. 

FAILURE ON SET: HOW AN OVERBEARING CO-STAR FUED IS THREATENING THE VIEWER EXPERIENCE

Ianthe Parcite weighs in on the rumored feud between co-stars Y/N and Rhysand after exclusive interview.

As expected, the large printed image was a glamor shot of Rhysand and one of the interview set. You were nowhere to be found. Your grip on the edges of the paper tightened as you began to read the article.

In an exclusive interview with TMZ, Ianthe Parcite, known for her candid critiques, has taken a stark stance on the alleged feud between Hollywood’s famed co-stars, Y/N L/N and Rhysand Darling. Contrary to initial impressions, Ianthe now reveals that behind the scenes, tensions ran high and professionalism faltered. “I sensed an atmosphere of unease and discontent,” Ianthe remarked, reflecting on her recent encounter with the co-stars. “Y/N appeared dismissive and disengaged during our interview, which is concerning for the show’s dynamics.” Ianthe didn’t hold back in her assessment of Rhysand either, noting his apparent lack of receptiveness to her questions. “Rhysand’s demeanor was noticeably distant, almost unreceptive to any meaningful dialogue,” she disclosed. “It’s unfortunate when personal dynamics overshadow the professionalism required on set.” The revelations have sent shockwaves through the fanbase, with many expressing disappointment over the potential impact on their favorite series. As speculation swirls around the future of the show, fans are left wondering if the rift between Y/N and Rhysand will escalate and if it's worth watching a show doomed for failure. 

You scoffed incredulously, pushing the paper further away from you as if its distance would minimize the anger that simmered underneath your skin. You deeply regretted holding back in the interview— regretted not tearing that pompous bitch into two.

"So she doesn't even include a picture of me and yet I'm the main one she rips into?" 

You found the courage to look around the room, your gaze landing on Helion with pleading eyes. His response was a noncommittal shrug, accompanied by a slight raise of his eyebrows. It was clear he didn't have an easy answer, either.

Running your tongue along your teeth, you shifted your gaze to Rhysand. His jaw clenched as he laid the paper on the table. "It's not even a great photo of me," he remarked dryly, "I'm too pale in it."

Your mouth fell open in exasperation. "Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath.

Rhysand shot you a glare that lingered for a few tense seconds. You matched his gaze evenly before he redirected his attention to Helion and Amren. "This is ridiculous," he asserted, "Did they seriously publish this?

A moment passed. Helion sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Yes. Every tabloid is eating it up.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling every muscle in your body tense with the frustration prickling at your skin. “It wasn't our best interview, sure, but it definitely wasn't that bad," you insisted, tapping a finger down on the offending article.

Amren's gaze flickered toward Rhysand, and you followed it. Rhysand shifted uncomfortably, his expression briefly sheepish before he turned to you with a defensive edge. You narrowed your eyes, tuning to face him properly.

“Did you do something?”

Rhysand rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous.” 

Your mouth fell agape and you let out a deep, angry breath through your nose. “Don’t use that word about me,” you hissed at him.  You pointed emphatically at the paper. "That is ridiculous. And you look like a guilty dog. What did you do?"

"Nothing," he finally muttered, his eyes narrowing in irritation. He shifted in his seat, pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. 

It was Amren's voice that cut through the tension, her tone cool and calculating. "It's what he didn't do, really," she remarked cryptically, her gaze still lingering on Rhysand.

He shot her a pointed glare and you frowned, your brows furrowing to a tight knit. A faint headache throbbed at your temples. Turning to Helion for clarification, you found him leaning forward, lips pursed in thought. 

"It appears Ianthe was a bit... offended that Rhysand turned down her advances," Helion explained carefully, his words laden with implication.

Your eyes widened in surprise, disbelief coloring your features. "Seriously?" you blurted out, your head twisting to face Rhysand once more, moving with such swiftness that an ache pulled at the muscles of your neck. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Rhysand's eyes widened in response, his expression a mix of offense and confusion. "Excuse me?" he retorted, a hint of incredulity in his voice. "So you have a problem with me when I sleep with people and when I don't?"

Annoyance flared within you. "You flirted with her the entire interview," you accused, your voice raising slightly in pitch. "The one time you decide to take a vow of celibacy and it's with the one name that can tarnish my reputation?”

Rhysand scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Your reputation, of course," he muttered sarcastically. "You're such a hypocrite."

"Your actions reflect on me too, Rhysand," you shot back, "Do you ever think about that?"

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a pinched expression. "Oh, please," he countered, "If you hadn't been sulking and throwing daggers at me the entire interview, I wouldn't have had to flirt with her to salvage it. You should be thanking me."

Your jaw tightened at his words. "Thanking you? Look what happened—"

Before you could finish your retort, Helion slammed his palm down on the table with a sharp crack. You and Rhysand both jumped at the sudden interruption, turning to face him with wide eyes.

"Enough," Helion declared firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Stop bickering like children."

You and Rhysand exchanged a reluctant glance and with a sigh, you sank back into your seat, folding your arms defensively. 

"It'll blow over in a week, right? No big deal," Rhysand said casually, his tone attempting to downplay the severity of the situation. You raised your eyebrows at the suggestion, but as hopeful as it sounded, part of you knew that this was a bigger deal than you both cared to admit.

Helion regarded him with a critical eye, his lips pressed into a thin line. Feeling an itch at your skin, you unfolded your arms. 

"He’s right," you said hopefully, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, rumors of us not being... the best of friends isn't something new. People know this."

Rhysand offered a nod of agreement. “Exactly. It's just tabloid fodder," he said, his gaze shifting between Amren and Helion with a hint of concern.

Leaning slightly on the table, Amren shook her head slightly, her eyes– a color so light they were almost silver— glowed with intensity as they swept over Rhysand and then fixed on you. The heat of her gaze made you swallow and you found yourself tempted to apologize for things you’d never done— confess for crimes you hadn’t committed. But against your instincts, you held her gaze for another lasting moment. Amren seemed to appreciate the stare and she raised an eyebrow of approval before she spoke. 

“It's more than that now," she stated firmly, her voice cutting through the air like a finely sharpened knife. "This isn't just idle gossip anymore. It's becoming off-putting. A few small rumors are funny at first, but now people don't want to watch. It's affecting our ratings."

"We can't afford to lose viewers over this," Helion added, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency you’d never heard. He was stressed— extremely so. He picked at the gold rings that adorned his hands. "The show needs a strong, united front, not two leads sniping at each other in public."

You exchanged a glance with Rhysand. Your mind raced and you settled your gaze on Helion. 

You trusted him. He always had your best interests in mind, and navigating public fallout wasn’t unfamiliar territory for you. This was fine, this was manageable. 

“Okay,” you said, the words directly intended for him.  “What do you want me to do?”

He threw a glance at Amren. 

“Well,” he started, “We need to manage the narrative. The tension between you two is too obvious. Starting with the press tour, we'll need you both to project a good connection. No more sniping or tension in public—it needs to be all smiles and cooperation."

You nodded slowly, digesting his words. Next to you, Rhysand sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. "Are you saying we need to fake being friends?"

The two agents before you shared another glance. You frowned at the exchange, an unsettled feeling brewing in your gut. Helion’s face slowly shifted into one more amused— and you watched as a grin grew on his lips, something suspicious, mischievous even. His eyes gleamed.

“Not just friends," he said, his gaze shifting between you and Rhysand. He looked to Amren one last time, who gave a small nod of approval before he continued, 

"We need you to fake a romance."

You choked on the air in your throat, your heart skipping a beat at his words. You blinked rapidly, gaze darting between Helion and Amren, seeking any sign that this was a joke or a misinterpretation. 

They were messing with you both, surely. This was some joke to make you both apologize, some horrendously unrealistic suggestion that made the idea of you two being simply friends something straight out of paradise.

But their faces were deadly serious— set with a purposeful intent etched into their features. Helion’s grin ate at you. 

Rhysand's laughter broke the tense silence, though it lacked humor as he shook his head in disbelief. His wide eyes met yours, a silent exchange of incredulity passing between you before both of you turned to Helion simultaneously. When no other words were offered to you both, the reality of the suggestion seeped in. 

As if you both registered it at the same time, both you and Rhysand rose swiftly. 

"Absolutely fucking not—" 

"—There is no way in hell I'm—"

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

GUYS IM OBSESSED IM SORRY I CANT. reader is such a hater and i think its so funny, whatever rhys does its just *eye roll* booo he sucks

i loveee them ur honor

if youd like to be added to the LCL! taglist, lmk!! <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

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Rhysand tag list 🫶🏻:

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