#AS LONG AS I AM COMFORTABLE WITH MY OWN SKIN!!

[notarmedandnotdangerous]

+18 mdni! watch your mouth; a fic where bucky's your boss, and you're his secretary. he ends up getting himself into a lot of trouble with you.

cw: dom!->sub!reader, sub!->dom!bucky, slightly mean bucky (he's nice at the end), use of 'traffic light' safeword system, overstimulation (like 4 times), use of 'baby'

word count: >3.3k

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 (soon!)

a/n: i received 2 requests for ideas to carry on this series ... mwehehehe i will work on them soon

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today was the sixth day since all of this started.

morning light filtered through the window, while the scent of coffee filled the air. it was warm, comforting, and familiar, just enough to give you something to focus on while pretending the rest of your body didn’t feel raw from the night before. you moved carefully, avoiding any sudden movements.

your body still ached. not in a painful way, more in an overstretched, sensitive way. your thighs would tremble if you stood for too long, your throat felt rough, even the fabric of your boxers felt too much. you swallowed hard and forced yourself to look down at the pan. don’t think, just cook, just breathe.

you tried to focus on the simple rhythm of cracking eggs, but your hands twitched like they wanted to reach for something else. the fear creeps in your chest, slow and steady, coiling tight in your chest, suffocating.

then, bucky stepped out of the bedroom doorway, the soft light filtering in catching the angle of his jaw, and the dark sweep of his hair, disheveled from sleep. the sleeves of his henley were rolled up casually, the muscles of his forearms relaxed but firm beneath the fabric.

“morning.”

your hand jerked, startled by the sudden presence, and the small kitchen towel you’ve been holding slipped from your fingers. heat rushed to your cheeks as your heart hammered, then the worry hit.

‘what if he didn’t like what he saw?’

‘what if the messy kitchen, my shaky hands, the way my skin flushed makes me look broken, weak?

“shit.” you muttered, bending down quickly to pick up the fallen towel. “uh, hey, morning. just, uh, give me a minute, yeah?” you said, trying to shake it off with a nervous chuckle, hoping it would shoo him back to wherever he came from.

“sure.” he spoke, voice low, and raspy from sleep.

the both of you sat across each other at the small table.

bucky ate slowly, deliberate and calm, savouring each bite.

you, on the other hand, were restless. your fingers drummed nervously against the table, eyes flickering towards him, and then away. whenever he glanced in your direction, your mind spiraled.

“you’ve been quiet all morning, something on your mind?” he asked, tilting his head slightly at you.

‘why am i so on edge?’

‘what if it’s too much for him?’

“just.. thinking.” your chest tightened.

his eyes softened, but his gaze stayed steady. he figured he didn’t want to force you, so when he was done eating, he moved towards the sink to wash the dishes.

you remained seated, eyes unfocused, lost in your own thoughts. you exhaled shakily, relieved at first, but then the anxiety sank in. you couldn’t bear sitting still, couldn’t stop the jitter under your skin. so you ended up doing the only thing you could think of aside from work: you cleaned.

and cleaned.

and cleaned.

the rest of the afternoon slipped away in a blur of continuous scrubbing, dusting, and rearranging.

bucky had been watching from the sidelines all afternoon, his confusion growing with each scrub, and rearranged cushion.

“you’re making the place so spotless. i’m starting to wonder if you’re trying to erase something.” he raised an eyebrow at you.

“maybe i just hate clutter.”

“uh huh.. it’s definitely about the clutter.”

at first bucky thought you just needed some space to shake off whatever was going on inside your head. so, he kept himself busy with reading, watching tv, taking a walk. hours later, it was clear to him that this wasn’t just about you needing space, it was about something bigger.

“hey, it’s 3pm, you hungry yet? i can order something.” he asked, out of pure concern. you’ve been going at it for hours.

you didn’t even glance back at him.

“i’m good.” you replied a little too quickly, like your mind wasn’t present at the time.

bucky hummed, pushing off the wall. he crossed the room, and gently brushed a hand gently along your back as he passed. you tensed, but barely acknowledged it.

that was strike one.

a little while later, he dropped back onto the couch, phone in hand, pretending to scroll, but mostly just watching you dart from one task to another.

“you know, most people take breaks on holidays. sit down, maybe talk to the person that’s been waiting since forever.”

“still a lot to do.” you mumbled, moving towards the spice cabinet to reorganise the spices for what felt like the second time.

strike two.

bucky sighed, trying humour instead.

“you do realise that you’ve cleaned that exact spot four times? whatever you’re trying to scrub away, i promise it’s definitely not on the coffee table.”

still nothing. you let out a nervous chuckle, but still didn’t look at him.

strike three.

by the time the sun set, you had wiped down the countertop for the third time, changed the bedsheets twice, fluffed the pillows, refolded the throws on your couch, reorganised the coffee table books by color, and size. you moved to the windows, the windows, for fuck’s sake. you were trying anything to stay busy, anything to not be still.

bucky had tried everything he could think of: soft jokes, light teasing, a few passing touches, even silence beside him on the couch, fuck, he was about to resort to getting you flowers in hopes to cheer you up. he had been hoping you would lean in, but the space between the both of you only seemed to grow.

he wasn’t stupid, he knew avoidance when he saw it.

you weren’t just ‘busy’, you were hiding.

his patience wore thin, not from anger, but from the sting of being shut out by you. you wouldn’t even meet his eyes, and it made something inside him snap. it wasn’t violent, just sharp. if you weren’t going to talk, then he will.

“hey.” he patted your shoulder.

“yeah?”

“you’ve been avoiding me all day.”

you laughed, and it cracked mid-way.

“what? no- i’ve just been cleaning. the windowsill was filthy. i mean, when’s the last time i-”

“stop.”

“what? i’m just-”

“stop.” he stepped closer towards you, cornering you into the bookshelf.

“seriously, it’s fine. i’m fine. i just.. needed to do something with my hands. i’m not-”

“you won’t even look at me.”

“that’s not true.” your eyes darted towards his, then away.

“you haven’t held my gaze once today. you flinched every time i touched you. you turned every conversation into a chore, and every beat of silence into an escape route.” he hadn’t touched you, not yet. he just stood there, crowding you in against the bookshelf.

your chest was rising too fast. you looked like you were ready to bolt, not because you wanted to, but because you couldn’t take it.

“you were so good last night.” his voice softened. “made the sweetest sounds.”

“buck.” you whispered, horrified.

“you let me see everything, and it was so perfect.”

“don’t.. don’t say that.”

“why not?”

“because i can’t handle it.”

he tilted his head at you.

“it’s too much.”

“but you want it, no?”

“no.” your voice was tense, pulled tight.

“yes, you do.” bucky spoke, dragging his fingers up your side. “you want to be held through it, praised for it, don’t you?”

you shook your head frantically.

“no- no, fuck, i can’t. buck, please. i don’t know how to do this-”

“you don’t have to know how.” he cradled the side of your face, thumb running softly against your cheeks. “i’ve got you.”

your knees gave out, just a little. not enough to fall, just enough to sag.

“you don’t have to be strong, i just want you like this.”

“don’t say that.” you choked out. “you don’t know what you’re saying-”

“i know exactly what i’m saying.” he replied. “you were desperate, shaking, begging, and i’ve never wanted you more.”

you shook in his arms, not from shame, but from the unbearable feeling of being seen.

bucky held you close, but now his grip was firmer. one of his hands braced at your lower back, while the other held onto your jaw to make you look.

“i know what i’m doing to you. i see the way your eyes go glassy, the way your voice cracks when you beg.”

“please.” you whispered, you didn’t know what for.

“please what?” his tone turned sharper. “please stop seeing you? please stop wanting you?”

you whimpered.

“baby, you don’t get to hide from me.” he shoved you back, slightly. it wasn’t violent, just firm. he caged you there, bracing his hand against the bookshelf.

“bucky..”

“stop running, let me ruin you the way you need.” then, bucky’s hand slid up your chest, trailing his fingers over the sweat soaked shirt you had on.

you didn’t respond, you didn’t know how to.

“i know you’re scared, and i know this kind of softness fucks with your head.” he cut himself off, pressing a kiss to your jaw, sucking lightly before pulling away. “so fine, i’ll make it rough enough to hurt a little. just enough to keep you from spiraling.”

you whined, your body instinctively pressing against his.

“you’ll still get my praise. you’ll still get my hands, my mouth, my cock, all of me.” he pressed another kiss to your neck. “but i’ll pin you down while i do it. i’ll keep you right here.” he pressed his hips forward, just enough friction to make you gasp. “isn’t that what you really want?”

“i-i don’t know.” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut.

“yes you do.” bucky reached down, and palmed you through your sweats, making you stifle a whine. “you’re hard already. you wanted to be treated like this, didn’t you?”

you let out a broken moan, nearly collapsing onto him.

“y-yes.” your voice cracked.

“then be good, let go, and let me fuck the panic out of you.”

bucky didn’t give you a chance to think after that. he shoved you back against the empty dining table.

“tell me, what do you want?”

“i.. i don’t know.” your eyes were wide, and unsteady, avoiding his gaze.

“no.” he shook his head. “you do know. you just won’t say it.”

“this.. this isn’t going to work.” you swallowed hard.

“it’s exposure therapy. you fall apart, get ruined, and learn that you can survive it.”

“i’m scared, buck.”

“you don’t have to be. i’m here.” he sighed, kissing up your neck. “you get to have some control. you tell me what you want me to do, and i’ll listen.”

“really?” you blinked dumbly at him, and he gave you a nod in response. “i want.. i want to be taken care of.. but not all at once, i need to tell you when to stop.”

“look at you, finally thinking straight. that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all damn day.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“i.. want you to touch me.. slowly.” you whispered, barely audible. your cocky facade was long gone.

“slow?” bucky scoffed. “fuck no.” he slid a rough hand under your shirt, nails dragging lightly across your ribs. “i’m going to touch you however i want, but you tell me when to stop.”

“i’ll.. i’ll say.”

“you better, or i’ll end up taking what i want.”

his fingers trailed over your tense muscles, then suddenly pressed harder, eliciting a sharp gasp from you.

“liar, you love this.” he nipped at your neck, leaving a mark there.

“stop that.” you rolled your eyes at him.

bucky’s grip tightened again as he bent down to kiss you. then, one of his hands slid lower, tracing the curve of your hip. the sheer pressure of it was enough to make you whimper.

“strip.” he ordered.

“no.”

“then i’ll do it for you.” he pulled you away from the dining table, then removed your clothes so roughly you were afraid that he would rip them.

you struggled, and cursed, but it wasn’t hard, not really. there was compliance in your resistance, and he loved it. within seconds, you were already stripped bare by him, cock hard already from how rough he was being, from being manhandled, from him.

“look at you, already hard and i've barely even touched you.” bucky spoke with a near predatory glare.

“i’m not-” you tried, but he stuck two fingers into your mouth to shut you up.

“i don’t want to hear it. you wanted to pretend last night didn’t happen?” he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, making you whine at the emptiness. “fine, i’ll give you a reminder then.” he spat into his palm, wrapped his hand around your cock, and started jerking you with rough, steady strokes. it was a little too dry, and a little too fast. “you said you needed me. said that you wanted it to fucking hurt. you said you were scared i’d see too much, well guess what? i did, and i’m still here.”

you whimpered, thighs shaking as you tried your best to pay attention to what he was saying.

“i’m going to ruin you,” he hissed. “until you admit it, until you beg like you did last night, or maybe i’ll just force it out of you.”

your cock betrayed you, twitching in bucky’s grasp.

“fuck, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” his hand stopped, and you moaned, like, actually moaned. “tell me what you want.” he ordered. “or you don’t get to cum.”

“n-no.” you tried to sound confident, but your voice faltered.

then, bucky slapped your cock just hard enough to make you hiss.

“fuck, b-bucky.”

“try again.” he spat.

your eyes fluttered shut.

he slapped your cock again, making your eyes snap open in shock.

“that get your attention?” he huffed.

you grabbed onto bucky’s forearm so that you wouldn’t lose balance from how intense your legs were shaking.

“don’t want to answer me? fine.” he forcefully tilted your head down. “you’re going to watch as i slap this needy cock.” and he did, he slapped your cock a few more times until you were close to tearing up.

you cried out, and gripped bucky’s hair tightly, but unfortunately for you, he pulled off of you.

“you’re a f-fucking brat.” you muttered.

“and you’re a mess. you don’t get to just lie there, and wait for me to do something.” then, he got down on his knees to take your cock in his mouth.

“say it.” he spoke, his breath warm against your cock. “or i’ll keep doing this all fucking day until it gives up on you, or until you’re too sore to lie.”

slap. slap.

two more. rhythmic, and mean. so fucking mean.

you sobbed, biting your lip so hard it was trembling.

“look at that. you want to beg so bad, don’t you? but your pride..”

slap.

“..is in the fucking way.”

you swallowed, hard. then:

“i.. don’t want to be in control. just for once, i don’t want to be strong.”

he smiled, and bit the inside of your thigh, making you jolt.

“there we go, making progress already.”

bucky led you upstairs without a word, now you were sprawled on the bed. he crawled towards you, slowly.

you tracked his movements with half-lidded eyes.

“you’re staying right here, and you’ll take everything i give you.”

you blinked.

“again?.. like yesterday?”

bucky just smiled. his hands spread your thighs gently, and he kissed the insides lovingly.

“buck, please.” you whined.

“shh. i want to see what happens when you finally stop pretending.” he looked up at you from in between your thighs, and you swore you could just cum from the sight alone.

“colour?”

“green.” you spoke, breathlessly.

bucky bent down, and licked a strip up your cock, soft, and slow. then he sucked the tip into his mouth.

“buck-” you gasped.

“shh.” he said, pulling off with a soft pop. “just take it, you know what to say if you can’t take it.”

and then he started working.

his mouth was skillful, too skillful.

“oh my.. fuck-”

bucky didn’t stop when you bucked helplessly against his face, just grabbed your thighs with a soft, yet firm grip, and held you down. he pulled off once more, just enough for him to speak.

“too much?” his breath lingered on your tip as he spoke, making your mind spin.

“no- yes.. i don’t- fuck.” you choked.

“hm.” he sunk your cock back in his mouth. he moaned around you, sending vibrations straight to your cock. it was too much, too soon.

this was the point of the whole ‘exposure therapy’ session, to overstimulate you, to let you get used to getting ruined, and giving up control.

“i can’t..” you mewled.

“you don’t get to tell me that you ‘can’t’.” he spat when he pulled off of you. he licked the tip once more, before dragging his hand up, and down your cock slowly. “you’re going to stay here, and let me drag the truth out of you.”

“buck.. bucky, please..”

“please what? please don’t? please continue?”

your head fell back.

“i.. don’t know.”

“don’t give me that. you do know.” he dipped two of his fingers in your pre-cum, removed his hand from your cock, and slid his fingers down to circle your rim. “you’re going to give me at least three before dinner, and i’m starting right.. here.” he carefully slipped his middle finger inside, as gently as he could.

your hips jumped, and trembled.

“w-wait-”

bucky moved around, before finally finding your prostate, and you let out a choked moan.

“aagh-.. fuck, feels.. weird..” you gasped like you’ve been punched in the gut. you had never had your prostate stimulated before, so this was definitely something new.

“oh i know you feel that.” he smirked, leaning next to you. “you get so damn soft whenever you get touched here, hm?” he stroked your prostate while watching your expressions so he could figure out what you liked most.

without hesitation, he added a second finger, stretching you as he worked his fingers in you with precision, with the perfect angle, and the perfect amount of pressure.

your eyelids fluttered, lips parting as you tried to process the unfamiliar pleasure. soon, the ‘weird’ pressure turned into pleasure, and it was fucking wrecking you.

“it’s too much- buck! too much..” you let out a wrecked sob. there was no contact on your cock, just pressure, fullness, curling in your gut.

“i know you’re sensitive, that’s why i’m doing it this way. i want you to cum without me touching your cock.” bucky leaned in to kiss your inner thigh as he worked his fingers in you. “i want to see your face when you cum this time.” he spoke, before pressing deeper, and harder.

you were already so fucking close just from the stimulation on your prostate, and the way that he spoke to you definitely wasn’t helping.

“oh my god- buck- oh.. shit, i-i’m gonna..”

“do it.” he whispered, moving up to kiss you.

“fuck.. i-i’m cumming..” your voice broke when you came, your back arched clean off the bed, while cum painted your stomach in spurts. you moaned into his mouth, all while he kept kissing you. finally, he pulled away to let you catch your breath.

“i’ve got you, you’re okay. let it all out, i’ll take care of you.” he muttered, as he kept fucking you through it until you started rambling nonsense.

then, your body collapsed back onto the bed.

bucky didn’t even give you a second.

you barely had time to breathe, before you felt heat on your cock. his warm, wet mouth was there, sucking you off. your body jolted, still raw from the earlier orgasm.

“wait- b-buck.. please!”

he pulled off of you, but still let the the tip of your cock rest against his cheek.

“shh. two more.”

you tried to pull away, tried to twist your hips, but his arm wrapped around your waist and practically locked you down.

the suction wasn’t gentle anymore.

bucky was fucking eating you.

he didn’t care, just started sucking like it was the only thing he was made for.

“please… uuuhm..” you moaned like it fucking hurt.

because it did, but it was just too good for you to want to stop.

“no- no, please, b-buck.. too fast-”

he pulled off of your cock.

“colour?”

“..green.”

“second one’s coming quite soon, don’t you think?” he smirked, before swallowing your cock once more.

you sobbed, literally sobbed.

bucky’s hands held your hips down, pinning you in place as he bobbed his head. every drag of his tongue made you quiver. it was so much, too much, even.

then, you came, violently. you came down his throat with a guttural cry. your legs kicked helplessly at his shoulders, while your cock jerked helplessly, as if you were trying to escape the pleasure.

he held you down, and drank every single drop.

and then, he kept licking. this time, slow circles over your tip that made your hips jerk like you were being electrocuted.

“fucking hell, buck-.. aah.. stop- i-i can’t.. can’t!..”

“you got one more in you, just one more.”

tears strayed from the corners of your eyes, and stained your cheeks that were flushed.

bucky was more merciful now, but still mean about it. he kissed your stomach, then licking your oversensitive cock in slow strokes. one of his hands rubbed your thigh, the other barely ghosting over the tip.

“shh, you’re okay. you deserve this.”

“i-i don’t have.. anything left, for fuck’s sake!” your voice faltered halfway through your sentence. you had more attitude, since you could at least think.

“yes you do, i’ll take care of you.”

he didn’t suck, didn’t stroke, just touched. he dragged lazy circles over the tip of your cock, giving gentle flicks of his tongue. his fingers trailed lower, this time pressing against your rim, not entering, just to remind you of what had been inside.

“y-you’re.. fuck.. stupidly good at this.. pervert.” you spoke in between breathy moans. every little motion of his affected you so much that you couldn’t even breathe properly.

you were starting to slip, not able to think straight anymore. the pressure was building, starting to coil in your gut again, but this time slower.

“please, buck.. i can’t anymore.. i’m so close..”

“then cum. cum for me one more time.”

your third orgasm wrecked you even more than the previous two combined. you came with a strangled, and weirdly high-pitched sob. your chest was flushed, and glistening with sweat. your limbs were limp, as if your bones had been crushed.

“you’re okay, you’re safe, i’ve got you.” he whispered. “colour?”

“green..” you whispered, too wrung out to reply properly.

then, bucky smiled, like the fucking bastard that he is. he leaned down, kissed your temples gently, then murmured casually:

“you know we can’t stop at three, right?”

you blinked slowly, completely dazed.

“what..?”

“we can’t end on an odd number. that’s just.. bad symmetry.” he spoke, and you could’ve sworn his voice dropped a few octaves.

your eyes widened, just barely.

“buck, i can’t i swear, if you keep going i’ll-”

“i know, i know. it won’t be a big one, i swear. just a little one- like a cherry on top.” then, bucky bent down in between your legs, then kissed the skin on your inner thighs.

“fuck you..” you swore at him, and he couldn’t help but laugh. you whimpered as his warm breath lingered on the tip of your oversensitive cock.

“this isn’t me fucking with you, i swear. it’s just for balance.” then, he wrapped one hand around the base of your cock, just tight enough to make you ache, and lowered his mouth once more.

this time, bucky was moving frustratingly slow. his lips barely touched you as his tongue flicked playfully in light, teasing licks around the tip of your cock.

even though the sensations were barely there, it still made your thighs twitch, and your breath hitch. you were panting again, clenching your fists into the sheets.

“i can’t- b-buck.. hurts.. but good..”

“i know, that’s the best part.” he cooed. then, without warning, he hummed low against the tip of your cock.

that did it.

your fourth orgasm was just painful. there was no fluid, no strength, just a choked sob, and an out-of-control spasm of your body. you looked wrecked, completely gone.

bucky kissed the tip of your cock, innocently this time. then your thigh, then your hip, then your stomach, as he let you calm down.

“four.” he spoke, cheerfully in between kisses. “even.”

you could feel his smug smile against your skin, and you wanted to bite back at him so badly, but you just couldn’t. you were thoroughly drained.

after a while, you finally calmed down. your fingers loosened against the sheets, then you blinked, unfocused. the burning sensation in you started to dull, and the soreness started to settle in.

“still alive?” he asked, playfully.

“barely. you’re a monster.”

“mm, i don’t know. you’re safe, so am i really?”

you let out a soft, broken laugh.

“next time, i’m wrecking you.”

“sure,” he spoke as he stroked your hair. “even numbers though.”

“i fucking hate you.”

“you know you don’t.”

[stellamarielu]

I am LOVING the pope and neighbor drabbles! how do you think he would feel if she showed up at one of the wild parties? like he arrives late to find her just standing there looking so out of place, i think he'd probably go crazy wanting to get her out of there immediately because she's just so innocent and shouldn't be around these people

i think you are 10000% right! also, i've decided to tag all of my thoughts for this duo with neighbor!pope cody so if you click on that tag under any of my posts you can follow along with all the little drabbles— kinda like a series but much less official!

content: alcohol consumption and fluffy mutual pining

The boys take notice at how Pope is always at your place; the way his body stiffens when they bring you up over dinnertime conversation.

His very obvious interest in you, leads Craig to invite you over to one of the parties erupting in their backyard. It’s not massive, just some friends getting together over good music music, and some drinks. At least that’s what he tells you when you pull into your driveway that night, as he somehow convinces you to come by.

You're on your second beer— or maybe third— definitely your third, and far more talkative than usual. The giggles erupting from your lips are practically unsolicited as you talk to the youngest Cody brother, sitting across form him at the table on the back patio. There’s people surrounding you— taking shots, doing lines, one of them just got thrown into the pool— but you’re just sitting, sharing a beer with Deran, and despite the chaos unfolding in every direction, you feel comfortable.

Your moment of contentment doesn’t last long as a brooding figure looms over you, broad and sturdy. Andrew is almost statuesque, the way he stands before you blocking your view of the backyard.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His presence is sudden, and his voice is steady as he speaks down at you.

“What are you? Her keeper?” Deran's voice cuts between you from his place across the table, his beer bottle waiting on his lips through a smile.

Andrew’s stare shoots daggers at his brother, nostrils flared.

“It’s fine! Craig invited me, I'm having fun.” The giggle trailing your overly excited sentiment makes pope’s stomach turn. You’re drunk.

“C’mon I’ll walk you home.” He doesn't take his eyes off Deran who’s still smirking into his drink.

You glance between the two brothers, neither of them backing down in their unspoken stand off.

“Ok boss.” Unbeknownst to you, your voice slurs as you stand up from your chair.

The alcohol in your system causes you to miscalculate just how close you are to Andrew. There's a slight wobble in your stance, and you're practically fumbling into his chest.

His hands shoot out to your waist, holding you steady before you've even realized your own instability. You look up at him through your lashes, hiding the chuckle that threatens to pour from your chest at your sudden clumsy demeanor.

With Andrew's grip still on your body, you turn your head to the side, nodding at his brother who’s still watching the two of you with the same smug smile pushing at his cheeks.

“Goodnight Deran.” The warm look you send his brother’s way unleashes a familiar fluttering in Pope's chest, as he uses his hold on your waist to maneuver your body so you're walking with him toward the back gate.

He keeps a hand on you as you make your way across the street. Even though you've gained your bearings, walking with confidence and a heavy stride, he cant bring himself to let go of you. Shamelessly indulging in the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips as your shirt rides up just an inch.

“Your brothers are nice. That’s the most I’ve talked to them…”

You nearly trip on the curb in front of your house as you try to talk, proving you’re incapable of multitasking in your drunken state.

His fingertips tighten at your waist, holding you steady as you traipse through your front yard.

“deran especially, I like him.”

The spill you almost took at the curb doesn't phase you as you continue talking, coming to a pause at your front door.

“Told him I’d go to his bar sometime. Maybe you could take me.”

The words run together as they leave your mouth, and he feels your hand brush against his bicep. Your eyes peer up at him, heavy lidded and hopeful, and his heart nearly stops.

"You shouldn't be around them." He changes the subject slightly, circling back to his brothers, and refusing to acknowledge the way his heart nearly leaps into his throat at the way you’re touching him.

"Why?”

"They're stupid."

"Isn't everybody a little stupid?" There's a silly smile on your lips as you tilt your head to the side, keeping the conversation lighthearted with the sweet tone in your voice.

"They're dangerous."

He ignores your attempt at whimsy with a blunt delivery, and a straight lipped expression.

"I don't want you to get hurt."

This time, his words are more timid— almost kind.

"I'm a big girl Andrew, I can take care of myself."

How ironic, he thinks reminiscing on the past ten minutes that you've spent stumbling over your own feet.

"Plus I've got you around, and you make me feel safe."

Your hand is still resting on his arm, your fingertips applying slight pressure as you offer him gentle smile along with your words.

"My knight in shining armor."

Oh you really must be drunk, because you would never say something so outwardly clichè in a sober state of mind, but the words just slip out, and you don't bother trying to stop them.

You're used to the way Andrew stares, direct and unabashed, but right now, he's looking into your eyes with a softness you'd never seen before. You stare back, trying to read the unfamiliar emotion hiding in his gaze, but then he breaks it, looking away and shaking your hand off his arm.

"You should get some sleep."

He's abruptly wishing you a good night, and stalking off toward his house, disappearing across the street without a single glance back in your direction.

You’re left tipsy and confused on your doorstep, the feeling of his rigid muscles underneath your hand still lingering on your palm.

[transsexula]

I figured out why the "forcefem is political and good and viewing forcemasc through the same lense is not only appropriate but the only way to view it" pisses me off.

It starts off with the base assumption that it us encouraged for all people to be masculine, and to be feminine, is a subversion of the way we are told the world works.

Except: The problem is that assumption that ALL PEOPLE are encouraged to be masculine, that is ecceptable to reach for manhood. This is not the case for a lot of AFAB people.

Perceived masculinity in AFAB people often gets punished.

You know the joke about how there's an "acceptable butchness level" to video game characters? It's only if she has muscles because she has long hair and a fem voice and NO peach fuzz and NO visible body hair and her clothes are skin tight and made to enhance the view of her cleavage.

Any variation on that, if not carefully controlled in the other aspects, automatically is met with rage: this is just the online, character version of this.

Every woman in my life, cis, trans, and intersex: is held to a certain standard of femininity.

Now. Please extrapolate. How people who don't see me as a "true man" would categorize me. Because I am NOT put in the category of "person who is allowed to achieve masculinity" unless I'm strictly in a social setting of all butches/dykes/trans men/transmascs. Which, I gotta say, doesn't tend to happen all that fucking often.

It's not a giant leap. If people AMAB can find radical happiness by subverting the gender roles assigned to them by reaching to forcefem. Does it not make sense that people AFAB could potentially find similar radical comfort in the rejection of their own assigned gender role at birth?

Masculinity is only expected of, and allowed to be achieved by, certain people. Masculinity is not the default for like 50% of the world. The world's been working on this binary system for so long, forcing intersex kids into one or the other box to fit into that binary system— how can you forget that there's a whole chunk of the population who is burdened with the "other side" of that binary system?

This may not be perfect wording. But do yall see what I'm trying to lay down?

NOTE: This is not me asking if you personally feel comfortable being GNC/trans where you live, or if you had an easy time accessing masculinity. If your lived experience doesn't line up with this that's okay. But mine and other people's lived experience deserves to have space to be talked about.

[skibasyndrome]

Simon. I am begging. On my knees

"I want to feel you inside"

Nina!!! Hi!!! No this has not been sitting for over a month nope dkgshdf anyways, thank you so much for sending me a prompt (and also for helping me decide what to write today hehe), I hope you will like this one 💜💜💜

camping redemption; friends to lovers; my god, they are sweating

cw: nsfw

Read below or over on ao3

Once they settle down inside the tent, it doesn't take long for them to discard the sleeping bags after all. They rustle traitorously in the stuffy silence as Wille kicks them away, off to the other side of the tent, where they won't bother them for the night.

Simon lets out a pleased sigh, finding it a lot easier to breathe without unruly nylon and polyester pooling around him. Not even the proximity to the lake is making the uncharacteristic heaviness of this May night any better. Maybe it's worse. He feels like his shirt is still damp, as is his hair, their late evening swim seeming like not as much of a good idea anymore. Besides him, over on the other iso mat, Wille lets out a groan. "This was a bad idea," he mumbles. When Simon turns back around, facing him, he sees that he's tugging on the collar of his t-shirt, attempting to fan some coolness down his body. Simon doubts he's going to find any cool air, though. Not even the fact that they've only closed up the fly sheet is allowing any semblance of a breeze to enter into their tent. Simon can't quite bite back his amusement. There's something adorably hilarious about Wille when he's whiny. There's a reason why Simon's always enjoyed teasing his best friend. Even if he's been doing it less and less as they grew older, and with them, Wille's aversion to being laughed at, even in good humor. But it seems fine now, seems like they're just relaxed enough. So Simon stretches his leg, pokes Wille's shin with his toe. "Your fault," he says, and follows suit when Wille moves his leg out of the way. "Let's go camping for my birthday," Simon mocks, dropping his voice in exaggeration. "Like in the old days." At that, Wille kicks back lightly.

"I don't sound like that," he protests. But Simon can see the smile on his face, even in the dim light of their camping lantern. He's not ready to give up, not until he sees Wille squirm again. It's been too long. "Let's get out of the city," Simon quips, voice still comically low. Their legs are a tangled mess now, each of them trying to keep the other one from poking, tickling, kicking. Wille lets out another whine, but at least this one rings familiar of amusement and lighthearted frustration. "You make me sound like I'm old," he groans, raising his shirt up and over his face, covering what Simon hopes is a bright blush, as if that will make it disappear. Unfortunately, the opposite is true. Simon's retort gets momentarily stuck in his throat when his eyes drop to Wille's naked skin. Most days, Simon has no problem forgetting about the fact that Wille looks the way he does. That, under his baggy shirts, there are firm lines of muscle, and skin so charmingly pale and freckled that Simon has thought about counting the little marks in weak moments. Most days, Simon's attraction to Wille can be neatly tucked away, sitting somewhere in the back of his mind. Their friendship is too comfortable, too lived in, has always been closer than most people around them understood. Whenever Simon found the words to put to the feelings, it had already been too long, too settled for anything to change. Most days Simon feels a spark, a sting, a flare of something, and can manage to get right back to business. So he can do that, now, as well. When he averts his eyes, finding Wille's cotton-covered face again, he forces out a laugh. It sounds a little too strained to his own ears, but maybe Wille won't notice. "You make yourself sound old," Simon says, trying to wiggle his leg free from where it's trapped between Wille's. His skin feels extra warm where it's rubbing against Wille's leg hair. Another whine and Wille releases Simon's leg. The air has gotten even stuffier. Maybe it's mostly Simon's head, maybe it's mostly him being reckless and weird tonight and his focus slipping, as his eyes are slipping down again. Wille's belly rises and falls with his breathing, and, deep inside of Simon, there's the stirring of that familiar urge to... feel it, to reach out a hand and experience it up close. Wille's body, his breathing, his skin. It's an instinct he's so used to, somewhere between loving his friend and wanting to have him as close as possible and a different kind of want, sharper around the edges and more searing. Sometimes it keeps him awake at night, when he trails his hand over his own body instead, wondering, with ever dip and every crevice, what the topology of Wille would feel like under his fingertips. He doesn't usually have to face the feeling so up front anymore these days. The times of shared school locker rooms are over, most moments of nakedness defused by other friends with them. Maybe it's not just Simon's head. With a noise of discontent, Wille tugs the shirt further up, over his head. It lands where the pile of sleeping bags is resting. Simon lets out a quiet breath. He's been quiet for a moment too long, Simon realizes, when Wille clears his throat suddenly.

"Sorry," Wille says, "it's just way too hot." He still sounds lighthearted, but Simon thinks there's an edge there, hard to place. But he can't have that, can't let this get weird. Can't let what he's able to deal with perfectly fine get between them now. "No, I know," Simon says and rolls onto his back again. Thinking is easier when he's only looking a green canvas. But it still isn't helping the heat in any way. Simon decides to bite the bullet. With a sigh, he pulls his own shirt over his head and blindly throws it into the general direction of the other fabric.

Read the rest over on ao3 because otherwise the tags on this post don't work apparently :')

Feel free to send me some prompts from that list, or just make some up <3 Or read my other ficlets here

also pls let me know what you think <3

[donttrainwithhairo]

Ran out of hair gel today!!! 😔💔

BUT I FIRMLY BELIEVE EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON!!!

Maybe there would be a fire around and with so many gel my hair would've burnt!!! But I'm safe now!!!!! 💪

#liveatyourlimits!!

#newlook??

[theancientfootsteps]

for a while now I've been feeling such a strong need to simplify my life, to strip away unnecessary things: to eat simple meals with few ingredients, to get rid of a lot of my possessions that I don't really make use of or need, to wear plain, simple, comfortable clothes

I think it's partly caused by stress/overwhelm, but also partly by just... not caring anymore about things that used to be important to me, luxurious things and decorative things and things owned just for the sake of owning them

but at the same time I've been worried that if I get rid of things I own, I will regret that later

but the feeling has been consistently there now for a few months so I think I'm gonna start carefully doing something about it

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Do you ever read a post where someone is explaining a pokitical thing and from the way they're saying you know with absolute certainty 1) they got their info from a tumblr post and have never actually followed up on how feasible that information actually is to act upon (they may not even have checked if it was CORRECT, but when they do they have clearly not looked into how easy or hard it may be to follow those instructions with a positive outcome), and 2) you know WHICH tumblr post they're quoting because it is basically a copy/paste of it, and 3) it was YOUR goddamn post and the thing they are saying is entirely counter to the point you were making when you said it to the point that you genuinely wonder if they just like. Memory-holed the entire context once they saw that one itty bitty point.

It's like the motherfuckiny dating apps all over again. I do not want people to love my words if they are not actually willing to do the work of understanding them! Didn't your kindergarten ever make you play Telephone to teach you how heresay falls out????

[shocked-collar]

//Great time to remind everyone IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, YOU SHOULD BE NOWHERE NEAR HERE. You're only a kid for so long, you get to be an adult forever. MAKE IT LAST. FRIGGIN' WAIT TO ENGAGE IN CONTENT LIKE THIS.

//No one can protect you if you refuse to let them. These games and this fandom and content have 18+ tags on them for a REASON, and it's to PROTECT YOU. You're not cool, you're not edgy, you're not special, you're not grown up for ignoring warning signs that are set there to KEEP YOU FROM HARM, you're just an idiot for exposing yourself to that ON PURPOSE.

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[meowdei]

(temporary) birthday blues — ft. sylus

tara doesn’t mean any harm when she tries to set you up on a blind date—she doesn’t know it’s sylus’s birthday, or that he’s yours. but the thought of you sitting across from someone you’re actually allowed to be seen with hits him harder than he wants to admit

word count. ❤︎ 6.6k words — at least it’s an even number

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; takes place after sylus bday card but you don’t need it to understand ; reader is a hunter and is implied to have his myth’s lore ; jealous and slightly insecure sylus ; hurt/comfort ; praise (lots actually. almost corny amounts) ; reader wears lingerie ; he picks reader up ; cunnilingus ; hand jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; painfully soft sex ; not proof read

commentary. ❤︎ happy birthday to my angel boy ever. but more importantly — I MADE IT IN TIME LETS GOOOOO

You and Sylus return home from his birthday date just a couple of hours after the sun sets. 

By Sylus-standards, the day has hardly begun—he still has roughly a little under half the day left before it’s his (ridiculously late) bedtime. By your standards, since it’s your boyfriend’s birthday, you have to spend his entire day with him, even if his clock works a little differently than yours. 

Will you be staying up until six in the morning? Yes. But you planned accordingly. You took an entire extra day off just to sleep in with him tomorrow and spend as much time together as possible. It’s your first birthday with Sylus. You’re the only one who knows it’s his birthday at all. Work is important, sure, but sometimes you have to reevaluate your priorities a little.

Boyfriends are a pretty important priority—well, only if they’re Sylus. He’s the only boyfriend that matters. The rest of the boyfriends in the world are not quite so impressive, so they don’t deserve the same privileges as your uniquely, one-of-a-kind special one.  

“Did you have a good day today?” you ask softly, curling your arms around his neck as soon as you both enter his bedroom. (Your bedroom—you practically share it like it’s co-owned. The only thing that fully stops you from moving in with Sylus is that it would make your work commute a very tiresome one. Other than that, you’re here every chance you get.)

He hums, hands planting themselves on your hips and giving them a gentle squeeze, pulling you close and flush against his chest as he pecks the corner of your mouth. “I did,” he murmurs, “although I don’t think having a bad day is possible with you—unless you’re being moody. That’s another story.”

“I would get moody with you just for saying that, but I am a firm believer in being nice to birthday boys. Wait until I get my hands on you once today is over.”

“Oh?” he grins, chuckling as he kisses along your jaw, “I should prepare myself for the claws of a feisty little kitten, then?”

“You should prepare yourself for some groveling to get on my good side again,” you huff. “And maybe some expensive gifts.”

He laughs—not that low, deep, rumbling sound that sounds like light amusement. It’s that loud, booming laugh that sounds like joy and warmth and falling in love over and over again every day. Feeling it start to bubble and fizz as the sun rises, and watching it overflow from the top by the time the moon is out. You grin at the sound, pulling him into a kiss where you giggle in between the presses of your mouth to his, and he laughs because your joy is too infectious not to fall victim to. 

“I have to shower,” you whisper between his hungry bites on your lips. He hums in protest.

“Is that really a necessity right now?”

“Yes, I rolled in the grass with you.”

“Fine, we can—”

“No, no,” you push his mouth away with a palm, feeling his lips practically pout against your skin as you do, “we are not going in there together. That will take way too long because you never behave, and I still have plans we have to get through.”

“What sort of plans,” he grumbles, “surely they can’t be that different from what the shower would bring.”

“You are shameless, Sylus,” you scold, slapping his shoulder with hardly any bite at all, “you don’t get to know until it’s time. Now be good while you wait—and charge my phone while you’re at it. It’s about to die.”

With that, you leave him sulking alone in his room, watching your figure as it retreats into the bathroom without him. Grumbling to himself, he grabs your phone to charge it like you asked—he knows better than to make you hiss at him when he wants things. (He wants a lot of things tonight. Quite a lot of things that require your good side, and he intends to milk this nice, spoiled treatment out of you with that innocent birthday boy charm, so staying in your good graces is his wisest option at the moment.)

He grabs your phone and plugs it in…and then he wishes he didn’t. As soon as he does, and the screen lights up, he thinks his birthday is ruined for the next decade with how bitter a taste the messages on your screen leave in his mouth. 

Tara💗: don’t be mad. i set u up on a blind date

Tara💗: well not exactly a blind date. a double date with me and that guy i met when we were out the other day. he has a friend

Tara💗: u can’t say no he’s cute and he has a cat. you’ll like him i promise

It’s official. Sylus does not like this Tara girl anymore. 

He’s met her briefly before, and vaguely, he’s introduced himself, too. She doesn’t know he’s your boyfriend because Sylus is at the top of your job’s wanted list. Telling a girl who is, arguably at this point, your closest friend that you have a boyfriend while having to keep that boyfriend hidden to a certain degree is not a plausible set of wishes. Tara will naturally want to know more. She’ll ask to see pictures of your dates, perhaps. She’ll invite him for drinks, and activities, and parties, and after-work events because she’s the kind of person who cares about the people her friends care about. And Sylus? Well…again, he’s at the top of your job’s wanted list. You can’t let Tara, who is your coworker first and foremost, get to know your boyfriend’s voice and face too closely unless you’re asking—practically pleading—for trouble. 

So she doesn’t know you have a boyfriend. 

It’s a lie that is for the betterment of everything all around. Instead, she meets him once fleetingly, and she thinks he’s your friend who sells fruit and makes a pretty penny off his business that’s taken off. That’s about all she knows. 

At first glimpse, she seemed like a nice girl. A friend whom Sylus was grateful you had and could count on if things got heavy in your line of work. She seemed kind. Dependable. Trustworthy. Maybe not the strongest physically, but certainly a good friend to ease his mind that you have good people in your circle. (Although, he does hate your stupid partner—but at least that loathsome sleepy bastard who rots in bed for half the day is strong. If worst comes to worst, Sylus can at least bet that the boy would sooner let his own head get ripped off than let anything happen to yours. He’s at least grateful for that.)

But he hates this Tara girl deeply now, and hatred for someone he hardly knows is not a common feeling for Sylus. That’s irrational, and he’s hardly irrational. In fact, it’s because he is so rational that he’s so level-headed when he deals with threats. He hardly hates his “enemies.” Most of the people who make an enemy out of him amuse him—they don’t particularly pose a threat to him, and he has quite a bit of fun making an example out of them for the next bothersome bunch that wants to try something with him. Being enemies with Sylus is usually a one-sided thing—he may be someone else’s enemy, but they’ll always just be a fool to him. A regular sorry little idiot who got a bit too cocky and decided to try their luck against him.

He barely has enemies. The few people he does hate are people who deserve it. Terrible, evil, sinister people who go beyond an ethical code that even Sylus will not cross. 

He barely has enemies. He’s a businessman. A leader. A good fighter. A good boyfriend, too, if he gives himself a little bit of extra (but honest) credit. All of which require a good head on his shoulders, a calm demeanor, and a very, very adequate sense of rationality. Sylus is rarely ever irrationally emotional—unless it has to do with you, of course. And this time, it does. 

So he hates this Tara girl. He hates her deeply. She’s landed herself on his enemy list. 

Just as he sets your phone down, you step out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel as your skin glistens from the fancy little lotions and body care items he has lying around in his bathroom that you help yourself to. Any other day, he’d tease you about it. About using him for his fancy, lavish lifestyle. About that skimpy little towel that you choose to step out in when half of his loungewear is in that bathroom for you to also help yourself to. About how cute you look when you walk out looking like a small, wet kitten. 

But none of those things happen—red flag number one. Red flag number two is that when you go to poke at his side and give it a pinch, he doesn’t stop you right away before you can.

Something’s on his mind. You know that as soon as you see him.

“Hey,” you cup his cheeks, “miss me that bad for fifteen minutes? You look like you’ve aged ten years instead of one with that expression.”

“Very funny, sweetie,” he hums, clearly still distracted, “I thought you made it a point to be nice to the birthday boy.”

“I am being nice to the birthday boy,” you say to him, cheekily leaning up and kissing his jaw, “this is a very nice view to give to a birthday boy.”

He smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Something is wrong—something so, so painfully obvious happened while you were in that fifteen-minute shower. As far as showers go, it might not be the shortest amount of time, but it’s certainly not a long one. What could have possibly happened in fifteen whole minutes to make his eyes clouded with that look? A look that looks so stormy and upset and irritated. 

Something’s on his mind. You know it by simply looking at him. 

“Hey,” you pull him closer by the hands on his face, pressing his forehead to yours, “Sylus, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” he breathes, hands squeezing your hips as he pulls you close. “Just distracted by what a pretty little kitten I have.”

And then he kisses you. It’s…a kiss unlike any you’ve ever had with him. Not bad, of course, but different. Sylus is a confident guy. A terribly cocky, self-assured, and secure guy. He knows he’s handsome by most people’s standards (and definitely by yours), he knows he’s smart and intelligent, he knows he’s strong and capable, and he knows he’s stable in his lifestyle. He’s a confident guy, and you’ve always known him to be.

But he’s kissing you pretty desperately. Not the kind of desperation when he’s just plain needy, or when he’s been worried about you, and rescues you just in time, or when you’ve been away for too long. 

No.

This kind of desperation feels like he has something to prove. Like he needs to kiss you so well, you never want to kiss anything else. It’s a sort of desperation that almost feels…scared. 

“You’re not yourself,” you breathe in between presses of his mouth, gasping when he leans down to nip at your collarbone. “Hey—”

“You’re overthinking it,” he mumbles, “just let me have you to myself, sweetheart—”

“Sylus,” you say firmly. He pauses. “No.”

He lets go as soon as you say the word, letting his hands drop while you gently take them off your hips. He looks unhappy about it—maybe even a little rejected, but he doesn’t protest. He never does. Not if it’s something you say. Some boundary you set. Some line you draw.

“What happened?” you ask gently, hands returning to his cheeks and gently rubbing the skin tenderly with your thumb, “this is supposed to be your day. I…I didn’t mean to upset you if I did. I’m sorry. I just…I just wanted it to be special—”

“It is,” he interrupts, planting his hands on top of yours and keeping them in place, “it’s been great. It always is with you—I promise.”

“Then what changed?” you frown, “and don’t say it’s nothing. Don’t give me that unbothered, nonchalant attitude and pretend to shrug it off—I know you. I know you better than anyone else does, so don’t even think about lying to me like I won’t see right through it.”

He’s silent. For a second, you think he’s not going to say a word. That he’s not going to open up and share and trust you like you wish he would when things are clearly sitting heavily on his mind. Sometimes he gets a look—one that feels like he’s lived a life you don’t even know about. Like it haunts him and curses him and weighs down on his chest. He never shares. Not about his burdens—not with you. You don’t think it’s because he doesn’t trust you, but because he thinks he shouldn’t have to. That he shouldn’t trouble you with things about him because he lives for you.

You wish he didn’t do that. You wish he’d change that habit. You wish he’d live for himself and let you live for him, too. 

But then, he quietly asks, “Do you ever wish you could tell your friends about…us?”

“Huh?” you frown.

“We go back and forth between the outskirts of Linkon and the N-109 zone, and we don’t ever get to do things that involve the people you care about—doesn’t that bother you?”

“...No?” you say in confusion, “does it…does it bother you?”

“Of course not,” he says instantly. He throws on that smug, carefree face again, even though you see right through it. Some people just don’t like putting their defenses down when they’re cornered, no matter how safe they are. Sylus is one of them. “Now, why would I want to share my little kitten? Not everyone can handle her sharp claws.”

“Sy,” you let out a breath, “you know I can see right through you. Just talk to me—telling me how you feel is something you’re usually good at. It’s what I like most about you…why’s it so different this time?”

Telling you how he feels about you is easy. It comes naturally like breathing. It’s as simple as using his evol to move something through the air, manipulating energy to surround you and show you the depths of his feelings. Telling you he loves you and cares for you is a vulnerability that he takes as a privilege. Telling you that the thought of you being with someone more practical, more fitting than him…it’s not as easy. It’s too vulnerable in a way that makes him pathetic, not devoted. You chose him, after all, didn’t you? Isn’t it questioning your own devotion and your own loyalty to him to tell you: I hate the idea of someone deserving you more than I?

That’s what he’d be doing, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t it be to question you, to doubt you and your love and your choice, all on the same day that you went out of your way to make him feel special? 

Telling you this is not so simple. Not to him. Not when you love him, and he knows it, and yet, for some reason, he can’t help but feel like you’re making a mistake by loving him. Him. The top wanted criminal on your organization’s list. Most targeted person in the N-109 zone with the most “enemies” after his back. A guy that, against every principle that tells you: no, you choose to be with. 

He should just be grateful that you say yes. And he is. But also, he can’t help but wonder if you’d be happier if you didn’t.

“Don’t you trust me?” you whisper.

He breathes—slow, shaky. “I do,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “I trust you the most. You know that.”

“Then tell me. Please? I just…I worry about you.”

You shouldn’t. But you also should. You were always meant to, right?—even if it wasn’t always supposed to be that way. You did. Once upon a time, you only worried about him. And you do. And you will. And he wants it. Needs it. Craves it. Craves you and your attention and your care and your concern. He should be the one you’re concerned about—but maybe concern is all he ever brings over.

It’s silent for a moment longer before you gently kiss the tip of his nose and say sweetly, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I love you, so if you ever want to share something, I will always—”

“Your friend Tara seems to be tired of your stagnant love life, sweetheart,” he interrupts. He doesn’t really mean to blurt it out like that—Sylus is usually rational about what he says and when he says it. But…well, the idea of you sitting across from some normal guy with a normal life alongside your normal friend on a normal date has him acting very abnormal. “She’s…well, you go ahead and see for yourself.”

Your phone is pressed to your hands. You look at him in confusion, but his eyes all but beg for you to just look at the screen and end his pure misery by not making him say the words out loud. So you look. The first things you see are her messages on your screen, sitting there as unopened notifications. 

Oh, you think as you read them. Oh. 

“Oh, Sy,” you say softly, setting your phone down. “You know I’d turn that date down in a heartbeat for you—”

“It’s not about that,” he grumbles, swallowing thickly. This is a type of vulnerability he hates. The type of vulnerability he doesn’t ever have to feel. The type of vulnerability where he feels less than—not deeply devoted and open, but just…not enough, despite his devotion. He isn’t used to ever being not enough. At least not when it’s with you. 

“Then what’s it about?”

“Your friend is a meddler.”

“She doesn’t know about us,” you defend Tara gently, “you know she’d never if she did.”

“Well, sweetie,” he drawls with a tight, bitter smile, “I suppose she never will, so I might have to get used to worrying that you’ll need to save a few dresses for some other blind dates here and there, don’t I?”

“I’d never go on a date with someone else,” you reason, “you know that, right?”

“How long are you going to pretend to be single?” he points out blandly. 

“Forever,” you say confidently. He wavers, eyeing you in weariness. You cup his cheeks and squeeze them together as you murmur, “I would pretend to be single for the rest of my life for you if that’s what it takes. As long as you’re mine, as long as you stay mine, I don’t care what I have to tell everyone else.”

“That’s not very practical,” he grunts.

“I don’t think we’re a very practical couple, but I don’t think that’s ever been bad,” you chuckle, “I think we’re good. Really good. As good as things ever get.”

“But not great?” he teases, cracking a small, taunting little smile. You know him well enough to soothe him with another kiss to his nose. 

“Perfect,” you hum, fingers toying with the small hairs at the nape of his neck, touching him so casually, so absent-mindedly, it’s almost like it’s ingrained in your nature. In your DNA. In your biology to be his and to want him. “You’re perfect. To me. For me. With me. You’re perfect and I love you. I love us. We are perfect, and it doesn’t matter if other people see that or know about it. As long as you know, then I’m good.”

“I don’t like your friend Tara,” he breathes, burying his head into your neck, “she seems like trouble.”

“She’s harmless, you big baby,” you tease. Because that’s what he needs—to be teased into knowing he’s not so fragile. Too much of it makes him turn around and retreat, like an animal that’s shown its belly for too long and is at risk of its fragile, precious organs being torn apart from limb to limb. 

You give him a teasing little nibble on his nose, and he cracks a small smile that pulls him out of that weird space in his head. Because that’s you and that’s him. That teasing banter that folds love and devotion in between every taunting remark and every smart little retort. Every second you spend getting under the other’s skin is spent making home there—nestling under that layer of each other, and crawling into the parts that no one else has ever seen. No one else has ever been in. No one else has ever been allowed in. 

“Oh?” he murmurs, “you’d side with your friend over your boyfriend on his birthday? Your priorities are intriguing, sweetheart.”

You’d say something equally as playful back, but instead, you say: “I love you.” You remind him with an awed smile as you take him in. Him and his brute strength and his carefully built empire and untouchable self. Him and his gentleness and all that love he holds in his large hands that no one can take away before he slips it into yours. You remind him. You don’t want him to ever forget.

“I love you, too,” he chuckles, closing his eyes as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses to his jaw. Your hands grab his own from your waist, pulling them up to the top of your chest where the towel wraps around you. 

“You have one more present for tonight, you know—if you’re up for opening it.”

“Is that right?” he grins, “I’d never turn something down from my sweet little kitten. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“You’ll like this one,” you beam, “I picked it out just for you.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he eyes the small, peeking bit of red lace as his hands slowly unwrap the towel, pupils dilating as he slowly exposes you from its coverings. “You always do know me so well, don’t you?”

A red lace set that hugs your curves perfectly. The stockings are just tight enough around the middle of your thigh that the skin bulges just a bit at the top, spilling over it with pillowy flesh that he wants to spend hours digging his fingers into as he holds you close. Here. With him, right where you belong. Where, whether anyone knows it or not, you are happiest and safest and tailor-made to belong. You always belonged with him—alongside him, where you can be his and he can be yours, and the world would have to stop spinning on its axis before he was convinced that it was wrong. 

“Well,” you pout playfully, “you’re not saying anything—do you like it? There’s still a return period, I think I could make an exchange if—”

“Don’t always be such a tease, sweetheart,” he breathes, leaning down to pull you into a slow, meticulous kiss. Unlike that last one, this one is desperate to know you exist. To be slow and take his sweet time and know that you’re here and you exist in the same timeline as him, and you’re not going anywhere. To rush it would be to waste the seconds he was given to savor. 

Sylus is a man who savors things he likes. Good wine. Good music. Good company—he savors every little part of you like it’s a luxury he shouldn’t take for granted. 

“Happy birthday, my birthday boy,” you whisper, “I’m all yours tonight. Every night. All yours, aren’t I?” 

“Yeah,” he groans, nipping at your collarbone. “All mine—aren’t I just lucky?”

Suddenly, you’re picked up with one strong, muscled arm, the bicep curling around your thighs and hoisting you up faster than you can process as the world is suddenly lower than you remember it. Two seconds later, and your world shifts some more as you’re suddenly eye to eye with the ceiling, and there are soft, satin sheets under your back with a soft mattress to curve around your spine. 

Sylus is hovering over you, hungry and excited, and his eyes lit up like a kid ready to blow out candles. You giggle, holding his face and bringing him close, pressing a kiss to his nose, to both of his cheeks, to the corners of his mouth before the center of his lips, to his forehead until he’s laughing that sweet, happy little laugh that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I love you,” you confess, so quietly, it’s like you don’t want anyone but him to know because it’s only for him. Only for him to hear those words because no one else should know what your love feels like, what it sounds like. “Love you so much, Sy. My perfect boy.”

“If I told you my birthday was actually tomorrow, would you be this sweet to me all over again?” he grins in amusement. You huff, and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss the purse of your lips before he mumbles against them, “I love you, too. No one will love you as pure as I do, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, “I know.”

That’s all it takes for him to finally snap into Sylus. Your Sylus. Cocky, self-assured, confident Sylus. Sylus, who takes what he wants because he knows nothing can stop him from having it. He wants you—and you’ll never tell him no. 

He’s moved to bury himself between your legs in a split second, so that you hardly have time to process that he’s moved in the first place at all. By the time you attempt to argue that it’s his birthday, and it’s about him, he’s already huffed something about getting the final say as the birthday boy, and this is what he wants. 

And…well, who are you to deny him? 

“Fuck, sweetie,” he groans, pressing his nose against your clit through the fabric. He plants a gentle kiss on the delicate bundle of nerves, smiling when you twitch and whimper at the sensitivity. “All this for me? I’m a spoiled man, aren’t I?”

“S-Sylus—”

“You smell good,” he breathes, inhaling the sweet, rich scent of you, “bet you taste even better.”

With that, he gently peels the lace panties down your legs, little by little, inch by inch, discarding them from you before carefully tossing them to the ground as your bare cunt is exposed to him. He runs a large hand up and down your thigh, squeezing the plush skin just where it collects at the top of the stockings. 

“Mine,” he breathes, “just for me, huh?”

“Only for you,” you pant, impatiently bucking up into the air and waiting for his touch.

He chuckles, but doesn’t have the heart to tease anymore. With a quick motion, he’s throwing your legs over his shoulders, hands cupping your thighs and holding them in place as he buries himself into your core. You’re dripping—the sweet slick pooling and coating your inner legs that he licks off before licking a stripe between your folds. 

“Fuck, Sy,” you gasp, “o-oh—”

He’s good with his tongue. Expert at devouring you the way you need to be devoured and going between fucking his tongue into you and lapping away, and flicking it over your clit and teasing it with his wet, warm muscle. You squeeze your legs around his head, and he groans in approval at the pressure to his skull like it’s a gift to be crushed between your thighs. (It is. To him, anything you give him when you’re pleased is a gift. He likes gifts from you—he takes them readily.)

“You’re sweet, you know,” he sings against your heat, “taste good—we should skip the cake next year. I just want this, yeah? I’ll lick you clean.”

“Stop,” you whine, “you’re being filthy!”

He laughs, the low, deep rumble of his voice vibrating against you and making you shudder. “Yeah? If you don’t like that, then why are you pulling me closer?”

He’s right—you are. Your hands are tangled into his hair and you’re pulling him impossibly closer to your pussy, grinding against his face so his nose bumps against your clit as his tongue fucks into you and explores your folds and licks them from the dripping essence of your arousal. 

“S-Sylus, ‘m…‘m s-so close—”

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he groans, “that’s exactly what I need. Can you do that for me? Let go? Let me taste you, yeah?”

Those words against your cunt, spoken through warm breath that lingers over your sensitive heat makes the steadily building pressure in the pit of your belly snap, a soft, delicious ache spreading through your walls as they quiver, through your lower belly as it flutters, through your spine and every nerve as your back arches off the mattress and you whine into your mouth and chant his name. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—’s so good, make me feel so good, Sy. Hah—”

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he moans, licking the last drops of your release and pressing a kiss to your fluttering cunt before the waves of your high finally retreat. 

Your ears are ringing, and your eyes are blurry, but you can still hear the praise and make out his contented, dazed expression as he rests his cheek against your thigh and looks up at you. Your fingers card through his hair, smoothing through the soft locks as you ground yourself with the feeling of them while you catch your breath. 

“Hi,” you breathe, staring at him in awe. 

He grins, lazy, smug, and bright. “Hi. Back down to Earth with us?”

“Don’t be so arrogant,” you huff. And then, with a gentle tug to his locks, you signal him to crawl up, face to face and eye to eye with you as his body hovers over yours. 

You reach over, rubbing over his clothed erection and feeling him shiver as his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a soft, breathy moan. He’s so pretty like that—when pleasure is easy to see on his face, and he feels good, and he lets you see it. You love it when you get to see him. All of him. 

It’s a slow, intimate thing, removing his clothes. You bring his shirt up over his abs, gently pulling the fabric over his shoulders, before he helps you tug his arms through the sleeves and expose that chiseled, slightly tanned skin (despite never being in the sun) to you. He’s pretty. Gorgeous. You hum in appreciation as your hands run along the planes of his muscles, raking your nails along his abs and rubbing up and down his sides while he breathes heavily over you. It’s slow—there’s no rush despite the lingering, building ache between both of your legs. You want to admire him, and he wants to let you. 

You want to feel him, and he wants to bask in the feeling of being wanted.

“You’re perfect,” you murmur, “happy birthday. I’m glad it’s me, you know? That gets to say that. And be here.”

“It was never going to be anyone else,” he pants, groaning as your hand finds the tent in his pants and gives a soft squeeze.

Unbuckling his belt and taking his pants and boxers off is less of a slower ordeal than his shirt—he’s a little more quick to get rid of them and let his hard, leaking cock finally be free of its confinements. He hisses when the cool air hits the warmth of his length, but you’re quick to bring the warmth right back as your hand wraps around him, smearing his pre cum along the tip and shaft, stroking slowly as he shudders over you and moans. 

“Feel good?” you kiss his nose. 

“Mmh,” he nods, swallowing thickly as you run your thumb through the slit and feel him twitch in your hand. “Y-yeah. Good.”

“Good,” you smile, “it’s about you tonight. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grunts in time with a squeeze of your fist around him. 

He lets you stroke him like that for a bit, just the feeling of you touching him. Just the feeling of you surrounding him and undoing him slowly, gradually, just the way you know he likes. You know him so well, and he likes being reminded. Know what makes it feel good for him and what doesn’t—know that he likes when you speed up and focus around the tip for a bit before switching to long, languid strokes along the entirety of his length before giving his base a small squeeze. 

“Ngh,” he pants, shuddering over you as his face twists into a pretty little scrunch of pleasure, “I…I think that’s—that’s enough, sweetheart. I want you now—the real thing.”

He’s close when he says it. You can tell because there’s a small twitch in your hand of his heavy cock that lets you know the build-up is about to hit the crest of good and fall over the edge and into better. You stop, looking at him fondly as he shivers at the feeling of it all coming to a halt before you press a kiss between his furrowed brows to soothe him as he holds onto his composure. 

“Then take me, my birthday boy,” you coo.

“You want it, sweetheart?” he asks softly, just to be sure. “Tell me now before I lose my mind.”

“I want you,” you plead, “want you so bad—give it to me. Please.”

He does. As soon as you say it, it’s like a switch is flipped and he can finally do as he pleases—so he grabs your hips and leans in to kiss you deeply, a hot, open-mouthed clash of lips and teeth and tongue as his fat tip presses against your entrance. He’s pressing into you and splitting your folds open—one inch, then two, then three, and slowly, he’s fully filling you to the brim. His tip presses delicately against that soft, spongy part of your walls that’s especially sensitive, and you mewl at the feeling while he groans at the tight fit. 

“Fuck,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight—take me so well. Fit me like I was made for you. I was, wasn’t I? Tell me I was—that we were made for each other.”

“We were,” you whine, nodding as your fingers dig into his shoulders and leave small crescent indents into his skin, “we were—we were made for each other. You’re mine, Sy.”

“I am,” he inhales sharply, “all yours. Always.”

The first snap of his hips is slow. He pulls out almost fully, until just barely the tip is still buried into you, before he slides back in with a firm, swift thrust of his hips. It leaves you lightheaded, wind knocked from your lungs by how good it feels to be split open by him and feel every ridge of his cock drag along your walls. You feel like you’re floating—suspended somewhere between pleasure and bliss as nothing but his body cages you into the mattress, and nothing but him invades your senses. 

Then the second snap of his hips comes in, hard and fast and rougher than the initial, and he starts to set a pace that’s not as gentle. You don’t want it to be—you want to feel him raw and hard and fast. 

“Fuck, baby,” you whimper, “like that…just like that—hah.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles breathlessly, “already so fucked out? You feel that, don’t you? How good you take my cock? You’re taking it so well—that’s a good girl. My good girl.”

“S-so deep, Sy,” you sob, “more. Please, more—more!”

“More?” he raises a brow, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply as you clamp down on him at a particularly rough thrust. He groans, the sound tapering off into a shaky little exhale. “You want more, huh?”

“Yes,” you stare up at him with plump, pouty lips and wet, teary lashes. It’s enough to make him snap and lose the last bits of his composure. 

Sylus has always needed you. 

He was born into this world to find you, and he needs you before he can leave this world, too. He needs you if he wants to find something worth living for. He needs you if his heart wants to find some form of peace and rest. He’s just half of a soul tethered to this planet with longing and no purpose without you. He’s always needed you—body, mind, soul, heart, everything. When you’re gone, he hears the echoes of your laughter in his empty halls. When you’re here, he feels human only when you smile and press your skin to his. It feels like his flesh is not rotten or tainted, only when it has the privilege of touching the soft, precious silk of yours. 

Sylus has always needed you. His purpose in this world is to love you. To be loved by you. To do it right because that’s what you both deserve. He’s nothing if not an empty body with a broken soul taking up the space of him without you. 

Shakily, he whispers, “I love you. You’re all that I love—I…I love you.”

Distantly, he hears you repeat the words back to him. Soft hands are roaming his skin, gliding along the curves and dips and contours of his body, and mapping every detail to memory through your warm palms. Gentle pressure coaxes his head into your neck, letting him take sanctuary in that spot that lets him hide away and be free of whatever clings to his back like a second, haunting skin. 

“I love you,” you both whisper in breathless, heated exchanges. Because there is nothing left in your brains—no other coherent thought besides the fact that there is love and that’s it. You love and he loves, and that’s all that holds you together. 

It’s enough. This time, in this life, it’s enough. 

You come undone first—when his thumb finds your clit and rubs a few quick circles, you fall apart while whining with your head pressing back into the pillow. Your legs wrap around his hips and pull him forward, further and deeper into you as his thick, blunt tip drills into your sweet spot and pulls yet another orgasm out of you. This one is more devastating—this one makes your body still, quivering under him with a force that almost makes it hard to breathe.

The pressure of your walls spasming around him pulls him into his own release, a low, deep groan that draws out as the first few twitches of his cock start to fill you with thick, hot ropes of his cum. He pants, rolling his hips in messy, rhythmless motions as he desperately tries to work you both through the highs of your pleasure. 

“S-so perfect,” his voice comes out strained, “you…you feel so perfect—ngh.”

“S-Sylus—oh.”

He paints your walls white with more of his seed, spilled into you and fucked deep into the back of your cunt with every sharp slam of his hips until finally, with a shaky little breath, he finishes and rides out the last earth-shattering waves of his orgasm.

He slumps over you. You welcome his weight with open arms, rubbing over his back with shaky fingertips. 

“I love you,” you remind him again—because really, you can never remind him enough. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder blade, nestled close and deep where only he fits.

Next year, he’ll fit just as well—maybe even better. 

FOR ONCE I POST A BDAY FIC ACTUALLY ON THE BDAY HAHAHAHAHA I WIN

[sluttysnowangel666]

His Second Wife - cregan stark x reader (request)

summary: two years following the death of cregan’s first wife, he accepts an undesired marriage proposal to rhaenyra targaryen’s daughter. rhaenyra’s daughter, who had loved cregan the moment she first met him as a young girl, immediately loves and accepts cregan’s first child as her own. yet it is still not enough for cregan to find his own love for his new wife.

cw: mean cregan😓, widow!cregan, targ!reader, loss of virginity(reader), rhaenyra’s daughter, angst to fluff, unrequited love, sex, happy ending

do yall notice i always post a long ass story usually around midnight or later ( i’m unwell)also this is long af soz it was a detailed request and I wanted it to be to a T. this is SOO long. i prolly should have done two parts… oh well @lillithsalvatore hope you enjoy it love ❤️

masterlist

“How do you feel, my love?” Your mother asked, placing a warm and comforting hand on yours.

You sighed. “Nervous.”

She gave you that warm and sweet smile of hers. “I know. I hope you know this choice was not easy for me to make, as I know this was a hard task for me to place upon you.”

“I know, mother.” You say with forgiveness, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Had it been any other lord I would have surely declined but… Starks are the most honorable among men. I know your union will be blessed by the gods.”

You give her a smile, blindly trusting her words. You had met him once, and you knew he was kind. In fact, he had left a paw shaped imprint on your heart. You thought to yourself no union could be more suitable. You knew he had married once before out of a prior marital alliance, but the marriage had been short lived, lasting only a year before his first wife died in her birthing chambers.

It took more than four moons before you arrived at Winterfell, as if every power in the world was set on preventing it. You were not a superstitious person, so you simply thought all the bad things that happened prior to your marriage was coincidence.

Each time you went to leave, something prevented you. Your mother miscarried your baby sister, Lucerys was killed by Aemond, Daemon went silent at Harrenhall, Rhaena ran away and was lost in the eyrie before revealing she claimed Sheep-stealer.

You arrived in the dead of winter, and the journey had not been kind to you. You got a chill on the way up, causing you to stop at an inn for a few nights, you had came across raiders who killed one of the many men escorting you, and your clothes were ill suited for the weather.

You did eventually arrive at Winterfell thankfully, all in one piece.

You stepped out of the carriage cautiously, eyeing the snowy landscape surrounding you. It went as far as the eye could see. You held your hand out, letting the thick snowflakes fall and melt in your hand.

“My princess.” You turn to see Cregan, walking towards you. He bows, forcing a politeness. “Winterfell is yours.”

You bow in return, “No need for such formalities, Lord Stark. This is your home, and I am honored to have you welcome me here.”

He nods, choosing to say nothing else to you.

“Please show the princess to her chambers.” He says to one of the servants, then immediately turning on his heels to leave. Your jaw falls slightly, surprised at his curt demeanor.

You compose yourself, trying to hide the slight hurt in your features before making your way to your private chambers.

You bathed immediately, welcoming the hot water against your skin. No water could be hot enough for your dragon blood, but what they had drawn up for you would do nicely.

Your wedding was a week after your arrival, the lord having given you time to settle in. You had not seen him much during that week so you chose not to bother him, assuming he was busy with duties.

When you walked down that snowy path to the red weirwood, Cregan stole a glance at you. You looked beautiful, and he felt horribly guilty for thinking it. He felt like what he was doing was betraying her.

You said your vows, swearing your love before the old gods. You smiled at Cregan and he gave you a forced one in return. Guilt wracked his whole body. He felt guilty for you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you a union where you were loved, he felt guilty for liking your smile, he felt guilty for forgetting hers.

There was a feast following the ceremony, nothing large due to the pains of winter, but it didn’t bother you. The small gathering felt intimate, compared to southern weddings where lords and ladies travelled from all over the realm to witness it.

It was here you met Cregan’s son, Rickon.

“Hi, little one.” You said. He was only two, a fat little babe who looked just like Cregan.

“Rickon, this is my new wife.” Cregan said. The way he worded it made you twitch, it had sounded so strained. He didn’t even use your name. You told the boy the name he could call you, but he said nothing as he hid behind his father’s leg.

“I apologize.” Cregan said, his voice showing no sign that he actually was sorry.

“It is alright, my lord. He is just a babe. He and I will have time to get to know each other.” You said. Cregan tensed up, suddenly remembering again this union was forever.

“Excuse me, princess.” He said, turning and walking away with Rickon. Your heart sunk a bit. You could start to sense it now, Cregan was not in the slightest invested in your union together. You felt lost, out of place suddenly.

You sat back down at the high table, overwhelmed with nervousness. You bit at your nails and the skin around them, biting until they bled. You missed your mother dearly. Being here, in this room among strangers who didn’t care much for southerners to begin with, made you feel small.

You had sat there for an hour or two, not moving or eating once, save for your cuticles.

Cregan came to you, not noticing your nervous state. If he had noticed, he chose to ignore it. “I’ve put Rickon down… Would you please accompany me to my chambers?”

You looked at him, the nail bed of your thumb resting between your teeth. You nodded, standing and staring at the hall one last time. You locked eyes with a man, who noticed you both about to take your leave.

“Is it time for the bedding ceremony, Lord Stark?” The man asked, erupting a few cheers from the men mostly.

“No!” Cregan nearly barked the order. “There will be no bedding ceremony.”

The men in the crowd shuffled awkwardly at his outburst but accepted.

“Princess.” Cregan said, walking away and not waiting to see if you were following.

You did anyway, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. You had the sense he wanted this to be over with quickly.

He held the door as you both entered his chambers. You took in your surroundings. It was a clean and large kept room with a lit hearth and a large bed. A thought passed your mind, even though you tried to push it down.

Did he share these chambers with her?

Cregan began to take off his armor and furs, again not watching to see if you did the same, only assuming you were. If you weren’t, he didn’t care.

“Um, could you help, my lord?” You asked, referring to the laces of your white wedding dress.

He sighed, walking over to you as you turned your back to him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you tried to hide it.

His hands were gentle with the laces, not tugging at them as you expected him to. He obviously had experience doing this before.

He grew emotional as he undid your dress, but he hid it well. It was a weird sense of deja vu. Your hair looked like hers from the back and he felt like he was back at his first wedding.

You pushed the dress off, revealing the sheer linen soft dress underneath. He hadn’t moved from behind you, trying to maintain his composure. You walked away from him, lying on the bed and biting your nails again.

He finished disrobing besides his briefs, and you stole a glance at his back. It was huge, muscular and scarred.

He walked over to the bed, getting between your legs and pushing up your shift.

“Is this alright with you, princess?” He asks. “We need not consummate this if you are not ready.”

For the first time it seemed like he kinda cared about how you felt. His hand still had a hold of your shift, which was resting on your pelvic bone.

You nodded, “Is it alright with you, Lord Stark?”

He nodded, pushing your shift up the rest of the way to reveal your chest. He wanted to fall on his sword for the way he kept stealing glances at your breasts.

He pushed his briefs down, and you choked on your breath at the reveal of his length.

“Oh, gods.” You mumbled under your breath.

He rubbed himself against your slit, and your heart stilled for a minute. The feeling was foreign and intense.

He gently grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. You hadn’t even realized you were still doing it, it was starting to become like breathing. A natural, unintentional habit.

Your hands fell to his biceps to steady yourself. You looked at him, but he did not meet your gaze. He instead bowed his head, watching himself enter inside you.

You dug your nails into his arm, gasping in shock. He gently shushed you, telling you it was okay.

“Please, please.” You said, not knowing what you were even pleading for.

“What?” He asked gently, his voice low and almost mimicking of your whining. It sent a shiver up your spine.

He was slow and gentle with you, not in it for any pleasure himself.

You touched his chest and his hair and his arms, and while he didn’t stop you he made no effort to touch you himself. His hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight.

Your hands found his arms again and you moaned softly, feeling your peak building in your stomach. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his head, moaning as you spilled onto him. He closed his eyes as he felt it, and guilt wracked him again.

He gently pulled out of you and stood up, immediately dressing himself into his nightwear. You pushed your shift back down and pulled the linen covers over you, immediately going back to biting your nails at his reaction.

He laid beside you, not facing you and not saying anything.

You said nothing, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed how he intentionally avoided spilling himself into you.

———

It had been 3 months since your arrival to Winterfell, and you had adjusted as well as you could given the circumstances.

You did not often see your lord husband, but you were used to it. He spent a lot of his free time in the crypt where she was. It hurt, but you gave him his peace and he appreciated that you didn’t hover.

“Mummy!”

“Sh, sh, love.” You say as Rickon runs into your chambers.

Cregan did not like when Rickon called you his mother. He’d gotten upset with you a few times over it, and you assured him you would correct Rickon when it happened.

“Mummy.” He repeated. You giggled. pulling him into your lap. You shook your head and tapped his nose, saying, “Nooo. Not mummy.”

“Mummy.” He laughed, and you ran your fingers through his thick brown curls.

“What ever will we do with this mop on your head, my son?”

“He is not your son.” You turned to see Cregan standing in the door way. “And his hair is fine.”

“Apologies, my lord.” You said, curtly. He ignored your attitude.

“Come, Rickon.” He said, beckoning his son.

“No, mummy.” Rickon whined, holding you.

“Go see papa.” You told him, and with your blessing Rickon ran to Cregan.

Cregan gave you a cold stare as he left, and you returned the favor.

You were growing ever so agitated with your husband. He had welcomed you into Winterfell, but not his heart. The only time you both had shared a bed was the night of your wedding, to which Cregan had made sure not to give you an heir.

You had no one. Rickon had you, Cregan had you even if he did not want you, yet you were alone here in Winterfell.

You decided to write to your mother on Dragonstone, requesting for Jacaerys to pick you up on dragon back so you could visit your family and hopefully receive advice. You had left your dragon, Silverwing, at home. You did not want to disrespect the already hesitant northern people, and you did not want Silverwing to be cold or hungry.

That night when you were brushing your hair before bed, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You looked in the mirror and saw Cregan’s half sister, Sara, enter.

“Hi, Sara.” You said. She came up behind you, taking the brush from your hand and slowly combing it through your hair. You two had formed a unique bond, given you were both considered outcasts in Winterfell. You were a southerner, she was a bastard. They were two sides of the same coin here in Winterfell.

“I heard what happened today.” She said, and you hummed mindlessly. “My brother can be a bastard.”

You smiled at her in the mirror. “Is that so?”

She nods. “I wish I knew what to do, Sara.”

“We northerners love hard, princess. We are unwaveringly loyal. The wound of losing Aly is still fresh in my brother’s heart. Give him time. He knows you love Rickon, and that scares him. I don’t know why.”

“Was Aly pretty?” You ask.

“You have a southern beauty we do not see often in the North. Aly was not a beautiful woman, but she was a fierce fighter. That is how history will remember her. She was born fighting, and she died fighting. I know you are a fierce fighter as well, princess. You are the blood of the dragon. Do not let the grief my brother holds make you feel small.” She kisses the back of your head. “Throw a fucking book at his head if he acts like that again.”

You laugh, her joke comforting you. She turns and leaves you alone, your head clouded with thoughts of Aly.

You heard back from Jacaerys within a few days that he would arrive shortly to bring you home. You had not yet told Cregan, as you knew he wouldn’t care anyway.

A few days following the letter from the raven, it was Sara’s name day. Cregan had decided to celebrate with a feast, one bigger than your wedding.

You all sat at the high table, your husband and sister in law drinking heavily. Although Cregan was a big man, the amount of ale he consumed that night seemed enough to kill a horse.

“My princess.” A servant rested her hand on your shoulder. You and Cregan both turned to look at her, and she grew nervous, not expecting Cregan to pay any attention or perhaps she would not have asked the princess the request. “Rickon has had a nightmare and wants no comfort of the maids. He is requesting you by name specifically, princess.”

You turn to look at Cregan for his approval. He gives a quick nod, which you hadn’t expected. Perhaps he only obliged since Rickon had requested you by your name, rather than requesting his “mother.”

You walked with the maid to his chambers, opening the door.

“Mummy.” He said through sniffles. You turned to face the maid.

“I thought he requested me by my name.” You said.

“That is your name, princess… to him.” The maid closed the door.

You turn to face Rickon with a gentle sigh. “You know papa doesn’t like that word.”

“Mummy.” He just says again. You walk to his bed, fitting yourself in to lay with him. He cuddles into your chest, and you play with his hair to help him sleep.

“Say it okay.” He says.

“Hm? What do you mean, child?” You ask.

“She say it okay to call you mummy.”

“Who?”

“Mummy did.”

“No, you have to call me my name, sweet boy.”

“Not you, mummy. My other mummy said it okay.”

“You confuse me, Rickon.”

“Mummy says ignore papa.” You chuckle softly.

“Sleep now, my love.” You say, and he slowly falls asleep while you hum him a soft song.

You rise, tucking him in and giving his head a kiss.

You open his door to return to the feast, and Cregan is there waiting.

You gasp, covering your mouth quickly to not wake Rickon.

“Gods, you scared me!” You whisper/yell at him. He says nothing, his eyes in a glossy and drunken haze.

You close the door, nearly standing chest to chest with him.

“I heard you sing to him.” He says softly. “Where did you learn that song?”

“He taught me it.” You say, as you go to step past him when he stops you.

“Cregan?” You say confused, turning to look up at him.

He takes your cheeks in your hands and slams his lips on yours. You freeze for a second in shock, before immediately returning the kiss. He presses you against the door, and you moan into him as you quickly grow wet with Cregan’s sudden change of behavior.

He moves to press gentle kisses on your neck, biting softly here and there. His fingers dig into your hips, grinding himself into you. You moan softly, trying not to cause too much noise against the door.

“Not here.” You moan. He avoids your eyes, taking your hand and pulling you further down the hall to his chambers. It was only your second time in his room. He lifted you into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing you against the wall.

You both hadn’t even undressed, but you loved the thrill. Your husband finally wanted you after three long grueling months. He pushed your dress up to your waist as you unlaced his breeches.

He took you there against the wall of his chambers, fucking you so sweetly, fucking you in a way that would surely produce an heir.

Your moans filled the halls, and the servants began to spread word that the lord had finally moved on from his first wife.

He carried you to the bed, placing you along the edge as he stood, fucking you with sloppy and drunken thrusts.

You moaned his name, both of you drawing so close to your peak as your hands rested against his stomach. He leaned closed to you as hand moved beside your head to hold his weight, and the other moved under your lower back to lift you slightly off the bed and pull you more into him. The angle sent you over the edge, crying and moaning his name.

Your moans pushed him over, but his next words made you sick.

“Fuck, Alysanne.” He groaned, burying his head in your neck and spilling his seed into you.

You gasped, not even sure you heard him right.

He kissed your neck a few times and then rolled off you, not noticing the look on your face.

You laid there unmoving, still in your dress which was now damp with sweat, and your thighs now sticky with Cregan.

He fell asleep the second his head hit his pillow, still in his clothes.

You choked back a sob, moving your hand to your mouth so he wouldn’t waken. In reality, you could’ve started screaming and he wouldn’t have woke, or even shuffled.

You exited his chambers, trying not to be sick on the way to yours.

“My sister!” Sara drunkenly yelled as she seen you in the hallway. She took notice of your disheveled dress and hair. “Oh my gods, did you and Cregan just…?”

You ignored her, but she noticed the tears on your face. “Wait, sister what is wrong? What happened?”

You slammed the door in her face, throwing yourself into your pillow and screaming.

—

“Mother would be furious if she knew you were sleeping this well past sunrise.”

You groaned, lifting your head from the pillow to find the voice in the room.

“Jacaerys?” You said, when your eyes landed on him.

“I take it the feast for Sara Snow was a success.” He says, making fun of you. Your hair was sticking to your face, wet with a mixture of tears and drool.

“I guess you could say that.” You said, wiping your hair to the side.

“You’re disgusting.” He says.

“Gods, five minutes you’ve been here and you already frustrate me! Get out!” You say, both of you immediately teasing and arguing like you had never left home.

You push him out of your room.

“Don’t touch me, wench!” He whines, smacking your arms.

“Piss off! Go harass the bloody Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’d rather harass the Lady.” You push him out of your doors, turning and pressing your back to slide down the wall.

You hear him knock again and you rise to your feet, angry. “Jace, I said-“

You don’t finish your sentence, since as you open the door it’s Sara.

“I wanna talk about last night.”

“I don’t.” You say, going to close the door on her before she pushes it back open.

“What happened?” She asks, angry. She closes the door behind her and follows you to the bed. You sit on the edge and rest your elbows on your thighs, burying your face in your hands.

“Did my brother hurt you?” She asks, worried.

“No, no.”

She rests on her knees in front of you, placing her hands on your knees. “Tell me what happened.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your tears, but you cannot. “We had sex.”

“Isn’t that good? What went wrong?”

“He called me Alysanne.” You sob out.

“Oh, no.” She says, moving to sit beside you and wrap her arms around you.

“I cannot stay here no longer, Sara. I am being haunted by Alysanne. I find letters she wrote to Cregan, her clothes, her weapons. Rickon thinks I am her and Cregan wishes I was.”

“I am sorry, princess.” She says, sadly. “I thought I knew my brother better than that… Perhaps, if you talk to him about these past few months things can be different. Just give it a try, yes? You have your brother here now. You can leave if things do not work and the marriage can be annulled.”

You did not even wish to think of that possibility. It would be so shameful for both of your houses. You would do everything in your power to make it work.

You cleaned yourself up and went to Cregan’s chambers, knowing he would be hungover.

And you were right.

You entered his room without knocking, finding him in a bath with a warm rag over his eyes. Three times now you’ve been in his chambers.

“You can set it on the table.” He says, not moving the rag.

“What?”

“Oh.” He says, his voice changing in tone. “I thought you were the maid.”

You say nothing, unsure of where to even begin.

“Can whatever you’ve barged into my chambers for wait until I am done.” He asks, only the question is more of a statement.

“No.” You say, angry. You walk over to him and pull the rag off his eyes. He squints at the brightness, then gagging on the air as if he might be sick. “We’re going to talk, Cregan. We’ve been married for months and I don’t think we’ve ever truly had a conversation once. It is all I am asking. You could at least give me that. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for three months, and I’m tired of it. I’ve helped raise your son, I’ve loved you and I’ve cared for you even when you didn’t want it. You owe this to me.”

He sighs, defeated. “You are right in that, my princess. I apologize. We can talk later, alright?”

“No, Cregan. We will talk now.”

“You wouldn’t rather talk when I am of a clear headspace?”

“No. Now.” You say. He sighs again.

“Say your piece.”

The words left your mind the second he said that. You had this conversation in your head many times before, but now it was here and you could not handle the heat of the moment.

He raised his eyebrow at you, as if you were dumb.

“Oh, do not do that. I thought you Starks were supposed to be the most honorable among men. This whole marriage I have been treated with everything but. You are a disrespectful man, Stark. I am truly sorry about Alysanne-“

“Do not speak to me about my wife, ever!” He yells, pointing at you.

“I am your wife!” You cry out. “You chose me, whether you were ready for another marriage or not! I left my home, my family, my dragon to be with you! If I cannot have your love, is it too much to ask for your fucking respect?!”

He goes quiet for a few moments, “You have always had my respect, princess… and I know I have erred in the way I’ve treated you these past moons. But this marriage is just a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. This marriage is not out of love… so do not expect me to love you back.”

You laugh, dryly. “You called me Alysanne last night… Do you remember that? No… I suppose you were too drunk. You never would have touched or cared for me like that sober.”

He says nothing, but his hands grip the side of the tub and his face is contorted with anger. You rise, hiding any sort of emotion on your face.

“The dead don’t need lovers. Only the living.” You said. He threw his rag at the door as you walked out, not even granting him a second glance.

The memories of last night flooded back to him, and he rested his face in his hands, crying at his behavior. He had let down Aly, his son, and you.

He did care about you, he did love you in his own way. He just didn’t know how to show it. He didn’t want to show it. If he had shown it, he only would have betrayed Aly even more.

You went down to the crypt, somewhere you had never gone before. You had no reason originally, no people to mourn.

You stood in front of her plot, staring at the statue of her. She had been a skinny girl, with long dark hair and ‘plain’ features. You thought she was a beauty in her own way. You saw why Cregan loved her.

You cried. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help him.”

Your hand touched her statue, then you stood and left the crypt.

You said goodbye to Rickon, Sara, and then you left with your brother on dragon back, ready to be home with your true family.

———

“You’re a fucking fool, brother.”

“You think I don’t know that? Gods.” Cregan rested his head in his hands. He had sent every raven in Winterfell to Dragonstone, yet not one had responded in the weeks since you’d left.

“We’ll be lucky if the bloody queen doesn’t declare war on us for you scorning her daughter.”

“I am trying here, Sara! I’ve sent my ravens, I’ve sent men to retrieve her. There is nothing more I can do!”

Sara slammed her hands on the table. “Go and get her your bloody self, Cregan. The trip to Dragonstone will give you plenty of time for reflection.”

Sara turned to leave, and Cregan knew it was his only option of getting you back here. He would go and get you and make things right. He had to.

You had your own time for reflection, riding home with Jacaerys made you realize how much you missed being on dragon back.

Your mother of course welcomed you with open arms, but was wracked with guilt that you and Cregan’s union was not working. You paid it no mind however, spending your days patrolling Dragonstone on Silverwing.

Cregan had taken his horse and a few men to retrieve you from Dragonstone. The trip by horse was long, more than several weeks.

The entire time he rode in silence he thought of you. He thought of your last conversation and the final words you had said to him. The dead don’t need lovers. And you were right. Alysanne would not have wished to see him treat you how he had, she would not have wanted Cregan to spend his time sulking or being angry. He only wished he had realized it before he left.

He loved you. If only it hadn’t taken you leaving for him to realize. You were kind, gentle, beautiful. Traits Alysanne didn’t have but it was what seperated you from her. It had been how he was able to find his own kind of love for you, even when he didn’t consciously realize it yet. His own bitterness from losing Aly had made forget his honor.

Cregan arrived about two moons after you had left. He was aching, frustrated, and desperate by the time he reached Dragonstone.

It was dark, pouring rain, and you were playing with your brothers Viserys and Aegon when he arrived.

“Your Grace!” A knight came into the room shouting. Your mother looked up from her book. “Cregan Stark of Winterfell has arrived and requests an immediate audience with you and the princess.”

Your mother looked at you, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Your heart sank and your face went pale, but you nodded.

You met him inside the council chambers with your mother and his men. He was soaked, shivering. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, that was how nervous you were.

“Cregan.” You said, walking towards him and pushing him by his arms to the hearth to warm him up. It was another thing he loved about you, your protective nature, so he said it.

“I love you.”

“Cregan…”

“Love her?” You both looked at your mother, whose face was angry. “You love my daughter?”

“Your Grace.” Cregan said, removing his sword and bending his knee. “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”

She walked towards you both. “It is not mine you need to beg for… I sent my only daughter to you, and you spurn her for your dead wife?!”

“Mother!”

“You will not interrupt the Queen when she is speaking.” She commands you. “What do you have to say for yourself, Lord Stark?”

He stands. “I have nothing to say, Your Grace. You are right. My behavior was unacceptable. The princess deserved none of it.”

“Why are you here?” Your mother asks him.

“I’ve come to ask the princess to return home.” Your mother scoffs at him.

She looks at you, then back to him. “You are lucky it is not my decision to make.”

She turns and exits, leaving and commanding his men to wait outside the doors so you both could be alone.

You were even more nervous with just the two of you in there. It is silent for a few moments before you speak.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” You ask Cregan.

“It took you leaving for me to realize I love you.” He says, taking your hands in his. You roll your eyes, taking your hands back and stepping away.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, starting to sob.

“I know, I know.” He steps closer to you again, taking you in his arms as you cry into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved you, Cregan.” You say, crying. “Since I was a girl I loved you. I thought you were different from other men. But, you’re just like the rest.”

Cregan cries into your hair. “I’m so sorry, my princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

You both stand there, holding each other and crying.

“Please come home.” He says. “Let me take you home.”

“Rickon misses his mother, Sara misses her sister… I miss you, you my wife.”

You pull away to look at him, trying to read his normally stoic features. You can see he means it.

“Okay.”

———

You returned to Winterfell on Silverwing, no longer having the strength to remain apart from your dragon.

Cregan had to endure another long and grueling trip back to Winterfell, which you enjoyed knowing he was suffering while you road through the skies.

Rickon had cried tears of joy when you returned, and a week later when Cregan arrived Rickon cried again.

You and Cregan had remained in seperated chambers while you still navigated your marriage, but Cregan made a point to spend every moment of his free time with you.

But you had been keeping a secret from him.

After you returned home to Dragonstone originally, your blood never arrived. The maester determined you were with a babe, which would arrive several moons away in the dead of winter.

Your thick furs and dresses made it easier to hide from Cregan, as you were not ready to tell him.

The babe had complicated things. If you had not been pregnant, you might not have returned to Winterfell when Cregan came for you. But you knew you had a duty, and you believed if Cregan could love you then you could fix your union.

Cregan had indeed put the work in the second he arrived home. He attended to you, conversed with you, ate with you, laughed with you, but gave you the space you needed and gave you the option to be intimate with him when you were ready.

It was strangely like falling in love all over again. You blushed around each other, got nervous and flushed, made each other’s hearts race, shared a first kiss when you were both ready.

Cregan had undoubtedly fallen madly in love with you, and he regretted not taking the time to do it sooner. He couldn’t make up the time he lost being afraid. All he could do now was love you without guilt, love you without fear, love you without shame.

Normally Cregan always knocked on your chamber doors before entering, but for some reason this time he hadn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t knock, he didn’t know if it happened unconsciously or if he was too busy wrapped up with his thoughts.

Either way, he entered without knocking and by that point the cat was out of the bag.

He said your name, greeting you with a smile, only for it to fall off his face as if it had never been there.

You were in the bath, relaxing in the burning water, but that wasn’t the problem. He’d seen you naked, although it hadn’t been for a few months by this point, but him accidentally invading your privacy wasn’t the problem either.

It was the bump in your belly that was a problem.

Your head turned sharply, covering your chest quickly. “Cregan!”

“Sorry.” He said quickly, turning around to avoid disrespecting you.

“It’s fine.” You said, dropping your arm from your chest. “You just gave me a fright.”

He said nothing for a moment, only continuing to face the wall.

“What is that?” He finally asked. You sighed, stepping out of the tub and into your robe.

You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face you now, and his eyes fell down to your other hand resting on the small bump in your stomach.

“Perhaps it’s time we talk.”

“You think?” He spits at you, immediately apologizing after. “I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be cross with you.”

You said nothing, walking over to the seats by the hearth hoping he would follow.

He did, and he sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your belly.

“Can I?” He asked, gesturing to your stomach. You nodded, untying your robe so that you were bare. You grabbed his hand, bringing it to the small bump.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have accommodated for you, made sure you were comfortable.”

“Truth be told it’s been hard for me to accept I’m truly with a child.” You say, “The reality had not set in until… well until you just now found out... I am sorry, Cregan. I should not have kept it from you.”

He chokes back a sob. “Feels like just yesterday Alysanne had Rickon.”

“He will be overjoyed to know he will have a little brother or sister.” You tell him. He looks at you, his face full of emotion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and before you can even finish nodding your head, you’re already leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you. I love you so much, my wife.” He says in between kisses.

His hand did not move once from your stomach the whole night.

[kisssukuna33]

<Chef Husband!!Sukuna with his pregnant wife headcanons>

Chef Husband Sukuna Series <3

Chef Husband Sukuna! Who became a guard dog ever since you two find out about your pregnancy. Don't get me wrong, Sukuna was very much protective of his dear wife ever since he got married but imagine just how worse it got after you became pregnant?

He was clingy with you to the point where you felt like a parasite living in his skin.

Want to take a simple walk outside? Sukuna is already applying sunscreen all over you while putting the sandals (ugly sandals he bought against your will that are apparently "good" for pregnant women) on your feet when you insisted him you can do it yourself.

"Sukuna I'm only 6 weeks.. I can do it on my own"

"Shut up woman, I know what I'm doing"

Chef Husband Sukuna! Who reserved an entire room just for you in his restaurant. Sukuna tried his best to stay home during your pregnancy but he can't just push the whole workload to his co-workers so he obviously had to visit from time to time.

But in the 5th month of your pregnancy Sukuna refused to be apart from you even more than 5 minutes, he wanted you close to his eyes, he rearranged one of the storage rooms to your likeness so you can rest comfortably while he figured out stuff in the restaurant.

Chef Husband Sukuna! Who's coworkers began to fear the hell out of you. You were always an angel in their eyes. Their mean and scary boss's pretty wife who always greeted them with a warm smile and tried out everything they made enthusiastically without complaining, but that person is long gone, thanks to the little demon growing inside your belly. Whenever a dish you requested didn't match your taste— your face instantly got dark. They swear they can almost see a rain cloud appearing above your head. And Sukuna wasn't any pleased to see his wife moody either, the daggers like stares he sent their way was enough to to shit themselves.

"Professional chefs you say, can't even bake a fucking pie right"

"sorry chef-"

"get the hell out, I will make it myself"

With that Sukuna began his display of talent. Guiding the knife through fruits skillfully, each slice falling effortlessly under his touch and then he crafted the perfect buttery dough fit for a pie, all by his hands.

"Now this is what you call a pie sweetheart"

You swear once you finished eating it, you fell in love with him all over again.

Chef Husband Sukuna! Who spoiled you rotten throughout your entire pregnancy. He made every one of your cravings without a single miss. It can be 2 am, both of you sleeping peacefully in each other's arm and a single nudge to his shirt and a "please" was all he needed to leave the bed and get in the kitchen asap, all the while you sat on the kitchen counter, pampering him with endless kisses as appreciation.

Chef Husband Sukuna! Who became the sworn enemy of rain. He knows what kind of danger slippery grounds bring and he wasn't going to risk it at all. If it rains that means walking outside is entirely prohibited.

You remember one time standing outside in the driveway with an umbrella in hand, waiting for Sukuna to come home from the restaurant. You swear you saw his face dropped to Zero when he saw you in the cold rain outside.

"Hey Sukuna! Wait what the— put me down!"

"Stubborn woman, What did I tell you about being outside when it rains?"

"Alright I'm sorry but put me down! the neighbors are staring at us"

"can't do sweetheart"

Chef Husband Sukuna! wasn't a skilled man with his words. Pregnancy isn't all sunshine and rainbows, he knew you needed reassurance and comfort about all this.

So he had his own way of showing it.

Whenever you feel bad for eating too much he made sure to sit in front you and eat your pregnancy cravings with you together, just so you will feel less guilty about eating it alone.

He made sure to kiss the stretch marks spreading across your body every single night.

He attended every single class dedicated to "new parents" with you, no matter how many uninviting glances he received with his not so familiar appearance.

He tired his best to be the supportive husband you needed, and he nailed it.

Chef Husband Sukuna! always complained about the framed photos of you two hanging in the walls of his restaurant. "Odd numbers are bad luck" he reminded you everytime but you would laugh it off promising him to take one more decent pic soon. No matter how much he asked it never happened.

But little did Sukuna knew, the balance he wanted wouldn't come from another couple's photo of you two, it came from the tiniest new addition to your little family.

Your baby boy wrapped in a soft white blanket, cradled in Sukuna's tattooed arms with Sukuna leaning close to you, his forehead resting against yours as both of you gazed at your son with soft smiles.

Too much love to fit into just one picture, but enough to make the wall feel completed.

[hyunebunx]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ' late night moments with skz !

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: this is just sleepy fluff <3 some of the boys get kind of emotional.

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: happy binnie day!! <3 to this day, these are some of my favorite hcs i've ever written so i hope you enjoy! (early morning moments with them right here <3)

𝜗୧ chan 𝜗୧ - 2:34 am

“Do you think Berry misses me sometimes?” He mumbles into your lap, voice full of sleep as you gently massage his scalp. Looking down at him, your eyes soften when he hugs your middle and hides his face in your stomach which prompts your other hand to begin tracing his features softly.

“Of course, she does, baby.” Chan almost purrs in response and your heart melts at the sight, managing to contain the sudden urge to squish his cheeks together. “Remember how excited she was the last time you visited? She was jumping, running around you and never left your side the whole time you were there.”

A moment passes and then two with no response from your boyfriend and that’s when you realize, by his even breathing, that he finally fell asleep.

You smile and lean down to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead, whispering a sincere I love you in his ear, not stopping your massage.

Sleeps like this, in your lap, until you’re sure he’s asleep for good before you slowly move him into a more comfortable position and wrap his whole body in a blanket burrito.

𝜗୧ minho 𝜗୧ - 11:59 pm

“Hug me, I’m cold!”

You hear him groan before he turns over to face you, grumbling under his breath as he envelopes your body in a big hug and begins to squeeze the life out of you. All out of love, of course.

“Better now?” “Minho, I can’t breathe!”

Doesn’t let go but does tilt your head up to look into your eyes and the love you see as you stare back almost has you in tears. A sleepy smile makes its way onto his lips and that’s when you manage to loosen his grip by wiggling into his arms, wasting no time as you begin to plant open-mouthed kisses all over his face.

His smile widens until giggles escape him, loving the way your lips feel on his skin as he lets you do whatever you want until you’re satisfied. When you finally reach his lips but don’t linger for as long as he’d like, instead kissing them repeatedly while also giggling, he takes matters into his own hands and kisses you deeply while still keeping the initial softness of your previous ones.

𝜗୧ changbin 𝜗୧ - 3:47 am

You toss and turn in the sheets for what feels like the millionth time before finally giving up with a frustrated sigh. “Binnie, I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.” The response comes instantly and you sit up on your elbows to find him staring at the ceiling, visibly exhausted. You frown, scooting closer to hug him by the middle and rest your chin on his chest.

“Everything okay?”

Your soft voice prompts him to let it all out, to rant about work and his daily struggles at a fast pace that you can barely keep up with. When his voice quivers, you look up and plant comforting kisses on his neck and jaw, one hand gently massaging his chest through his nightshirt.

When he’s done and his speech slows down, Changbin moves to hide his face in your hair, muscular arms wrapping around your body to bring you closer, almost like he wanted to morph your bodies together. Being one with the love of your life sounded great right now – to be able to take all of his pain and discomfort so that he’ll always be happy and healthy was something you dreamt about often. Unfortunately, until that was possible, you hoped from the bottom of your heart that what you’re able to do right now is enough.

𝜗୧ hyunjin 𝜗୧ - 1:08 am

“Forget worms, would you still love me if I was a deadly shark?”

Hyunjin looks up from his phone, flabbergasted, just to find you already looking at him. He’s silent, waiting for you to elaborate but when you don’t, he sighs and gives in. “Darling, what the hell are you talking about?”

You roll your eyes, cuddling closer as you place your head in the crock of his neck to inhale his comforting scent. His arms pull you closer instantly, phone long forgotten. “This hypothetical situation, Jinnie, is critical for our relationship. Please take it seriously.”

Is confused the whole time as you ramble on and on about your ‘hypothetical situation’ that at some point, having had enough, he just turns his back to you and gets comfortable on his other side.

When you follow him and throw a leg over his body, continuing on while drawing patterns onto his back, he swiftly turns around to hover over you, pinning you to the mattress. Your eyes meet and for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you until your dream is shattered as he begins tickling you mercilessly instead. A tickle war starts that leaves you both breathless and laughing well into the night.

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧ - 1:56 am

“When you’re away and I miss you, I spray this pillow with your cologne and cuddle it as I would cuddle you.”

Jisung’s eyes widen slightly as you speak against his lips, the lingering sadness in your tone pulling at his heartstrings in an unpleasant way. You’re face to face, staring lovingly at each other while talking in hushed voices about everything that comes to mind.

He knows that at this time during the night, he gets all soft and mushy but he wasn’t expecting to cry this soon. You were so good to him, his own angel on earth that would wait for him for as long as it was needed. You deserved so much better.

Gently cupping your cheek, you lean into his touch and close your eyes in contentment, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from crying. “I’m sorry, baby.”

His voice is shaky so without a word, you cuddle closer, burying your head in his chest and holding him tighter while also kissing his covered chest. “Sorry? Sorry for what? Don’t be silly, Ji. Your love makes all this waiting around worth it every single time.”

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧ - 4:02 am

“Wait, what? She said that to you?” Felix asks, voice loud in disbelief as the hand that was combing through your hair stops momentarily.

You nod, looking up at him from where you’re resting your head, on his abs, the bare skin warm and soft under your touch. “Yes! I have receipts, hold on.”

As you scramble out of bed to get your phone from where it's charging, Felix can’t help but smile as his eyes are completely focused on you and nothing else. He always thought you were the most beautiful like this – bare-faced, with your hair slightly messy and missing that furrow between your brows that appeared during the day.

Vulnerable and oh-so cuddly during the late hours of the night, and early hours of the morning you sometimes spent with him, talking, kissing and laughing until the sun rose again to announce another new day.

When you came back to bed, Felix was resting with his back against the headboard and the position allowed him to pull you flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you showed him your phone. It was the domesticity he always craved for which he hoped would never end. That you and him like this never ended.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧ - 12:32 am

Taking another peek at the bedside clock, you can’t help but sigh as the red digits glare at you, almost mockingly. You’ve been in bed for hours now and you’re still as awake as you were back then too. It was infuriating, and you were this close to actually crying in frustration.

Almost as if sensing your low mood, Seungmin turns on his side to face you. “Everything okay?”

You shake your head and bury your head in the warm pillow. “I can’t sleep, Minnie. Will you sing to me, please?”

His arms come around you to bring your back to his chest, successfully luring you into being the little spoon, which to be honest, you didn’t mind one bit right now. He places a kiss on your cheek, and with one hand softly massaging your hip, he starts humming. Not a lullaby, but one of the group’s title tracks.

When you glare at him over your shoulder, he grins and stifles a chuckle before starting to sing a proper lullaby. Just as suspected – his dreamy voice does have magical powers and you’re asleep in less than five minutes. Or maybe it's the way he holds you so closely and the occasional kiss on the top of your head that does the trick. Either way, you have to let Felix know asap. He owes you 20$.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧ - 11:45 pm

“Blanket thief.” He complains, however, there’s no real malice in his tone as you roll around into a blanket burrito and leave him completely exposed to all the monsters that come out at night, laughing loudly.

You don’t see him, but he rolls his eyes, trying to appear annoyed as he hides his growing smile. “Come here, baby, let’s share.”

When you shake your head no, still giggling in your pillow, Jeongin takes matters into his own hands, literally, and lifts you up by the waist to trap you into his tight embrace, which causes you to shriek and laugh again. He soon joins in and your laughter fills the tiny room as you begin wrestling for the blanket.

“Come on, be reasonable, there’s enough blanket for the both of us.” “No.” “Y/n.” “But Jeongin, the monsters – “ ,“I’ll beat them up! Now, come here!”

Somehow, he manages to convince you to share and you fall asleep cuddling while watching youtube videos, with his soft voice whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But during the night, he still ends up uncovered and because he’s petty, he pretends to fall out of bed and says that the monsters got to him because of you and your selfish nature he can’t help but still love so much!

[tiramissyoucake]

Omni-man Mark hnnnn, piv, fem reader, he gets to bust inside

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Omni-vincible Mark lucked out the best when it came to you in his universe. You weren't an enemy, a friend, a superpowered phenomenon, you were his wife.

His adorable, obedient little wife. He comes home from a long day doing heroics and he sees you prettying up the house, clad in a comfortable shirt with an apron hugging your figure, adorably tied at your back. You always greeted him with a hug and a kiss and an offer for lunch.

He thought people were weak, sure, but he loves how weak you are compared to him. Mark was already a powerhouse Viltrumite, but watching you easily comply as he handles you never failed to excite him, you were weaker than him and eager to please him, like a good pet.

Your ring glinted, squeezed between his fingers as his hand intertwined with yours, his mouth over yours as he kissed you so deeply it made your head spin, his hips repeatedly pistoning into your warmth. Deep. Deep. Deep. It's like his body was trying to swallow you whole.

He parts from your lips, saliva coating your and his lips as his arms move to bracket your head, watching your expression as broken moans were forced out of you with every thrust of his cock. "That's it," he pants against your lips. "That's a good little housewife." It's impressive how stable his tone was compared to how quickly his hips slapped against yours.

The sound of sheets rustling and skin plapping against skin echoed in your shared bedroom, you were going cross-eyed at your husband's onslaught as your hands trembled and clung to his shoulders, legs helplessly locked around his waist. He loved having you like this, seeing just how much he affected you in its rawest form.

This was the best reward he could ask for, he didn't care for civilian applause, medals or appraisals from anyone outside this home, as long as his adorable wife would welcome him home with a kiss, a warm meal and a warm bed he can fuck you in, he's happy.

Mark had already brought you over the edge twice and it still wasn't enough, he wasn't sure if it's alien stamina or if he was just that horny, but he wouldn't stop until he'd filled you, his dick slamming into you relentlessly as the bed groaned and creaked. "You still with me?"

"Mmmh..! Mmaaark...!!" You looked like you were in cloud nine, every thrust he'd bottom out before another would be delivered, you knew marrying a half-Viltrumite would be tricky but you didn't know he was so... insatiable. But you never had any trouble taking him, he makes sure of it.

He needs to feel you cum and squeeze him in at least twice or three times if he really wanted you drunk with his cock, then he'd take it easy. Pausing to make sure you're looking at him before he'd pepper gentle kisses on your lips, his hips now moving slowly but hitting the same depth in your quivering pussy, a squelching noise replaced the skin slapping as he took his time to finish.

"Who's my adorable pet?" It was sweet, never mocking. You whimper in response, oversensitive and spent as he chased his own orgasm. "M-me... I am...!"

"Mmmh- yes, yes you are..." He pants against your lips, watching your features turn to bliss as he pins his hips to yours as close as possible, finally filling you. "There you go..." He nestled his hips into you with a groan that was overlayed by a moan from you. "Nice and deep, just how you like it.." he murmured, a breathless chuckle escaping him as you whined. "I love you, sweetheart."

he was always so thorough, he wanted to make sure his cum would be embedded into you, globs of white that overflowed threatened to leak past his cock, leaving no room for doubt, a good husband should keep his wife full and satisfied, always.

[cherrygirlfriend]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ bath

pairing: pervert!reader x nerd!rafe synopsis: reader asks rafe to join her in the bath. warnings/tags: fluff, smut, blowjob, MDNI! wc: 1.4k a/n; this is a part of my 2k celebration!

pervert masterlist ♡ rafe masterlist ♡ 2k masterlist

it was a long weekend, and for once, you were in the comfort of your own home instead of your dorm. you lit scented candles that were scattered on the bathroom counters, the scent of jasmine slowly filling the air, a soft pop song currently spinning on your record player in the bedroom connected to your bathroom. you were wearing your soft, pink bathrobe, snuggling it close to your skin.

a smile appeared on your lips the moment you heard the doorbell ring, tiptoing down the stairs and pulling the front door with a dramatic flair, a wide smile on your face, your head cocked to the side. "hi!"

rafe's eyes widened as he took your attire in, his eyes flittering onto the watch he always wore on his wrist, "am i early? i thought we agreed on eight..." he asked, scratching the back of his neck, and you could see his cheeks starting to tint pink.

"nope!" you tugged him inside the house, closing the front door and spinning to lean on it. you grinned and bit down on your lower lip as you looked at rafe up and down, before your hands found the belt loops of his pants, tugging him closer to you, the boy looking down at you with slightly widened eyes, "i thought we could take a bath together."

"aren't- aren't your parents here?" rafe chuckled softly as he looked around the foyer, yet you could tell by the slight bulge starting to form in his pants, that he wasn't against your idea.

"nope." you brought your hands to the buckle of his belt, slowly starting to unbuckle it, looking up at him with your lips pursed into a slight pout as you looked at him through your long lashes, "you're not gonna make me bathe me alone?"

you pulled his belt off in one swift movement, rafe letting out a small groan as you threw his belt to the side, his hands automatically moving to your waist as the buckle of his belt clattered against the wooden floor. the boy looked down as one of his hands toyed with the soft belt of your bathroom, his lips pursed in thought.

his blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, rafe playfully rolling his eyes as a small smile took over his lips, "fine." rafe chuckled under his breath, and you let out a small giggle, your hand moving to his, tugging him upstairs.

rafe stood in the doorway of the bathroom, a bashful smile on his lips as you let go of his hand, moving it to rest on the belt of your bathrobe, biting down on your lower lip, "what, you gonna bathe with your clothes on or something?" you teased, slowly tugging the belt open. rafe's adam's apple bobbed prominently when he swallowed, and after taking a deep breath, he tugged off the sweatshirt adorned with your college logo slightly clumsily, throwing it into your bedroom.

you fully untied the belt of your robe, the soft fabric pooling around your sides as you brought one of your hands to your hips, pushing it back so he could properly see you. rafe's breathing shallowed as his eyes panned up and down your figure, until he seemingly snapped out of it, hurriedly undoing the button and zipper of his pants, letting them pool at his feet before kicking them aside along with his socks.

he was now left in his plaid-patterned boxer shorts, an obvious erection clearly straining in them. you let the robe fall to the floor before stepping into the bathtub, rafe's eyes focused on your curves. you sat down in the water, your brows rising expectantly as your gaze flickered from his face down to the erection in his underwear.

when realizing the meaning of your suggestive look, rafe made quick work of taking of his boxer shorts, slightly stumbling as he threw them aside. he scratched the inside of his elbow as you took in his fully naked form, muscles adorning his tanned skin, veins leading down his arms, similar ones on his cock, the tip glistening under the bathroom lights with pre-cum.

"well, are you gonna come in or not?"

"how do you- do you just want-"

"just sit between my legs." you let out a soft giggle, rafe nodding as he got into the bathtub, momentarily figuring out the best position as he clumsily sat between your legs, something about it feeling so endearing to you.

after a moment of silence, rafe let out a soft mumble, "this is... nice."

you pressed a soft kiss on his head, close to his ear, "i know." you whispered, running your hand down rafe's chest as you sucked on his earlobe slightly, making him let out a gasp. you chuckled against his skin as your hand traced down his abs, the firm muscles tensing under your touch.

the two of you stayed in the bath, speaking in quiet tones while you ran your fingers all over every muscle you could reach until your fingers turned pruny and the both of you decided to get out.

"can i have a towel?" rafe asked sheepishly, his cock just as painfully hard as it had been before you'd gotten into the tub, making your lips purse in thought. without a word, you kneeled down in front of him, rafe's eyes widening as if he was a deer in headlights as he looked down at you, "w-what are you-"

"can i suck your dick?"

you could see the redness that crept up his neck to his cheeks, "w-what?" rafe mumbled.

"i wanna suck your dick." you shrugged, bringing your hand to swipe the drop of pre-cum that wept out of the red tip of his cock, bringing it to your mouth and licking it, "can i?"

"r-really? you... want to...?"

you didn't bother giving your boyfriend an answer, instead pressing a small kiss on the tip of his cock, making the boy gasp and throw his head back, making you smirk, "i'm taking that as a yes."

you licked a long stripe up a vein on the underside of rafe's cock, and when your tongue finally reached the angry tip of his cock, you gripped the base of it with one of your hands, taking the mushroom head into your mouth.

rafe's groans, breaths and whimpers were possibly the most beautiful sound you had ever heard as you took him deeper in, inch by inch while your hand stroked the base of his cock slightly. whenever you looked up at rafe, there was a blissed-out smile on his face.

you moved your hand so you were fondling his balls, a shaky breath-turned moan leaving his lips, using the distraction to take all of him into your mouth. rafe gripped the bathroom sink, and you watched with a wicked grin as he tried to steady himself while your mouth moved up and down around his length, softly whispered curse words leaving his lips.

it didn't take too long for his breathing to get more and more shallow, for the look in rafe's eyes turning darker and darker, and he doesn't even have to say a thing for you to be able to know he was getting close.

"i'm- i'm gonna-"

you put more pressure on your hand that was fondling his balls, feeling him hit the back of your throat as you fastened the pace of your movements. the hand that hadn't been gripping onto the sink for dear life grabbed your hair, now moving along with you.

and if you thought the noises of pleasure rafe had been letting out were beautiful, the whiney noise he let out when you started feeling warm cum spurting onto your tongue was like a symphony. you slowed down your movements as you looked up at his face; the face that you'd so often seen wrinkled with worry over everything now looked as if nothing had ever been wrong.

when he let out a satisfied sigh, you swallowed the thick liquid, slowly pulling out rafe's softening cock out of your mouth. you smiled as you rose to your feet, taking hold of his jaw and pressing a soft peck onto the lips that still displayed his blissed-out smile, feeling his hands on your waist as you whispered against his lips,

"you did good."

[thargelalia]

Comrade Red Hood

jason todd x fem!reader

patriarchy sucks, thankfully your doting nerdy boyfriend is there to show you support

-> 3k words

-> fluff, hurt/comfort, tiniest bit suggestive

-> warnings: talks of v!olence and crime (c'mon, guys, it's Gotham); mansplaining (not by Jason); reader is a little mean, but she's only human; Jason is a serial kisser and we love that for him

“Are you upset?” 

“Yes.” 

“…is it something I did?” 

“Not everything’s about you.”

Jason’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he lets out a low whistle at your sharp words. “Damn. I thought I was supposed to be the broody one here.”

“Getting a taste of your own medicine sometimes is good.”

Silence.

“Sure you’re not mad at me?”

“I’m beginning to.” You let out a deep frustrated sigh, massaging your temples in a futile attempt to stop the incessant throbbing headache. “What do you want, Jason?” 

“I was just—is there anything I can do for you?” He asks, shifting weight between his legs. “You seemed a bit off over the phone earlier, so I decided to drop by.”

“I just want to be alone.” You sound less passive aggressive this time as exhaustion seeps into your words. ”My head is killing me right now, so I just had an aspirin. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” Since it’s dark and your eyes are glued to the ceiling, you’re unable to take in the dejected look on his face. 

Seeing you’ve got no objections — he kind of hoped you’d change your mind and ask for cuddles — Jason leaves the room wordlessly. It’s almost like he vanishes into thin air. A well-known skill amongst all bat-family members.

Even so, he’s surprisingly light on his feet for a big guy. But then again, we’re talking about a walking deadly weapon. A vicious vigilante. The prince of Gotham. Red Hood.

Or at least that’s what he usually is when he’s not sulking in the living room for being a victim of his girlfriend’s sour mood. 

Aside from the sound of a car or two passing by down below, and police sirens echoing distantly on occasion, your place is engulfed in a comfortable silence — this a relatively quiet neighborhood. Moonlight filters through your half-open curtains, a soft welcoming breeze swaying them gently to the side. 

At some point, your eyes flutter open. You don’t even remember falling asleep. There’s a dryness to your throat, prompting you to move around and reach for a slim water bottle on the nightstand. Next to it, the digital clock reads 2:17 AM. 

A five hour nap. Nice. 

Fortunately, the pounding inside your head has subsided.

Tsking in disappointment, seeing the bottle is empty, you detangle your legs from the sheets, begrudgingly getting up and dragging yourself to the kitchen. 

The lights in the living room are still on, making your eyes squint when you approach the entrance. You’re confused to discover Jason still lounging on the couch with a book in his hands, legs spread deliciously wide. One of his feet is propped against the edge of the coffee table.

“Thought you were still out on patrol.” 

He looks up, and blinks, not expecting to see you up. “Just got back, actually. About fifteen minutes ago or so, I think.”

You hum in response and take a moment to really observe him. 

His hair is still indeed damp as it falls over his forehead. He’s also shirtless, only dressed in gray sweatpants. Took him quite a long time to feel comfortable enough to show skin like this around you. Likewise, despite the smile that your reassurances bring to his face whenever you thank him for ‘blessing your eyes with such a delectable sight’, sometimes he still gets antsy if they linger too long on his scars. So, you try to respect his limits while also making sure he knows he’s incredible and beautiful. 

There are also beads of sweat accumulated on his bare chest and neck. Despite having just showered, his body is still overheated from Red Hood’s intense activities, you notice. 

No injuries in sight tonight, thank goodness. But if there were, though, he probably wouldn’t be here. He’d still rather agonize in pain alone in his apartment than letting his medical resident girlfriend tend to him. You’re still trying to ingrain into his stubborn mind that his health will never be a disturbance to you. He will never be a disturbance to you.

Hm, though he kinda was a little bit earlier before. However, that wasn’t his fault. Nor yours, for that matter.

As if on cue, his question breaks you out of your reverie.

“Feeling better?” You nod in affirmation and he gives a sweet smile. “Good. You should eat, baby. I got you something on my way back. It’s in the kitchen.”

You mirror his smile and resume your steps to the kitchen where there’s a white medium-sized paper bag sitting on the counter. 

Dismantling crime and wreaking havoc around Gotham, just to later on pick up food to appease his moody girlfriend back home. 

Isn’t that so cute? 

After drinking your fill of cool water, you grab the food bag, a plate – to avoid crumbs dirtying the floor – and return to the living room to eat in Jason’s company. He’s still engrossed in his book. Or rather, yours. Your small library is now his, but so is his yours. It’s an unspoken agreement.

“I didn’t know Mr. Abdul’s place stays open so late.” You say thoughtfully, munching on a falafel. Jason also got you a fattoush salad, hummus, and some pita bread. Yummy. 

You’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, legs on a pillow in his lap, while his forearms rests on top of them. He’s hunched forward in concentration on the pages in front of him.

“It doesn’t.” Without looking, Jason steals one falafel from the bag and pops it into his mouth. “I broke into his kitchen.“

You choke on a piece of pita bread. “What the f-”

“Relax. I left the money on the counter.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me??” He talks about it so casually. Almost like he’s done this before. “Wait. So, the cookies from Elena’s last time…”

“Well, that one’s obvious.” Successfully blocking a pillow chucked at his face, he rushes to defend himself, “BUT I never forget to pay, so technically I’m not stealing! Only billionaires are harmed here, I swear.”

You both know which particular billionaire he has in mind.

“Right. Keep telling yourself that, Robin. Hood.” You scoff, picking up the fattoush salad box, opening its lid and picking through vegetables with a plastic fork. Jason’s mouth opens in surprise. “Pun intended, by the way.” 

“Whatever.” He huffs with an eye roll, trying to conceal his amusement. To make a point, he raises the open book to his face and blocks your view of him, ignoring you completely. 

As you silently chew on radishes and lettuce, you take a minute to inspect what he’s reading. It’s a considerably thick book. Zeroing in the letters of the cover, your eyes widen in shock as you swallow. 

“Jason, is that—you’re reading The Capital?”

“Yeah, why?” He questions back, nonchalantly, lowering the book just past his eyes.  “You think I only read fiction?” 

“I guess… but I only asked because I think it’s an odd choice of reading given your night.” You explain, gathering the empty food containers, placing them inside the paper bag and setting it aside on the coffee table. “Aren’t you supposed to be tired?” 

“Of fighting against oppressive systems? Absolutely.” He quips, a playful smirk on his face. “This guy just gets me, you know?” 

Seeing the unimpressed look on your face, his smile dies down and he places the book down on the armrest. “I got an extra adrenaline rush while chasing Penguin’s goons this time. There were dozens of them ‘cause he was closing an important arms deal at a warehouse tonight.. Remember that time when we were watching a documentary about wolves, and it was showing how packs tend to slaughter entire flocks of sheep when they’re unable to escape from a confined space?”

“Is that your way of telling me you were in a… kill frenzy?” You swallow hard, trying not to sound too alarmed, but the distant look in his eyes accompanied by his eerie tone and word choice is unsettling. Even though you're well aware he doesn’t pose a danger to you.

Jason seldom shares the details about his gruesome Red Hood business with you. One, because he knows you already see too much violent shit while working at the hospital. 

Two, he knows you worry about his safety. 

Three, there’s also the fact that he’d like to keep a sense of normalcy at home. 

Four, and most importantly, he believes it’s best if you don’t access his dark side, but sometimes – like right now – he’s unable to conceal it. At the end of the day, he’s only someone fighting their shadows like any other. 

Although, his are evidently a bit more obscure and jarring. 

There’s a pregnant pause before he finally breaks out of his trance with a shake of his head. Taking in your tense posture and concerned face, he softens his demeanor, reaching for one of your hands. One, two, three kisses delivered to the tip of your fingers and he’s pulling you to sit straddling his legs. Calloused palms start rubbing the top of your thighs in reassurance back and forth. 

“Don’t worry, baby. I didn’t shoot to kill..uh, mostly.” There’s no way of telling if he’s being sincere, and, frankly, you’d rather not think about this. As usual, he’s attuned to your senses, and tries to lighten the conversation up. “Anyways, I was still feeling charged when I got back. That’s why I picked one of your brainy books to help me wind down. Since your Sociology shelf was right in my line of sight, I decided to give it a try… Oh, I just remembered I forgot to bring you my French copy of Madame Bovary again.” 

“Hm, it’s fine. I’ll borrow it next time I’m at your place. But, back to my books. Why do I feel like this isn’t a first time thing? I did find some of my Sociology books misplaced a couple of weeks ago,” you complain. “Glad you’re having fun tackling dialectical materialism as a post-vigilante workout, but please make sure you put my books in order once you’re done.” 

“So bossy.” He playfully tuts, adding a nip to your shoulder. Then you feel his lips trace a slow path up to your neck, leaving a slow deliberate kiss there. “And so pretty, too.”

He smiles mischievously, lips still attached to your skin, as you shudder. 

Devious bastard.

Crossing your arms, you try not to blush and keep your voice steady. “I mean it, Jason.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll mind your precious organization.” He follows his promise with a chaste kiss, this time to your lips. “But seriously, you do look pretty.” 

“What, out of a sudden?” You raise your eyebrows in amusement. 

Jason prides himself in being a skillful liar. It often comes in handy. 

But he most definitely is not the type to give empty compliments. 

Especially not to the most precious person of his life. 

And you’re aware of that. His eyes don’t lie.

There’s that deep candid warmth swirling within those mesmerizing irises that just captures you whole. They remind you of the ocean, colors of a fine line between blue and green, like teal. Sometimes calm and serene, sometimes agitated and raging. 

One thing is sure. You’re the only person who gets to soak into the tranquil waters hidden amidst the windows of his soul. 

Because you’re the only one capable of bringing them out. 

“Nah, I always think that when I see your face.” Comes his reply.

At that, more kisses ensue. Obviously.

First one is yours, molding your lips to his in an instant as you try to return his incessant devotion with eagerness. He wastes no time in reciprocating, mouth slightly parting to welcome your tongue inside. It makes your head fuzzy all over. Every single fucking time. This type of intimacy took almost as long to construct as the display of his body. You’re never taking his trust for granted. Never. Soon enough, Jason discovered himself to be a great fan of kissing. You. He’s done it before with other people, sure, but it didn’t make him feel like this. Yearn like this. As if he depended on it to survive. And he might as well do. Your fingers find their way to his scalp, tangling in silky locks and pulling while trapping his lower lip between your teeth, eliciting a soft groan from him. As a result, he grips your hips harder, drawing you impossibly closer. The heat from his bare muscular chest is scorching, almost too much to bear as it seeps through your shirt – his shirt. 

You two only break apart because he decides to now trail his lips downward, leaving you panting, eyes sealed shut in pleasure, as he works his mouth across every other available patch of your skin. From jaw to neck, and shoulder. And back up.

This time his ministrations are sweeter and more tender, making you melt completely into his embrace. 

Finally sated, after delivering a last kiss behind your ear, he whispers softly and a little breathless, “Wanna share now why you almost bit my head off a few hours ago, hm?” 

Watching your face fall when he pulls back, his heart equally drops, causing him to backtrack, “S’okay, baby. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.”

You exhale shakily, glancing down to fiddle with the hems of your – his – shirt. A hand cups your cheek, and tilts your head upwards carefully, thumb brushing the soft skin back and forth. Molten blue-green irises coaxing you to relax like the gentle sway of the sea. Telling he’s trusty and willing to listen.

“No, it’s just… ugh…” He waits patiently as you gather your thoughts. “I had to deal with one of my stupid professors mansplaining to me during my presentation today. A subject that I’ve been studying for years now. I knew what I was talking about and he acted as if I didn’t, saying that I didn’t use the concepts correctly like I was a child. Some of my colleagues told me I shouldn’t take his words personally, but it fucking sucked. Still does. I hate it when people, especially men, undermine my intelligence. I just felt so frustrated, I went to the bathroom and cried when the presentation ended. And to top it off, I got a miserable headache on the way home. So yeah, that’s why I was in such a shitty mood tonight. I’m sorry I took it out on you…” 

While describing what happened and venting about your feelings, you barely registered the way his arms tensed around you or how a muscle in his jaw ticked. There’s really no mistaking the look on his face now. The dark stormy blue that has replaced the soothing sea green. “Jason, no. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“He upset you.” Your boyfriend states in a clipped tone. “He made you cry.” 

“No matter how tempting, you can’t just fuck up every single guy that gets on my nerves.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Jace.” You beg, exasperated. “Please. That’s not what I need right now, okay? He was being an asshole, yes, but the academy, and the whole world, is crowded with them unfortunately. Most of the time, I can handle it just fine. But, today was different. I’ve been preparing for my presentation for days, so he caught me by surprise with his arrogance and my anxiety kinda escalated, I guess. What I mean is I didn’t tell you this because I wanted you to avenge me. I just want to be understood. Can’t you do that for me?” The sight of tears filling your wide eyes dilute his outrage instantly. You’re engulfed in a tight comforting hug.

“Of course, baby. I’ll never feel the same as you ‘cause I’m not a woman, but you must know I’m here for you and I’m sorry you had to deal with this.” He offers, sympathetically, before something darker twists his features again. “I won’t lie to you, though. It’d be easy for me to rip that fucking bastard’s tongue—”

“Jason.”

“—and feed it to his mouth until he chokes—”

“Jason.” 

He puts a finger to your mouth to silence you, just to pull back immediately before it gets bitten off.

“—but I won’t do that.” Not today at least, he keeps this last part to himself. “My point is a brilliant woman like you will always be a threat to insecure fuckers like him. Bet he’s just jealous he’ll never shine as bright as you do.”

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in it with a sniffle. “I love you.”

“I love you too. A lot.” Nuzzling into your hair, he inhales the soft scent of jasmine shampoo. “Feeling okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.” You really are. But, then, you sigh wistfully. “I’m thinking if I were an Amazon, it’d probably be easier to deal with this type of situation.”

“How so?” He tilts his head, confused.

“You know… I’d be strong, powerful... intimidating. Stuff like that.” 

“You already wield your intellect like the sharpest blade I’ve ever seen. Your words are eloquent and sharp when you stick up for what you believe. Not to mention the way you carry yourself with confidence even when you’re in a room filled with strangers.” He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, speaking earnestly. “Trust me, sweetheart. You don’t need to be an Amazon when you’re already a goddess.” 

“That’s… wow… I wasn’t expecting that.” The butterflies are throwing a fucking rave in your stomach. You just can’t stop grinning, so you playfully hit his shoulder. “Never knew you could be so sappy.” 

He catches your wrist delicately, not missing the opportunity to turn it and plant his lips on your knuckles.

“That’s all on you. You turned me into this.” He claims, placing your open palm over his heart, and holding it there. It’s beating quite rapidly. Like yours is. “Take responsibility, woman.” 

“Fine,” you concede with a playful eye roll. Guilty as charged, your honor. “But, seriously, thank you. Your words mean a lot.”

“You mean a lot to me. Don’t ever forget that.” One, two, three pecks to his lips. You discover you really love kissing him as well. 

Suddenly, he’s covering his mouth with a yawn. Outside, Gotham’s black heaven is starting to get tinged with pink and yellow, announcing the sun’s impending arrival. Soon the streets around your building will have people going out about their day. Unbeknownst to them, one of the guys responsible for their safety sleeps tucked in your bed right around the corner. 

“We should probably sleep.” Jason begins, effortlessly getting up in a swift motion while still holding onto you. Your legs wrap around his waist as he walks you two to the bedroom. “I already lost way more brain cells than intended. Gotta save some for Mary Wollstonecraft tomorrow.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“And you need to get woke,” he taunts.

“These are my books!” You counter, indignantly. 

“Ours. Don’t be so individualistic, baby. That’s why capitalism—” Not letting him finish, you jump off his arms and go into the bathroom as he trails behind like a lost puppy.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, comrade Red Hood. Now shut your revolutionary mouth, and let’s get ready for bed.”

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this is where i got the dividers