#and as a woman it would probably be a foolish move too

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

having a history of chronic suicidality is a little funny when you get intrusive thoughts that feel so unserious and then you realise that you're seriously thinking about it and it's like... where did that come from?

[flickering-chandelier]

You Drew Stars Around My Scars

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader meet one day and the connection is instantaneous. Azriel becomes worried though, when Reader starts showing up late to their dates more consistently. When the truth comes out, they need to figure out how to keep moving forward.

Based on this request! Thank you for sending it in, I hope you like it! 🩷

Word Count: 3.8k

The market was bustling today and Azriel cringed slightly, pulling his wings in even tighter behind him. He had no idea why Amren had insisted that he be the one to pick up the items she needed for her new project. Perhaps because she knew that he would be the least likely to complain. 

He was approaching the stall that carried what Amren needed when his gaze snagged on someone at a neighboring one and he stopped dead in his tracks, causing the people around him to curse and move around him, irritated.

Azriel barely heard it though, his attention fully on you. You had a simple dress on, but it accentuated your curves beautifully, your hair was loose, falling down your back in ringlets. The way you moved was graceful as you picked up an item to inspect. 

But your smile as you talked to the owner of the stall, the way it lit up your face with such kindness… that is what made Azriel’s knees feel like they were about to give out.

He longed to approach you, but by the time that he had come to his senses enough to start moving, you too had moved, working your way through the market. It was so crowded that he lost track of you. 

Crestfallen, he went back to the stall and got the supplies for Amren. 

---

Days later, Azriel still could not get you out of his mind. That damn smile haunted his dreams and his every waking moment. 

So much so, that at the earliest opportunity, he went back to the market, his eyes raking the crowd for any sign of you. He seriously contemplated flying up to a rooftop for a better angle, but that would probably be frowned upon. 

He perused the market, feeling a bit foolish. The Night Court’s spymaster, reduced to wandering around the market on his day off like a lost puppy in hopes of finding a woman he didn’t even know.

His spirits lifted dramatically though, when he saw you. You were perusing a stall, inspecting a jar with a shiny liquid inside. 

Azriel didn’t let himself hesitate this time, dodging people milling about as he strode for you. Eventually, he appeared at your side, and you looked up at him, so surprised to suddenly see a large, looming male next to you, that you dropped the jar that you were holding.

Smoothly, he caught it before it hit the ground and offered it to you. Your eyes sparked with recognition as you studied him: the wings, the Illyrian clothing, the shadows twirling around his biceps. 

Your fingers brushed his as you took the jar back from him and you murmured, “Thank you.”

He nodded, offering you a faint smile, not sure what to say. He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“You’re the High Lord’s shadowsinger,” you said, looking up at him, sounding a little breathless.

“I am. But most people just call me Azriel,” he said, a note of humor edging his voice.

That smile you had offered the others before was now turned on him, and he felt as if the ground was swaying underneath him. You offered him your name, before saying, “I feel a bit like I’m meeting a celebrity.”

Azriel could feel slight heat in his cheeks, and tried to maintain the neutral expression he nearly always wore. He waved his hand dismissively, “Trust me, I’m not. Cassian is more of the celebrity. I mostly blend into the shadows.”

You tilted your head, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, studying the hard line of his jaw, his hazel eyes, the curve of his mouth. “That’s a shame,” you said, a little wistfully.

Azriel’s heart was thundering now. “Do you want to get dinner?” 

Your smile widened. “I think I can make that happen. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed. 

You picked the restaurant and the time, and just like that, Azriel had a date.

---

The date was, in his opinion, nothing short of amazing. 

He had arrived a bit early to dinner, and you waltzed up to the restaurant exactly on time, looking like a vision. Part of your hair was braided around your head like a crown, but part was still flowing down over your shoulders, curled. Your dress hugged the curve of your waist, the hem landing midway down your shin, perfect for the summer. 

You beamed as you approached him, and Azriel had to concentrate to keep his breathing steady. The two of you were seated outside, watching the sun set over the river. 

The conversation was easy. You kept it light and playful, grazing your hand against his bicep every once in a while when you laughed, the sound bright and beautiful.

Flirting, he realized. You were flirting with him. Laughing with him. Making him laugh.

Mother, when was the last time he had felt like this?

Had he ever felt like this?

After dinner ended, you stood up and gently took his hand in yours, tugging lightly so he stood up too, towering over you. “Do you want to take a walk?” you asked, your eyes sparkling under the stars that were out by then. 

“Lead the way,” he said, one side of his mouth turning up into a smile.

You led him to the artists’ quarter, the lights vibrant against the night. He watched as your eyes lit up at the site, marveling at all the artwork, the people milling about. 

“Oh, look!” you exclaimed, excitedly pulling him to a painting of the mountains surrounding Velaris. “It’s beautiful,” you told the painter, who nodded in thanks, smiling.

Azriel couldn’t help but stare as you took in the painting, your eyes alight. 

“Are you a painter?” he asked.

“I try to be,” you grinned at him. “I’m not very good.”

Before he could respond, another painting caught your eye and you gasped, tugging on his hand, leading him through the crowd. Azriel laughed, and you turned back to smile at him, your whole face lighting up. His heart swelled.

On and on you went, his lifeboat pulling him through the sea of artists. He could have gone on like that forever, he thought. 

You were about to pull him to another painting when you suddenly turned to him, flushed. “I’m sorry,” you said. “I’ve gotten carried away, haven’t I?”

Azriel shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.”

You smiled, seeming shy all of a sudden. “It’s late,” you said. “I should probably head back.” 

“Can I walk you home?”

Your smile grew and you nodded your head for him to follow. Your arms brushed as you walked, taking in the night air. 

It was a short walk to your house, and you stopped before the door and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Azriel. Tonight was… amazing.”

Azriel couldn’t help but smile back at you. “It was.”

You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek lightly before turning to the door, and Azriel said your name, stopping you before you could open it. “Can I see you again?”

You beamed. “Meet me by the Rainbow in two days?”

Smirking, Azriel said, “Absolutely.”

---

Azriel could hardly focus on anything else while he waited to see you again. His friends absolutely knew something was up with him, but did not pester him about it. Yet. 

Two days after the initial date, Azriel was waiting in the Rainbow, where you had told him you wanted to meet. 

He waited. And waited.

Trying to stomp down his growing anxiety that you wouldn’t show, he gazed at the art around him. You had been right on time to your first date. Had you changed your mind about him?

He was about to walk through the artists’ quarter, wondering if he had not remembered correctly where you wanted to meet, when you finally arrived, your cheeks flushed, but you looked beautiful as ever. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, a little breathless. “Something came up -- it’s hard to explain. I swear I tried to be on time.” 

Azriel was just glad that you had come. “It’s alright,” he smiled reassuringly. 

Your eyes twinkled under the stars, relieved. “Thank you.”

His smile widened and he lightly squeezed your upper arm, trying to soothe you. 

You smiled slowly and arched an eyebrow, mischief written all over your face. “So, I had an idea.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

Laughing, you said, “Let’s go dancing.”

Azriel’s smile dropped. You laughed even more. “Dancing,” he repeated. 

“Dancing,” you grinned.

“I can’t dance.” 

“Oh, please. Everyone can dance.” 

“Not me,” Azriel said, smiling despite himself.

“Please,” she murmured, taking a step closer to him and looking up at him from under her lashes. “For me?”

Azriel sighed, raking a hand through his hair. You knew you already had him wrapped around his little finger. “Fine.”

You squealed with delight, taking his hand in yours and walking in the direction of the Velaris night clubs. Azriel tried to focus on the positives: your soft hand in his, how happy you were, how your hair bounced as you walked.

By the time you got to the nightclub, Azriel’s felt like his heart was in his throat. He really did not dance.

But you strode right in, glancing back at him with the biggest smile on your face. You led him right into the middle of the crowd of people pulsing with the music. 

He stood still and watched as you moved your hips, your arms up above your head, twirling around like you didn’t have a care in the world. I could easily fall in love with this woman, he thought. Easily.

You turned back to him and laughed brightly, placing your hands on his hips, trying to make them move. He didn’t budge, which made you laugh even more. “Come on, shadowsinger. Live a little!”

He wanted to, if only to make you happy, but he couldn’t focus on anything but your hands on him and that smile that knocked the breath out of his lungs.

Studying him for a moment, you said over the music, “Okay, I see we need to try a different tactic,” you said, taking his hand in yours and leading him to the edge of the dance floor, where it was less crowded. 

You stepped right up to him then, so your bodies were barely an inch away. You took both of his hands and settled them on your hips, then placed your hands on his shoulders. 

“Don’t think so much, just move,” you said, your voice light and teasing. 

He towered over you, watching as you moved your hips, lightly pushing and pulling on his shoulders so he would move with you. It took nearly a full song, but eventually his body relaxed, letting himself be guided by you.

“There you go,” you grinned. 

Suddenly, the song slowed significantly, and you looked up at him, becoming slightly shy again. 

He gazed down at you, smiling faintly as he pulled you in closer to him, keeping one hand at your waist and taking one of your hands in his. 

Azriel swore he saw your breath catch as you studied his face, eyes slightly wide. Azriel tightened his grip on you slightly when your eyes dipped to his mouth and lingered there. 

Holding his breath, he leaned in slowly, stopping a breath away from your lips, giving you a moment to back up if you wanted to. But, you surged forward, connecting your mouth with his. 

He smiled into the kiss, bringing a scarred hand up to gently cup your cheek. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, and as the music swelled to a crescendo, he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You gasped into his mouth, bending your knees as he held you in the air. 

Gently, he set you down a few moments later, and when he pulled back, you were smiling, your cheeks dusted red. 

“That might have been the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me,” you said, your tone teasing, but your eyes alight. 

“Me too,” Azriel murmured, unable to tear his gaze away from your beautiful face. 

The two of you spent hours together, and Azriel found himself unable to keep his hands off you. You seemed the same way, always placing a hand on his arm, on his shoulder, while he rested his hand on your hips, the small of your back, or held your hand in his. 

For hours, he watched you dance, and willed his body to move with you, only because your eyes shined, your smile bright, when he did so.

At the end of the night, he walked you home once again, this time pulling you in by the waist and kissing you until you were breathless, twining his hand into your soft hair, your hands on his face.

---

Weeks passed, and the two of you kept meeting as often as your schedules would allow. 

Azriel would have been on cloud nine… except that he was starting to have his doubts. When the two of you were together, it was amazing, a connection and energy that he had never felt with anybody before. In the privacy of his own mind, he was even willing to concede that he had absolutely fallen for you.

But he couldn’t pretend that everything was perfect. You had been late to nearly every date. He would always be unnerved waiting for you, thinking that this would be the time that you would leave him hanging, never to be heard from again. But then, you would come, always breathless, like you had rushed to get there, and would apologize profusely, but never giving an explanation. Azriel couldn’t help but wonder if you were not as interested in him as he was in you.

He considered talking to Cassian or Rhys about it, but had a suspicion that they would not be very helpful.

So eventually, he decided just to talk to you about it. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to keep seeing him if you didn’t want to.

There was clearly movement in your house as he approached. He took a deep breath before knocking.

Your eyes were wide in surprise, but not unhappy, when you opened the door. “Azriel,” you smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, quietly. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but before anything could come out, a little boy, a toddler came running to the door, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Azriel hulking in the doorway. 

The boy gaped at Azriel, his mouth hanging open in shock, before turning to you, “Mom! That’s the shadowsinger!” he squealed, running up to said shadowsinger and wrapping his tiny arms around Azriel’s legs, his head not even meeting Azriel’s knees. The boy looked up at Azriel in awe, “you are so cool.”

Azriel’s head spun, trying to process the information in front of him, but he couldn’t focus over the feeling of his heart absolutely melting as he gazed at this boy, full of such joy. He patted the boy’s back, smiling. “You think so?”

He nodded vigorously, his curly hair that matched his mother’s flicking over his eyes. “I wish I could be a spy.”

Azriel grinned. “I can teach you, if your mom says it’s okay.”

The boy gasped, and Azriel looked at you for the first time since your son had made himself known. You looked like you were about to cry, your hands clasped in front of you. He couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.

“Honey, why don’t you go play for a little bit?” you said, your voice slightly shaky, steering your son into the other room. “Mom has to talk to Mr. Shadowsinger about grownup stuff for a little bit.”

He pouted a bit, but did as he was told, reluctantly untangling himself from Azriel and toddling into the next room.

You sighed when you were alone with Azriel, searching his face.

“This is why you’ve been late,” Azriel said, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Azriel took your hand in his, trying to ground himself. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Your eyes filled with tears, and Azriel’s heart cracked. “Most males aren’t interested in raising someone else’s kid. And I liked you… I was too scared to lose you.”

There was no breath in Azriel’s lungs. He ached for you, for what you had no doubt been through with other males who you tried to date. He wanted to rip them to shreds. Slowly, he leaned down, gently kissing each tear away. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, leaning his forehead against yours. “Not unless you want me to.” 

You sniffed, looking up at him through damp lashes. “I don’t want you to.”

Azriel smiled softly. “Good,” he murmured, pulling you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head.

You stayed like that for a while, holding each other, before he asked, “What’s his name?”

“Jax.”

“Do you think Jax has it in him to be a spymaster?”

You laughed against his chest, and Azriel smiled into your hair. “I think he can be whatever he wants to be.”

He pulled back to look at you, tilting his face down to meet your eye. “Do you want me in his life? If it’s too soon, that’s okay. But I would love to get to know him, eventually.”

That beautiful smile shone on your face as you said, “I would love that.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Azriel taught Jax how to be a spy. They ran around the house, ducking behind furniture, following invisible enemies. 

Azriel glanced at you periodically, reveling in the bright smile on your face, your eyes shining. 

---

Jax became an important fixture in Azriel’s life, often accompanying your dates around Velaris. One day, Azriel had recruited Feyre to help get you all into a painting class for all ages. 

You grinned as Azriel led you and Jax into the studio set up with paints and easels. There were a few other families there, setting up their work stations. 

“Azriel, will you make a painting with me?” Jax asked, his green eyes wide as he looked up at Az.

“Are you sure you don’t want to make your own?” Azriel asked.

Jaz nodded. “I’m sure,” he said, taking Azriel’s hand and leading him to the paint station to pick out colors. Jax chose color after color, handing them all to Azriel, who was grinning, trying to keep hold of all the paints. 

You beamed, your heart full as you watched your son and Azriel together, laughing as they painted together. The easel was set up for Jax to reach it, so Az was sitting on the floor in order to reach it whenever Jax demanded that he contribute to their painting. 

Azriel was smiling and laughing with the boy, adding in elementary looking trees and bushes wherever Jax instructed him. 

By the end, they had a painting that looked very much like a toddler made it. It was nearly impossible to tell who had painted what: Jax or Azriel. 

You laughed as Azriel showed it off to you with a flourish, Jax excitedly bouncing on his toes. “Mom, can we hang this up at home?”

“Of course we can,” you grinned, your heart swelling at Azriel’s soft, loving smile.

Azriel came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder to look at your painting while Jaz was busy admiring his own painting. 

“I thought you said you weren’t very good,” Azriel murmured, his heart swelling as he took in the painting that you had created.

It was of that day, of Azriel and Jax painting together. Jax happily paints while Azriel sits on the floor, grinning at him, holding the palette of paint up for Jax to use.

“Do you like it?” you said quietly. 

“I love it,” he said, nuzzling your neck. “I love you.”

He felt you stiffen beneath his fingers and froze. He had just realized that was the first time he had told you. 

You twisted in his arms, turning to face him, your eyes shining. “I love you too, Az.”

Azriel’s knees nearly buckled with relief. He gave you a quick, sweet kiss, wishing he wasn’t in public. 

---

By Starfall, the three of you were really starting to feel like a family, and Azriel had never been happier. Cassian and Rhys teased him about it relentlessly, but he knew it was because they were happy for their brother who had finally found happiness like they had.

Azriel kept by your side, his hand on the small of your back as you navigated the crowded balcony on the House of Wind, Jax holding onto your hand. 

The three of you had spent the beginning of the celebration with the rest of Azriel’s family, and even though they had met before, Jax remained completely enamored with Feyre, Rhysand and Cassian, asking them a million questions about being the High Lady, High Lord, and the commander of armies, respectfully. The three just laughed, going along with it until Azriel deemed it was time to give his brothers and his High Lady a break. 

The three of you stood together, holding hands, looking to the sky as the music started and the spirits started to move across the sky, slowly at first, and then thousands of them, shooting across the world like shooting stars. 

Jax watched awestruck for a few minutes before he noticed that there were children playing a game on the far side of the balcony, and he looked to you excitedly, running over to them after you had nodded.

“Stay where we can see you!” Azriel called after him.

You turned to Azriel, hugging his waist, gazing up into his eyes lovingly. 

“What?” Azriel smiled, sliding his hand down your back, making you shiver.

“I’ve just never been this happy,” you murmured.

“I haven’t either,” Azriel said softly, leaning down to kiss you. 

Azriel pulled your body into his then, leading you into a slow, romantic dance underneath the falling stars. 

“Happy Starfall,” he said, gazing down at you with all the love in the world.

“Happy Starfall, Az,” you said.

[stairain]

Vegas Redemption.

You spot Spencer at a hotel lounge alone, you see has a ring on his finger, but that doesn't stop you.

Warnings: Dom + Rough Spencer, sort of switch reader, brat reader, light drinking, cheating, his wife is cheating on him too so don't worry, cunnilingus, hair pulling, mentions of Spencer getting reader pregnant. 

WC: 7K

A “business trip” is what you had told your friends, when you packed your bags for the weekend and all too eagerly got on a plane to Vegas. After all, being coined the “city of sin” and going just for business seemed foolish. 

Adorned in elegance and dripping in determination, you made your way from your hotel room to the bottom floor with a fiery look of pursuit in your sultry eyes. 

You're walking through the cozy and sultry atmosphere of the hotel lounge, the bar immediately catching your eye. It wasn't because of the wide range of drinks they had on display, nor was it the colorful light fixtures they had installed above said drinks. It was because a beautiful stranger was sitting alone at the bar, keeping to himself as he sipped on his drink. 

You waltz over to him, subtly going to sit a few seats away from him, you couldn't pounce just yet.

He sits at the bar, drinking quietly. The only sign that he's noticed your presence is a slight turn of his head to the side, his eyes fixed on his glass in front of him. He keeps his back straight and his hands on the counter. When you sit close to him, his eyes look up at you and he smiles briefly before taking another sip of his drink. His expression returns to complete indifference when his eyes return to his glass, and he takes another slow, deliberate sip. The drink is probably an expensive scotch.

As he raises the glass to meet his lips, you squint and look at his finger. A ring. The man was married.

But that did nothing to deter you, in fact, it only made you want him more. You would make him yours, he wouldn't belong to whatever woman sported the other ring, not after tonight.

After you order a drink of your own, you slowly get up from your seat, and migrate to the one directly next to him. A playful smile is plastered on your face.

You can see him look at you briefly as you move closer, and the corner of his mouth lifts very slightly - the barest hint of a smile - before he returns his attention to his drink.  He doesn't say anything, but you notice that he sets the glass down more gently than he needed to, in a way that shows he doesn't mind having you close.

You tilt your head to the side a bit as he doesn't immediately look at you, but still flashes the tiniest smile. "What brings you here? Business trip, vacation.. an escape, maybe?" 

Your tone is teasing, insinuating that he was here to get away from whatever wife he has at home, whatever wife he would inevitably be taken away from anyways.

He looks up at you when you speak, the faintest smile on his face, and he runs his thumb along the edge of his glass in the most casual way, as though he's doing it purely out of idle habit.  His eyes scan you for a moment, his gaze stopping over your face and body for just a moment too long before returning to the glass. He seems completely relaxed. His tone is calm and almost lazy when he speaks, and he almost seems amused by you.

"An escape."

Bingo. That was the exact answer you were hoping for. You lean forward a bit and choose your next words carefully. 

"From what.. or who..? If you don't mind me asking, Sir."

The only response you get at first is a faint quirk of his lips, followed by a slow sip of the scotch in his glass. When he's finished, he sets the glass down and looks at you with a mild amusement in his eyes. 

“What's it worth to you, darling?" His voice is low and soft with a hint of a sarcasm, his hazel eyes studying you calmly, with just the slightest flare of interest lurking just beneath the surface of that studied calm.

The bartender hands you your own glass, and you raise it to your own lips, licking over them in a teasing manner before taking a small sip. 

"Everything, depending on your answer."

He lets out a low chuckle after you speak, and you can see a trace of genuine amusement in his eyes now.  His eyebrows raise in a playful way, as though he's impressed, but his tone remains calm when he speaks. 

"Is that so? Very well then."

He turns in the barstool to face you, leaning in casually and running his right palm over the back of his neck for just a moment before he stops. 

"My wife is cheating on me."

You can't help the wicked smirk that creeps on your features at hearing that. Your eyes flash from his ring, back up to his mysterious eyes. Taking another sip from your drink, your other hand reaches out to touch the ring on his finger. You don't say anything.

His smile only grows with your smirk, and you can see the playfulness in his gaze deepen slightly as your hand reaches out and touches his ring. His dark eyes never leave you, and you can see that playfulness in the faint quirk at the corner of his mouth and the twinkle in his eye, as though you both know that he's not planning on staying married for much longer.

"And you want a chance to replace her, don't you?"

His tone is neutral, but there is an undercurrent of amusement in his voice. Something in his expression dares you to say it aloud.

Quickly looking up at him and stopping your movements, your smile only grows. Your touch retracts from him, and you lean back into your own seat. 

"What are my odds, sir?" You say with a cocky tone, lifting your glass to your mouth.

He laughs, as though he appreciates your boldness. You can see the amusement in his eyes grow, and it's clear that your confidence is having a definite effect on him.  His voice is tempting when he responds, and the corner of his mouth tilts up in a teasing smile. 

"Very high, as long as you play your cards right, sweetheart."

"If you're the one dealing the cards, it seems I've already won.." 

The tone in your voice has significantly lowered, but the confidence and cockiness never left, if anything, it only grew. This man would be yours, and by the end of the night, you'd hope to pawn that ring of his and buy him a one way ticket to your place.

He smiles at you as he takes another sip of his drink, holding his position for a moment before he leans a little closer and speaks in a soft tone.

"Now darling, it wouldn't be any fun if I just gave the prize away so easily, would it? Do you know how to play your part, or do you need me to help teach you?" His voice is quiet with a hint of an invitation in it, his smile playful and teasing as his eyes scan you from top to bottom.

"Tell me what to do, and I'm yours." Your chin lowers as you stare at him right in his own piercing eyes, as if trying to challenge him.

His tone is low, and you can hear the amusement still in it when he speaks.  He meets your gaze, his eyes glassy with desire, and he pauses for a moment before the corner of his mouth curls up into a wicked smile. He leans even slightly closer as he speaks, and his voice is a purr.

"Make me want you, darling.”

"Already done, Sir." You arrogantly lean back in your seat and take a sip of your drink, looking unamused.

He laughs at the cockiness in your voice, his smile growing. In the corner of your eye you notice a couple of other people have turned to stare at both of you, and you can tell at least one of them is intrigued by the scene unfolding between you two. Your confidence seems to be having that effect on people.

"So you've already caught my attention, then? That's half the battle. Your next move will have to be enough to make me want to keep you."

"Tell me the part you want me to play then, sir. I don't mind a challenge."

He lets out the ghost of a chuckle.

"Tell you what..." He reaches into his suit coat and pulls out a business card, leaning forward as he sets it on the bar between you. His expression is relaxed, his eyes studying you calmly, and his tone is serious as he speaks.

"How about I invite you to my hotel room? That way I can show you exactly how badly I want you."

You swallow at his words, and pick up the card, trading it for the glass in your hand. 

Dr. Spencer Reid. 

You look back up to him and nod.

"Lead the way, Doctor.”

He smiles at you, his gaze roaming over your face and body again before he nods towards the door. "My room is on the top floor." He stands up from the bar, waiting just long enough for you to get up as well before he begins to walk towards the door and makes his way to the elevator, his movements deliberate and confident. 

"I expected no less from a man like you, Sir." You follow behind him like a dog, trying to keep up.

"Then I expect no less from a girl like you." His shoots back and he reaches out as you follow him towards the elevator to give you a wink. His eyes dart up and down you in that subtle way he had, and his eyes linger on your legs for even just a moment too long before he pulls the hotel room key out of his suit pocket and swipes it through the elevator, waiting for the doors to open before he steps inside, holding the door open as he turns to look at you expectantly.

You walk into the elevator silently, and stare up at him longingly as he walks in and presses the top floor, then stands right next to you. The stretch of his arm, his tall back, it was already driving you mad. There's desire running all throughout your body, and you don't know if you could wait the entire ride up to keep your hands off of him. He no doubt would be able to feel the utter desperation radiating off of you. 

His eyes never leave you as he presses the button for the top floor, and you can tell that he enjoys the effect he has on you. You can see that it only adds to his allure for you, and the closer you get as the elevator rises, the harder it would be for him to resist if you were to start kissing him right now.

And so he doesn't resist. It's not a second longer until his hands are cradling your head, and your hands are grabbing at his wrists as he pulls you in a fiery, passionate kiss, right in the middle of the elevator. You're taken aback, but that doesn't stop you from trying to kiss him back with the same possessive passion he's pouring into you.

He leans against the elevator wall and pulls you in close with a passion that takes you off guard, the sudden heat of his kiss and the feeling of his hands in your hair taking you by surprise and sending electric shocks through your body. The elevator dings to alert you that you've arrived at his floor, and it takes a moment more before he pulls away from you. His gaze is intense as he looks at you, a low moan rumbling in his throat as he looks at you hungrily.

He licks over his lips once, and swallows. 

"You taste like heaven."

It takes you a few seconds to catch your breath and compose yourself after the dizzying kiss, and you breathlessly laugh.

"Just you wait, sir.."

He chuckles, and you can see that the kiss has left him visibly flustered as well.  He takes your hand and leads you out of the elevator and to his room.  He unlocks it with his key card, but before he opens the door he turns to look at you with a sly smile and raises an eyebrow.

"And just what do you mean by that, darling?"

"It wouldn't be any fun if I just gave the prize away so easily, would it, Sir?" You repeat his previous words back to him, and shoot him a wink. He lets out another low chuckle. 

"Well played, dear." He opens the door and steps back to let you go first, and he closes it behind you once you've entered. 

You walk in, not before flashing him a playful smirk. As you step in the room, you're immediately met with such a luxurious atmosphere, it almost makes your jaw drop.

The room is luxurious, with plush carpeting and elegant furniture.  He gestures to a comfortable-looking chair across from a small coffee table, and as he's letting you take in the room he leans against the wall and crosses one long leg over the other. 

"Make yourself comfortable, darling, I'll mix you a drink." His tone is still teasing as he looks at you, and he gives you a quick wink as he turns to the built-in bar to grab the decanter of scotch and two thick glasses.

You nod and try not to let your awe take over your entire mind, you were here for a reason. As you sit down, you turn your body to watch him, and you lick your lips at the sight of him in that suit of his, fixing a drink for the both of you.

Spencer smiles when he sees that you're watching, his tone teasing as he speaks.

"Enjoying the view, are you?" He turns back to the decanter as he pours the whiskey into the two glasses, and he looks at you over his shoulder with a look in his eye that suggests you might enjoy him even more once he takes off the suit jacket and tie.

“Too much, Sir." You bite your lip.

“I can fix that, if you’d like…” He turns around completely to face you. He’s holding the two glasses in his hands now, and he flashes you a knowing look before leaning forward and setting them on the coffee table.

He starts to unbutton his suit jacket, but he doesn’t move to take it off yet. His attention is focused on you, as though he’s waiting for a response before he proceeds.

Your eyes snap to his skillful fingers as they push off the buttons of his suit, and you find yourself looking at him with pleading eyes as you give him a gentle nod.

He smiles at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he finishes with the buttons so the suit jacket comes off cleanly and easily. He drapes the jacket over the arm of the other chair, and he flashes you another small, taunting smile before he starts to undo the buttons of his dress shirt.

“Would you like me to take this off as well, or save it for later?” His tone is teasing as he speaks, and you can tell that he’s enjoying this exchange as much as you are.

"Keep it on, sir." You softly command before leaning over and picking up the glass from the table. Your eyes travel up and down his body as you take a sip.

He smiles when you command him, and you can tell he likes the control.  He reaches out to grab the other glass, still watching you with soft eyes. His voice is content when he speaks. 

"Well then, darling..." He leans forward just enough to place a kiss on the back of your hand, and he looks at you with an expectant smile, his tone tempting as he speaks. "What would you like to do, now that we're alone?"

You subconsciously rub your thighs together, and lightly moan the slight friction it provides to your aching clit. You sigh and smile up at him. "What happened to a challenge, sir? Seems like you're giving it up quite easily for me.."

"We both know you're the prize.  So.." He gives you another one of his playful winks, taking a sip of his scotch as the two of you look each other over with a faint smile. His eyes flash down to your legs and he tilts his head to the side, looking over your body again with fervent interest as his expression falls into a dark smirk.

"I think the challenge will be seeing who gives in first."

You set your glass down on the table at his words, then suddenly you're grabbing at his tie and pulling him closer to you, making him stumble a bit. 

"Let's see how long you last then, Doctor."

He lets out a soft laugh as you pull him closer to you and he reaches up to place his hands on your hips. His eyes take you in again, and the smirk on his face only grows with every glance.  In this moment he's focused entirely on you, and the desire he has for you is palpable, filling the room and growing with each lingering look he gives you.

"Let's see how long you last, darling."

A smirk is all the warning he receives before you're capturing him in a passionate kiss. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his lips on yours again, and you feel his hands reach out to cradle your face.

He leans into the kiss, his hands holding you close to him and his grip slowly tightening throughout the kiss.  The passion in his eyes matches your passion, and the feeling of his tongue against yours is intoxicating. For the moment, there is nothing else in the world that matters except the two of you, and as he pulls you closer he lets out a soft moan against your mouth that sends a shiver down your spine in the best way possible.

You feel the cold metal of his ring pressing into your skin, and your expression quickly turns into a scowl at the feeling. It was mocking you, he was yours now. Without pulling away from the kiss, you use one hand and grab his, and pull the band off of the digit, before throwing it off.

He lets out a soft laugh as you take off the ring and throw it, his kiss never falters and he wraps his arms around you as he continues to hold you close.

"Oh, sweetheart..." His tone is playful, and you can see the smile in his eyes grows even more as he holds you close. His lips are still close to yours as he speaks in a low voice, and you can feel the rumble in his tone. 

"You're mine now, sir. Forget her." You yank on his tie once more and pull him back in for another intense kiss.

He lets out another soft laugh as you pull him back in for another kiss, one of his hands sliding down to smooth over your ass as the other gently cups your face. He's still very clearly enjoying this, and as he lets out a small groan against your mouth he pulls away just long enough to whisper his next words in your ear while his hands slowly tighten their hold on you.

"What is it that makes you want me so badly, darling?"

Your hands move to the back of his neck as his lips start skimming along your skin, pressing gentle kisses against your neck, and licking over your collarbone. Your eyes flutter shut as you respond. 

"Saw you sitting alone.. Thought you were so handsome.." Your mouth drops open in a moan when he nips at the flesh of your throat. "Then, saw the ring... Just made me want you so much more, just knew I could treat you so much better than she does."

He lets out a soft laugh, and you can feel his lips grazing your neck. The feeling is like a live wire, sending shivers down your spine in the best way possible. You moan again, and the sound is enough to send a thrill throughout his entire body. 

"Is that so?" As his lips brush your skin you can feel the heat in his breath, and he kisses you again, pulling you even closer now. "Is that all it took for you to be ready to take me home?"

"Worked.. didn't it?" You cockily mutter out, your words accompanied by a moan.

"Oh it definitely worked, darling..." He lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes watching yours flirtatiously, and he makes no attempt to hide the desire he has for you. "So tell me, sweetheart,  what is it I get out of this arrangement?"

As he speaks, he moves both of you so he's sitting on the couch, leaning back against the cushion as you're planted in his lap. 

"You leave your wife.. come back home with me, and I'll be yours forever..." You reach down to play with the buttons of his dress shirt, slowly pushing them out of their loops.

His eyes watch you as you play with his buttons, and a smug smile spreads across his face. 

"You drive a hard bargain, darling..." He laughs once more, taking in the sight of you as the buttons come undone.  He has no intention of stopping you as he speaks. "And what will happen if I say no?" 

You give him a small faux pout at his words, you know he's not serious, he's already too deep in this that he can't possibly be serious.

"You really want to leave this hotel room tomorrow, go home to your cheating wife, and think about me for the rest of your life? Wishing it were me in your bed at night, the one you wake up to.." 

You lean down to his ear as you seductively whisper your next words. 

"The one you get to touch, kiss, and taste..?"

He lets out a soft moan as you lean in and whisper in his ear, causing a shiver to run through him as he pulls you even closer to him.

"You're good at this, you know..." His voice is deep and seductive, a playful grin on his face. "I think I'd rather stay with you, darling."

“You’d be stupid not to, Sir..” You lick over his ear, sending tremors through his body at the feeling.

Spencer lets out another soft moan, his body shuddering from the feeling of your tongue on his ear.  He leans back and watches you, a mischievous look in his eye as he's trying to see just how far you'll go.

"And what if I was stupid..?" His tone is still unserious, as if testing you, but he's starting to take charge of the situation now, pulling you closer with his arms and pressing you onto his lap as he leans in and gives you his own passionate kiss.

“You wouldn’t be in this hotel room with me on your lap right now if you were stupid, Sir.” Your hands go to lift the bottom of your dress, teasing him. “You know you made the right decision taking me..”

His eyes flash down to the bottom of your dress as you start to tease him, and his eyes flash back up to yours. He whispers his response in your ear, his voice starting to take on some of that familiar authority and intensity as you continue to tease him.

"Then why don't you help me make sure I never have reason to regret my decision, darling?"

Nodding, you take his large hand in yours and run it under the satiny fabric of your dress, allowing him to caress the soft skin of your hips and waist. As his hands touch your body, you go to finish unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.

He lets out a soft moan as his hand touches your hips, moving his hand up and down your body. Your skin feels so silky under his touch, he could touch you forever as long as you let him.

You can see his eyes looking over you, and he's making good use of every ounce of his self-control to keep from taking you here and now.

"You're not making this easy for me, you know...  But I suppose I'll let you continue." His voice is soft but there's still the ever-present hint of playfulness, and the hint of authority that he's starting to let bleed into the conversation.

“You want it off, Sir?” You let one of the straps of your dress fall from your shoulder, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

The man bites his lip, letting out a low groan as you start to let your dress fall, and you can see the desire in his eyes is only growing.

"It's killing me, darling..." His tone is heavy with desire, and his expression is full of want. His eyes are glued to you, and you can tell that all he wants in the world at this moment is to have you, right now, right here.

“Take it off of me then, Sir. Earn your prize.” Your voice is low, teasing, and almost cocky. You’ve already taken him from his wife, and now all you wanted was for him to take control over you.

His eyes watch you with intensity as you speak, and he raises one eyebrow in amusement. "Make me work for it, is that it?  Well, I don't mind a bit of a challenge..." He bites his lip once more, and he lets out another low moan as he moves his hand to move your dress the rest of the way off your body.

His hands are moving slowly but purposefully, as if taking his time to admire every little piece of skin he revealed. He lets out a low shiver and a soft moan as he takes in the sight of you in your body, his hands trembling at the sight of you. You can almost feel the electricity fill the air between you as you let him admire every inch of you.

His hands are moving slowly but purposefully, as if taking his time to admire every little piece of skin he revealed. You bite your lip at the primal look in his eyes, and lift your arms when the dress reaches your chest. His eyes land on your bra, and the way it looks like it was made for you, filling the cups deliciously and fitting you absolutely perfectly.

"Why don't we make this a little easier for you, sweetheart."

Spencer practically rips the rest of your dress off your body then leans forward to you into a kiss again, pushing you down onto his lap against the firm bulge in his dress pants. He takes in the smell and sensation of you with that look of desire in his eyes that says everything. 

You let out a small huff when his eager hands practically rip the dress off of your body, but you lean further into the kiss as you moan into his mouth at the feeling of him under you.

He lets out a soft laugh at your noise of frustration, but the laugh dies in his throat as you moan into his mouth. He holds you there for a moment, his mouth moving eagerly and messily with yours, before he pulls away and pulls you closer by your waist to hold you to him. His heartbeat is pounding out of his chest as he presses your burning hot skin against him.

You can feel the heat in his eyes as he looks you over, his breath growing heavier as he gives you a look of pure, unbridled desire, his mind starting to fill with filthy arousal and lust. 

"Now.. I think I'd like to see what's under that bra first.."

He whispers, his tone still full of desire as he looks you over, as though he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

You don't move, just give him a look of bratty defiance.

"If you want it off, you'll have to take it off yourself."

Spencer laughs at your defiance, clearly enjoying your brattiness, and you can feel his chest rumble as he breathes in and out. His eyes start to travel down your body again, and he bites his lip in want. 

"So be it, darling."

There’s an edge of authority to his tone that says you may be in trouble if you continue to refuse. 

You’re willing to challenge that. 

You raise your brow at him and your tone is entirely too sassy towards a man who you know can ruin you and your body in an instant.

"Then get on with it."

You cross your arms over your chest.

He lets out a low chuckle and a sigh at your response, but he doesn't back down. He leans in and speaks in a soft voice, his eyes shining a bit with a light-hearted threat.

"Don't test me, sweetheart.”

His words are playful and his tone is full of desire but you know he's absolutely prepared to follow through on whatever threats he makes. Despite the threat you can see an amused smile on his face as he's watching to see what you do now.

He sighs but you can tell he's enjoying your defiance, his expression going to a smirk as he looks you up and down, watching you with a hungry eye as he drinks you in.

"I suppose this is what I get for letting a brat like you be my mistress..."

He lets out a soft laugh and gives you another taunting flash of his smile, his tone is suggestive once more and his fingers reach around your small frame to find the clasp of your bra. He’s starting to undo the hooks as his other hand begins to move down your body in anticipation for what will come.

“I’m not your mistress.. You don’t belong to her anymore, you’re mine.”

"Oh, is that so, darling?" His voice is full of amusement, and you can see the glint in his eye that says he's more than happy to play along with your bratty game.

"So what does my sweet little girl want from me, then?" His voice is low, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and lust. 

“What she wants is for you to hurry up and undress her." He pulls your bra off of you, and throws it over the arm of the couch, his eyes traveling from the bottom of your breasts back up to your eyes as a grin spreads across his face and he leans even closer to you.

"And what's she going to do if I take my sweet, sweet time?" His words are hushed and accompanied by a playful smirk as he raises his eyebrows at you and you can feel the burning desire in his touch as he moves his hand lower and lower. 

"Then she would ask very nicely for you to hurry up." You let out a soft laugh and try to not let his touch down your stomach and waist distract you.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes shining with amusement as he moves his hands around your body. He's clearly enjoying the show, and he's in no hurry to take your clothes off, instead taking his sweet time getting there.

"And even if she asks very nicely,  what will I get in return? You have to bargain for these things, sweetheart, you know..”

His touch is gentle but insistent, as his hands move closer and closer to the waistline of your underwear.

"I'll give you whatever you want, Sir." Your body trembled with shivers at how light his touch was on you, almost like he wasn't even touching you as he inched closer and closer to your panties.

He lets out a soft chuckle at the answer, his hands continuing to move as they reach the waistline of your panties. 

"We'll see about that, darling..."

His voice is playful, but a little part of you feels the threat in his voice, too.  He clearly wants you very badly, and it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility that he's not completely joking.

Unexpectedly, Spencer reaches into a cabinet sat next to the couch, and rifles through it for a moment before pulling out scissors. Your eyes widen in confusion and disbelief, and the expression only intensifies when he slots the blades of the scissors between your hip and your panties, and snips. You'd almost swear his eyes are shining a little brighter as he drinks in the sight, being so impatient to take you that he’s cutting your underwear off your body.

“S-Sir..” 

You try to reason with him, but it’s far too late. He’s in his own little world as he continues to cut and snip at the delicate lace of your panties, not bothered by your words nor your noises of protest.

There’s nothing you can do but sit there, trembling in his lap as the look of determination and sadism shadows his face. The freezing metal of the blades against your skin do nothing to help your shaking, and it makes the very skin it presses against raise in goosebumps. 

Once he’s cut through the lace on both sides of your hips, he sets the scissors down on the table and pulls off the remnants of your underwear with ease. He’s got a sinister glint in his eyes and in his smile as he gathers them in his hand before setting them on the table next to the blades. 

“You know, she would’ve never let me do that.. But you..” Spencer laughs wickedly, it almost frightens you. “You.. You’d do anything to make me want you, wouldn’t you?” 

You find the bratty attitude you were sporting earlier fizzle into a blazing desire of obedience. Like you weren’t in control of your own body, you nodded. Your lack of speech made him laugh again. 

Suddenly, you’re wrapping your legs around his waist as he’s lifting you from the couch and into his arms. You cling to him like you’ve got no other choice, and can’t help but feel exposed in front of the large glass window. 

Spencer walks over to the large bed pushed against the wall and throws you down on it, and as you land, your legs are spread, as if on command. He bites his lip at the sight of you spread for him, cunt leaking arousal onto his bed sheets, sticky slick coating your beautiful thighs. 

You swallow and watch as he pushes the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his forearms, and runs a hand through his hair before kneeling down in front of you on the bed. He grabs under your thighs and hooks them around the tops of them, flashing that same teasing smile he’s been sporting all night. 

You let out a small yelp of surprise when he’s pulling you closer to the edge of the bed, so your pussy was pulsing right in his face, just the way he needed it to be. 

“This what you meant when you said ‘Just you wait?’, darling?”

His breath ghosts over your wet cunt, and it makes you let out a small sigh of pleasure. You don’t respond, you know he’s not looking for an answer, he’s just looking for a way to stroke his ego, knowing he’s got you right where you were so reluctant to get to. 

“What happened to that smart mouth of yours?” 

“Come fuck it and find out.”

Spencer huffs in amusement. 

“There you are..” 

Is all the warning you get before he’s diving in and burying his scruffy face between your thighs. Your legs threaten to close at the feeling, but he’s already a step ahead of you, holding them down in his strong grip as his tongue licks a long stripe up your cunt, collecting your essence. 

A loud moan is pushed out of your throat at the feeling, and your hand instinctively reaches out and down to grab at his messy hair. He only groans at the feeling though..

You’d have to explore that later.

But for now, you couldn’t focus on anything else except the way the thick, wet, muscle of his tongue was swirling around your sensitive clit, sucking and kissing at the nub. He was teasing you, you both knew if he kept this up, you’d be cumming on his face and around his tongue in no time, and you didn’t want that. 

You couldn’t embarrass yourself in front of him like that, especially when you know how much shit he’d give you for being able to make you finish that fast. 

And still, your head spins with each calculated and tortuous movement his tongue makes over your pussy. He moves down to slide his long tongue into you, finally. You whimper at the feeling and clench around him. 

Spencer eats at you like a starved man, and you’ve been pushed to believe that maybe he is. With the way he’s tongue fucking you.. making you gush on his lips and drip down his chin? You can tell he’s needed this for a while. 

You lift your head from the bed to look at him, and you can see he’s already staring daggers into you. He shoots you a wink and it almost makes you roll your eyes at his cockiness.  

“Why- oh fuck.. Why don’t you fuck me, sir? I know you want to..” You pant out and grip his hair harder, twisting it in your fist. It makes him moan into your cunt, and the vibration makes you gasp. 

He pulls back for a moment, and speaks quickly, like he’s been preparing his answer for a while now. 

“Because.. If I fuck you now I won’t be pulling out, can’t get you pregnant til’ I leave my wife, darling.” 

And you thought you had been the one to be moving fast. Your legs jolt and your pussy clenches at the thought of him fucking his cum into you, pushing it deeper and deeper into your womb until you’re full. 

The thought of him fucking a baby into you has you whimpering in a panicked frenzy, you were far too close.

“Fuck fuck fuck, sir.. I’m- I’m right there..”

You moan and are pulling at his hair now, it was no doubt painful, but he couldn’t let you know how much he liked it just yet. At your words, he nods from between your legs and his eyes flutter shut. 

The movements of his tongue in your and his lips on your folds increase in speed, intensity, and passion. He’s swallowing every spurt of arousal you have to offer him, and fucks you with his tongue quicker than you can even process. 

You reach a hand down to play with your clit, but just as quickly as he was fucking you, he just as quickly pulls away with a scornful expression pulling at his eyebrows. 

“W-Why’d you stop…? Please sir..” 

Spencer moves your hand from your clit and plants it back into his hair, making you grip at the root tightly as he lowers himself back onto you, and murmurs in a controlling voice. 

“Hands off, your body belongs to me, sweetheart.”  

And with that, he’s attaching his lips around your aching clit, and begins to suck at it like it’s his job. It makes you throw your head back in a silent moan, the pleasure robbing you of your ability to speak or make noises, and even think.

Your mind goes entirely blank at the feeling of him pulling the sensitive nub between his lips and using that stupid mouth of his to bring you to the edge all too fast. 

With a pornographic moan, you’re drenching his mouth and chin in your release, your thighs spasming in a desperate attempt to balance out the surge of pure unfiltered arousal that was forced out of you.

Spencer’s greedily swallowing every gush your cunt pumps into his awaiting mouth, and he just can’t seem to get enough. He’s moaning uncontrollably against your pussy as he drinks in everything you’ll give him, and if you weren’t absolutely losing your mind at your orgasm and spilling moans of your own, you’d be enjoying his noises a lot more. 

But now, it seems like your body and your release are the only things on both of your minds. You’re shaking, clenching your thighs around his head as your fist pulls so irresistibly at his brown locks. 

You’re the one to push him away, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound of absolute dissatisfaction he produces at being denied any more of your release. And you’d be more than content to let him at it, if you weren’t gasping for air and hopelessly shuddering at the after effects of no doubt the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever experienced. 

He’s suddenly laying by your side and pulling you into a desperate kiss, and you can feel the stickiness of his chin against yours as he eats away at your lips. It makes you pull back to chuckle and attempt to catch your breath again, and after a few beats of silence you look around at where half of your garments are torn and destroyed, and you look at him with a pout. 

"You ripped my dress.. And my underwear.."

Spencer laughs and rests his head back against the sheets, and you can see his chest rising and falling, he was quite breathless himself. 

"I'll buy you an entire new wardrobe, sweetheart, anything you want.." 

[reiderwriter]

hi i love your writing

could you do something with reid loving that reader is pregnant. fluff or smut or both

A/N Hello! Thanks for the request! Dad!Spencer is the cutest thing on the planet so this is some unapologetic fluff. And now I have baby fever.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, idiots in love. Loosely based on Haley and Hotch's conversation in 1x1. Very fluffy and probably very cheesy and sentimental too... Sorry, you give me girl dad Spencer and suddenly there isn't an impure thought in my head, I just want to lovingly stare at him like I'm the dead wife in an action movie montage.

My requests are open, check out my masterlist for more 🌸

“Okay, what about Amelia?”

“No, Amelia Dyer, Victorian serial killer. She killed multiple infants over a thirty-year period.”

“Okay, okay, how about, Myra?”

“Myra Hindley, she and her partner Ian Brady abducted and killed five children and teens in the early sixties.”

“God, not that then. There can’t be a psychopathic murderer called Belle, right?”

“You’re making this too easy for me, y’know. Belle Gunness, Hell’s Belle, she’s one of the most prolific female serial killers of all time, even 100 years after her supposed death. It’s fascinating, you know, people think that she actually faked her death - when the doctor who performed the postmortem testified, he noted that the cadaver was about five inches shorter and about fifty pounds lighter than Gunness supposedly was….” You raise a single eyebrow at your wonderful husband, and he immediately shuts up.

“I’m rambling aren’t I?” He smiled down at you as you sat curled up as much as you could in your favorite spot on the couch, the cosiest part of your shared apartment. You smiled back up at him as he leaned down for a kiss and you gladly craned your neck up in response, meeting his lips for a sweet moment.

“Hotch was right you know,” you joked when the two of you parted. “All of the best baby names have been taken by serial killers.”

“Yeah, you’d think with the ratio of female to male serial killers, a girl would be easier to name.” He leans down to kiss you again before falling into a crouch next to you, resting his head on your shoulder and placing his hand on your stomach.

“How big did you say our little girl is now?”

“Y/N, you asked me that half an hour ago. I know pregnancy messes with your brain a bit, but if you’re that bad we’re going to have to get you back to Dr Patel and see if you’re doing okay.” He was joking of course, but you showed him your little pout anyway, knowing that he loved seeing the silly expression on your face.

“Humor me, Doctor.” He strokes your stomach and moves away, but not too far away, taking up right next to you on the couch, and pulling your legs over his lap.

“At five months, she’s roughly 10 inches long with a weight of about 0.5-1 pound. But that ‘How Big is My Baby’ book would say that she’s roughly one banana in length.” You giggled up at him and he grabbed your hand and just held it, content to have you in his arms in any way, big or small.

“I can’t believe it’s been five months already,” you giggle as he presses another kiss to your hand.

“I get it. It doesn’t feel quite real yet to me, either. I thought for so long that fatherhood just wasn’t in my future, but you’re the gift that keeps on giving I guess. I don't know what I did to deserve you.” Even if the words weren’t so sweet, with all of the hormones, you would’ve started crying at anything. Or at least that’s what you’re going to tell him when he sees the small tears threatening to drop into enormous loving sobs.

“Spencer Reid, I am not a gift. I am simply the woman with the correct combination of sense and foolish luck that got to marry you.” He’d done this before, and you were used to his small habit of self-deprecating talk, but after a year of marriage and three years of dating before that, you’d managed to work him down to the occasional comment.

“Don’t try to argue about this, I’m definitely the one benefitting the most from the situation right now,” he joked with you, and you could see the genuine adoration shining from behind his eyes. It was a little spark that not many got to see, a glimpse of true happiness in someone usually so reserved.

“Spencer, you’ve given me foot rubs everyday this week, you’ve read more pregnancy and parenting books than every OBGYN and midwife in the area combined, and you’ve somehow attended more of my clinical check-ups than me, and I’m the one whose pregnant.”

“And you’re growing our child inside of you, which is itself more impressive than anything I could ever do with a book and some modern acts of chivalry.”

“Yeah, tell your boss that. I think the only thing keeping Emily from pulling her hair out over your constant absences is that she thinks she’s competing for the title of godmother. She thinks Penelope and JJ are trying to corrupt me with parenting advice and all those baby clothes Pen keeps bringing over.”

“She’s going to be crushed when she remembers we’re not religious, right?”

“Devastated,” the two of you shared a laugh on the couch, and it quickly devolved into a giggle fit after Spencer leaned over and tickled your side. You jolted away from his touch, but he was on you again, attacking your sides with small caresses, and you were gasping for breath between laughs.

“Spence stop- ahh!” Your squeals stopped as you cried out in shock. It was small but you felt something tap against your stomach. Spencer stopped immediately upon seeing your expression change, and a serious look settled on him as he assessed you for any damage.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you in pain anywhere, is the baby okay?” He shot out the questions rapidly, one after the other, barely leaving space to catch his own breath from the laughter of earlier.

It happened again and you put a hand to your stomach, finally realising what’s going on.

“I think I just felt her kick. Spencer, I think I just felt the baby kick.” You couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across your face, as much as you couldn’t help the tear that dropped from your eye as your hand rested against your belly again, scared to move for fear that the baby wouldn’t communicate with you again.

“What? Now? Can I- Can I try and feel it, too?” His hands hesitated at first but when you enthusiastically nodded and used your other hand to put him close to yours, you could feel his eagerness to feel the small kicks of your daughter as well.

Almost as if she was waiting for him, as soon as his hand was in the right position, your little girl kicked again, almost as if screaming “I’m here mommy and daddy,” for the two of you to hear.

“I think she’s trying to tell us not to have fun without her,” Reid whispered in your ear, kissing your tear streaked cheek, and using his free hand to rub them away from the other side of your face.

“I am so thankful everyday for this gift you have given me. And for the record, the gift isn’t the baby. The gift is the overwhelming happiness you bring to my life, and the beauty you make me see in this world. The fact that you’re going to be the mother of my child gives me the confidence to get up and go to work every morning because I know that there is joy and there is kindness and there are beautiful people in this world, and you are one, and she will be, too.”

His attempts to dry your tears are now completely vanquished as you let your emotions run wild, but you almost laugh when you realise that his eyes are just as glassy as yours, and you both sit there, overwhelmed by the pure, unadulterated joy that a small kick from a child who has yet to be given a name has bought you.

[randxmthxughts]

Chosen by Eywa - The Betrayal - Chapter 2

← chapter 1 | chapter 3 →

summary: eywa makes no mistakes... in the midst of his preparation to become the future olo'eyktan, neteyam is told to be with a chosen mate. guided by the signs of eywa, tsahik picks y/n, a woman orphaned by the war, whose heart already belongs to another

contains: arranged marriage, mentions of war and grief, angst, one-sided enemies to lovers

wc: 4.4k

a/n: so i've always imagined neteyam to be in a full prince mode for this series and yesterday my dearest @cinetrix had turned my dreams into a reality, it's now canon in this au that neteyam has a long hair and looks like this, and this, and this, and yes, this will probably distract you from everything else in your life! also this is still a little slow but i promise you from the next chapter things will finally start to get spicy

chosen by eywa masterlist | general avatar masterlist

Y/N’s tears had dried up already, she had simply run out of them, now left with only short whimpers and shallow breaths. In Kaye’s tight embrace she didn’t feel protected anymore, on the contrary, she was helpless, small. There was no choice that she could make. She could never even hint at it, let alone ask Kaye to claim her as a mate and upend Tsahik’s plans. The arrangement with Neteyam, to be set in stone, could only be disrupted with Kaye’s help but Y/N wasn’t going to blatantly say that to him. Surely, he must have understood, yet Kaye didn’t say a word...

Kaye had always been generous with his promises to her, but he was never held responsible for keeping them. And now, after finding out the situation, he didn’t even offer a promise. And Y/N could sense that things shifted. He was already distant, though he was holding her close and calming her down, his voice wasn’t like a soothing balm to her wounds anymore and his touch had lacked the usual warmth. She wondered if he felt betrayed by her for not refusing Mo’at’s offer and fighting back. But she didn’t know that there was something else going on in his head, a secret he was going to reveal to her that night. And as Kaye saw what state she was in, he decided to hold his tongue.

“It’s going to be alright, Y/N,” he whispered once more, cradling her head, “You will see.”

“How can it ever be alright if we are not together?” Y/N sniffled.

“I just… I think we must trust in Eywa’s signs,” he replied with a resigned sigh.

What she didn’t know was that there was a burden just as heavy on Kaye’s shoulders. It’s been days since he argued with his parents over an arrangement of his own, and earlier, just before meeting up with Y/N, it was confirmed. Kaye knew it was foolish to bring up Y/N's name and try to make a case for her when his family was already vehemently opposed to her. They saw her as weak, with no family to rely on, with nothing to give in return. But the woman they picked for Kaye was more and everything that Y/N lacked. Kaye would lie if he said he didn’t consider it, even though he didn’t really have a choice.

Yäyä was beautiful, innocent, shielded from the war by the warmth of her family. Her heart knew no grief, no pain, she was so opposite to Y/N. Yäyä couldn't relate to Y/N, to the way her traumas constantly wore her down, and along with her, Kaye too. And Kaye could feel his heart sting with guilt at the comparison he drew in his mind between the two women. It would be so easy to start anew, to not go against his family and fight his whole life when he could just melt into the arms of the other.

Y/N’s body convulsed with whimpers making him wince in pain. Kaye fought the urge of telling her the truth now, letting it all out, but the thought of having to see her reaction made his stomach turn. Maybe it would be better if he held onto the news and waited for the arrangement between Y/N and Neteyam to be announced first before he could move on with his life. Yes, Y/N had been his first love, first kiss, the first person who saw him, but she was also his first heartbreak, his first wound, a bundle of all of his worries and exhaustion. And things as such can pass, it was about time they grew up. Grew apart.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he murmured, cupping her tear-streaked face in his hands. "But I have to go now. My father needs to speak with me about… some urgent matters."

"When can we meet again?” she looked up at him with puffy eyes, and his heart twisted at the sight, “I...I don't know what to do. I can't do this alone, Kaye."

“You don't have to do it alone,” he forced a smile, “We can talk tomorrow. I'll see you then."

Y/N nodded; her eyes filled with hope at his words. And Kaye couldn’t hold himself back from leaning in and brushing a soft kiss on her nose. His heart raced at the sight of her blushing, as if he had been kissing her for the first time, and the way she held her breath for a moment before exhaling shakily. He felt like he was bidding his farewell, closing a chapter before it would get too messy with the announcements. His thumb moved swiftly, wiping the dried tears off her cheeks, and then he pressed another kiss to her forehead. 

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“I don’t get it,” Kiri’s nose scrunched up in confusion, “What do you mean grandmother has chosen Y/N?”

“I mean exactly that, Kiri,” Neteyam sighed, a little irritated with his sister’s slowness, “And she won’t budge.”

“But isn’t Y/N with Kaye?” Kiri questioned further, repeating the same questions that were bothering Neteyam too. Unfortunately, he had no answers for her.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “She didn’t even mention him… or anyone. I mean, if they were together, wouldn’t she just say it? I thought it was strange too.”

Kiri frowned, her mind racing with thoughts. She had been witnessing the relationships blooming between Y/N and Kaye for years now. Though they had tried to keep it hidden, it was hard to miss the small gifts, lingering touches, longing eyes. And given how often Y/N and Kiri were around each other out of their occupation, Kiri could have sworn that there was at least something going on between Y/N and the warrior. But if they truly were together and Y/N despised the thought of being with Neteyam to the point she was ready to deny Tsahik, why wouldn’t she make a case for herself? The wrinkle between Kiri’s eyebrows suddenly turned deeper, when her mind settled on a particularly convincing possibility. She gripped her brother’s shoulder eagerly.

“You need to talk to her,” she ordered with determination, “Y/N probably feels trapped because she can’t mention Kaye.”

“But why?” Neteyam was utterly confused.

“I’m not sure… but it might be because he doesn’t want her to reveal their relationships,” his sister explained, then took a small pause to gather her thoughts, “I mean, it must be the reason why they have kept it a secret so far. Otherwise, why wouldn’t she use it to protest grandmother’s wishes?”

“So you think Kaye’s the one who doesn’t want anyone to know?” Neteyam frowned, his eyes flashing with a hint of anger, “Are you saying he's been leading her on?”

“I don’t know, brother. You must speak with her,” Kiri shook her head, though the implication of her words were more than clear.

Kiri had never given much thought to the secrecy of Y/N and Kaye’s relationships before, but now, as she let her theory sink, the dots were finally connecting. Kaye never meant to mate with Y/N before Eywa.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Great,” Y/N mumbled sarcastically, spotting a figure crouching next to her hammock, “What are you doing here?”

Neteyam quickly rose to his feet, his muscles still a little sore from all the waiting. He quickly took in her features, and his guard fell down for a moment, registering the signs of sorrow. He had forgotten the reason for his arrival.

“Were you crying?” he asked, blatantly ignoring her question.

“Neteyam, I asked what are you doing here?” 

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened.”

“About what happened? You mean your family forcing me into a union with you?” she threw with bitterness.

“Look, I know that you didn’t wish for this,” Neteyam raised his palms in the air to convey that he had no intention of perpetuating his grandmother's harshness, “But I think there is a way for us to work through it.”

“Are you serious?” she narrowed her eyes with a slight disbelief, “So that’s it? You’re just going along with this and following the orders. Do you even care about how I feel? No one does.”

Suddenly all of the hurt and helplessness she had been feeling gathered into a big bubble of anger that she wanted to unleash on Neteyam - the very person who was responsible for trapping her. Y/N crossed her arms over chest defensively, hoping that if she made him miserable and pushed him away, maybe Neteyam would use his power to break the arrangement.

“I’m only doing my duty, Y/N,” Neteyam explained, trying to maintain a calm tone, “And I do care, but sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good of the clan."

“This is ridiculous,” she scoffed bitterly, “You're carrying out your duty for the clan? Am I not part of the clan? Pick somebody else.”

“I can’t pick,” Neteyam gritted through his teeth, now feeling irritated too, “The sign and the orders were clear. All I can do is follow them.”

“It is concerning that as the future chief of this clan you’re incapable of making your own decisions,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom, "You're nothing but a coward."

Neteyam was taken aback. Was she really calling him a coward for respecting the tradition? He huffed, almost in disbelief, taking a pause before his mind could process the words she had hurled at him.

“Oh, you want to talk about being a coward?” he raised his voice slightly, taking a step closer to her. 

Despite her frustration with him, Y/N’s ears lowered involuntarily at his proximity. Her body recognized and complied with his status, before she could even deny the authority that he held over her.

“Alright. Let’s say I am a coward and just following orders. Why didn’t you protest then? If you didn’t want this so much, why didn’t you bring up Kaye?”

Y/N's ears were now flat against her skull, and she downcasted her gaze in shame. With the rhythm of her heart, her tail swished rapidly on the ground, creating a small cloud of dust. Neteyam waited for her response, but met with silence, he continued.

"The union would have never been approved if you told them that you were already mated with another man."

“Kaye and I are not mated,” she muttered, stealing a glance at him through her lashes. She was too embarrassed to face him head on.

“Well, you could have still -” Neteyam stopped himself mid-sentence, pressing his lips into a thin line. He could see the way her form slumped and shoulders hunched further into herself, as if the topic was too sensitive to discuss. He let out a heavy sigh, his frustration with the situation starting to fade.

“I can’t do that,” Y/N replied, her voice still low and subdued, “It wouldn’t make a difference anyway.”

“Why can’t you?” Neteyam pressed, and his own anger was beginning to mount again, “It’s him, isn’t it? He doesn’t want others to know about you two?”

He wasn’t wrong at all but her blood boiled at the insinuation in his words regardless.

“Stop,” Y/N gritted her teeth, “He can’t do it, alright?”

“Can’t, or he won’t?”

“He can’t,” she was desperate to convince Neteyam that it was the truth - that there was a bigger reason, “And I won’t ask him to.”

“Does he at least know about it?” Neteyam sighed. When Y/N didn’t reply, it was already enough of an answer to him, “And he didn’t offer anything?”

“Just drop it, Neteyam. Don’t taunt me.”

“Fine, if you wish to keep being upset about it, then take all the time you need,” Neteyam exclaimed, mimicking his father's disappointed demeanor when dealing with his children, “But don’t expect me to solve this for you. If you despise the idea of being mated with me that much, perhaps Kaye and you should talk to Tsahik. I’m sure that will help. And if you won’t… then at least try a little harder to make life easy for the both of us.”

But as he brushed past her angrily, heading for his home, Neteyam realized that he wasn’t actually frustrated with Y/N or their situation anymore. Rather, it was the confirmation of the doubts he shared with Kiri that had him seething. Kaye was the root of the problem - his refusal to take responsibility for his actions, not owning up to them. The respect Neteyam once held for the warrior seemed to slip away from his body with each passing moment.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Oel ngati kameie,” Y/N greeted with a small bow, touching her fingers to her forehead as she glanced between Mo'at and the man beside her - Kaye’s father, “Please forgive me for my early arrival for the lesson, Tsahik. I will wait outside.”

She hastily apologized before stealing another glance at the man and slipping out of the tent. Y/N had sensed Kaye's parents' dislike for her for years, ever since her name was brought up in a certain context, which made being in their presence stressful. And as Kaye's father had never showed up at the healing tent, which was the only place where Y/N could breathe freely and focus on her studies, seeing him there now made her shiver. She kept a respectful distance from the tent, not wanting to overhear their conversation, but her mind raced relentlessly, wondering about the topic of it.

“You’re going to bite your lip off if you keep that up,” Kiri came into her view, gesturing at Y/N’s teeth digging into the plump of her lower lip.

“Oh, hey.”

“Aren’t you going in?” Kiri nodded towards the tent.

“Tsahik is busy. She is talking with Kaye’s father.”

Kiri nodded, understanding that they would have to wait for Tsahik to call them in once she was finished with her conversation. She crouched down next to Y/N and let the silence hang between them for a moment before speaking up.

"I'm sorry that you and Neteyam have to go along with the arrangement," Kiri said, turning her head to look at Y/N's face, "He came back angry after the conversation with you last night, so I assume you must have fought. If he was a skxawng to you, I can beat him up,” she added half-jokingly.

"It's okay, it wasn't his fault," Y/N sighed, looking down at her hands. "He's only doing what he has to do. It's me who can't..." she trailed off.

“So? Aren't you going to fight it?”

“I don’t think I can, Kiri. Not without… you know, not without the support.”

Kiri nodded in understanding. Though it was obvious that the support had to be offered by Kaye, Y/N still hesitated to mention his name. As if she was still trying to protect his privacy, letting him off the hook without attaching her name to his.

“For what it’s worth, my family likes you, and you can count on me to be your biggest ally,” Kiri's hands covered Y/N's, drawing her gaze.

"That's a relief," Y/N’s lip’s curved into a grateful smile, "Knowing that the future Tsahik has my back."

Kiri chuckled weakly but her grip on Y/N’s hands tightened, when both of them saw Kaye’s father exiting the tent. He directed a quick harsh gaze at Y/N before walking away. 

"What could be so urgent that it brought him all the way here at this time?" Kiri rose to her feet and extended a hand to Y/N.

“I don’t know but it seemed important,” Y/N shrugged, accepting the help to stand up.

“I’ll ask grandmother,” Kiri announced, as they made their way towards the tent, ”Maybe it’s something about you.”

“You really think so?"

"It's possible.”

A glimmer of hope sparked in Y/N’s chest at the words. What if Kaye had finally spoken to his parents about her and asked them to approve of their love? Y/N’s thoughts wandered, as Kiri and her settled in on the ground, waiting for the arrival of the rest of the healers in teaching. Mo’at was already occupied with another quick chore, tending to a smoldering herb and paying the two women no mind.

“Grandmother?” Kiri addressed Mo’at hesitantly, only receiving a hum in response, “What did he want from you?”

“Not that it is any one of your concern,” Mo’at threw a quick look at her granddaughter over her shoulder, “But he asked me to bless a union between his son and Kaä’s daughter.”

With Mo'at's words, Y/N felt her heart sink. Surely, she meant Kaye - after all, his brothers were already mated. Was this it then? Was his father going to arrange a union for Kaye just like that? Kiri nervously gulped and glanced at Y/N.

“Grandmother, do you mean a union between Kaye and Yäyä?” Kiri asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Mo’at turned to face them with a stoic expression, “They will be here tonight for the blessing.”

As Kiri squeezed her hand, Y/N tried to hold back the gasp that threatened to escape her lips. She blinked rapidly, fighting the tears. The image of Kaye holding Yäyä, kissing her, and being with her was overwhelming. It was all happening too soon, and Y/N hadn't even had time to process her own feelings about Kaye before hearing about his arranged union. Luckily, the silence was shattered as more healers entered the tent, their greetings filling the space and drowning out Y/N's inner turmoil. She struggled to compose herself, her mind racing with thoughts of confronting Kaye and getting some answers as soon as she could.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The wind whipped against Y/N's face as she flew towards the isolated floating island of the Hallelujah Mountains, where the training camp was set. Her ikran, usually steady and reliable, sensed her unease and reacted to it erratically, reflecting her determination to see Kaye. She paid no mind to the gazes of the warriors around her, as she landed on the edge of the island. Without hesitation, she hastily greeted Jake and asked to speak with one of his warriors. Her abruptness drew attention, making the others suddenly curious about a healer invading the training area.

“Sure, go ahead,” Jake granted her permission, never having seen her so eager and anxious before. The man shot a quick glance at his son, wondering if he knew the reason for Y/N's distress.

Kaye was as startled as everyone else with Y/N’s sudden appearance. He was in the middle of a sparring match with another warrior when he caught sight of her. For a moment, Kaye stood still, when she hurriedly approached him and led him away. The others looked on curiously at them, but Y/N paid no heed to their inquisitive glances. Neteyam hung his head in shame, already feeling his father’s eyes on him. He would have to explain this later - why his future mate was blatantly ignoring him and having a private conversation with another man.

But Y/N couldn’t wait, her heart was pounding to find out the truth. To ask if Kaye had even fought for her. Did he know about the arrangement and didn’t tell her? Let her cry into his arms, while he had a big secret of his own that he kept away.

“I deserve the truth, Kaye,” she demanded, her throat already ablaze with the harshness of her tone. It was a tone she had never used with him, not even during their worst fights, "When exactly were you going to tell me that your father had arranged a union for you and Yäyä?"

“Oh… so you know?” he stammered, his voice barely above the whisper. Kaye could sense the weight of the other warriors’ stares in the distance, but the heaviest of all was the way Y/N was looking at him. She was overflowed with anger and disappointment, and he knew that he deserved it, choosing to withhold the truth from her. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I was only waiting for the right time.”

“The right time?” she repeated in disbelief, "What about the time when I confided in you about Mo'at's arrangement for me? Remember how I cried in your arms because I couldn't bear the thought of being forced into a life where I couldn't be with you?"

Kaye's ears drooped in shame as he reached for her arm, but Y/N stepped away from him with a sharp shake of her head. It felt as though his touch would sear her skin.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you,” he shook his head, as if disappointed with himself, “But both of us knew that our time together was limited. I mean… you’re being forced into a union too, it’s not like either of us can defy tradition.”

“Maybe if you had fought for me,” tears began to well up in her eyes again, “If you had stood up for me and fought for me, none of this would have happened."

“Y/N -” he tried reaching for her again,  but she turned on her heel and strode towards her ikran, wiping away her tears.

Kaye, and the rest of the warriors, watched in silence as she mounted her ikran in a swift motion, not bothering to even complete a Tsaheylu with the banshee, and took off into the sky.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Despite being far from the caves, Y/N was sure that she could hear the distant thudding of the drums and the soft humming of Mo'at. As if the intoxicating scent of burning herbs was filling her nostrils, and she was enveloped in a haze of smoke inside of the healing tent. Closing her eyes, too tired to keep them open, she saw Kaye holding hands with Yäyä, whispering words of blessing for their union as Tsahik presided over the private ceremony. Y/N pulled her knees closer to her chest, burying her face in her hands.

The memory of Kaye kissing her forehead and holding her close, comforting her with his soothing words, was now too painful to recall. She felt cold and numb, unable to face the reality of the situation. When she had fled from the mountains and found herself alone in the forest, she had lost all her emotions, along with her self-preservation. If she returned home and saw Kaye with Yäyä, she knew her heart wouldn't be able to handle it, so she decided to stay in the forest.

Her usual very aware self was so lost in thought that she barely paid attention to the rustling of the leaves. Y/N felt a pang of disappointment, once she realized that it wasn’t danger, but just Neteyam stepping from behind the bushes. She almost wished it was a sky person or a palulukan that came to take away her pain, replace her injured heart with something even worse and unbearable.

“Finally. I have been looking for you,” Neteyam announced, his voice cutting through the silence.

She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes lacking spark. Her freckles, usually prominent on her skin, seemed to blend in with the darkness of the forest, concealing her like a protective cloak. Neteyam could see that she was disconnected from the present, lost in her own thoughts. He sighed, taking a step closer and crouching down in front of her.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you but it is dangerous to be here alone by yourself. Everyone is worried.”

“I doubt many worry about me,” she attempted a scoff but the lack of energy faded it into a despondent mutter.

“Nonsense,” Neteyam shook his head.

Y/N studied him for a moment, searching for any ulterior motive behind his visit. Was he there merely out of duty to locate his ‘destined’ mate and ensure her safety after her outburst at the training camp? Could that be sufficient to make Tsahik regret her decision?

“I am sorry for the way I behaved earlier, in front of the others,” she spoke with a hint of hope appearing in her voice, “It might have ruined my chances of being mated to anyone.”

“See? I meant doing something bigger than that if you wanted to end this arrangement,” Neteyam regarded her with a teasing smile, “What you did only scratched the surface. And much to your disappointment, it was not enough.”

“Not like I planned it,” she scoffed, “I just had to talk to him before his ceremony with her…” Y/N trailed off. 

“I get it,” Neteyam nodded in understanding, “You don’t have to apologize though. I can see that you’re hurting, and just so you know, I would never stand in your way if you’d want to see or talk to him sometimes in the future,” he sighed with a slight difficulty, as if the offer he made took much effort, “”s just make sure to keep it a secret. I can't be seen by the clan in such a way.”

She let out a breath, caught off guard by his offer, then frowned, as though it seemed too generous. Y/N had never seen Neteyam in this light before. While he was known for making sacrifices for the good of the clan, she had always thought it was simply part of his duty. Now, Y/N wasn't certain if he was performing for her or if Neteyam was genuinely trying to help. It seemed foolish for him to propose such a risky idea that could easily ruin his carefully-crafted reputation as the future chief. She found herself gaining trust in him.

“Thank you for the kindness,” Y/N finally spoke, her smile weak, "But there's no need for that. It's over between him and me. I won't revisit that history again."

Eywa makes no mistakes. Maybe this was her chance to mend things with Neteyam, and get on the right path. Maybe they could do this, build a strong bond on a mutual understanding, friendship, and share moments of solitude. They couldn’t be lovers, but they could become good partners. Maybe there was much more to Neteyam that Y/N yet had to see. 

chapter 3 →

a/n: ik this is still a little slow but in the third chapter you're finally getting more neteyam x y/n)) please don't forget to show some love

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[cherryskyies]

Changes

Bo Sinclair x reader

Word count: 600

This is probably shitty ngl not proofread or nuffin but it’s all i got this writers block is out of control.

Masterlist || Navigation || Ao3

Your eyes glance over the familiar scenery, nothing has changed on the outside, but you’re sure their wax collection has grown.

The whole drive to Ambrose you were worried they may have left, more specifically he had left, but one look around told you the three of them were still here — the fresh tire tracks leading to Bo’s old truck giving it away.

It’s an odd feeling you notice, standing so uncomfortably in the place you once called home so confidently.

His voice comes out of nowhere, direct and full of shock. “What are you doin’ here?” he asks, standing a foot behind you with a look of desiderium — not that you notice when you turn to face him. “You swore you’d never come back.” he reminds, sounding more stern.

You feel foolish in your response as regret begins to pool in your chest. “Came to see old friends.”

It sounds silly now that you’ve said it out loud and you can’t help but to step back in response to Bo’s rapid strides. “You didn’t bring the police on over with ya? If you did I swear“ he threatens, finger pointed in your face as his eyes bore into your own. “Tell me right now woman!”

You stumble over your words, this isn’t the Bo you know; or should say knew, reminding yourself you don’t know him anymore. “I didn’t — I swear I’d never do something like that.” you respond, hands shaking. But you can see he is still on edge, seemingly no trust in you or your words.

Bo steps back with a grunt, his voice much rougher when he speaks. “Guess time will tell.” but the look of pure hate doesn’t leave his eyes and it makes you uncomfortable; all of this anger was once love and the man standing before you is a stranger you knew so well.

“Would it be better if I left?” you ask, wondering why you showed up at all. “I didn’t think this through.”

He sighs, running his hands through his hair. “You never really do,” he responds, voice calmer as he watches your face heat up. “I’m sure Lester and Vincent would love to see you.” he adds, gesturing to you to follow him towards the house.

The house has remained a picture perfect copy of the last time you saw it which you found cute but unsurprising. None of the boys liked change. “They wouldn’t admit it to me, but I know they’ve missed you.” and in a way it feels as though he is admitting he missed you too and he curses himself for being so open with you. “It’s been quiet.”

You smile, moving from the entry towards the worn couch. “Not much has changed” you note, eyes landing on a polaroid picture sitting on the coffee table. The four of you were standing in it smiling, your arms around Bo’s waist. “I shouldn’t have come” you mutter apologetically, eyes tearing away from the photo and to the man in front of you.

But he’s glad to see you and he knows the others would be as well; he’d never admit that though. “You’re right,” he agrees, words betraying thoughts. “But you can leave tomorrow, you can’t drive in the dark.”

Bo remembers the two times he ever let you drive at night and neither ended well — one truck later he swore to never let you drive in the dark again.

You’re hesitant to accept his offer, nervous for what it would mean. “I’ll be fine, I’ve gotten better y’know.” It’s a lie and he doesn’t need to know that, but somehow he sees right through you and snorts at the slim possibility.

“Like I said,” he begins, eyes locking on to your own, “You can leave tomorrow.” and you nod.

[inkskinned]

i. so 2 days ago, i think i almost got kidnapped.

ii. there's this line in mitski - okay, so i'm a stereotype but - she says i've been big and small. sometimes i think she means physically. and sometimes i think she means like how it feels small to be alone in a grocery store.

iii. i'm babysitting my brother's dog. my dog is much bigger than his; goblin's 70 pounds and comes up to my hip. but his dog (an australian shepherd) - she's tiny. like 30 pounds or something.

iv. i called my sister before i called the cops. it felt like a big move to call the cops. i didn't like doing it, either. i felt like, embarrassed this happened.

v. it was getting dark, right. and the rain had really started in earnest. and we were coming off a trail we'd seen a guy on, deep in the woods. this white unmarked panel van was just sitting there, at the trailhead, lights on, engine on. i had to squeeze past it to get to my car. i kept telling myself - this is fucking stupid to be freaked out by. it's just a guy. it's just a van. it's not a movie. move along.

vi. sometimes i think about those chain emails that used to go around. you know, the ones with "survival tips for women" in them. in the age of the internet, where did all of those go? where is the masterlist of holding your keys in your fist? did anyone print that up and put it on their wall. do they sleep beside it.

vii. the van started to move while i put the dogs in the car. very slowly, he turned and backed up so he was blocking me in. i felt my heart racing. the rain was in my eyes. he opened his front door, just stuck a foot out. my brother's dog immediately freaked out. i had to physically restrain her. he closed his door. i got into the car with the dog, through the passenger side. i locked everything. the van stayed behind me for a little bit. when he finally left, i found him parked at the edge of the road. he waited for me to turn, and then followed me for a few intersections.

iix. i just couldn't stop thinking - this isn't real. this isn't something that happens. you're making this a bigger issue than it needs to be. this is the way it would play out if you were on tv. i didn't want to be that person, you know? jumping at shadows. freaked out about nothing. you know, a hysterical woman.

ix. my friends and i joke over dinner that i would be the first to die in a horror movie. then we go around and assign death warrants - who dies first, who is the serial killer. there are times in my life i have been jokingly folded to fit into the trunk of a car. every time someone picks me up, even in a friendly way, i have the sudden, horrible thought: oh. i couldn't really stop this from happening if things got too far. that feels small and big all-at-once. like breathing in glass particles.

x. i didn't get the license plate. the cops were not helpful. i didn't really expect them to be, but i didn't want anyone else to get hurt, just-in-case something bad would have happened. not that i get to assume something bad would have happened. it feels small and stupid. i feel like an idiot. what if calling the cops causes more hurt than good? maybe calling them was foolish. the first thing i said when they picked up was - uh, so i don't really know if this is a big deal or not but i think something weird just happened.

xi. in the last 48 hours i have gone to work and done my laundry and walked the dogs some more. i didn't even bring it up with my therapist. on the phone with the police officer, she said - you're actually being very calm about this. it is just something that can happen, i guess. i think i'm probably not the only person walking around with something that should-be-big rattling around inside of them. since nothing did happen, i don't really get to be upset. bad things have happened to me. i am statistically speaking extremely lucky.

xii. sometimes i think about all the diary pages that exist. and all the places where people hide the things that are too horrible to look at, even if it's a memory. it feels big-and-small to know that my diary knows the worst of me. it feels big to know someone else probably has the same diary. like - ha! same trauma. how endearing. i told my sister - well this is just part of being femme presenting isn't it.

xiii. on wednesday i saw a bunch of warblers and last night i had a dream about a girl with red hair. that felt big. that felt poetic. it's thursday today. i almost got kidnapped on a tuesday. in between the rest of me, i have no idea where to fit that moment.

poem where everything is true unless it makes you uncomfortable and then of course it's all made up for attention // r.i.d

[lkaluna]

He plans on building himself a cabin in the woods, away from civilization and regaining the contact with others slowly. 

If it were his decision, Maedhros would probably go on and start appearing publicly again, but it might be kinder on other people not to. He’s relearning self-control and respecting boundaries, he’s not going to leap into politics immediately. (He will get into politics again soon, that much he is sure of, just not perhaps this soon.)

The cabin in the woods sound more appalling every time he thinks about it. Too far away from people, how is he meant to re-accustom others to his presence when there are no others around?

He mentions so much to Caranthir the next time he ends up laying on his brother’s couch, smoking some suspicious leaves Amrod apparently dropped of a few weeks earlier and Moryo just laughs. 

„We have a house on Tol Eressea. My wife hates the island, but the taxes for selling property there are horrendous.”

„You’re offering I could stay there?”

„Transferring property to family is free. Promise to reimburse us sensibly once you are able and it’s yours.”

„Your wife won’t mind?”

„She’s been offering the house to every reasonable relative, you’re the first who even considers it. Trust me, she’ll be delighted”

„You know, you were always my favorite brother”

(In a hindsight, he should have probably asked why does his sister in law hate this house so much.)

The first time he saw her, Maedhros was convinced he had seen a ghost.

(She lives on this island, it’s the newest, biggest market they just opened. Why should she not be there?)

(If only he haven’t seen her on bloody a marketplace before.)

The second time it happens, Elwing sees him too and freezes. He considers approaching and apologizing, but Fingon keeps giving him the talks about giving people space, so instead he just nods and gets out of there.

(He considers mentioning that meeting to Fingon, but decides against it. They are only starting to be at ease with one another again and that would worry him too much.)

They keep running at one-another and he knows she’s uncomfortable. He is too. For a brief moment, he plans on giving up this doubtful pleasure (really, new market or not, why are there so many people there, all buying spices?) and going back to shopping on a smaller, local market but then she deliberately snatches the last pink melon from the stand after seeing him reach for it and that really pisses him off. 

(Fingon was going to visit, and considering how one flavor he always adored was that of pink Vanyarin melons, Maedhros really doesn’t think he can be blamed for his later actions.)

A week later, he overhears her talking to a woman he can only assume to be Galadriel’s daughter about needing to buy cloves for Earendil’s favorite dish and promptly makes sure to purchase all the remaining ones.

It’s a war now and there’s no knowing who will break down first.

Afterwards, it would be foolish not to expect a retaliation, so the next time Fingon visits he makes sure to get to the market extra early. He reaches the melon-seller, just to be informed that all of the fruits have already been sold out.

A seagull laughs at him.

Better person would have given in. Luckily, he really doubts that Elwing sees him as a better person.

He persuades Caranthir to help him bribe the vendor into sending the next month’s delivery of cloves directly to his house.

(In a hindsight, the unfortunate chain of the house’s ownership is to be blamed on birds. They shit on the porch constantly. Elwing really does not control the local pigeons (but will not, under any condition, ask them to stop, not while he is holding the cloves hostage). It’s not her fault he moved into this neighborhood. They even exchange a couple of semi-polite letters on this matter.)

A couple of years latter, Elrond almost gets an aneurysm after coming across his mother and Maedhros shopping together and discussing which of the vendors has the best tomatoes. 

[drabblesandimagines]

Portrait

Joshua Rosfield x (painter) female reader Commissioned piece, 4,600 words (minor end game spoilers) Thank you so much for the commissioner for commissioning me in the first place and for letting me share here with you all! x

“No, no, no.” You’d swear the woman before you should be stomping her foot along to her words, her mannerisms being similar to those of a petulant child not getting their way.

The Empress of Sanbreque is usually a picture of decorum – carefully composed expression, hands clasped, never a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in her gown – but her façade appears to have cracked for she is scowling at you with clenched fists by her side. “Did you not understand my directions?”

You open your mouth, and quickly shut it again. Your mind is blank on an answer, probably looking foolish as you do so. You look at the portrait you’d unveiled moments ago for her private viewing, trying to see what she’s taken umbrage with, though you’re sure you followed her instructions to the letter.

“Your Grace, I-”

She raises her hand, stopping you before you can even begin a defense.

“It is quite clear that you did not.” Olivier, her three-year-old son and the subject of the portrait, sits at her feet, disturbingly well-behaved for his age, even for one of noble blood and upbringing. His eyes almost seemed lifeless at times – unnervingly so – with a cruel smile that was beyond his years. You’d tried to soften it out, is that what had upset her so?

“His Grace has been most pleased with my previous works.” You’d been brought in under the Empreror’s service first – endless commissions of he and the crown prince to celebrate every momentous occasion over the last few years.   

“His Grace has, yes, but only of Prince Dion.” The way she pronounces Bahamut’s name is as if it leaves a foul taste on her tongue. “But these won’t do at all for my darling Olivier.” She pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation as she casts her eyes over your work once more. You swallow your pride. After all, it is far better to keep in the Empress’ good books than make an enemy of. “I will start anew-” “No – I’ve seen enough. You are dismissed, without pay. Come, Olivier.”

He grabs her hand obediently, but not without throwing you one last cruel smile.

--

Although you knew it would be difficult to remain in the city, you hadn’t expected a group of soldiers to appear at your door that very evening – armed with swords and spears, one holding a scroll of decree and beginning to read to you the moment after your name was confirmed.

“By decree of Empress Anabella Lesage, you are hereby commanded to leave Orinflamme at once.”

“Leave?” You’d planned to move – you knew her handmaidens would make quick work of spreading the gossip of your dismissal, whispering in certain noble ears to make sure the word spread far and wide – but to be banished altogether?

“Leave.” The captain of the guard confirmed, no sign of emotion on his face. “Refusal to comply will be seen as treason, of which the punishment is execution. You are to be gone by sunrise.”

You look around your small abode, trying to work out what you could possibly pack up and take in such a small timeframe – could you scrape enough gil together to rent a chocobo for the travel?

“Furthermore, all of your possessions are now the property of Empire. You may, however, retain the clothes upon your person.” The way in which he says it makes you think that he believes that is being far too generous.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice calls and the crowd of guards splits. Prince Dion Lesage, regaled in the armour of the Dragoons and spear at his side, walks forward with purpose.

“My prince, there is no need to trouble yourself with such matters as these.”

“The Emperor himself requested my presence to make sure the Empress’ wishes are fulfilled. If you will excuse us, I assure you I have it handled from here and you may return to your other duties.” He casts a scathing eye over the seven men. “I doubt this task required this many of you either.”

“Yes, my prince.” The captain replies, tersely, with only a slight bow of his head, but none of the men make to move quite yet.

Dion’s hand tightens around the hilt of his spear and you are rendered speechless as he grabs you by the crook of your elbow and pulls you forward, out of your home – not even a chance to glance around and bid it goodbye - past the assembled guards and starts to lead you towards the city gates in long strides.

“I am sorry, my lady,” Dion says, softly, trying to avoid prying ears. You have always been fond of the crown prince – he had always treated you kindly in your interactions during portrait sitting sessions over the last few years. “I tried to speak to the Emperor to overturn the Empress’ command as soon as word reached me, but he would not be swayed.”

Your eyes widen at the idea. “Prince Dion, you shouldn’t have. That is far more kindness than I deserve.”

“Nonsense,” he chides. “I just wish I could do more. I saw the portrait before the Empress commanded it destroyed. I cannot think what has offended her so – it was the spitting image of Olivier.” He drops your elbow at last and retrieves a pouch off his belt, holding it out to you. “It isn’t much – shamefully, I am not adept of carrying gil around on my person – but hopefully it will be enough to see you through your travel.”

“No, your highness,” you shake your head. “I couldn’t possibly accept.”

“You must,” he presses the pouch firmly in your hand. “Do not make me order it so. It will be a long journey ahead - my concern is Northflame is too close to be out of the Empress’ influence.”

“I’ll head to Port Isodole – enough nobles reside there for me to gain employment once more, I’m sure of it.”

--

It was tricky upon your arrival to Port Isodole. You wanted to remain positive that you’d be commissioned on reputation alone by some of the Imperial nobles who resided there. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that the word had already wormed its way into eager ears, and those who sought the Empress Anabella’s favour wouldn’t dare to associate with someone she’d dismissed so blatantly and banished from the city itself.

You’d made do with work as a barmaid, part of your wages taking up with your food and board. Slowly, you’d built up your art supplies over the years and remained positive. Afterall, you could have had much worse luck in life than what you’d faced.

Finally, you decided to take a few of landscape pieces to market, hoping that surely enough time had passed - the Mothercrystal had been felled, Orinflamme abandoned in consequence, so why would the people of Port Isodole still hold such regard for the word of an Empress now stationed so far away?

“My dear, these are truly wonderful.” His voice is boomingly loud, surely drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. A tall, stocky, bearded man, dressed in finery looked in awe at your display and you so hoped pockets heavy with gil might be in store. “I feel as if I’m actually there, casting my eyes across the horizon once more.”

“Thank you, sir. Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?” “Mayhaps - do you dabble in portraiture?” “I do… or I did. It’s been a little while.”

“And who is your patron?”

“My… patron?” You hesitate, wary now that this is where Anabella’s tarnishing of your name would lead to your undoing.

“With a talent such as this, you must have one.”

“Well, I-“

“Lord Byron”, a man interrupts, looking scornfully at you and keeping his distance. A beautiful woman is hanging off his arm and looking mortified by the whole thing. “I’d be wary of her. Empress Anabella dismissed her from her services.”

“Oh… Oh, my.” He sets his face in a solemn expression and your heart sinks. “Thank you, my good man.” Byron nods his head, giving the man a hearty pat on the back and begins to walk away with the couple. You feel as if you may cry. Maybe coming here was a mistake, but it was as far as you could’ve gone with the gil Dion had kindly given you. Is Anabella’s scorn going to follow you round forever?

You try and steel your resolve for other potential customers – who would want to purchase anything from a tearful merchant? - though many pass without giving your wares so much as a second glance. A cloaked man strides past, hand scuffing your table as he does. At first you think he meant to swipe something from it, but there is only an addition in the form of a letter.

You lean over the table and pick it up, breaking the wax seal.

My sincerest apologies for how we parted. If you would be so kind, please attend the manor this evening and dine with me. I wish to discuss your talent further and, if I may, commission you, the Empress Anabella be damned. – Lord Byron Rosfield.

--

Lord Byron had heard tale of your portraits, it had turned out, but he still wished to see your work first hand before he would tell you what he truly wanted. A workroom was set up for your disposal, a plethora of supplies that made your eyes water at the potential cost, but he had waved it off, declaring himself a lover of the arts. He’d marveled at your portrait of him and bid you come the next day to see the project in full he wished to discuss. As you entered the workroom, the large table had been covered in rolls of what you thought were parchment, but instead turned out to be precious segments of his dear brother’s portrait – the former Archduke of Rosaria, Elwin.

“I fear it is far beyond repair – I was lucky to salvage enough as I did - but I wondered if you would be up for the challenge of a recreation.”

“I can certainly try. There’s definitely enough of his face to base from. And I have your likeness, my lord, to assist.”

--

“Oh, Uncle,” Clive has tears in his eyes as he beholds the new addition to Byron’s parlor. “It is just as I remembered – he is just as I remembered. How did you even get hold of this? I thought everything destroyed after the siege.”

“The original was beyond saving, torn and burnt in places, yes. This, my dear boy, I had it commissioned, using parts of the original as a guide. You see, I have taken into my patronage a very talented artist – allow me to fetch her.”

Joshua’s breath had been stolen when he saw the painting of his father. He could swear if he stared long enough, the eyes would blink in return, that he would see his father’s chest rise with breath once more. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be proud of the man he’d grown to be, if he had done the Phoenix proud before the Eikons were stripped from the world.

A warm palm rests on his shoulder. “It is like he is the room once more, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, brother. Quite remarkable. I… I worried I had forgotten his face, after all this time, but this…”

Clive squeezes his shoulder then, no more words needed.

The silence is soon interrupted by the heavy footsteps of their uncle as the door is thrown open.

“Lord Bryon,” you protest, trying to step back but his hand on your back remains firm, “My apologies, but I really am in no state to-”

“Nonsense, my girl!” It is too late for you are pushed in front of two of the most handsome men you think you have seen.

You curtsy, clumsily, and Joshua can’t help but grin. He said you were to meet his nephews and, as he was a lord, they deserved the same respect, however Bryon hadn’t even given you chance to wash your hands, nor check your face in the mirror for errant paint streaks before he’d ushered you to the parlor.

“My dearest nephews, allow me to introduce the talented painter behind this masterpiece.”  

Your cheeks feel hot, a little flustered in the way which Byron had pulled you in front of his nephews with no preparation. Joshua thanks the Founder that he was stood where he was, meaning that he gets to make your acquaintance first. Byron introduces you by name and turns to the blonde first, beaming.

“This is my youngest nephew – Joshua.” You offer out your hand but also curtsy again, forgetting yourself in the fluster. The Empress Anabella would not have stood for it. Before you can retreat your hand with an apology, Joshua takes it in his hand and drops to his knee, pressing a kiss across the back of it.

“It is a pleasure to meet the talented woman behind the masterpiece.”

“Oh,” your eyes light up and Joshua delights in it, already thinking of how he can achieve the same rush. “Thank you – that’s very kind. I admired Archduke Elwin very much – it was an honour to pay tribute to his memory.” Joshua slowly gets to his feet and relinquishes your hand.

“I… I served under your mother – the Empress Anabella - for a time.”

“Yes, before she was exiled for a portrait of Oliver Lesage not meeting her standards.”

“Ah. I pray you do not hold that against us.” Clive interrupts.

“Of course she doesn’t, my boy!” Byron booms once more. “This is my eldest nephew, Clive. Quite the rogue.”

“Uncle,” Clive gently admonishes. “I cannot see why our mother would be displeased with your work. This is… I feel like I can reach out and touch him. You’ve captured him remarkably well.”

You duck your head down in embarrassment, not used to receiving such amounts of praise. The Emperor would nod his approval, make no comment on style or substance, so to have the three sing your praises is a little overwhelming.

“Thank you.” You nod at Clive, a small smile across your lips and Joshua feels a twang in his chest at the sight of it – odd.

“And now this one is complete, I dare say we mu-“

The parlor door is swung open with a bang. Gav stands there, panting, hands on his knees to try and catch his breath. “Sorry, like, but we gotta scram. Imperial soldiers heading this way – caught wind of Cid the Outlaw sniffing about.”

Joshua did not see you for another year.

Regrettably, other matters had taken precedence. Ultima at first, a period of recovery for both him and Clive – Dion lost in the fight, and then focus had turned to helping nations adapt to a crystal-free life and the rebuilding of Grand Duchy of Rosaria. Parts of the castle were still under construction, but the capital itself had been rebuilt and ready to usher in the new Archduke.

“Your grace,” a servant called, diverting his attention from the latest pile of missives left at his desk, “Lord Byron Rosfield has arrived.”

“Uncle!” Joshua beamed, descending the stairs from the castle into the courtyard where Byron was emerging from a carriage. “We were not expecting you quite yet.”

“My dear boy,” he pulled his nephew into a firm hug. “I’m afraid I was far too keen to give you your gift to wait any longer.”

“A gift, Uncle? You shouldn’t have.”

His eyes widen as you emerge from the carriage, a hesitant smile on your face as you nod your head in greeting.

“Nonsense! The Archduke needs a portrait to mark this historical day.”

“Your grace.” You begin, cautiously. “I’m not sure you remember me, but-“

“My lady,” he begins, slyly taking your hand and pressing a kiss against your knuckles in greeting. “Of course I do. I assure you I could not forget one of such talent, nor of such beautiful visage.”

“You are too kind, your grace.”

“Joshua – I insist.”

“Joshua.” The word feels precious on your tongue. “Lord Byron is quite keen for me to paint a portrait of you and your brother, though I’m aware that this is probably quite a busy time for you to have long sittings.”

“Nonsense. You are welcome to my time whenever you wish, my lady.”

--

Joshua would never openly admit to it, but he had been somewhat jealous of Clive in their childhood. Not of the distain his mother had shown towards her first-born son, no, but of the freedom that maternal neglect had permitted him. Though Clive had taken the burden of being the First Shield upon his shoulders without a word of complaint, it was not as if Joshua had asked to be the Dominant of the Phoenix, nor that he had a choice in the matter at all. So many people were relying on him, championing him on, but when he was laid up in bed, downing elixirs and tonics made by the castle healers, he didn’t feel as strong as he needed to be.

Clive could go out wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted without the watchful eye of Anabella or the gaggle of her handmaidens. He could wear whatever he pleased too, practical things, even. Joshua instead had been draped in the finest fabrics, shipped in from Dhalkmekia that he would be scolded over for dirtying even slightly.

He thought he was old enough to no longer experience such a childish notion as jealousy – he could wear what he wanted, go where he wanted, no longer burdened by Ultima in his chest or the Phoenix in his being… But the foul feeling is getting harder to ignore when he is forced to sit there as you grip Clive’s bicep, moving his arm a fraction of an inch to the left, or the way in which you shyly adjust his shirt, claiming it’s important to have the outfit the exact same in order for the shading, but you never show him the same courtesy. He had hoped for more private sittings, to have your company to himself – perhaps sitting shoulder to shoulder with Clive’s muscular form was doing him no favours - but Byron had requested the two men together in a portrait, so the sessions had been arranged for when they were both free so you could at least get the outlines down, as well as some initial colouring.

You tug Clive’s shirt down a little to try and get it to lay flat – face burning with how your hand ghosted across his muscular chest - it had ridden a little and bunched when he sat. Clive stared straight ahead, hands clasped, ever the gentleman, and Joshua found himself shuffling in position, hoping his shirt might misbehave.

The Founder does not bless him so, as you return back behind the canvas.

--

Joshua arrives for his sitting in a good mood for two reasons – one, it is just to be him as Clive is away in Eastpool for a day or so, and two, he had a plan.

He did have a morning and early afternoon of meetings and reports to get through, but he had promised the late afternoon and as much as the evening for his sitting to take place, and that is certainly enough time to put said plan into action.

“Hello,” You smile brightly as he enters, taking his usual position on the chair.  Joshua has his pose down to a fine art, whereas Clive needed more co-ercing to settle. “Are you sure you have time for this today? It might be a rather long one, I’m afraid I have a lot to get through as Lord Byron is keen for it to be ready for the day.”

“As I said, I am all yours for as long as you can stand me, my lady.”

You nod, stepping behind the canvas and pick up from where you left off. He doesn’t make his move for a good while, watching carefully as your eyes flick between the canvas and him and you begin to mix up paints once more, trial and error as usual as you worked diligently to find the right shade.

He makes his move when you turn back to the table to grab a clean brush, tugging the knot on the laces of his shirt clear and then shrugging his shoulder, revealing a little more of his chest than was previously on display.

You turn back round and your gaze flick between Joshua and the canvas once more… only for you to doubletake. He bites back a grin in celebration. It must be the candlelight playing tricks on your eyes because you could’ve sworn Joshua’s shirt laces were most definitely tied a moment ago. Mayhaps you should open a door – are the paint fumes going a little too much to your head after being sequestered in here all day long?

“Is everything all right?”

“Your, erm…” You put down the paint brush. “Your shirt laces have come undone.”

“Oh, have they?” He shrugs again, his top slipping down his shoulder a little more. “Oh, the shading, of course. My apologies.”

“That’s all right.” You wipe your hands clean on a rag, wondering how it had come quite so undone, before walking over to your subject. “May I?”

“By all means.”

You pull his shirt up his shoulder, lining it up with his ear -  a good reference point - and pull the laces taught to tie off once more. You step back, cock your head this way and that, and then forward again to adjust it once more.

“There.”

“Wonderful.”

You return back to the canvas and begin to paint, brow furrowed in concentration, whilst Joshua feels absolutely giddy that his plan had been somewhat successful in achieving your touch.

So much so, that he cannot resist a tug at the laces once more the very next time he sees you turn your back – this time to take a deep drink of water - shrugging his shoulder once more, so it reveals more of his collarbone. He composes his features, he can’t give the game away by grinning like a child.

You turn back after a few moments and this time notice immediately, opening your mouth to say something but not quite knowing what to say. You’re sure you tied the knot firmly enough to stay put.

“What is it, my lady?” He tilts his head in intrigue.

“Your… Your shirt, it’s come undone. Again.”

“No,” he feigns disbelief, looking down at his chest in surprise. “I only stretched, I assure you.”

“Of course – mayhaps I didn’t tie it tight enough.” You wipe your hands clean again on the rag and stride over, a little less cautious this time as you tug his shirt back up, now standing between his spread legs – when did that happen? - lining it up with his ear once again and tighten the laces before securing it in a knot. You nod, more to yourself, as you check over your handiwork and go to step back.

“Thank you.” Joshua catches your hand as you do so, stilling your retreat. “It is very admirable how dedicated you are to your work.”

“I think it is how I get them to seem as realistic as you say they are – the shading is everything.” Your heart is pounding in your chest by how close you are, stood between his thighs. “I should…”

“Of course,” he releases your hand and by the time you’re back behind the canvas, his legs are crossed once more.

You work in silence for a while, getting fully into the flow now that Joshua’s shirt appears to be behaving. He enjoys watching you work – the way sometimes you stick your tongue out when you are concentrating particularly hard on a certain element, how your brow furrows, how tiny smatters of paint begin to decorate your cheeks and your hair as you dab the brush onto the canvas.

As the time passes, he cannot refuse to chase the thrill of your touch one more time this evening. Clive returns tomorrow and maybe this will be his last chance for a while – he couldn’t so boldly unlace his shirt with his brother sat by his side. He waits for another opportune moment for your back to be turned, and tugs at the knot.

It holds firm.

Your back is still turned, so he tugs again.

Nothing.

He raises his other hand to try and help undo the knot, before leaning up in his chair slightly to see if he can see what you’re doing, how much longer you may be as he continues fighting the knot. He thinks you’re having another drink of water, so he risks looking down, finally pulling the knot free and frantically shrugs his shoulders – a little more vigorously than before as he feels his shirt slip down on both.

He looks up in relief, only to see you have turned back whilst he was looking down, your head tilted as you stare at him in confusion.

Joshua feels his face burn as red as his old cowl at being caught in the act.

You walk over to him again, trying to hold in a smile that is rapidly creeping across your face and feeling as bold as brass. “Although I would like to paint you sans shirt, Joshua, I don’t think your uncle would be best pleased.”

“You would?” His voice lilts before he shakes his head, embarrassment and shame overcoming him. “No, I beg your forgiveness, my lady.” He mumbles, tugging his shirt back up on his shoulders. “I have let feelings of jealousy drive my actions and it is most unbecoming of a future Archduke.”

“Jealousy?”

“I… desired your touch, but I understand that Clive is…”

“He’s…?”

“A finer specimen.” He feels entirely foolish and somewhat pathetic for even saying it aloud – his brother’s body had come from years of enforced labor, for Founder’s sake! “Please, my lady, I beg you for-“

You press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, before pulling back with a shy smile, heart pounding, hoping you’ve read the signs and heard him correctly.

“I assure you, Clive is not the one I desire.”

He lifts a hand to caress your cheek for a moment before pulling you back in between his thighs, a steadying hand on your back as your lips meet again once more – a succession of frantic kisses, as if you are both trying to squeeze in as many as you can before the moment is over.

The two of you begin to slow your rhythm as you nestle yourself upon his thigh, feel his tongue swipe across your lips, seeking entrance. You part them slightly and he is quick to divulge with a moan that makes you tingle.

You have to retreat to catch your breath at one point – never in your wildest dreams had you pictured the session ending with you sat on the future Archduke’s lap, his shirt now hanging open around his shoulders again.

“Please do not say you have to get back to the portrait, darling one.” He murmurs into your throat before pressing kisses across your jaw.

“No. Your complexion is too flush for me to continue,” you tease.

“Good. For I have something else in mind for the evening.”

“Oh?”

“A private showing, if you will.” He takes your hand and places it flat against the exposed part of his chest – you can feel his heart pounding through your fingertips.  

“Where would that be?”

“My bed chambers.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

(The tags aren't working for this one - sigh...)

[kannra21]

Pros of moving to Mephisto's mansion (let's say that he let you to suck-up to Diavolo lol, you're still a foolish human tho):

He's rich. The mansion is fucking huge!

It's just him and his little brother- so LOTS of privacy.

No family drama in the house. It's peaceful.

No stressing ab food bc no Beel. The fridge is always full.

New stress unlocked- he wants to eat something you don't want to (you want to eat simple bacon and eggs, he wants to eat Les cuisses de Grenouille wtf?? he thinks you're eating peasant food), so breakfast choice is always uncertain...

You bicker over stupid stuff like TV programs and et cetera. He's crossing his arms and hmphs in attitude. He's so annoying.

Cooking duties? Probably non-existent bc he has lesser demons to take care of it (though it would be kinda hot seeing Mepho in an apron tbh... what's wrong with you? you're thirsting for an idiot sandwich).

His bro is an angel tho, you love him. He called you "mom" by accident and you blushed, but it made Mepho feel some type of way. The thought of playing house, it's just too cute.

At first you hate him, but then you realize he's cranky and gloomy not bc of you, but bc of the back pain from sitting in his goddamn office all day and stressing himself out. If you offer him a back massage, he will change his opinion on you very quickly. In fact, he actually starts liking you more.

The longer you live with them, the more you learn about their everyday life and routine. Him and his bro have a habit of roasting marshmallows by the fire at night, Mephisto plays guitar or tells him stories. Sometimes they play fight and you warn him to go easy on his sibling. Mepho shows you canines and tells you what they're doing is perfectly natural bc it's important for a demon child's growth. He supports him in any kind of rough play. That's the way he was raised too. "Even a horse is choosing a strong, dominant owner he can depend on." You realize purebred demons are wilder than fallen angels. Fallen angels will never be real demons, in his theory. He's also prejudiced against humans bc of the whole power dynamic with pacts. But you're nice, so he doesn't mind you.

If you like Diavolo, congrats, you'll spend as much time with him as you want. Bc they're friends and he'll drag you everywhere with him.

Will spoil you rotten, but only if you behave... he's not so bad.

Will walk around the mansion shirtless just to mess with you. Bro doesn't understand why MC is so flustered for no reason. You tell him it's just a common cold, you go make some tea.

You prank him to take your revenge, like touching his bare neck with your ice-cold hands. You realize that he has a cute lady-like scream and you can't stop laughing. He gets grumpy and traps you in a big, tight hug to annoy you. You don't mind being held by him. Your confession made him melt.

One day you're lying in bed together, tangled in each other's limbs, talking. He says he loves you and that no rare version of Demonus could ever replace that feeling. If you ever decide to be with someone else, he'll understand, bc he behaved very badly towards you. He doesn't expect you to accept his apology bc he doesn't want your pity. He's a man, he's prideful, he has an image to maintain. But you're not pitying him. Being able to admit one's mistakes is an admirable trait. That's why you decide to give it a chance.

He wakes up and smells blood. He's panicking and asks you if you're OK, but you tell him you're on your period and that your stomach is hurting. The dude was almost in tears, shame on you. Goes to the pad's aisle and asks you what pussy size you wear. Now don't underestimate him, he's a very educated man. However, he grew up in a man's household and his mother never rly talked ab it, so it went over his head. Woman near him is holding her sides and laughing. He doesn't mind her, he thinks she's drunk or something. Buys everything from sanitary products, to painkillers, to chocolates. "Baby I'm coming home, just hang on for a bit!" He's afraid you're in danger of serious bloodloss. You facepalm. At least he's funny.

Before visiting his horses, he lectured you for the millionth time and gave you a long list of precautions, bc he doesn't want anything to happen to you or his horses. Yes, he's annoying, but that's bc he cares too much. He's not leaving any room for mistakes. These horses are huge and trust him when he tells you that they can hurt you. Long story short, they accepted you right away.

He gets overprotective of you when you talk with the brothers at RAD. Mammon won't take it well. He'll initiate a fight and Mepho won't hold back, so you have to interfere to stop the whole ruckus. And ofc they're annoyed bc "Why's he acting weird? He used to hate MC." He doesn't care about their confused looks, he cares that you arrive to your classes on time and that they don't pose a distraction to you. You assure him that they're your beloved boys you used to live with at HOL and that you have some catching up to do. He respects your decision and leaves you alone, bc he trusts you.

Although he loves private time with you, pls don't visit him too often in his office. He wants you to concentrate on your education and he wants you to pass those tests. It's not a problem, he'll spend his time with you at home.

He has a need to mark your neck or whatever part of your body that's visible to the outside world. It's primal, it's something that demons like to do. You don't want painful bruises all over your body so you suggest a pact as your best solution. He agrees, that's how you bonded to each other.

You enjoy Seductive speechcraft a little too much these days. You're taking it outside the classroom and people are either happy or upset about it. It's not your fault that your man radiates with such confidence and charisma.

He likes holding hands with you in public or even kissing, he hopes Lucifer is seeing it and secretly dying inside

You love and hate Mephisto. He's straightforward, bold and daring. Which can be rude and flattering at the same time. He wants you, and he wants others to know that they can't have you.

He wants to take you out to a nice restaurant so he suggests you put on your best outfit for the night. He even dressed his bro and gave him a cute little bow tie. It was the most adorable sight, you needed to take pictures. However, when Mephisto came out of the corner dressed in a three-piece suit which consists of a maroon blazer, black dress pants and a waistcoat of similar color that is paired with white dress shirt underneath, embedded with a golden tie bar clipped onto his black tie, it left you speechless. He stared at you too, you chose a nice black dress that flattered your figure and looked very elegant on you. You couldn't rly flirt since the kid was there so you just complimented each other. On your walk towards your location, Mephisto held his brother's hand or sometimes allowed him to sit on his shoulders (he's doting on him too much). They talked and laughed about random stuff and your eyes softened. You knew that he has a soft spot for kids, he looked like he could make for a good daddy someday. Your embarrassing thoughts got interrupted by him offering his hand to you, which you gladly took.

There are days where you play with his bro and spoil him more often than not. He's your son now. OK, Luke will always remain your no.1 son, but he has the honors of being your no.2 if that makes any sense. Mephisto is jealous of his own brother lol. You suggest your two sons meet and play together, but Mephisto is still sceptical of the angels. He doesn't trust them easily. You assure him that he has lots of things to learn from Luke and that he'd be a positive influence on him. He trusts you, as always.

People notice he's less cranky than he used to be. And all because of you. You're still bickering over stupid stuff tho. He'll kiss you to make up for it.

[telvess]

Record of Ragnarok Hades (headcanons?) 🔞

Partly headcanons, partly Hades x Minte, because I didn’t have anything original to say about Persephone trope.

warning: mature

Okay, Hades is lonely. He has his duties, he’s King of the Netherworld after all and I think he doesn’t even realize it himself how much he needs someone’s attention. Most of his free time he spends with damn parrot… and besides it his other social interaction are with servants or demons. Due to some deadly circumstance, Adamas had to move to Hades’s realm, but he seems to be too proud to live in his brother’s palace, so he probably has his own piece of territory where he rules over… something. That’s why I don’t believe they speak often, probably on occasions. Still that makes him the most presence in Hades’s life. Poseidon isn’t chief god, which mean he cannot freely roam after Bifrost incident and Zeus is busy being the God Father of Cosmos. Hades is wealthy, tall, handsome man, respected by basically everyone, so it’s no wonder that women are all over him the moment he appears in Valhalla. I see him as very resistant to their charms, but he still remains polite in refusing. Once in a while he may find interest in some lady, but it’s nothing more than a fling. He makes it perfectly clear for her that he doesn’t look for serious commitment. I don’t see him being fussy, he can find any woman pretty and as long as she knows a little, he would be content. The biggest turn off for him is being foolish or too self-absorbed, which usually goes hand to hand with grandiosity. On the other hand, he might get caught off guard with some good smile, he secretly has a weakness for them. Same goes with loud laugh, he likes when a woman loosen up a bit and behaves more naturally in his presence. I can see how he takes his responsibilities very seriously. When some other small deities ask for help with demons, he has no resistance in joining his soldiers and leads them into battle. That’s how he meets his potential love interest. She might be some lost nymph (of mint) who was drawn into the fight. When Hades tries to help, she act like Megara from Herkules (1997): I'm a damsel. I'm in distress. I can handle this. Have a nice day - so he stands there, almost disarmed by her nonchalance as she narrowly escapes death for the fifth time. Once the fight is over, his curiosity takes over and he wants to get to know her better. If the demons just destroyed her home, he doesn’t mind to offer her accommodation in his palace, which only an idiot would deny. Hades definitely isn’t the type of man who falls in love at first sight. But he seems to enjoy thrill - troublesome people naturally attract him, so he can easily find a common ground with them. When they arrive to the palace, Hades would treat her almost as an old friend he didn’t see in ages. It’s easy for him to break the ice but much harder to open up. Hades would give her a tour and answer all the question about the palace. If she doesn’t mind, he invites her to eat together or proposes chess match. He can even teaches her how to play. At first they would talk about anything in particular. After some time there’d be questions: about Hades’s brothers or how he became King of the Underworld, how nymph ended up on her own, what’s their origin etc. Then it would come time for a light-hearted banters and jokes, and suddenly something change even if they didn’t cross any big line. One day Hades would simply realize that he seeks for nymph’s attention. He likes her voice, he likes her minty smell, he likes her melodious laugh. He goes to her when he’s agitated because her presence calms him down; he’d simply sit beside and listen to her voice. All these signs are enough for him to understand situation and once he realizes that, feelings escalates very quickly to the point that may surprise both of them.

When the wind blew very hard, large drops of rain began to fall from the grey clouds. Someone not familiar with Helheim would misread it as a bad morning, but that was very regular beginning of the day in that realm. Despise weather Hades was heading to the garden. The one of the very few place in Helheim where flowers and fruits grew. Almost constant lack of sunlight was quite a challenge after all. — You’ll get soaked completely — Hades said with smirk. The nymph turned to face him. Her rosy cheeks and nose were such a contrast on usually very pale skin of hers. Hades couldn’t deny that the hairs that clung to her forehead gave her a charm. — That’s fine by me — she answered — I like rain. Hades came closer, way closer that nymph expected, but she didn’t step back. She observed how his eyes moved to her lips, watched them for awhile and then made all the way back to her eyes, looking for silent consent. The air around them changed, became heavier. Time stopped. Then Hades slowly raised his hand to her face and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Nymph could breath again. He smiled as he lend a hand that she accepted. — Shall we? — Hades asked. He led them inside.

Hades doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable by rushing things. He isn’t blind so when he starts courting, he’s sure that she returns his feelings. They play their little games: try to flirt a bit and then pretend to be innocent. It brings them joy and good laugh, that’s their way to strengthen bonds. Their first cross-the-line moment would happen out of blue.

The carriage left the inn and moved at a steady pace back to the castle. Hades sit arm to arm with Minte. Leaning over, she watched at the landscapes. Seemed bored to Hades. As he checked the view from his side, his hand reached her knee, just below the hem of her dress. Much to his own satisfaction, skin to skin contact caused a surprised gasp. Hades didn’t react to that and continue to caressed nymph with his fingers as if nothing happened. He was slowly moving up. The feeling of her soft, warm skin started awaking something inside his belly and below. — Fine — Hades heard her angry voice — You won. Before she finished sentence, her hand reached his cheek and forced him to look at her. Without hesitation, nymph’s lips closed gap between them and moment later Hades tasted something he had longed for a very long time. It wasn’t gentle at all. The kiss was quintessence of desire, hunger and passion. Hades tasted her tongue and listen her muffled moans, the heat that awoke in his body was almost uncomfortable. He felt her curious fingers on his chest, looking for a way to get under clothes. Hades was bemused by mint scent and all he could think of was her on him right now. As time passed, he realized that his hands were roaming freely over her body, playing with hairs, caressed every inch of naked skin he could find. Knowing what was coming excited him. Only if sudden stop of carriage didn’t bring them both back to their senses…

Once they take the relationship to the level of intimacy, Hades crave it daily. He wants to experience this newfound physical world that he has never shared with anyone like this before. Hades is so into praising. He is original, does not repeat old patterns, although he has a soft spot for the word ‚magnificent’. What’s interesting - he’s not used to being praised (do not confuse with ass kissing), so he may be surprised when he hears a few nice words in bed for the first time. Hades prefers slow love-making over quickies. He likes to take his time, enjoys a moment and completely relaxes in his lover’s arms. I don’t see him as a fan of morning sex either, he likes to make a whole ritual out of it. A whole day of desire, a nice dinner, maybe a walk or a bath together. He really adores massages as a foreplay. He doesn’t have one favourite position. As long as is not something too demanding, he would go with it. In his opinion sex should be pleasant, not a challenge. Doesn’t mind at all being small spoon or gives up the initiative, just not all the time. Hades is sweet lover but he has a bit firm side - it’s properly balanced. After session he wants to cuddle and talk about anything in particular until they both fell asleep.

[drvirgus]

Behind bars

Non Idol! Minji X Convicted! Reader

Description: Coming out of Jail is never easy. Y/n even would say its harder then even getting into Jail. What happens when she lives with a Person that absolutely hates Criminals? What even got her into Jail? and what happens if she starts to like the person that hates her?

Chapter: ruined life (half-written)

Masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

———————————————————————————————————

„Hyein“

Sighing, I knocked on the locked door of the younger one. My heart ached hearing the crying inside the room. I sighed defeatedly, leaning my forehead against the door. "Hyein, please... open up," I pleaded, weakly knocking on the door again. Unfortunately, I received no response.

„Hyein," I tried again, my knocking becoming a bit louder. All I could hear was the younger one's loud crying in the room. My sister was crying because of this foolish thing that slipped out of my mouth...

I had promised myself never to utter something like that... But... I got angry...

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way, okay?" I asked as I tried to push down the doorknob, but the room was still locked. I sighed again as I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I skillfully suppressed them. I had learned how to control my tears early on.

"Please. Open up."

"What's going on?"

Startled, I looked with wide eyes at the woman who apparently just arrived home. Confused, Minji stared at me with narrowed eyes. Her eyes briefly moved to the closed door and then back to me, her hand on the strap of her bag. I turned to the taller woman.

"Why are you here already?" I asked after clearing my throat. My voice couldn't break now. Minji hesitated. She seemed to be assessing the situation. "I only had 2 hours of class today," the taller woman replied, glancing at the closed door once again.

"Hyein didn't go to school?" she asked with a furrowed brow. I swallowed and shook my head. Minji hummed, understandingly nodding her head, gesturing for me to follow her. Uncertain, I glanced once more at the closed door and then back at Minji.

I followed the taller woman into her room, watching as she neatly placed her bag in its spot. Sighing, my girlfriend turned to me. "We should actually be celebrating that you're, at least for a short time, free from Ryujin," the taller one began as she approached me. Her hands rested on my hips. "But how can I rejoice when you look at me with those eyes?" she asked, looking at me with pity.

I swallowed. The younger one's words pierced straight through my heart, making it even harder for me to suppress my tears. Minji smiled encouragingly. Her lips now on my cheek, just below my eye. Shortly after, her lips moved across my nose to my other cheek.

"Cry if you need to," she whispered, looking directly into my eyes. "Don't suppress your feelings," she added as she pulled me into a tight embrace. Her hand on the back of my head. However, my body remained tense. I didn't want to cry.

"What happened?" she asked softly as her hand on the back of my head began to stroke my hair. Her voice low and deep, almost too soothing. It seemed like she didn't mind my entire body tensing up. She skillfully ignored it and simply pulled me into an even tighter hug.

Only after a certain time, probably because Minji gave me time and didn't push further, did my body relax. The tears in my eyes blurred my vision, and my hands slowly moved over the younger one's hips. I completely surrendered to the embrace, my forehead on the taller one's shoulder.

"I won't cry."

"Okay."

I took a deep breath as I heard Minji humming reassuringly. My hands clenched onto the taller one's shirt. Not a single sheet of paper could fit between us. Our bodies intertwined. I felt Minji kiss my temple.

"I said something to Hyein that I regret," I confessed as my hand now gripped her shirt a bit more forcefully. "Now she's crying in her room," I added, feeling Minji nodding with her head. Her hand on my back, gently stroking.

I lifted my forehead from her shoulder to look her in the face. Minji looked down for a moment before meeting my eyes. I chuckled slightly. "Could you please go to her?" I asked, surprising Minji. She hesitated.

"What about you?"

I smiled at this question. "I'm fine," I replied, causing the younger one to almost automatically roll her eyes. This made me laugh a bit. "No, really," I added as I slightly loosened the hug. "Having you here is more than enough," I truthfully stated.

Minji immediately smiled. "Now go to Hyein. Comfort her, please... don't let her cry alone," I said, making Minji sigh. Her hand on my cheek. "Okay," she whispered as she connected our lips for a few seconds.

Smiling, I released myself from the taller one. Every muscle in my body completely relaxed, and the tears in my eyes also disappeared. My heartbeat raced endlessly. Minji gave me one last kiss on the forehead before leaving the room, presumably going to Hyein.

Hopefully, Hyein wouldn't spill anything...

[omkookie]

Where has he done wrong? 

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Yandere!Chevalier, Implied Noncon/Rape, Mentioned dead body + Imprisonment, The reader is crumbling apart.

“No! Stay away from me!” You screamed at him, not knowing that you were bringing back memories of when he was a child, and his mother did the same exact thing. Chevalier remembers it all. Every time his mother had a meltdown, every time she was in hysterics… He remembers it all far too well, and seeing you like her left a bad taste in his mouth. 

Where has he done wrong?..

Imprisoning you was an awful thing that no human could take, but Chevalier did it all for your safety… The women of Rhodolite’s royal court were all doomed to die, and suffer a cruel fate. His mother was proof of that, and so were all of the other women the late king had fancied. He didn’t want you to suffer like them. As a result, he did his best to prevent it. 

He protected you from all of the malice in court, He eliminated all threats… He even got rid of spies sent here by that eye patch bastard who wanted to keep track of you.

Locking you in his room for so long, isolating you from all the others was the right thing. 

The others were dangerous to you. He knew far too well from the countless number of assassins that he cut down. You would not be safe near people. A simple commoner amongst nobles would be shunned, Treated with disrespect and disregarded even if she was the future Queen. He did everything to protect you. 

He almost cut Leon down for you. Nearly starting a war with the domestic faction, because his foolish brother tried to meddle with your business. 

How were you mentally unstable? 

Why did you end up so afraid of him?

Despite the countless books that he’s read and knowledge that he has, he can’t comprehend your situation… Or he refuses to. Maybe his mind didn’t want to admit that everything he did to you was wrong and inhumane, even monster-like. 

He looks down at his feet in frustration, before he moves towards your curled up body. You were sobbing on the floor, your cries refusing to die down even when you felt him wrap his arms around you. In fact, you were probably crying harder now because he touched you.

He holds you close to him, petting your head like you were some child he had to comfort, and he lets out a sigh. “Get yourself together, Simpleton.” 

It’s an order. 

Everything that leaves his mouth is an order. 

You bit your lip, trying to muffle your cries, but tears continued streaming down your face. “You’re a monster!” You somehow rasp those horrible words out between tears. His arms around you tighten as he is once again reminded of his mother. 

She said the same things. 

“Enough.” He picks you up, carrying you over to the bed on which he throws you down mercilessly. “Don’t do it! Don’t touch me!” You scream at him whilst trying to scratch and hit him. All of your resistance was merely because you didn’t know what love was.

He’s sure of it. 

You don’t know what it’s like to love someone as much as he loves you. You don’t know what it’s like to harbor such affection and feelings. You were clueless. So clueless, that he’d have to teach you. He’d have to keep you here, in the confines of his room until your mental state improved enough for him to take you out and present you as his Queen. You’d have to stay in his room and study. Inform yourself enough to make yourself a smart woman who is suitable to stay by his side. Knowledge is power, and while you are in his room you have more than enough time to obtain that power. 

You’ll come to terms with your feelings sooner or later, and realize that you do love him. 

You’ll love him. 

And for now, he’ll indulge in your body to show his love for you physically.

When you do come to that realization that you love him he’ll forgive you for all of your childishness. For behaving like his mother. 

He strips, taking his sweet time to peel his clothes off as you quit thrashing and simply lay on the bed motionless. What was to come has happened enough times for you to know that it’s hopeless. You can’t do anything against him. Compared to Chevalier, you were weak. Weak, fragile… frail…. A gentle little bunny who could not fight back against a beast. 

Looking up at the ceiling, you tried to ignore the stench of blood in the air, as well as the slayed body of your maid on the floor. This was the consequence of getting caught by Chevalier. Anyone who tried to help you was brutally murdered in his flashy cold-blooded style.

He gets on top of you, and you simply avert your eyes towards the bookshelves, Not wanting to see his face. You stare at the colorful book covers as his hands unbutton your plain white dress, and his fingers deftly take off your underwear. “It wasn’t so difficult to stop crying now, was it?” He asks, making you feel the urge to kick him. He sighs while throwing your dress to the side, finally stripping you bare before him. 

His lips are on your neck in an instant, and he sucks another harsh bruise amongst the countless number of hickies littering your collarbone, neck and chest. You don’t grace him with a response, and he doesn’t look too bothered by it. 

Even if he once considered love a worthless and unnecessary emotion, he could not deny that it had turned into a motivator for him. A motivator to work hard, expand the kingdom, and strengthen Rhodolite’s relationship with its neighbors. He wanted to work hard just for you, Maybe to impress you… Maybe to make you proud. Maybe, all he wanted all these years was love? which he never received, so he decided it was a useless thing. 

But you can give him that love now, right? Sooner or later, you’ll give him your affection and attention. Only for now… he’ll resort to receiving your affection physically, as you don’t even dare to look at him.

What an odd twist of fate. Is it because of Chevalier’s mother that he turned out to be so screwed?

[di-writes-stuff]

Cowboy Like Me

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Chapter 1

TW: Mentions of bl00d and canon typical weapons. Literally nothing else.

A/N: Okay, I’ve had this idea swirling around for a while, so this should be fun. Buckle up, hoes.

Never had there been a town so poorly named as Valentine. It was far too romantic, far too sweet for the drunk addled pigsty that lay before Arthur Morgan.

He’d never liked going into towns. The judgmental passersby. The beggars. The hookers. The adulterous fools stumbling drunkenly out of saloons with them. Not to mention the sheriffs and bounty hunters lurking in the shadows. The ones that always seem to be searching for a face on a poster that looks an awful lot like him.

His feet sink a good inch or two into the mud that makes up the ground in Valentine as he makes his way to the general store. If he had enough money to buy nice boots, he would have been annoyed at the way the grime sticks to them. But, it’s just another addition to the layers of dirt, grass, and blood that adorn the leather.

Clouds cover the sky, leaving the whole town darkened, only adding to the unfortunate scenery before him as he walks up the wooden excuse of a sidewalk to the store. He’s not here to buy anything, of course. No, he’s here to find something.

A target.

A good hit. It’s what Dutch has been talking about for months now. Just one good hit. That’s all they need. A jackpot in the world of thieves and liars. And of course, in a town like this, lips are loosened by easy trust. A foolish belief that nobody around them could possibly be listening. Watching. Waiting.

Except, that’s exactly what he plans to do. Sit on a bench with a hat over his eyes and wait. Wait to hear about some rich uncle not to far away, or a train from down South full of land owners ripe for robbing.

It’s not his favorite way to spend his days, far from it. Arthur’s only hope is that the payoff from whatever he finds will make up for it. As he steps up the first stair to the patio of the general store, a small can rolls past his feet. He bends down to grab it quickly, standing back up straight and seeing you.

And because as much as he might look in the mirror and see an animal, he is still a man, he notices. Admires the fact that you’re the prettiest thing he’s seen in a long time.

And because he is not only a man, but a man easily charmed by your pretty smile and bright eyes, the faintest blush rises on his cheeks as you bid your thanks in a soft voice.

“‘Course, ma’am.” He manages to keep his voice steady for those two words as you take back the can.

And because you are a woman, you look, and you admire. Admire his cerulean eyes, and the small smile that plays on his chapped lips as he looks down at you.

Before he knows it you’re walking away, leaving his eyes to trail after your figure before remembering the task at hand. He quickly clears his throat, embarrassed for no real reason. Maybe just because he acted like a person instead of the threat Dutch has so carefully carved him to be.

It doesn’t take very long for the image of the pretty girl with the plaid dress to leave his mind when he hears a couple of women discussing exactly what he’d been looking for.

A rich man named Mr. Mallory that just moved in not to far away, buying up a house that’d been vacant for years since nobody could afford the enormous property. But, the land was profitable, and the house was large. Perfect for a single man eager to flaunt his wealth.

And the perfect target for Arthur. He’d never felt particularly bad about robbing the rich. They’ve got plenty to share, and most don’t come about their money in the kindest of ways. Especially not men from out east, which is exactly what this one sounds like.

He holds back a judgmental scoff as he hears one of the women detailing the directions to the house, as the other plans on welcoming him to the community. And if Arthur knows people, which he does, her visit is probably in hopes of marrying him. Not for love, of course. For money, more of it than somebody will ever need or use. And for status. The two desires Arthur hates most.

What a fool. He thinks to himself as he adjusts on the bench, sunlight finally peaking out from behind the clouds.

Except he’s become a fool too, of his own kind. Because the thing Arthur doesn’t notice is the other person lingering nearby. Listening. Watching. Waiting. He doesn’t notice the way her ears perk up at the sound of a good payoff. Of a guiltless robbery.

He doesn’t notice you.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Normally you would have stayed in the town for longer, soaked up the sunshine of the unusually warm spring you’re having. But today is not just any day. Today, you have work.

The windows of your small house are flung open to allow in the crisp air as you lay the food you bought onto the table hurriedly. You only notice the can that rolled onto the floor when it occurs to you that it was the same one as earlier. The one the man with the pretty eyes had picked up for you.

The coincidence is disregarded quickly as you pick it up, tossing it back onto the table before hurrying to your room. It’s getting late, and you need time to plan before you head out. You’d already ridden out to the house, and a rough sketch of the layout sits in your notebook.

Unlike Arthur, the man you don’t yet know, you were listening to the women long before any rich man was mentioned. The accents they spoke with caught your attention, clearly some kind of eastern. Their voices came with a certain coldness that you’ve yet to find out west.

Either way, that coupled with the quality of the clothes that adorned their bodies told you they were wealthy. And you were right.

You always are.

And if you’re assuming correctly, which you almost always do, the man they spoke of is also from out east. Meaning Mr. Mallory doesn’t yet know to lock his doors and keep a rifle beside his bed. Even if he did, the rich bastard probably wouldn’t know how to use the thing.

But you, you do. And if he happens to wake up while you work, he’ll learn that soon enough. You quickly change into a blouse and pants, leaving the dress you’d worn into town today abandoned on your bed.

The plan is finished quickly enough, as there’s plenty of entrances into the house to choose from if the front door’s locked. Now comes the part you hate the most. The part where no matter how rich the man you’re about to rob is, no matter how perfectly fine he’ll be despite the loss, guilt sets in.

This is when you wait. Because a woman riding on her own horse, in her own pants, with a mask over her face in broad daylight isn’t a sight that goes without notice.

It’s not as if you wanted this life. But, between selling your body and thieving, you’d choose the latter again and again. Of course, you could get married. Settle down. Have children. And that all sounds so pretty, so sweet in your mind.

If only the husband wasn’t necessary. The oppressive, aggressive, boring, utterly vacant husband that every married woman seems to be saddled with these days. That reality, over everything else. That, you refuse.

Day shifts to night as you leave your house, climb onto your horse, and set off to pay Mr. Mallory a visit.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Arthur sits, crouched in the grass as he waits for the light to go out in Mr. Mallory’s window. The robbery was going to be easy, that is until he realized that his target happens to enjoy late nights. It’s damn near one in the morning, and the bastard is still up doing God knows what.

A sigh slips from Arthur’s lips as his attention shifts to the horse tied to the porch railing. It’s a bit odd that the steed was just left out front for anybody to steal, and if it seemed to be a valuable one, Arthur would have done just that.

But, it’s simple. Looks to be a Kentucky Saddler, nothing he couldn’t find a few miles out, grazing in a field. Also odd, considering how much money this man seems to have. The peculiarities leave his mind in an instant as the front door creeks open, a small, lithe figure slipping out.

A figure that most certainly isn’t Mr. Mallory. It’s a woman, quick eyes darting back and forth to check for anybody watching. Her gaze eventually lands on Arthur, and a finger comes up to her masked face in a “shush” motion. His mouth falls open slightly as the stranger mounts her horse and rides away, a sack filled with all the riches Arthur missed out on slung over her shoulder.

A twinge of prideful envy hits him as he realized he’s been beat. He watches the mysterious woman as darkness engulfs her, trying to place the sense of familiarity he felt as her eyes met his.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

There’s a smile on your face as you spend a bit of your well earned money in town the next morning. Not just from the wildly successful robbery that you’d managed to pull off while Mr. Mallory was awake. No, the image of the man waiting still lingers in your mind.

It was the man with the pretty eyes, the one whose chivalry had made you blush mere hours before you bested him at his own sport. A cool breeze hits you as you step out of the general store into the warm air, a bag with a new vest and pair of boots slung over your arm.

Arthur walks across the street, still brooding about the robbery that’d been stolen from him the night before. The worst part is the sense of admiration he can’t help but feel. Mr. Mallory had been awake, walking around, and still oblivious to the fact that he was being robbed.

That takes skill, one that Arthur isn’t even sure he possesses. It’s the very reason he’d waited outside, all but letting you do the job for him.

A small bell rings as you leave the general store, and Arthur’s head turns in the direction of the noise. Recognition flickers in his eyes as he takes you in, first as the woman that he’d picked up the can for, and then…

“My God…” He whispers to himself as you smirk at him, crossing the road to stand in front of him, pride coming off of you in waves.

Bright eyes look up at him, the same ones he’d admired in the day, and the ones that he’d recognized for only a moment in the night, too short for him to realize who it’d been. Your lips curl into a smile as your hand reaches up to touch his broad should while you walk past him.

Words escape him as you lean up, your lips close to his ear as you whisper. “Better luck next time.” You walk away promptly, only looking back once to throw that dazzling grin his way again as he turns around to watch you.

He should be annoyed. Angered at your pride. At your gall to rub salt in his wound by acknowledging what you’d both already realized.

Yet, the smallest of smiles that appears on his face defies all that should be true, the breeze seeming to replicate the sound of your voice in his ear as he watches you until you’re a small blip in the distance.

A/N: Okay, this is really long, but first chapters always are. Hope y’all enjoyed, I’ll probably have the second one up pretty quick.

- di <3

[tumbleweed-writes]

Death and the Lady: Chapter Thirteen: Chibs Telford X Reader

PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE

Tag List: @youngadult9016 @mrsfilipchibstelford @mamawiggers1980 @ravennaortiz @liveinsteadofdreaming @redwoodmaya

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18+ Only please. Smut ahead.

Chapter Thirteen: Where the Heart Lies

Her hand felt delicate in his. Of course the longer he knew her the more Chibs Telford realized that Y/N Y/L/N was far less demure than she appeared at first glance. She might appear at first glance to be so prim and proper, but she was far more fierce and strongwilled than anyone really gave her proper credit for.

Her determination was disregarded as her just being too stubborn for her own good and at times written off as a sign of immaturity to those who weren’t willing to attempt to work through the walls she placed up. Her fierceness was written off as her simply having a smart mouth and never knowing when to shut up and stop being so hostile. 

Chibs had found though that he appreciated the stubbornness and the wit. He’d admired these traits in her from their first meeting, and had only grown to adore this facet of her personality as the months wore on. 

He was perfectly content coaxing her to trust him and let go of her need for control. He was happy to put up with the occasional sass and even willing to allow her to give him a hard time. He was willing to encourage her to not build walls around herself and isolate her heart. He allowed her to be vulnerable without judgment, thankful she trusted him enough to be open with him.

Still, even with as strong willed as he was aware she was; he couldn’t help but to focus on how fragile her hand felt against his as she led him down the hallway back to her bedroom.

His heart began to pound in his chest though the blood flowing through his veins began to fill in a lower region of his body. His body was already eagerly and joyfully anticipating what she was asking of him.

He let out a shaky breath at the thought of what she’d asked of him.

He felt ridiculous admitting it, but the notion of what she had asked of him made him feel a sense of anxiety. A nervous energy began to bubble up in his gut along with the lust coursing through him. 

He felt foolish for feeling anxious at the thought of taking her to bed and loving her at her request. 

He was far from a blushing virgin. He was more than sexually experienced. He would like to think that he was quite gifted in that department. He had enough experience under his belt to know how to pleasure a woman. He was confident in his sexual prowess.

He knew though of course, that quite a bit of his experience involved less of the act of loving and more of the simply primal act of fucking. Bedding the croweaters did not require such tenderness nor gentleness.

Sex with a croweater was just that; sex. There was no feeling behind it. He didn’t want to cherish them and hold them close to him. He didn’t want to protect them and make it clear to them that he adored them with every last ounce of his heart. 

Bedding a croweater was usually more of an act of finding release. There were no soft kisses, no gentle touches, and no words of adoration passed between lovers.

It was more of a pure physical act. There might be some occasional dirty talk but the end goal was always the same. Find release and then move on. Kisses and touches could be rough and desperate and movements could be harsh. There was no love there. His heart had not been involved in the process of bedding a croweater. 

Chibs Telford knew that this was no romp in bed with a sweetbutt who honestly cared less about him and more about the fact that she had attracted the attention of a patched in member of SAMCRO.

He knew that what Y/N was asking from him was an act he’d not engaged in in such a long time.

He knew that his estranged wife was probably the last person he’d attempted to make love to.

He shoved the thought from his mind not wanting to focus on any thought of Fiona at the moment.

He’d begun to realize that thoughts of his estranged wife did not fill him with the same aching sense of longing that had once overtaken him. He felt a fondness for the life they’d had and a care for her, but his heart had begun to pull in a different direction. Thoughts of Fiona filled him with a sense of guilt more often than not nowadays.

It was an equally exciting and terrifying realization to have that his heart was shifting and changing. 

Chibs was certain he was following her too closely as they neared her room and to be honest it took everything in him not to attempt to scoop her up and throw her over his shoulder to get her there a little quicker. 

He silently told himself that throwing her over his shoulder could be reserved for a future time.

He was also tempted to kick his shoes off and perhaps lose a few articles of clothing as they made their way to her bedroom. He pushed back the temptation telling himself that she would be none too amused if he left a trail of clothing down the hallway especially considering his gun and knives would have to join this discarded clothing.

She turned to face him as they finally reached her bedroom, they entered the room, he kicking the door shut behind them. 

Her lips met his, his hands sliding along her body once again taking in the curves he’d been dying to caress from their first meeting. Caressing her and holding her was a privilege she’d allowed him as their relationship had grown more serious. It was a privilege he was taking full advantage of.

Her hands slid along his body caressing him in return not helping but to always enjoy the feel of him. She knew that she could easily describe him as being sturdy and strong. When she thought of his form she associated him with a sense of dependability and security.

He reluctantly parted his lips from hers, he moving away from her embrace. He reached down to slide his kutte from his body gently folding it and placing it where it rested most nights he slept over; over the red velvet living chair in the corner of her room. 

He avoided her gaze as he placed his gun and knife over the kutte. He hated to admit that it made him feel uneasy to reveal the weapons to her. He always feared that it would be a reminder of just who and what he was for her.

He knew her past with the club might make her feel a sense of unease when she allowed herself to think too long and hard about the fact that the man she was allowing to be by her side was very much an outlaw. 

He’d realized her memories of being around the club were filled with more bitterness than sweetness. He was hoping to ease her back into his world and feared pushing for too much and making her pull away. 

He knew of course that her past with Gunner might aid this sense of unease and bitterness. Chibs had recently begun to wonder if Gunner had lorded his status as a Son over her head to intimidate her. She had been so young then and so vulnerable; the thought floated around in his mind. He imagined that the Tacoma Son had been quite proud to show off any means he had to harm Y/N to her, as a little reminder to keep in her place when he perceived her as being too difficult. The man had proudly declared that he’d flashed a gun at a woman more than once the few times Chibs had been unfortunate enough to overhear Gunner’s bragging over his past sexual encounters.

Chibs felt sick having to admit that he’d begun to wonder if any of the horrifying stories he’d heard in the past from Gunner had possibly featured Y/N as unnamed the sexual partner in question. The thought made his stomach turn considering that he’d realized Gunner’s propensity for rough sex apparently did not always involve a partner that consented to violent acts. If he knew then what he knew now; he had a feeling he would have been less inclined to sit by and let Gunner run his mouth so smugly. 

Chibs pushed the thought from his mind not wanting to focus on the asshole when he was about to experience this moment with the woman he adored. He had already promised himself that Y/N would never know that pain again. She’d certainly never know it from him. 

Y/N kicked off her shoes and socks as Chibs focused on removing his rings lining them along her dresser allowing the silver cross he wore around his neck to join the rings.

He kicked his own shoes and socks off before he made his way back over to her his lips sliding along hers.

She felt her knees grow weak against his kiss and was certain she might easily collapse to the floor if he was not so lovingly holding on to her keeping her pressed close against his body.

She allowed him to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding along hers with skill, the act working a moan from her lips.

She placed a hand against his back allowing her other hand to mess his hair. He pulled his lips from hers sliding them across her cheek working them down her neck. He nipped at the delicate skin of her neck determined to leave evidence of his affections behind.

He smirked as she let out a soft gasp at the action, her knees feeling all the more wobbly.

She pulled back from him her voice soft suddenly feeling far more bashful than she’d ever felt about the act of sex in her life. “Bed?”

“Aye, bed sounds perfect, Hen.” He replied, tempted to tease her that they didn’t need a bed. He’d gladly take her on the floor or against a wall.

He held in the remark though reminding himself that it would be best saved for a different time. He was suddenly reminded of that night on her sofa when he’d gone down on her after she’d opened up to him about her past. He remembered his determination to show her exactly how she deserved to be treated by a man. He was still determined to do just that.

He knew that he needed to make sure she was comfortable. He needed to be sure that she knew that the act of loving her was all about making sure she felt as good and as secure as she possibly could.

They laid back against the bed he lying by her side. His hands reached out to embrace her, his lips sliding along hers, the kiss feather light allowing her to be the one to deepen it this time around.

He let out a soft moan as she pulled her lips from his pressing them against his cheek. He closed his eyes, soaking up the affection the act still filling him with that cozy sense of warmth. He’d recently realized the warm feeling he had anytime her lips pressed against one of the scars embedded along his cheeks was a sense of feeling adored and accepted. It was a feeling he’d not thought he’d ever have again in his life.

His hand slid down her side as her lips moved along his jawline pressing soft kisses to his skin. He opened his eyes as he let out a soft content sigh, his hand sliding underneath the soft cotton of her shirt. He gently caressed her skin as her lips slid along his neck.

He felt a soft moan leave his lips the words leaving him as she nipped and sucked along his pulse line making it clear she intended to leave a few marks of her own along his skin. “Yer, so fuckin soft, Hen. Warm an perfect.”

She felt a soft moan of her own leave her lips. She was tempted to shrug off his comment and insist to him that no one was perfect. There was something about the certainty of his words though that told her that he was convinced she was perfection and that was enough to make her not want to shake off his praise.

She ran a hand of her own up his shirt relieved he’d not worn layers of shirts today. It seemed that she only had one long sleeved shirt and an undershirt to contend with as she caressed his skin lovingly.

He sighed, his hand still caressing her side sliding it along her back pressing her closer to him. He rubbed soothing circles into her back as she continued to press sucking kisses against his neck.

She pulled from his neck her voice soft. “Can I take this off?”

He furrowed his brow, it taking his lust hazed brain a moment to realize what she was asking. “Aye, ye can.”

She began to pull his shirt up he sitting up to aid her in pulling both it and his undershirt up and over his head.

He laid back down his stomach churning, he was not entirely thrilled with his torso. He knew that in the years since his banishment from Belfast he’d neglected his health. He drank too much, smoked far too much, and ate a poor diet. He had not really seen a reason to take care of himself. That meant his midsection had grown wider than he would prefer. He also knew his face carried more weight than he’d like.

The insecurity he felt over his physique was not noticed by Y/N her eyes scanning his bare torso landing on the tattoo over his heart.

She slid her fingers across it, her voice soft as she read the name; Kerrianne. “Told you, you’re sweet.”

He felt a smile spread across his face, the comment making his worries about his less than fit form leave his brain in an instant.

She leaned up her lips sliding along his, her hand pulling from his chest sliding along his back, her touch loving and far more gentle than anyone had ever been with him.

He pulled from her lips his hand running along the hem of her shirt it his turn to ask. “Can this come off?”

She nodded her head sitting up allowing him to pull the shirt up and over her head. He tossed it across the room to join his discarded shirts.

He moaned at the sight of her torso, his eyes landing on the white lace over her breasts. He resisted the urge to bury his face against her lace covered tits the way the lower region of his body was insisting he should do. 

He wanted to yank her bra off and take one of her tits in his mouth. He wanted to suckle at the skin making her nipples harden. He wanted to suck and kiss the delicate skin leaving love bites in his wake. He wanted to massage her breasts taking in how soft they truly were. He wanted to slide his dick along her soft smooth skin cumming against her skin. He wanted to watch her breasts bounce as she rode him out. 

He swallowed the lump developing in the back of his throat putting a lid on his hormones. There would be plenty of time to do every single filthy thing he wanted to do involving her breasts later. Right now he needed to take his time with her and worship her body. 

She pressed her lips to his, the kiss brief the words that left her taking him by surprise. “Remember that thing we talked about a moment ago? The thing you teased me I haven’t given you the privilege of doing yet?”

He nodded his head eagerly, his heart and his cock jolting at what she was hinting at. “Aye, I recall it.”

She spoke her voice soft as she pressed her lips along his chest. “I want to suck you off, Filip. You made me feel so good the other night when you ate me out. I want to make you feel good too. Can I suck your cock?”

He groaned at the words, his response spilling from his lips. “Shite, Hen. Aye, do it, Love.”

She gently pushed him down to rest on his back, her body moving over his. She straddled his hips, he groaning at the image. He grunted as she teasingly rocked her hips against his, a soft gasp leaving her lips. He groaned, rocking up against her his hands placed at her hips enjoying the delicious friction they were building up.

He cursed their jeans for separating the lower regions of their bodies from building up the friction he wanted to create. He wanted to rip those jeans off her body and feel her hot center through her panties. He could imagine her panties growing so damp with need as she grinded against him. 

She leaned down her lips pressing to his a moan leaving him at the feel of her lace covered breasts pressing against his torso. He ran his hands along her back toying with the clasp of her bra. He wanted nothing more than to unclasp it and feel her bare torso against his own. 

He did not have the opportunity to unclasp it though as she moved down his body, her lips sliding along his torso, her lips pressing along the million dollar tattoo at the center of his chest she making a mental note to ask him about it at a later date. 

 He reluctantly allowed her to slide down his body, her lips soft against his skin, he knowing the promise of what she was about to give him was enough for him to wait to reveal her breasts.

He moaned as she slid her lips down his stomach pressing soft kisses along the scar along his belly; another gift from Jimmy O’. 

She placed a hand over the obvious bulge contained in his jeans giving it a squeeze, the action making him grunt.

She slid her hand along his belt making quick work of unfastening it. He groaned as she unfastened the belt unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He managed to aid her in pulling the denim from his body without kicking her in the process.

The jeans were tossed aside her lips pressing to his thighs a soft moan leaving his lips as she slowly pressed her lips along his skin avoiding his boxer clad cock. She took her time pressing soft teasing kisses to both thighs, her movements far too slow. He whined as she finally pressed her lips against the bulge in his boxers. 

The kisses didn’t last nearly long enough but he didn’t have long to mourn their loss as her fingers slid underneath the hem of his boxers. She gazed up at him, her voice soft. “Is this okay, Baby?”

He groaned, nodding his head eagerly at the words leaving him. ‘Aye, Hen.”

She pulled the garment from his body, he lifting his lips helping her remove his boxers. They were dropped over the side of the bed to join his other clothing.

She moaned at the sight of him standing at full attention, her voice teasing mirroring what she’d said the night she’d given him a handjob. “Still impressive, Filip.”

He groaned, his cock twitching at the praise. He parted his lips to reply but only managed to let a moan leave his lips as she pressed her lips to the underside of his cock pressing gentle kisses to the velvety skin.

She spoke, her voice filled with admiration. “You have a gorgeous cock, Filip.” 

He grunted, unable to form words as she ran her tongue along his cock tracing the veins, her hand reaching down to caress his balls gently massaging them.

He felt a strangled moan leave him as he reached down pushing her hair aside giving him full view of her as she wrapped a hand around his cock her tongue running along his tip lapping at the precum leaking from the slit.

She took his tip between her lips, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. She hallowed her cheeks lowering her mouth taking more of him. He gripped down at the bedsheets with the hand not currently holding back her hair as she began to bob her head. 

She stared up at him, maintaining eye contact as she bobbed her head, her hand still massaging his balls.

She moaned around his cock as she took him deeper with each bob of her head engulfing his cock in the wet heat of her mouth. He grunted her actions, working praise from him. “Fuck, Hen, fuckin perfect, Love. Takin my cock like this, oh, shite. Fuck yes, take it so fuckin good.”

She pulled her lips from his cock stroking him his cock slick from her treatment, her voice teasing her lips swollen. “I love this cock, Filip. Can’t wait for you to bury it in me. It’s going to make me feel so good, Baby.”

“Fuck, Hen. It is, I’m gonna make you cum on this cock.” He grunted his balls aching at the words he having to admit he was an absolute sucker for dirty talk both giving and receiving.

She took him back between her lips bobbing more enthusiastically, her cheeks hallowing. He groaned, unable to take his eyes off her his voice still so full of praise. “Christ, Love. Look at ye. Ye look so fuckin prim and sweet, but ye love suckin my cock. I can fuckin tell ye love this.”

She moaned around him giving him the affirmation that she did in fact enjoy this. She could admit that she’d not quite been fond of oral in the past or at least she’d not been fond of giving it to most of her past sexual partners. 

Most of the guys she’d gone down on were too forceful and seemed to not always care about her comfort. They seemed to think that porn was a guidebook for how to react when a girl went down on them. She didn’t exactly appreciate it when a guy tried to slam down her throat to the point that she wanted to vomit. Sore throats and having to take a guy’s release because he didn’t bother to warn you was not ideal nor enjoyable.

There was something about giving head to Chibs that just felt so rewarding and pleasurable. He was so adoring and so lovely with her. She had to appreciate the fact that she was clearly pleasing him. It was a turn on to know that she was able to make him feel this good.

She took him deeper breathing through her nose and relaxing her throat, the act making his eyes practically roll into the back of his head. He groaned as she took him so deep the praise leaving him. “Fuckin, perfect, Hen. So fuckin gorgeous, Lass. Shite.”

He whined as her hand left his balls but the disappointment was short lived as she slid a hand down her body unfastening her jeans just enough to slide her fingers underneath the waistband of the denim.

He groaned as she moaned against his cock it taking his lust hazed brain a moment to realize she’d slid her fingers underneath her panties and was currently touching herself.

He spoke his voice thick with lust at the realization of just what she was doing. “Fuck, look at ye, Love. Touchin that sweet pussy while ye suck my cock. Does havin my cock in yer mouth get ye that wet?”

She moaned around his cock her fingers teasingly sliding along her slit she toying with her clit the bud aching at the stimulation.

She pulled her lips from him, her voice teasing. “I’m so wet, Filip. I’m so ready for you.”

He groaned not having a chance to respond as she took his cock back between her lips bobbing her head.

He grunted, beginning to rock against her ever so slightly, his grip on her sheets remaining tight, resisting the urge to rock against her face as eagerly as he wanted to. He told himself he could fuck her mouth later if she’d allow it. Right now he was doing his best to chase his release and treat her with care without getting too lost in lust. 

He spoke his voice thick with need, his balls drawing up closer to his body, the stimulation and the knowledge that she was touching herself bringing him closer and closer to orgasm. “Gonna make me cum, Hen. Shite, yer gonna make me cum so hard, Love.”

She moaned around his cock bobbing her head with even more enthusiasm gagging around him as she took him as deeply as she could the blow job, easily growing sloppy.

He grunted his body tensing, his pelvis thrusting more freely, his balls aching the words leaving him his accent growing so thick his words were nearly intelligible as he came his load shooting from him in hot spurts . “Fuck, perfect, Hen, Shite, Lovely Girl, Makin me cum. Fuck yes. Mo ghràidh.”

She took his release moaning around his cock surprised to find that she did not mind taking all he had to give her and felt no desire to spit his release out the same way she’d felt with some men. The taste of him was at least not unpleasant, it was far more tolerable than some of her past experiences in this act. 

She allowed him to ride out his orgasm continuing to bob her head, her fingers continuing to slide along her aching clit and her soaking slit.

He groaned, his body feeling heavy and satisfied as the last of his release seeped from his aching cock.

She pulled from him pressing soft kisses to his oversensitive cock it softening and resting against his belly.

He groaned, it taking him a moment to recover from his orgasm and for his body to feel less like putty.

He leaned up resting on his elbows a groan leaving him when he realized her hand was still down her jeans and she was still playing with herself.

He spoke, his voice gentle and lazy despite the fact that he very much knew that he still had plenty of plans with her tonight. “Come here, Hen.”

She moved up his body, Chibs gently taking a hold of her arm pulling her hand from her jeans. She whimpered at the loss, her clit throbbing. Her hips rocked chasing the stimulation she’d been so happily enjoying.

He pulled the hand she’d had pressed against her pussy up to his lips. He took her fingers between his lips suckling greedily at her wetness, the action making her moan.

He spoke as he pulled from her lips his voice husky with need. “Fuckin’ sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, Hen. Jus’ as sweet as ye.”

She whined as he reached out, unfastening her jeans and working them down her legs. He groaned glancing down at her pink cotton panties spotting the wet patch along the front of them revealing that she was as soaked as she’d told him she was.

He was tied between wanting to yank her panties off or wanting to rid her of her bra.

He made his choice, unfastening her bra with one hand, tossing it across the room. He stared down at her bare breasts praise leaving him. “Perfect breasts, Hen. Shite, better than I imagined.”

She didn’t have time to tease him over the admission that he’d imagined her breasts as he eagerly leaned forward taking a nipple between his lips suckling.

She whined her head falling back as he attended to both breasts sucking, licking, and kissing. He slid a hand down her torso, his fingers sliding under the waistband of her panties. His fingers slid along her slit, his voice muffled against her breasts. “Ye really are fuckin soaked, Hen. Shite, this all fer me?”

“Uh huh.” The words barely managed to leave her as his fingers slid along her slit teasingly sliding along her clit before sliding back down.

She rocked her hips against his ministrations, Chibs rewarding her by dipping one finger into her entrance quickly followed by another.

She whined as he thrust his fingers into her curling them just right to hit her in an angle she could rarely manage to find on her own. 

She rode his fingers unashamed of the moans that left her lips as he continued to finger her his lips focusing on her breasts.

She whimpered as he spoke against her breasts. “Feels so good ‘round my fingers, Mo ghràidh. Christ, yer gonna feel like heaven round my cock. Not gonna ever want to leave yer pussy.”

He reached forward with his other hand yanking her panties down to her knees wanting to watch in full view as his fingers thrust in and out of her.

He moaned at the sight of it she obediently parting her legs for him giving him more room to work with. He stared down at her the sight gorgeous; her legs spread for him, his fingers sliding in and out of her soaked with her.

He buried his face back against her breasts suckling them as he fingered her.

Her head fell back, his name leaving her lips, he continuing to murmur praise against her breasts, his fingers continuing to thrust in and out of her. “Fuckin, gorgeous. Perfect tight pussy, fuckin wet and hot. Perfect, Hen. Made me feel so good, gonna keep makin me feel good once I bury my cock in ye.”

She gasped, her body flushing knowing no man had ever managed to make her feel this amazing with his fingers alone and the praise he was giving her made the pleasure all the more palatable. She’d never imagined herself having a praise kink but there was something about pleasing him and being admired for it that made her wetter than she was certain she’d ever been in her life.

She managed to speak her voice a broken whine. “Gonna feel so good, Filip. Want you so bad.”

“Ye got me love, always.” He remarked continuing to please her knowing he wanted to make her cum on his cock. He knew he had to wait longer than he might have had to wait had she met him in his twenties.

He groaned knowing had he met her in his twenties they would have been absolute sex addicts. He had a feeling that had he known her in his twenties then neither he nor she would have ever left the bed or whatever surface they could manage to find. He had a feeling had he met her years ago he would have knocked her up several times over by now or at the very least had to buy stock in a condom company as to not have dozens of wild little Telfords running around causing havoc.

He continued to finger her, they both moaning at how wet she was. The sound of just how soaked she was as his fingers slid in and out of her was audible and would have made her feel embarrassed if she wasn’t so lost in the pleasurable sensations washing over her. 

She spoke her voice shaky uncertain if she was begging to cum or begging him to bury himself in her and never leave. “Please, Filip, fuck, Baby, please.”

He groaned knowing that she wouldn’t have to wait much longer. He could feel himself starting to perk back up his refractory period ending.

He was shocked that his cock was perking back up this quickly. He had a feeling the woman he was currently pleasing was a perfect inspiration for the lower region of his body to get back into the game so quickly.

He spoke, his fingers finally pulling from her as he realized he was finally ready. “Ye ready fer me, Hen?”

She nodded her head sliding her panties down the rest of the way tossing them across the room.

"Want you, Filip." The words left her she feeling needy as she rolled onto her back, her legs spreading for him eagerly.

He groaned at the sight, unable to stop himself from speaking. “Look at ye, Love. So fuckin eager fer me.”

He pressed the fingers he’d had buried in her to his lips, cleaning her taste from them, a pleased moan leaving him.

He spoke as he moved over her reluctantly pulling his fingers from his lips. “If I wasn’t so eager to bury my cock in ye, I’d eat ye out right now.”

“There’s always later.” She remarked, the comment working a giggle from him.

“Aye, there is definitely later.” He agreed a moan leaving him as his cock slid along her soaked center. She was so soaked that it made his cock ache almost painfully.

She spoke a sigh leaving her, her lust filled brain clearing enough for her to motion towards the nightstand. “Condoms in the drawer.”

He groaned reluctantly, pulling away from her enough to reach into the nightstand finding several boxes of condoms, her cheeks flushing as she explained., “Bought them a few weeks ago when it hit me that we were headed in this direction…it was before I saw your dick. I didn’t know what to expect and I wasn’t about to just try to casually ask you what size dick you have?”

He snorted at the comment nodding his head finding the appropriate size. “We can dump the ones that don’ fit at the clubhouse. Lads’ll appreciate free rubbers. I’ll drop em off without em knowin the source. Migh’ give the smalls to Half-Sack.”

She rolled her eyes giving his shoulder a playful nudge. “Please, don’t mention your prospect when your dick is this close to being inside me.”

He giggled at the comment, tearing the foil packet open, working eagerly to slide the condom over his aching cock a groan leaving him at the action and the realization of what he was about to experience.

He tossed the package of condoms aside, turning his focus back to her. He took himself in hand positioning himself against her, opening his words soft and filled with reverence for her. “Christ, yer fuckin beautiful.”

She spoke the words sliding from her lips without hesitation. “So are you.”

He snorted at the comment, shaking his head. “I still think ye need glasses, Hen. Ye think I’m pretty I worry bout yer vision. Shite, the state of California lets ye drive…we let ye drive a Hearse and yer blind ‘nough to think I’m pretty.”

He didn’t give her a chance to protest as he did his best to make sure he was positioned against her just right. “Ye ready, Hen?”

“Yes, please.” She replied knowing she’d never been so certain that she wanted a man inside of her before in her entire life.

He pressed his lips to hers the kiss light as he thrusted his hips forward pressing himself inside of her slowly inch by inch.

She gasped her arms wrapping around him, her head falling back a gasp leaving her. She moaned knowing she was right to assume he would be capable of providing a pleasant stretch at his size. 

He groaned as his cock was enveloped by her snug heat, his cock aching remembering how wet she was underneath the barrier of the condom.

She gasped his name as he finally pressed all the way within her, her body taking him to the hilt. She slid her hands along his back enjoying the wonderful stretch of her body adjusting to his thickness. He pressed his lips against her face pressing them to every bit of skin he could reach, praise spilling from his lips. “Fuckin perfect, feels amazin’ Lass. Mo leannan.”

She whined the words leaving her they broken as she struggled to speak through the blinding pleasure washing over her. “Feels amazing, Filip.”

He kept still for a moment wanting to give her time to adjust to the feel of him, his lips continuing to press to her skin, her hands sliding up and down his back.

She rocked her hips slightly giving him the hint that she was more than ready her voice soft. “Please, Filip. Love me.”

He groaned at the comment, a voice in the back of his head exclaiming I do love you.

He bit back the words, he rocking his hips against her gently, groaning at the sensation of her center around him. He was overwhelmed with the realization that he could not remember if any past lover he’d had at least in the past decade had felt this incredible wrapped around his cock. 

She whined at the sensation not helping but to realize no man had ever been this gentle with her before. She’d had very few lovers who had approached sex with a sense of ease and tenderness. Most of her past experiences managed to be rushed, rough, or clumsy. 

She wasn’t going to claim that she had not had good sex before. She’d had at least a small amount of decent lovers who managed to get her off. There had been a couple of guys who managed to figure out how to make her feel good though it was a rare treat. She was sure most of her experiences of her late teens and twenties at SAMCRO’s clubhouse had been hazy and less about tenderness. 

Experiences with Gunner had held zero tenderness to them. She shoved the thought from her mind refusing to allow the man to taint what she was experiencing in the moment with Chibs.

She could admit that sex had never felt quite this satisfying before and she was astounded by the knowledge as they’d barely gotten started. 

He began to thrust in and out of her moving at a slow pace both wanting to appreciate the sensation of making love to her. He found himself wanting to move slow with her, remembering her request to love her.

He found himself determined to show her exactly how a man should have been making love to her all this time. He wanted to fuck away any memories of the awful sexual encounters she’d had with Gunner. He wanted to fuck away any of the experiences she’d had with any man in a kutte during her years hanging around with SAMCRO. A possessive voice in the back of his head told him that he wanted to show her that he was the only man in a kutte who should have the privilege of being inside of her. 

He found that he even wanted to out-fuck any man who she’d known in her time in New York. He wanted to ruin her for other men because she’d already ruined him for any other woman without being aware of it. 

He spoke his words needy and adoring. “Yer so perfect, Hen. Shite, never thought I could have this. Wanted ye from the second we met. Fuckin saw ye that firs time and couldn’t stop starin at ye, couldn’t stop thinkin bout ye. Had to have ye.”

She whined remembering the lust that had washed over her the moment he’d peered at her over his sunglasses upon their first meeting in the crematorium.

She was certain if someone had told her that the strange Scottish Son who had come along with Jackson Teller and a few other Sons to complicate her life, would one day not only be in her bed but have his dick buried in her, she would not believe it.

She managed to speak her voice soft. “Oh, Filip. Fuck, wanted you too, didn’t want ot admit it, but my body knew it wanted you. You feel so good.”

“Aye, how do I feel, Hen?” He dared to ask continuing his thrusts the words strained it taking everything in him not to just give into lust and fuck her hard up into her headboard.

He wanted to slam into her ensuring she’d not be able to walk the next day without remembering his dick inside of her. He wanted to flip her over and take her from behind spanking her backside. He wanted to lie on his back and have her ride him so he could watch his cock disappear into her tight heat. 

He held back knowing he’d have plenty of opportunities to take her in every position she’d allow. 

She spoke, her nails digging into his back, her head falling back, her eyes sliding shut as she soaked up the pleasure. “You feel so big, amazing.”

He nipped at her neck knowing he had already probably left several love bites along her skin so what was another?

He continued to thrust in her, his eyes unable to leave her features. He was certain he’d never seen a more stunning sight; her head fallen back against the pillows, her skin flushed with arousal and damp with sweat, her lips parted sweet moans leaving her, her eyes fluttering caught between wanting to sink into pleasure and wanting to watch him.

He rocked into her eagerly, her legs wrapping around his hips, her hips tilting back allowing him to thrust at a deeper angle.

He grunted at the deeper angle knowing that he was not lying to her earlier. She did feel like heaven and he was almost certain he never wanted to leave her tight body. He was quite certain she could ask him for anything in this moment and he’d readily agree to it without hesitation.

He was once again overtaken with the knowledge that he’d do anything for her. It was a realization that should make him nervous, but all he felt was a sense of ease and comfort.

He knew she’d never ask him for anything that would betray his trust or his loyalty to the club or any of his brothers. She wanted him as he was, SAMCRO, his tragic past, the complicated life he’d left in Belfast, the danger that he was capable of, and the danger that might follow him.

She wanted him. It was a beautiful realization knowing Y/N wanted him. 

He was once again taken with the desire to be worthy of her wanting him. He didn’t feel nearly deserving of her affection or her desire. 

A voice in the back of his head exclaimed that she could do a hell of a lot better than him. She could date some nice normal guy; someone like Deputy Hale.

It would be so easy for her to find a good guy after dealing with all the horror dating bad guys had subjected her to with Gunner. 

She’d chosen Chibs though. It was a shock to him but he was thankful she’d chosen him. He was astounded that she’d chosen Filip the outlaw with the complicated past who wore evidence of that past along his face. 

He was in awe that she’d chosen him and seemingly adored him.

She whined her fingers digging into his back the longer he thrusted her hips rocking against his overwhelmed with how good he felt.

She had a feeling with as overwhelming as this was, if it had been any other man she might have tapped out.

She was once again overtaken with the awareness that sex had ever felt so good with a guy. Her past encounters after leaving Charming had been unsatisfying.

She knew she and her traumas were partially to blame. After her violent relationship with Gunner, she had not quite felt comfortable in most sexual situations. 

The few boyfriends she had in New York had realized she was jumpy and closed off in the bedroom and cold and distant outside the bedroom. She’d struggled to relax during sex enough to actually feel good. 

With Chibs it was so easy to relax. She had to wonder if it was just that he knew about her past and knew exactly how to approach all of this without freaking her out. Or perhaps it was just simply that she trusted him so deeply. She knew he would never harm her.

She knew it was a contradictory thought; the dangerous outlaw would not hurt her. She was well aware of what he was capable of by seeing what little she’d been forced to see of his rap sheet. 

She trusted in her heart though that Filip Chibs Telford would never harm her. This was the man who had been so gentle with her from the start. She knew what was in his heart. She knew she was lucky enough to be in his heart.

She gasped, her voice pleading. “More, Filip, Please.” 

He groaned, willing himself to speed up his pace, his thrusts growing a little more frantic, struggling to keep his pace and the rhythm that seemed to be pleasing her.

She whined her hand sliding down her body finding her clit. She caressed the bundle of nerves rubbing tight circles into it, the sensation increasing everything she was feeling.

Chibs groaned it hitting him what she was doing. He gazed down at her hating that he couldn’t angle his body enough to fully appreciate the sight of what she was doing. He made a note to get her to do this again when he got  her to ride his cock. 

“Fuck, Hen. Touch that clit fer me. That’s my Lass.” he groaned, encouraging her.

She rubbed more rapidly the combination of her fingers against her clit and his cock sliding in and out of her making her slide closer and closer to the edge.

She moaned his name, the sound urging him on his cock aching. He was certain his name never sounded so perfect on anyone’s lips. He could remember how overjoyed he’d been when she’d told him she would prefer to call him Filip during that first proper phone conversation they’d had. 

She moaned all the more, her clit throbbing as her end approached closer and closer by the second. She felt it building within her so close she could almost grasp it. It felt as though a spring was coiling tightly within her bound to release at any moment. 

Chibs moaned his voice low and full of adoration encouraging her. “Come on, Hen. Cum fer me, Love. Let go fer me.”

She moaned, her body shuddering as she fell over the edge shockwaves washing over her. Her fingers continued to rub circles into her clit as she came, her center contracting around his cock causing him to groan.

His thrusts sped up all the more growing sloppy his cock throbbing as his end drew nearer and nearer.

She whined moving her fingers from her clit, it quickly becoming overstimulating. She gasped her hands sliding along his back caressing him as he continued to thrust chasing his own end. 

Her body felt heavy and sensitive underneath him, the feel of him sliding in and out of her almost too much. She resisted the urge to pull from him wanting him to find his release in her. 

He groaned his voice thick and slurred the closer he got to the edge. “Gonna fuckin cum, Shite, Lass.”

She spoke encouraging him to reach his end, wanting so badly to please him as much as he’d pleased her. “Please, Filip. Cum.”

He groaned his end hitting him hard, his last thrusts desperate and clumsy as he slid over the edge releasing into the condom. His body jerked his cock pulsing as he fell apart. His release spilled into the condom with far more force than he’d anticipated. A voice in the back of his head marveled that he’d not cum with this much force since his earliest sexual encounters. 

She rocked her hips against his encouraging him working her pelvic floor to help work his end the action making him groan her name leaving his lips along with a few low curse words. 

He moaned it hitting him this was the second time he’d cum tonight, the thought making a pleasant shudder run through his body.

He collapsed against her thrusting weakly against her, rocking the last of his orgasm into the condom, his cock twitching as he spilled the last drops of himself.

He pressed lazy kisses against her skin as he came down from his orgasm. He found himself unwilling to pull from her just yet wanting to soak up the feeling of her underneath him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

She kept a tight grip on him, apparently just as eager to keep him within her and over her, the sensation making her feel safe and adored.

He groaned as his cock began to soften, it slipping from her against his will. He reluctantly rolled off of her, she allowing him to do so.

They laid on their backs, their breathing heavy and their bodies soaked in sweat.

She spoke weakly waving off towards the nightstand, her hand feeling heavy. “There should be tissue somewhere…for the condom.”

He nodded his head lying there for a moment trying to find the will to move his body feeling so heavy and relaxed.

He reached out, grabbing a tissue, removing the condom and tying it off. He tossed it in a little wicker wastebasket by the bed before he collapsed back into the bed.

He opened his arms for her, relieved as she scooted close to him, her head resting against his chest.

She wrapped an arm around his waist finding it easy to sink against his embrace, her body feeling so relaxed a sense of security washing over her.

He found the bedsheets as the cool room began to make them both feel clammy. He spoke his voice drowsy, he wanting to check in on her hoping he’d managed to love her the way she’d requested. “How’re ye doin, Hen?”

“Perfect…you?” She responded, unable to deny the giddy drowsy feeling washing over her.

“Perfect.” He replied, his eyes growing heavy, struggling not to give into the desire to pass out his body feeling satisfied and he feeling completely at ease.

She felt her own eyes grow heavy, she overcome with how adored and secure she felt at the moment. She couldn’t remember feeling this at ease with a man before in her entire life. The words left her lips before she could stop them. “I love you, Filip.”

She felt her stomach drop as soon as it hit her just what she’d blurted out. She shot up in bed certain that she had just screwed everything up.

A voice in the back of her head exclaimed that she was an idiot for blurting this statement out like this. What if he didn’t feel the same? The voice claimed that he couldn’t be in love with her. In her experience she wasn’t the kind of woman men loved. It was too soon for declarations of love, a voice taunted her. She was most likely coming across as a clingy mess. Men hated clingy. 

Chibs widened his eyes, the words washing over him. He gazed up at her stunned by her reaction to her declaration of love.

He sat up gently reaching out for her terrified that her reaction meant she regretted saying the words.

A voice in the back of his head told him that she could not actually love him. He was not the kind of man that was deserving of something so pure. He’d done so many awful things and was not the kind of man women wanted to give love to. 

Y/N spoke hoping to do some damage control. “I am a big girl and can take it if you ….don’t feel the same, or aren’t there yet. I just, I can’t hide how I feel. I promise this isn’t just the fact that you gave me an amazing orgasm talking. I love you. How could I not? I-uh. So, you don’t have to feel pressured to say it back because I said it. I’m fine if you aren’t ready to say it back.”

Chibs furrowed his brow, thrown off by her comments. How could she not realize he loved her? How could she think he couldn’t?

He pressed his lips to her temple, his voice gentle. “Look at me, Hen.” 

She turned her head to face him cringing fearing the worse. He spoke, his lips pressing to hers, his voice reassuring. “How could I not love ye, Hen? I don’t know if ye noticed, but I’m a wee bit crazy fer ye. Pretty sure I offered to kill fer ye.”

He cringed at the last part of his statement; he was not quite sure if bringing up his offer to kill Gunner was welcome when she was clearly feeling vulnerable.

He spoke again soothing any possibility that he’d made this so much worse. “I love ye, Y/N. I have already said I love ye to ye…I technically said it firs, Hen. Ye were jus asleep the firs time I said it.”

“I was?” She blurted out, he nodding his head, his cheeks darkening somewhat.

“Aye…it was ah…after that fuckin incredible handjob ye gave me a few weeks back. I promise that was not my orgasm talkin, Hen. Ye made me cum hard, but I swear to ye that I was speakin from the heart and not my dick. I promise, I love ye.”

She spoke the words leaving her before her lips pressed to his. “I love you, Filip.”

He smiled against the kiss he reluctantly pulling back the words leaving him. “I love ye too.”

He managed to pull her back against him, settling down into her bed, his lips pressing to the top of her head as she rested her head against his chest.

He held her against him, his words soft as he allowed sleep to flood his system exhaustion hitting him. “I love ye, Mo leannan.”

She spoke, her own eyes growing heavy, the words spilling from her without hesitation or shame. “I love you.”

The thought washed over her making her feel secure and cozy as sleep took hold. He loved her. Filip Chibs Telford loved her. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Chibs groaned reluctantly, pulling from her embrace and her warm bed his aching bladder making it clear that he would not be able to hold off needing to pee much longer.

He found his boxers on the floor sliding them on the air conditioning flipping on making her bedroom icy.

He was certain that she’d practically ran to the bathroom an hour or so ago. He had only woken briefly long enough to hear her grumble something about UTI’s and how peeing after sex was the best way to avoid them. She was half asleep, the comment being clearly not meant for his ears. 

He was so drowsy though that he was unsure if he’d heard her correctly.

The run to her bathroom and back into bed had been quick; she clearly wanted to get back to the warm bed and back to his embrace.

He walked his movements slow and careful not to wake her as he went into her master bathroom shutting the door behind him before he flipped on the lightswitch.

He took care of business washing his hands, the cold room and the overhead lights making his brain wake up more than he would prefer.

He groaned, wanting nothing more than to slide back into bed with her and embrace the comfort of sleep.

The file sitting out in her living room was a sirens call though. His mind could not pull from it the need to see just what Agent Stahl had shown Y/N too tempting to ignore.

He shut off the light in the bathroom blinking trying to adjust to the darkness around him as he left the bathroom making his way through her bedroom thankfully without causing any noise.

He made his way down the hall, his stomach in knots as he approached her living room.

He felt his stomach turn as he spotted the file even with all the clutter she complained about in her home; past heirlooms from the generations that had lived here before her.

He sat down on her sofa thankful she’d forgotten to turn off the lamp on the table before she’d asked him to take her to bed.

He reached out his hands shaking as he opened the folder, his eyes scanning the police reports, nothing featured within them a surprise.

At least Stahl had not doctored some fake reports in an attempt to make him appear to be more brutal than he knew he was.

He felt his stomach churn knowing that there was far more that he’d done than was featured in these reports. These were just the actions he’d been caught doing.

He felt his stomach churn all the more, spotting the mugshot of his estranged wife within the folder.

He remembered the arrest as she’d been handcuffed by his side and shoved into the back of a police car beside him. He’d been cursing up a storm and throwing out expletives about the arresting officers insulting their loyalty to the crown calling them dirty loyalist pigs.

Fiona had been so calm though; elegant even in the back of a police car. She had said nothing, only occasionally telling her husband to calm himself. 

They’d been arrested for a brawl. There was always fighting in the streets back in those days. His twenties were a haze of bombings, bullets, and fists. He had thrived in the violence and the chaos.

He had loved the chaos. He had found a home in the horror of it all. He had found a cause to dedicate himself to and he was willing to die for it. He was a loyal man when he found something to fight for, even back then. 

He was certain that he’d die at any moment and he’d been at peace with it. He had told himself he’d be dying for a cause he believed in.

When Kerrianne had been born in his thirties he no longer was at peace with the thought of dying for the cause. His baby had shifted his heart. He was no longer as filled with rage and pure spite. He was still loyal to the cause but he was less quick to fly off the handle without a second's notice. He had learned to hold back the need to fight first and ask questions later. He was more prone to sit back and observe.

He knew his hesitance to fly into a rage had made him appear weak. His loyalties to the cause had been joined by loyalties to his baby.

Jimmy O’ had used this appearance of weakness to push Chibs from the cause. All it took was the suggestion of disloyalty and weakness and Jimmy O’ had been given the go ahead to dispose of Filip Telford. 

Chibs was unsure if Jimmy O’ had also been given the go ahead to take Fiona and Kerrianne for his own, or if that had been a personal choice that had just been tolerated from the Army Council. 

Chibs knew Jimmy O’ had won over favor with the Army Council. He was proving to be a smart and resourceful soldier to the cause. He’d earned leadership of his own crew who he ran with an iron fist. He didn’t care about risk or danger when it came to his actions. He was willing to cost lives for the cause and the council only saw it as Jimmy O’ being dedicated and capable of bringing out that dedication in others. 

They saw him as someone who was willing to get his hands dirty and deal with the day to day tasks that were required of the cause. 

Chibs knew that Jimmy O’ was still in favor with the Army Council. He only had to answer to them for any of his actions. He was still running his own crew. He was still involved in recruitment and he was good at it. He had found himself a cushy position in the True IRA.

Chibs frowned at the photo of Fiona overtaken by the thought that her first love had always been the cause. He was sure she’d loved in order; the cause and then him. Then when Kerrianne had come along she’d loved her of course, though she’d not been entirely pleased to be pregnant seeing it as a hindrance in her fight for the cause.

She had been a good mother though; she’d loved their child. She had remained a loyal soldier though.

He at times had wondered if it had been so easy to believe in the cause and fight for it because he associated the fight for a free Ireland with his love for Fiona. He had loved her therefore her passions had become his own.

He knew of course that he was unable to blame her for the path he’d taken. She had introduced him to the concept of a free Ireland, but he’d been the one to listen so intently and practically trip over himself to become involved. He’d been loyal to the cause. He could admit he’d found an outlet for his anger in it. He fell into the promises of the True IRA hook line and sinker. Fiona had been an encouragement of his dedication to the cause, but he’d made the choice on his own.

He was overcome with mixed feelings at the sight of Fiona’s mugshot. A few years ago he would have wanted to take the photo and keep it close to him. He would have cherished the captured image of her even if it had been taken in a moment of such chaos.

He found that he had no desire to cradle it close to his heart though. He felt no need to cherish the image. He found that gazing upon it only filled him with sorrow and a mix of feelings he could not place. He did love her; though he’d found that it was not that deep longing love he had always assumed he felt for her. He cared for her. He did not want to cherish an image of her though and long for her to be by his side. 

It was a shock; not feeling the longing that he’d become so familiar with when it came to thoughts of Fiona. 

He picked up a mugshot sitting alongside it, a younger version of himself staring back up at him.

He felt his heart twist at the image. The man in the photo looked like a stranger. His face was free of the scars Jimmy O’ had left him with. He was in his twenties in the photo. He was far too thin, his hair dark and free of the hints of silver that had developed over the past few years. His mouth was fixed into a scowl and his gaze was intense and dark. He’d been young and so filled with an immature and honestly unearned sense of pride. 

Chibs jerked almost dropping the photo as a soft voice sounded out beside him. “What are you doing up? I’m missing my in-bed furnace. I need someone to shove my feet against when I get too chilly.”

He gazed up at the owner of the voice, his heart lifting at the sight of her. The sight of her was a welcome distraction from his trip down memory lane.

She’d found a nightgown from her dresser, this one a long pale green silk gown with thin straps and white lace along the trim. He admired the sight of her, sure he’d never get enough of seeing her in a nightgown.

He had found that he enjoyed lying by her side at night, the soft silk of her nightgowns pressed to him the material soft against her curves. 

She sat down beside him, her stomach turning at the open file in front of them and the photo of his estranged wife sitting out. 

An insecure voice in the back of her head told her he’d been gazing at it longing for a woman he could not have.

She shoved the insecure paranoid voice back as Chibs spoke nodding down to the mugshot he was holding in his hand. “Jus rememberin how young I use to be. Shite, look at me. Fuckin full of piss vinegar and cum.”

She rolled her eyes at the last part of his statement. She gazed at the photo in his hand studying it closer than she’d allowed herself to do in front of Agent Stahl. “You look like you were an intense guy.”

“Aye, I was. I had a fuckin loud mouth too…never knew when to shut up until I learned the hard way.” Chibs admitted staring down at the photo of himself.

She dared to ask, unable to shove back her curiosity. “What was the hard way?”

“Fuckin bomb almost took me out. Was helpin plant some explosives with an older lad…he was more experienced than me, but I didn’t care. I was too cocky and runnin my mouth, not listenin to his warnings...one of em got set off and I was at least smart nough to hear it and run. Thank god the one that went off was weaker than it shoulda been. Wasn’t hooked up righ so it was a small fire more than anythin… Still got knocked flat on the ground, broke my damn arm. Taught me to shut up more often. I learned to listen and not assume I knew what I was doin. I learned to take direction a wee bit better. I learned to sit back and let people act before I jumped into action and got myself a world of hurt….I was still an angry lad of course, but I was less stupid in my rage. It was a hard lesson to learn, but it probably kept me alive.” He admitted not wanting to meet her gaze at the mention of bombs.

He spoke again, shaking his head a soft sigh leaving him. “It was a miracle I survived my twenties. Belfast in the eighties and early nineties was somethin else. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have survived it…and I didn’t care….not till my Kerrianne was born. She made dyin in fer the cause seem less noble.”

Y/N dared to speak, trying not to focus on the mention of his deeds in Belfast knowing it was something she might never feel at peace with but it was his past all the same. “She was four the last time you saw her?”

He cringed, nodding his head, the memory feeling so fresh still. “Maureen Ashby…she was a lass that hung round SAMBEL…datin our club pres…she an Fiona were close…she managed to sneak me by a market she knew Kerrianne would be at with Fiona…I was only able to see em from far away…Jimmy O’ never let em out of his sight without one of his lads nearby. I was able to see her for a moment…watch her smelling the flowers…She was so tiny…head full of curls and my nose and ears…She was carrying this wee stuffed animal…a white teddy bear. It should have been comfortin…but it was jus torture. Seeing my baby knowin I couldn’t go near her. She was a baby when Jimmy O’ attacked me. I loved her…loved her so much it hurt. I loved bein a Da. I thought it was a chance to be better than my own Da…I wanted so much fer her, had so many dreams fer her…Maureen promised to give her photos of me as the years went by…let her know I exist, let her know I love her. Don’t know if she jus told me that to comfort me. It would probably be too dangerous…lettin Kerrianne know her da is out there and he loves her. Jimmy O’ wouldn’ stand fer it. Even if he allowed it I’m sure he told her I ran off to America and abandoned her like some sort of arse, running from his family and the cause. Sometimes I dream bout my baby…memories of her. It hurts. I hate it.”

He paused, his throat growing tight he shaking his head. “Pretty soon after that tensions between the True IRA, SAMBEL, and SAMCRO started gettin too much and hinting they might fall apart…sendin a lad over to patch into SAMCRO and help deal with the Irish was a suggested way to ease tensions. I was a perfect candidate given my involvement with the cause and the MC. They knew where my loyalties would lie. I took the chance to get the hell out of Belfast…ain’ been back since.”

She wrapped her arms around his upper arm, her head resting against his shoulder as she spoke. “I’m sorry.”

He furrowed his brow, tempted to tell her that she did not need to apologize for bringing up the memory. 

She spoke, her head turning to press a kiss against his arm. “For what it’s worth…I hope Kerrianne does know you’re out there. I hope she knows you love her…if you didn’t love her you wouldn’t keep her so close to your heart.”

He felt a small smile cross his lips knowing she was referencing the tattoo across his heart. His daughter’s name in celtic print. “Aye, it's all I can do.”

They sat in silence for a moment, she daring to speak. “What do you want me to do with the file…do you want it?”

He frowned, understanding that she was not exactly asking about the file itself nor the police reports. This was about the mugshot of his estranged wife. 

He could feel the tension in her body as she continued to hold on to his arm. She was testing him, waiting to see where and with whom his heart laid. 

He felt the words leave him without hesitation. “Fuckin burn it, Hen. Ain’ nothin in there I need.”

He paused, not missing the chance to tease her. “Though…we can save one of these mugshots of me…ya can frame it to put by yer bed…or I can get ye a locket and ye can size down one of the photos to keep in it. Ye can show it off when people ask bout yer boyfriend…really give em a shock. We can put one of yer mugshots on the other side of the locket…make it real romantic.”

She rolled her eyes at this comment, the tension leaving her body a giggle leaving her the sound a relief to him given the tension of the conversation. “I think if I want a photo of you by my bed or in a locket, I would prefer you to look less pissed off…and more sober judging by a few of those mugshots I spotted in there.”

“Aye, fine. I do think there is a photo in there of me was when I was fuckin shitefaced. Pretty sure I’m flippin the bird at the camera…I look like hell in it. I got picked up with fuckin Juice fer some shite, I don’t even remember it, I think I was fightin though…maybe breakin and enterin too. I jus remember the hangover more than anything. It aint the one we have hangin in the clubhouse though I was pretty stoned in that one  and I’m flippin the bird in it. That one was from Kern county. Pretty sure I was on a run with Tig and Bobby in that one, or on the way back from a run. I had a wee bit of a joint with Bobby and ye can see it in my face…Got pulled over and ran my mouth, cops weren’t amused.” He admitted recalling a few of the mugshots in the file. He knew those were the milder offenses on his record. 

He paused an idea entering his brain, unable to avoid the temptation to tease her.

“ Still gettin ye a mugshot of me…ye know fer yer fridge or somethin…or in yer office…really make Skeeter cringe.” He teased not wanting to admit that he was pretty tempted to make good on the offer.

She shook her head standing up, her voice drowsy. “I am both starving and exhausted…we literally did not eat dinner…and don’t you say that you fed me your cock.”

He snorted at the comment biting his tongue to keep any smart comments from leaving him.

She spoke nodding at the file. “If I get you the matches will you burn that damn file in the fireplace in the dining room? I have some leftover Chinese takeout in the fridge that I can heat up for us and some beer too.”

He chuckled standing up from the sofa as he spoke, tossing the mugshot down on the file more than eager to burn it to ashes. “Aye, takeout and burnin my criminal record. Sounds like a good night in.”

She shook her head, her lips pressing to his cheek before she headed to the kitchen. He called out behind her the words leaving him without hesitation. “I love ye.”

“I love you too.” She replied over her shoulder the comment filling them both with ease.

He gazed down at the file shutting it knowing that he’d been telling her the truth. There was nothing in that file he wanted nor needed.

He knew where his heart laid.

[vivaciousoceans]

lovely daggers pierced my heart moons ago

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Eloise Bridgerton / Cressida Cowper

Rating: T+

Warning (s): None

Word Count: 1,538

Genre: Fluff, Mild Smut (if you squint and blink)

Eloise is different from Daphne, she has softer features, darker tresses, and she's most certainly not as poised as the ’diamond’ of two seasons ago. Yet, Eloise possesses the same captivating Bridgerton blue eyes that could melt hearts in mere moments, assuming one was foolish enough to be ensnared by their allure. Once ensnared, no man nor woman could save you from yourself or the lengths to which you’ll go to keep those eyes in your life. Cressida concludes that this must be how Penelope Featherington found herself entangled in the unexpected predicament of receiving tutelage in the art of husband-hunting from none other than Colin Bridgerton. It would be quite amusing, were it not for her own precarious position—clinging to the Bridgerton in her life by any means necessary.

She’d long regretted her behavior with Daphne, and not just because the elder Bridgerton had ascended to the esteemed rank of Duchess. Once upon a time, they had been friends, a bond that now seemed to belong to another era entirely. The transition from girlhood to womanhood had created an unbridgeable chasm between their worlds, rendering their past friendship a distant, bittersweet memory. 

When she’d extended a genuine offer of friendship to Eloise last season, determined to make amends, she’d been surprised by the rejection, nevertheless she tried to appear unaffected. In reality, she had pondered that moment every night until the summer, when Eloise finally decided to embrace society. Cressida couldn’t deny that she was a little disheartened at first, Eloise's spirit seemed to have been subdued by her scandal last season. She had secretly envied the younger woman, not just for her prestigious family name and connections. She wished she didn’t care so much about the tons perception of her; she wished the thought of being a spinster didn’t make the hair on the back of her neck stand up and goosebumps rise along her arms. The idea of being forced to marry one of her father’s older friends made her stomach turn, and she would do almost anything to avoid that fate.

Except give up one of her most hard-won possessions, although she knows she can’t truly call Eloise hers. One day, Eloise would probably belong to a man too, just like Daphne, just like all the girls before Daphne. The ones who made her heart skip a beat, and her fingers linger just a little too long, hoping they felt what she felt. She was never surprised when they didn't.

Eloise is different from Daphne though, different from all the girls after Daphne. Eloise doesn’t want to talk about men and titles, she doesn’t worry herself with matters of imported fabrics and lace, or even the latest gossip. With Eloise, when they’re alone, she’s not a spinster, she doesn’t have to want to be a wife or a mother; the world around them is endless, and their voyages are vast. 

Eloise doesn’t want her to be anyone besides Cressida Cowper, a lady of witty banter and immense intelligence. It’s comforting to finally be enough after being told for so long that she needed to be more.

Perhaps that is why she decided to abandon her sanity, to succumb to the temptations she had long resisted. Perhaps that’s why she’d decided to throw caution to the wind, interrupting Eloise’s speech with a kiss. In that fleeting moment of passion, she'd come to realize she was willing to embrace whatever consequences came her way, even if it meant risking her reputation and defying societal expectations.

Part of her moved as if in a dream, every moment heightened as she leaned in, her slender fingers gently cupping Eloise’s cheeks, noting the constellation of freckles marking the supple flesh. Cressida had every opportunity to halt, to retreat, but she continued her descent.

Another part of her moves with the swiftness of a heartbeat, her lips finding Eloise’s with a passionate tenderness, enveloped by the velvet warmth of Eloise’s lips. Every part of her senses seemed intensified, heightened by the forbidden intimacy. She could feel each delicate ridge on Eloise’s lips, could taste the lingering essence of the mint tea they had shared earlier, and could hear the subtle hitch in Eloise’s breath as it halted to a stop. 

The younger woman remained motionless beneath her, her body still in the same position, mid-ramble about some novel or another. Eloise’s words always seemed to cascade together when she was truly excited, and though Cressida struggled to follow sometimes, she could never resist the enchantment of the way blush spread across the brunette’s cheeks and the way her eyes seemed to widen with passion.

Cressida knew such a defense would scarcely be believed—that she somehow swooned and fell upon Eloise’s lips.

Suddenly a surge of fear courses through her, a stark reminder that she is far too intelligent to be this reckless, to allow herself to let the comfort of friendship and the passion of lust lead her to this forbidden moment.

She attempted to pull back, to apologize for her behavior, salvage whatever remained of her reputation or even their friendship.

Her efforts are halted by Eloise's firm grip, anchoring the hand that Cressida had cupped against her face in place. Cressida's gaze drifted down to meet Eloise’s, witnessing the dilation of her pupils, the darkening of her irises, and the gentle graze of her teeth over her bottom lip, as if contemplating her next move.

Time seemed to freeze, suspended in an eternal moment, though Cressida knew only seconds had passed before Eloise acted. With a swiftness fueled by fervent urgency, Eloise initiated a kiss that far surpassed the confidence of Cressida’s own. There was no hesitation as Eloise delved into Cressida’s mouth with her tongue, sweeping across her bottom lip, eliciting a tiny gasp from Cressida's lips. Cressida pondered whether Eloise had experienced this before, whether she had kissed a man or even another woman, or if Eloise was just eager, a student in all areas of life. Such thoughts were swiftly brushed aside as Eloise’s hands began to explore, tracing down Cressida’s sides, skimming the fabric of her gown until Cressida found herself reclining on her family's settee, her head grazing the armrest in surrender to the intoxicating allure of the moment.

Eloise didn’t break away from her, her soft hands deftly navigating through layers of fabric to discover Cressida’s smooth, pale skin that had only known the touch of daylight within the confines of her bedchambers. As Eloise's warm fingers caressed her calf, gently kneading and coaxing forth a string of whimpers from her lips, Cressida found herself contemplating the sensation. Would it feel the same with a man? If his fingers were tracing the contours of her thighs, inching closer to her heat, his lips upon hers, would her entire being ignite, writhing under his touch as she did under Eloise’s? She doubts it. Questions whether anyone could reduce her agile mind to such a state of bliss as Eloise effortlessly did.

How could she return to the life society and her parents expected of her now that she had savored true euphoria? The mere thought threatened to send her into a fit of hysterics, but the sudden absence of Eloise’s lips on hers snaps her back to reality. She doesn’t have time to yearn for Eloise's presence, she feels those same lips resurface moments later, tracing a path from the corner of her lips to just under her chin, and then to that spot behind her ears that catches her off guard, eliciting a louder response than she ever intended.

It sobers her, reminding her of her surroundings, of the company she keeps. At any moment, one of her maids or even her parents could intrude upon the sitting room, catching her in a compromising situation.

Cressida gently pushed at Eloise’s shoulders, barely containing the whine threatening to escape her throat as Eloise withdrew from their intimate embrace, her gown swiftly falling back into place. She could sense the unspoken questions swirling behind the veil of lust in Eloise’s eyes, scrutinizing every inch of her being. Had Eloise always regarded her with such fervent intensity? Unable to bear the weight of the brunette’s gaze, Cressida averted her eyes and cleared her throat, her fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in her gown as she spoke.

“I shall instruct my maid to prepare my chambers for our deliberation on gowns for tonight's ball,” she declared, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within her. Was she being presumptuous? What would Eloise think of her? What would they even do once they got to her room? So many questions, so many feelings, and yet, none of them made her want to reconsider this for even a moment.

“Very well, Miss Cowper,” Eloise murmured, her voice husky with formality and an undertone of amusement that did not escape Cressida's notice. When their eyes finally met, Cressida detected a teasing glint dancing upon Eloise’s pink lips, and in that moment, she realized that Miss Eloise Bridgerton may just be the harbinger of her downfall. Perhaps it was a hereditary trait, passed down from Bridgerton to Bridgerton—the uncanny ability to be both someone's salvation and their greatest frustration.