#i am but a simple man (and it’s fine one of my close friends is also a green supporter)

[bingqiv]

i’m sorry but aegon and aemond are too pretty for me to not support the greens

[sysig]

The most fun you can have, barring the pain and torture (Patreon)

[churipu]

𐙚 THREE TIMES NANAMI MADE YOU CRY ⋆ ˚｡

featuring. nanami kento x reader

warning. referral to the reader as 'wife'

note. i just felt so mellow today — because a lot of sad nanami edits have been passing by in my fyp and i'm about to have a mental breakdown because of it, when i catch gege >:( a lil note, i cried writing this bcs i miss nanami so much help

✴ ONE : WHEN HE PROPOSED TO YOU

it took him a short time to realize that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you — he sees you cooking breakfast at the crack of dawn just for him before he goes to work, and he realizes that, yes, you were the one for him.

"do you want to marry me?"

your head turned to him slowly, eyes following just a few seconds after and you blinked, "i'm sorry, what?" you ask him.

nanami's eyes raised up to meet yours, "do you want to marry me?" he repeats his question calmly.

it was a day like every other — the both of you sitting on the couch, the television on yet nobody's paying attention to it. nanami has his eyes on the magazine in his grasp, and you were on your phone, scrolling through social media.

"yeah, of course i do."

nanami takes out a velvet colored box from his pocket and opens it up, you stared at him in confusion; wondering if this was a joke or not, is he actually proposing to you while you were in your pjs? but that actually didn't bother you — it was the fact he is proposing to you.

"marry me." he murmurs out softly, taking the beautiful ring out of its place, waiting for your acknowledgement.

your tears began flowing out and it took nanami by surprise, "sweetheart, i'm sorry. was it too sudden? you don't have to—" you shook your head at him, wiping your tears away.

"i'm just so . . . happy, ken."

that was the first time he made you cry.

✴ TWO : HIS WEDDING VOWS

your wedding was a simple ceremony. it was filled with fun and laughter, your loved people were there — his loved people were there, gojo and his students were there. it was just, a one fine day, really.

when it comes to the delivering of vows, traditionally; the groom goes first.

"y/n, i'm not good with my words, but you know me better than anyone else, so i assume you know that as well. we met five years ago when i bought a casse-croûte in a bakery you worked in; and if you had told me then that we'd be standing here and i'd be spending the rest of my life with you, maybe i wouldn't believe in you and told you that you were saying nonsense.

first and foremost, i would never thought that a one stop shop in a bakery would lead me to the love of my life — that day, i decided to stop by the bakery you worked in because my usual place was closed for the day, when i think about that, i get so overwhelmed; if my usual shop had opened that very day, maybe you would be standing here with another man, another man who is not me.

y/n, you are the most curious person i have ever met in my life. and i am pretty sure you are asking yourself now, what is kento thinking of right now? the answer is you. i am thinking about you now, later, and forever. from the first day you asked me if i liked casse-croûte, i have not once stopped thinking about you.

i was never a person who sought for relationship or thought of it a lot in the past, but when you came into my life. i began thinking of my future with you, making our own happy family, having kids, traveling the world, all of that. the moment i saw you take your time to wake up before me to cook me breakfast before i go to work, i knew i just had to make you my wife. i want to spend the rest of my life with you.

you love me and completed me in ways i do not know existed, and my love — i promise you, that from here onwards, i will continue to love you and every piece of you and for who you are yet to become. i promise to be your husband, your best friend, your partner in crime as you always like to name it, and your number one supporter, also as you name it.

above all, i promise to show you how lucky i am to have you in my life. i cannot wait to start a new chapter in my life with you, i love you."

it was safe to say that everyone in the room was crying, including you (and gojo, who had to be escorted out by megumi because the male was straight up sobbing loudly).

✴ THREE : WHEN HE DIED

shibuya. october 31, 2018. god, how much you dreaded every single thing that happened in there — just the thought of october coming after that year made your stomach churn in sadness.

the day a lot of people lost their life, including nanami.

nanami is a strong man, and you know so. you believed in him, never did you once stopped believing in your husband; but the whole time nanami was fighting for his and everyone's life in shibuya, you were back at home with your few months old son.

"daddy is going to be okay, yeah? he's gonna be back soon," you cooed to your son despite the rising wariness.

but no, nanami never came back.

the one to break the news was no other than itadori yuuji himself, the sole witness to your husband's passing — he knocked on your door, beaten up, although his wounds were tended to. you knew the shibuya incident scarred the young boy with something that couldn't be closed off now or maybe ever.

"he's not coming back, is he?" you ask the teen with a sad smile.

itadori broke down on your porch that day. and you, nanami's wife was the one comforting him, after all, watching someone you care die in front of you was traumatizing. but itadori blamed himself for nanami's death — he was baffled when you pulled him into a tight hug, "it's my fault y/n-san! i killed him. he's dead because of me."

as much as nanami doesn't display his affection to itadori, you were a witness to how nanami really feels towards the young boy. telling you how he wishes your son would grow up to be just like itadori, bubbly and energetic. nanami cares about itadori like the boy was his own — although failing to show it.

"did he . . . did he say anything before he . . ?"

itadori cried in your embrace, "he . . . said he was sorry. for not coming back. and that he loves you and your son so much . . ." itadori was barely taking breaths in, he was hyperventilating in your arms, "he said he was sorry that he won't be able to accompany you to malaysia."

"okay." you didn't cry as itadori was breaking the news to you, you couldn't.

nanami's death quieted you — you didn't cry the first week, still not believing he was actually gone. finding yourself sitting on the couch, waiting for the male to open the door and to call out for you, "y/n, i'm home."

but it never happened. nanami was really gone. he's really dead.

grief is such an odd feeling, you relied on itadori to look after your son for the first two weeks as you didn't find yourself in the right mind to be capable of taking care of your own flesh and blood. a day before your son was going back into your care — you went grocery shopping, to buy things both nanami and you used to buy.

it was a mistake on your part not to use a basket or a trolley, putting all the stuff on the cashier counter was hard work. and as the baby food you put on top of the pile slipped through your fingers and dropped onto the floor, splattering the contents everywhere, you can't help but to let a few stray tears out.

your silent sobs turning into a full blown breakdown in the middle of a grocery shop as everything began coming in, a reality check.

that nanami was no longer going to be there with you again, you couldn't feel him anymore, you couldn't hear him anymore, you couldn't smell his cologne anymore.

but the world doesn't stop for that, it will keep going and you had to go on with your life without him.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[makismei]

(18+ somewhere randomly near the end bc my pussy took over) it is currently 2:57am and while i was writing an upcoming fic, i suddenly thought of nanami, as your underclassman at jujutsu high... not proofread (possibly incoherent) i am sorry i finished at 5am

he's two years younger than you, but he's been enamoured by you since he spoke to you back when he was sixteen on your eighteenth birthday, hosted at gojo's condo.

almost everyone was drunk, courtesy of shoko managing to get her hands on bottles of tequila and vodka. you were barely tispy, finding a completely sober nanami stuck to a wall with his eyebrows pulled together. he doesn't like it here. he wants to go home. but this is what being a teenager is like... right?

through flashing lights and loud music, you told him that cherishing your youth goes beyond what he's seeing before his eyes.

with you being a third year, he rarely saw you at the school. up close, he realizes how beautiful you are and that your perfume suits you so well.

"being a child is just fine," you say, as if you aren't only two years older. "you have your whole life to experience partying."

you end up outside on the balcony, talking all night about anything and everything.

and nanami learns, at sixteen, what uncontrollably clammy hands feel like, stuttering over simple words and the desperation for more of your presence.

since that night, he looks for you on campus when you are between missions. in the beginning, he couldn't find the courage to start conversation, but slowly, it starts to come to him easy.

over the years, he's seen you introduce your older boyfriends to your friends. he's also seen you get your heartbroken because the men that you chose to love were straight up losers.

what is he to do? clearly, you have a type and it's not him. although, he is confident he can treat you far better.

you like dark hair and tattoos, "manly" looking men but they don't even hold the door for you. what the hell is wrong with you? nanami swears, if he was yours, you'd never look back.

nanami is freshly nineteen, listening to you talk to shoko and utahime about how relationships are no longer worth your time. something inside of him feels disgusting because you're pouring your heart out and god, he just thinks you're so beautiful.

when he confesses to you for the first time, he is twenty-one and it's winter. it's been three years since your last relationship and you haven't pursued another since. he knows it's a long shot, but he goes for it anyways.

you smile, hand on his arm, "you deserve better than me, kento. but thank you, truly. i'm flattered you think of me so highly."

nanami raises a brow, "who doesn't?"

you're halfway into your door, smiling sadly. "you'd be surprised."

six months later, you're in cahoots with a horrible man and nanami thinks he's going to go bald early. why do you do this to yourself????

since his confession, he's tried to be mindful so he doesn't make you uncomfortable. but in the most friendship way possible, he tries to show you there are men (meaning: him, he is best fit for you) that are willingly to love you the way you deserve (him).

you, on the other hand, are biting your nails as far as you can, you cannot be catching feelings for nanami kento? you've never seen him in a romantic light, even after he confessed, but recently there has to be something poisonous in the air.

you blocked that douchebag two days ago because talking to him makes you feel disgusting. but you think you might unblock him to save nanami.

nanami cannot be yours, sure he's younger than you and you swore you would never date a younger man because they're so "immature", but nanami is a good... mature person. he is honest and hardworking, growing into his features and in turn, becoming more handsome as the years go by.

you'd be lying if you weren't jealous thinking about the woman that he would call his one day.

you think it's for the better. nanami cannot get caught up with your antics. he's really only seen the good sides and the thought of him seeing your bad sides makes you nauseous. he'd hate you, for sure. then what would you do?

but it doesn't matter, you don't even like him like that! but he's such a good friend you can't fathom the thought of ruining your friendship.

but what if he gets a girlfriend? you're pacing back and forth in your living room, obviously you can't be close with him anymore because that is just so suspicious.

oh my god. you're spiralling.

what do you do? you call nanami.

you tell him everything and more, that you're sorry, that you might be confused but your gut is telling you otherwise. you cry on the phone to him because you're at a loss and you feel so guilty.

nanami does not say a word or make a sound.

until, you hear a knock on your door through the phone and in real life.

"will you let me see you?" he asks, desperate. "i need to see you."

"you had me waiting for so long." he mutters, hips swinging into yours. he has you in a mating press, forehead pressed against yours. "am i making you feel good, beautiful? tell me."

you nod, legs quivering at his sides. "you're so good—i.. i think i'm gonna cum again!"

he shushes you, kissing you so deeply your mind goes blank. he starts thrusting harder and your mind is so mushy you can't even kiss him back. nanami groans, this can't be real. you feel so good that he might get addicted.

he can't let you go now that he's had a taste. he's not letting you go.

you love him. you told him in a panic over the phone.

you love him.

he needs you wholeheartedly and even though he had to wait almost eight years, he would gladly wait another eight years because if it's not you, it's no one. over the years he's loved you one-sidedly, he did a lot of thinking.

a silly high school crush ended up swallowing him whole. he was searching for you in all the blind dates gojo made him go on because gojo was convinced he was cooked and that you would not like him back.

so to see gojo's jaw dropping when you kissed nanami on the lips in the jujutsu tech courtyard, made his heart swell.

he was always yours.

you think that maybe, you've loved nanami for longer than you've thought.

"thanks for waiting for me." you breathe, "i'll make you happy."

nanami smiles, "you will always make me happy."

[reidmotif]

Not-Friends with Benefits

Summary: Reader and Spencer have been hooking up with no strings attached just fine, until a singular bed threatens to change that.

Prompt: Reader and Spencer are JUST hooking up. Then, one bed. Forced to be more intimate by sleeping together, than actually sleeping together.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut/Angst (Happy Ending)

Content Warning: Reader POV, friends-with-benefits, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, he picks her up, heavy making-out, unprotected sex, Idiots in Love

Word Count: 7.1k

The first time I met Spencer Reid, I don’t think I really got him. 

It didn’t matter though, because in these moments where my hands are knotted in his hair and he’s pushing me up against the wall, kissing like a man starved, I understood everything about him perfectly. My hands went to wrap around his neck, pressing his body flush against mine. 

“Eager, Reid?” I ask, in between hungry kisses, a smirk lingering on my face. 

“Could say the same about you.” He replies, equally as cocky, his hands sliding to the backs of my thighs in an instant.

I yelped as he picked me up, my legs immediately wrapping around his waist. I could feel a deep kiss being pressed against my lips for my implicit understanding of the action, and registered the movement of his legs working away from the motel door that I had just been at, and towards the cheap bed in the middle of the room. He threw me down, and immediately caged me in between his arms, giving me another fervent, heated kiss. 

If you’d told me six months ago that I was not only sleeping with a coworker, but just sleeping with a coworker, I’d probably laugh in your face. If you’d added on and told me that the coworker I’d made that arrangement with was none other than Spencer Reid, I’d have probably keeled over with laughter. But here I am, being fucked in a cheap motel bed with his face buried in the crook of my shoulder, pressing wet hot kisses over the expanse of my skin. 

And fuck me, was he good at that. 

I could feel my moans reverberating around the room, as he removed himself from his place on my shoulder and placed a hand over my mouth, never once faltering with his deep, hard strokes into me. 

“Mm. Gotta stay quiet, right? Don’t want the team to know how much you like being fucked like a whore.” He taunted, looking at me with those goddamned hazel eyes that drove me insane with lust. 

I attempted to roll my eyes at him to show my displeasure at him for covering my mouth but at a particularly harder thrust than the others, they simply rolled into the back of my head and I screwed my eyes shut at the sensation, hearing him chuckling lowly at my reaction above me. 

“Like that?” He baited, and I could literally hear the smirk in his voice.

I also, however, could feel the twitch of his cock, and his impending release and simply nodded, opening my eyes and giving into his provocations. I was implicitly begging him to go faster and harder with a simple gaze, and thankfully, the genius understood. 

In a few moments, we were both unraveling in each other’s arms, Spencer’s thumb brushing over my clit to guarantee my release before his, and as soon as he caught wind of my shaking thighs and the blissful feeling of my climax around him, he shortly followed after, and I breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar warmth pooling inside my deepest point. 

He pulled out, sweaty and panting, moving to the other side of the bed and lying on his back. “You good?” He asked, as I slowly started to regain some semblance in my post-orgasmic state. 

“Mhm.” I nodded, completely fucked out. I turned over, starting to leave the bed. “I’m gonna go shower.” 

He nodded back, not questioning the lack of spoken word that was being passed between the two of us right after we’d just had sex. 

I hopped into the shitty motel shower, washing away the evidence of what we’d just done. The warm water allowed me to revel in my thoughts for a few minutes, my eyes closing as I felt the droplets hit my skin. 

Spencer and I didn’t have, by any standards, an “ideal” relationship. However, for our particular circumstances, the agreement we’d settled on worked completely fine. Pure sex, nothing else. No talking. No feelings.  Nothing that could lead to something beyond the physical pleasure we shared with each other after a long, hard day at work. 

The first time it’d happened, it was entirely unexpected behavior from the both of us. I’d come to his hotel room in search of a file I’d loaned him for the case we were working on. At this point, Spencer and I weren’t exactly what you’d call close friends, but we weren’t exactly just co-workers either. The trauma of each case presented to us and being subjected to the other for most of our time led to a strange bond of understanding and acceptance of the other. A relationship that was probably incomprehensible to outsiders, but made perfect sense to either of us.

Underneath that, however,  was an underlying tension neither of us could deny. I wasn’t dumb.  We were both young, attractive and single, and I couldn’t lie and say that I hadn’t, on occasion,  imagined his long fingers working relentlessly at my core, bringing me pleasure in a way mine couldn’t. I know he’d most likely fantasized about something in a similar context, given the way he’d stare at me just a split-second longer than he should have when I'd wear a lower-cut blouse, or a short skirt. His actions weren’t unnoticed, and it wasn’t like I didn’t want that either, but I’d always been exceedingly realistic with myself. We were both agents in the FBI, in the same unit. Besides the headaches we’d cause HR if we were to present ourselves as a couple, there were emotional boundaries we’d cross if we were to be romantically involved. Emotional boundaries I was simply uninterested in crossing at all with anyone at all, especially Spencer Reid.

That night I visited his room, it seemed (in retrospect) that both of our inhibitions were low. I watched him dig through his satchel on the floor, attempting to locate the file I’d come there for, and in a moment of weakness, I had watched those damned hands of his again. I couldn’t help it. His fingers were just so, so long. Even if he wasn’t so attractive, I think any person would be eager to have those inside them. Just from a physical standpoint, you know? When he looked up, his gaze caught me off guard and I couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it’d feel to have him at his knees for me. He cocked an eyebrow as he rose from his position, now handing me the file. 

“You okay?” He asked, his arm stretching towards me as I went to intercept the file from him. “You look a bit.. warm.” He said, his voice quipping a bit at the last word. 

Fuck. 

“Fine, you know how these motels are.” I replied quickly, hoping to offer some logical explanation for why I was so flushed, other than the fact I’d just been imagining him fucking me. “Shitty aircon.” I added, hoping to not seem suspicious. 

My body seemed to give me away though, as when I went to meet his outstretched arm, some slip of my finger made it so the contents of the file tumbled out, leaving a mess of papers at our feet. We both instantly sunk to the floor, trying to gather them as quickly as we could. We were both bent at the knees fully focused on collecting the documents, unaware of our proximity until he handed the papers to me. I looked at his hands, then his eyes, and realized our faces were approximately five inches apart. I could see his gaze drift to my lips, then back to my eyes. 

“So, I’ll um. I’ll take the papers.”  I said, my voice almost a whisper, beginning to rise. 

“Yeah, you should.” He said, his voice restrained as we both got up together. 

As he handed the last bit of papers, his fingers brushed over mine and we both felt it. That jolt, that itch, just begging to be relieved. I looked up at him, his figure looming over me, and in an instant, something seemed to pass between us and his mouth was on mine, kissing me with overwhelming passion. I could feel my knees colliding with the foot of the bed as he guided me towards it, feeling him pushing me into the mattress. He’d asked feverishly if I’d wanted this, and I nodded eagerly. 

And that was that, and after we’d finished our act of spontaneity, still panting and breathing heavily, I could feel the regret seeping in. I’d slept with a coworker, friend .. whatever he was, I’d slept with him and couldn’t take that back. Flashes of awkward conversations came to mind, ones filled with ‘what-are-we’s’ and ‘it’s-not-you-it’s-me’ and in my anxious stupor, I blurted out, “I don’t want to be in a relationship with you.” I looked at him a little wide-eyed after my outburst, surprised at myself for saying it like that.  How stupid could I be? It was blunt, stupid, and definitely not something you said right after sex.  I waited for him to call me a cold, heartless bitch, or to yell at me to get out of his room, but to my relief, he didn’t. He agreed. 

“Wait, what?” I asked, unsure if I’d heard him right. 

“I’m not really looking for a relationship either.” He repeated, but then slowly added. “But I’d also be an idiot if I didn’t tell you that was one of the best hookups I’ve ever had.”  He looked at me, expectantly, as if I was meant to understand something from his words alone. 

I narrowed my eyes, biting my lip. “What are you saying?” 

Spencer turned to me, running a hand through his hair, made messy by my incessant pulling on it just a few minutes ago, breathing out.  “I’m saying we’re both detached and clearly want the same thing. An outlet.” He paused, and looked at me.  “And I mean, do you really want this to be a one-time thing?” He tacked on, cracking a bit of a smirk at that final remark. 

“I mean..” I started, then paused. “So, this would be just sex. No feelings on either of our ends, no ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ stuff, just .. sex.” I asked, trying to make sure I understood his intentions perfectly. 

“Yeah.” He replied, nodding. “Just sex. I mean that.” 

 I looked at him, and something passed through us once again, but this time it wasn’t lust. It was the unstated trust that we held between each other, that neither of us was going to violate the other’s wishes, and this was truly what the both of us wanted from the other. I nodded wordlessly, agreeing, and he cracked a stupid, boyish smile. 

“Really? You’re actually agreeing to this?” He said, incredulously. 

“What, you want me to fight you on it and leave?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You make a good point. There’s no use in denying ourselves a good time, especially if we’re so clear in what we want.” I said, reiterating what he’d said to me. 

“Alright then.” He said, nodding slowly. “In that case, and I hope you don’t take offense to this. You should probably leave my room before-” 

I was already getting off the bed, grabbing my clothes and flashing him a soft smirk to let him know that not only did I get the message, I was already planning on doing so long before he even opened his mouth. 

“Don’t worry. I know.” I said, slipping on my shorts and t-shirt that I’d previously been wearing. “There are rules to what we’re doing, and I think sleeping in the same bed would definitely violate those.” 

“Glad you understand.” Spencer replied, watching me from his place in the room. He awkwardly called out as I started to leave.  “So, uh. Take care?” 

I laughed at that. It was clear he had no idea what to say, and I opted to give him some grace in my reply.  “Yeah. Sure. You too.” I said, before cautiously approaching the door of his room, checking the hallway for any of our team members, and slipped out quietly without another word to him and into my own bed, the aforementioned file being forgotten as I fell asleep in my hotel room alone, feeling more than okay with the terms we’d come to.

We’d continued this regimen with no problem for the six months following that initial encounter. If there was one thing Reid and I excelled at (besides the sex), it was following the rules. We were careful to never cross any lines with each other. No innocent, lazy makeouts in hotel rooms, no whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears, no longing stares or subtle brushes when we were with the team, nothing that could break the bubble between us that could lead into any possible intimacy at all. This is what we wanted, and we made that abundantly clear to each other through our actions, or more accurately, our inactions with each other. 

Our ritual, however, seemed to be put on halt when Hotch came into the lobby of the motel we were staying at for a case, addressing our team as one. 

“It looks like this place is mostly booked, so we’re going to need a few of you to double up.” Hotch announced to the team.

I internally groaned, realizing that if everyone was paired up, there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to sneak to Spencer’s room, or vice versa. Whatever. I can go a night without sex from him. Derek and Hotch were an obvious choice when it came to sharing a room. The two of them were surprisingly neat, considering they packed lightly. Emily and JJ too. They’d been friends for much longer than I’d ever even been on the team, and it didn’t surprise me that they’d choose to room together. Everyone paired off quietly, leaving Rossi, myself, and Spencer. Rossi shot a look at the two of us, and shot me a particularly apologetic one. 

“I don’t mind you all that much, but I’m drawing the line at sleeping with the kid.” Rossi said, with an air of finality in his tone, indicating he’d end up being the one to get the one solo room amongst us. 

I gave a look to Spencer, shrugging. To the rest of our team, our bond seemed as normal as it could be. I never treated him differently than I did any of them, and even in a room full of skilled profilers, I doubt any of them could sense that it didn’t even cross my mind that Spencer and I could end up sharing a room. It already felt intimate. More intimate than I wanted. We had a strict rule about not falling asleep together in the same bed after sex, and even if there were going to be separate beds in our motel room, the idea of being able to watch him sleep, hear him breathe five feet away from me triggered a strange sensation at the pit of my stomach, something I could only chalk up to a bout of nerves since I was unsure on how to navigate the situation. 

As we approached the door, the two of us were a little stiff. I could tell he was probably thinking the same thing as me. I stopped right in front of the door, turning to look at him, and realized I’d gravely misjudged the distance we’d been walking apart, as my sudden halt nearly caused him to collide with me. 

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to catch you off guard there.” I said, quickly, placing my hands palm-up against my chest to avoid a head-on collision. He nearly tripped, but balanced himself before shooting me a confused look, wondering why we’d stopped just in front of the door. “I just..” I started to speak, and then paused, wondering how to phrase this. Meaningless hookups are what we excelled at. It was natural, it was easy- but somehow the idea of us sharing a hotel room just felt a bit .. much to me. I wanted to somehow abridge the idea of us maybe not having sex that night, but before I could even formulate my words, he interrupted me. 

“Look, (Y/N), it’s been a long day. How about we just go to bed tonight?” He said, looking right into my eyes, making the intentions behind his words incredibly clear. It’s like he’d read my mind, and I suppose in a way he had. We’d become so attuned to each other’s needs in the months we’d been having sex, a natural byproduct of how our time together was spent, and I think he could tell I was already nervous about the situation we’d found ourselves in. 

I nodded, gently. “Yeah. My thoughts exactly.” I gave him a small, reserved smile before taking my keycard and swiping it against the door. I  walked into the room, only to knit my brows in confusion at the sight laid out in front of me. 

“Aren’t there supposed to be two beds?” I asked, moving deeper into the room to look for the aforementioned second bed, instead of the singular king that stared us right in the face. 

He looked equally as confused, running a hand through his pretty curls. He instantly saw my discomfort, reading me like a book.  “Hey, look. It’s okay, I can take the floor.” He said, already starting to move away from the bed to look for a way to make a make-shift bed on the floor. 

I looked at him, rolling my eyes. “Reid, you have a bad knee. I should take the floor.” I reply, trying to get in his way, while flashing him a look of incredulousness, as if the idea of him taking the floor was absolutely ridiculous. 

He flashed me a similar look, shooting back his own response.  “Well, you can’t sleep unless it’s on a bed.” 

I looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know that?” I shot back, a bit confused how he knew that about me. He shrugged, looking at me as if it was the simplest thing to figure out. 

“You never sleep on the jet, like ever. Or the breakroom, or at your desk.” He says, looking at me. “Even if you’ve been up an unreasonable amount of time. I suspect it’s because you pretty much exclusively fall asleep in beds.” He finished off, looking a little too smug for his own good. “Am I right?”

I sigh. Profilers could be so fucking annoying sometimes. “Yeah, you are, but it isn’t a big deal.” I say, biting my lip. “We both can’t sleep on the same bed.” I reasoned, looking at him. 

He looks at me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean..”

I immediately shook my head, crossing my arms. “Spencer, no.” 

He takes a breath. “We’re not having sex tonight.” He points out, reminding us that we weren’t technically breaking any of our rules by sleeping in the same bed tonight. “And we both know each other well. We’re both too stubborn to let the other sleep on the floor.” 

I pondered his words, knowing he was right. And his reasoning was sound too. And God, it was late and I could feel myself already drifting towards the king-sized bed that beckoned me towards it. 

“It is a big bed..” I reasoned out loud. 

“Exactly.” He said, nodding. He yawned, and the exhaustion was clear as day. “It’s been a long day and I’m ready to just crash, aren’t you?”  His voice clearly marked with the same tiredness I was feeling at that moment. 

I nod, already moving to my go-bag to change into something more comfortable. I suppose this was one perk of sleeping with Spencer Reid, I really didn’t  care if he saw me changing. The man had gone down on me more times I could count, I think the sight of my bra was probably one of the more tame things we’d end up sharing between us. He was about the same, unbuttoning his dress shirt in favor of a plain cotton t-shirt with no regard for what I’d see whilst he changed. We both naturally went to our own respective sides of the bed, looking up at each other before beginning to climb in. 

“So, I’ll see you in the morning?” He asks, beginning to pull the covers over his body. 

I nod. “Yeah. I’ll see you in the morning.” I pause, before playfully adding, “stay on your side.” I flashed him a small smirk, which he returned with a coy, “Do you even have to ask?” 

I smiled at that, finding myself rolling my eyes fondly at him. “Night, Reid.” I say, turning my back away from him. 

“Sleep well, (Y/N).” He replies, shutting the room’s lamp, enveloping us with darkness and the way his final words hung in the air between us. I kept my eyes open for a moment, and couldn’t hear anything besides the sound of him breathing less than two feet away from me. His breathing was rhythmic and soothing. I don’t think I’d ever realized it up until this moment, but Reid’s presence simply had a way of making me feel safe, even outside of the context of having sex. He was always so good at responding to my sexual needs, that even in a situation that wasn’t related to that, some subconscious feeling inside of me reassured me that he’d keep me protected. The thought provided me a feeling of comfort and dread all at once, knowing that even just sharing a bed was somehow becoming more intimate than us having sex ever was. I shook my head, almost hoping to erase the thought from my head altogether. I closed my eyes more definitively, and slowly, I fell asleep to the sound of Reid’s light breathing, the sound lulling me to sleep like the sweetest lullaby. 

When I groggily came to in the morning, I quickly realized I was in an entirely different position that the one I’d fallen asleep in. When I’d closed my eyes, I was on the far-right side of the bed, curled away from Spencer, making sure to obey my own sentiment of staying on our respective sides. However, as of right now I found myself nestled into the man’s chest, an earthy and light musk permeating from him. My legs were entangled with his, and his arm had somehow found its way to lazily drape across my waist. My shirt had ridden up in the night, and his fingers touched the expanse of my bare skin, providing a warmth I never knew I could receive from him. 

I slowly moved away from him, careful not to disturb his sleeping figure so that our faces were an inch or two apart, and from this angle I could take in every pretty feature on his face. I watched the way his chest rose up and down in his sleep, and the straight peak of his nose. The way his eyelashes fanned out when his eyes were closed. His face looked softer when he slept, an entirely different sight than I was used to when it came to him. My memories of Spencer were filled with passion and lust, and until now I believed that was all he could make me feel. But at this moment? I could only recall the absolute tenderness in my heart, and the sensation of fondness blooming all throughout me for this man. 

I felt myself focusing on his lips, the way they parted in his sleep. They were a light shade of pink, and had a certain plumpness to them I’d never really noticed. When we kissed in the past, it was heated and rushed. Right now, though, I wanted to lazily kiss every inch of the skin, reveling in the slow movement of his lips against mine. I was so lost in my own fantasy, looking at his lips, that I didn’t even notice when the man stirred, until I saw the slight curve of a smile, causing me to look up at his eyes, which had been watching me for God knows how long. 

“Good morning.” He murmured, his voice deep from just waking up. 

God, did his morning voice have to be so attractive? 

“Reid!” I said, attempting to move away, but his hand that had been lazily draped over my waist gripped me a bit more firmly. I looked up at him with wide eyes. “Good morning. Um. How long have you been up?” I ask, biting my lip a bit nervously as I felt a blush creeping over my cheeks. 

“Long enough to know you make it a habit to stare at sleeping men you share beds with.” He says, his voice light, a small chuckle in his tone. 

I squeezed my eyes, visibly embarrassed. “Sorry, I woke up and realized we were in.. this position, and I didn’t know how to move without waking you up. I must’ve gotten in my own head.” I said, using a combination of half-truths to hopefully sound as convincing as possible. 

He watched me, his hazel eyes scanning over my face, and I could feel myself getting smaller under his gaze. 

“It’s alright.” He slowly responded, as if not to scare me. “I don’t mind someone watching me if it’s you.”  His free hand rubbed circles on my exposed waist, sending a chill up my spine. I took in his words. Nothing about our position was sexual, but somehow his innocent touch resonated on a deeper level than any physical intimacy we'd shared before. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, nodding. 

“I’m still sorry.” I responded, my voice just above a whisper.

“Don’t be.” He said in return, his gaze a little more gentle now. 

I watched him watch me, and could feel that little voice screaming at me to just move away. But I couldn’t. That familiar bloom of fondness came upon me, and I realized in this moment I was feeling a lot more than lust for this man, and it terrified me. I gave a straight smile, realizing if I didn’t move this instant, I was going to give into my desires and kiss him in a way I swore I never would. If I didn’t move, I’d kiss him like I’d loved him from the start. And in a war between my heart and head, I made the decision to firmly move away, moving his hand off my waist and rising from the bed. 

“I’ll see you with the rest of the team.” I say, quickly. He looked a bit surprised by my sudden movement, trying to grab my hand before I could leave and sat up in bed. 

“(Y/N), wait.” 

I stopped, allowing his hand to envelop my mine,  attempting to ignore the feeling of how wonderful it felt to just hold his hand like this. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to seem as normal as I could. 

“We’re..” He paused, and then narrowed his eyes. “We’re good, right?” He said, looking at me carefully. 

I responded almost immediately. “Yeah, of course we are.”  I said the words as confidently as I could manage, because, no, we were not good. I was starting to catch feelings for the coworker I’d been hooking up with for the past six months, of course I wasn’t okay. This was against every rule, every boundary I’d set for myself, and I could feel the panic seeping in. “Nothing’s changed.” I add, to assure him. 

He let go of my hand as I said that. “Right.” He responded, a little more detached this time before quirking his mouth up. “I guess I’ll see you with the rest of the team.” He said, mirroring my words. 

I nodded, biting my lip, before turning around to grab my clothes for that day, getting ready as quickly as I could manage, leaving Reid in the room without even saying goodbye. 

That entire day, I could feel Reid’s eyes on me, and I’d be a hypocrite if I said I didn’t stare at him when he wasn’t looking. I couldn’t stop replaying the events of the morning. For a moment, I could almost imagine his gaze mirroring the same fondness I’d felt for him, but I’d quickly try to rid myself of those thoughts. Not only was it delusional to imagine Reid actually gaining feelings for me after all this time, it was even more deranged to imagine a universe where we’d work as a couple. I’d always prided myself on being exceedingly pragmatic, so why was I imagining a reality where I could wake up next to Spencer Reid everyday? 

Throughout the day, I found myself increasingly frustrated about my situation with Spencer. The case we were working on required quite a bit of collaboration and desk-work, and I found myself flitting between my team members, exchanging information and files, and coming into contact with Reid more times than I’d hoped for that day. Every time I spoke to him, I could feel my heart in my throat, struggling to make eye contact for more than 3 seconds without deteriorating into a blush. I’d been fucking this man for six months, and this, this is what ruins me? 

It’s not like Spencer made it any easier. His gaze was laser-focused on me, almost purposely brushing our fingers together when we’d exchange files. We were breaking every rule we’d set for ourselves, and with every glance and touch, I felt myself yearning for something I knew I could never have. And it was driving me fucking crazy. 

It wasn’t until much later, where the team was wrapping up for the night, where I’d finally had enough. I had been reviewing the last of the files necessary for our case,  when Reid strided over to where I was. I didn’t turn back, but I could feel him watching me. Slowly, I could feel him creep over, to the point where my back was nearly flush to his chest. He leaned over, his warm breath tickling my neck as he said, “I’m heading to the room.” That damned voice of his. I took a breath, and could feel myself getting antsy. Had I always been this hyper aware of Spencer’s presence? Had we always been like this, and I’d never even realized it? 

I gritted out a curt response, “Fine.”

I knew it was unfair. I knew he wasn’t privy to what I was thinking or what I was feeling, but a small part of me couldn’t help but blame him. It was childish, but I’d said it anyway. He heard it and stepped away, knitting his eyebrows.  

“Are you mad at me?” He asked, retracting his position to be slightly away from me, but close enough that no one else could hear. 

“Not here. Not now.” I said, holding back any visible emotion on my face. 

He nodded, and ran a hand through his hair nodding. We packed our things and walked together to the hotel room, silent. He opened the door for me and I walked in, turning to him as he closed the door. 

“What.. what are you doing?” I ask, crossing my arms. “This.. you’re being weird!” I exclaim.

“I’m being weird?” Spencer asks, dumbfounded, whilst raising an eyebrow at me. “You wanna talk about ‘weird’, (Y/N)?” He says, using air quotes. “You’re the one that left like that this morning- and you were lying to me!” He says, raising his voice, especially at the last part. 

I felt a muscle in my jaw twitch as he said that, and I spoke, trying to cover up my deceivement from earlier that day. “What? No- I wasn’t lying-” 

He interrupted me. “(Y/N). I know you. I. Know. You.” He says, pointing at my chest and emphasizing each word. He continued, looking right into my eyes. “That means I know when you’re lying to me.” He asserted, challenging me as he stepped closer. 

I took a step back. He took a step closer. 

“You know what, Spencer.” I say, trying to manage a tone of finality, while creating as much space between us by raising my hands in between us. “I’ll take the floor tonight.” I swallowed a bit, looking for an opening I could use to move away from this situation, to end it before we got messy. Instead, he stood firm as I was left watching his face morph into one of confusion and hurt. 

“Stop doing that!” He exclaims. “Stop.. stop pretending! I see the way you look at me!” He exclaims, seemingly getting defensive. 

I furrowed my brows. He was not about to pretend he was guiltless in the situation we’d found ourselves in. 

“And I see the way you look at me!” I yell back, not backing down. “So, what’s your point?” 

“God, you just never get it, do you?!” He bursts out, and I can’t even begin to discern the expression on his face. He looked wild, running his hands through his hair once more. 

“What don’t I get, Reid?!” I reply, breathing harder now as my voice rises, and I get closer to him. “Is this too much for you?!” I say, knitting my brows. “Do you want to stop, is that what you’re saying? Because I’ll have you know I am more than okay with shutting this thing we have-” 

Before I can finish my sentence, he grabs my face with both hands, pulling me towards him and pressing me into a knee-weakening kiss. But instead of being heated and rushed, it’s sweet. It’s languid. Like we had all the time in the world to kiss like this. His lips moved slowly against mine, savoring it in a way I knew he never had before. He pulled away slowly, his lips red, and his hands still firmly on either side of my face. 

“I don’t want to stop.” He says, breathless. “I don’t wanna get rid of a good thing just because we’re scared.” 

I looked at him, my face riddled with confusion as he looked at me, and I could finally see the fondness I’d felt that morning reflected in his expression at that moment. 

“But we said-” I began. 

“I don’t care what we said.” He shoots back. “And I don’t think you really care either.” He adds on, softly. “I think you’re scared of being hurt, and I won’t pretend like I wasn’t either.” 

My eyebrows scrunch as I look up at him, breathing out through my nose. “Why now then?” I ask, softly, my lips parting slightly. “What changed?” 

He sighed, caressing the smooth skin of my cheek, smiling slightly at me. “I’ve felt it before.” He murmurs. “When I see you work, when I see you laugh.”  He takes a breath. “But I think I felt it the most when I woke up and watched you watching me.”

 He gently lifts my chin, and I look up at him with possibly the most love-struck gaze I’d ever managed in my life. He continued, looking into my eyes. “And at that point, I couldn’t ignore it. I don’t want to go another second pretending what I feel for you isn’t real, or something we need to bury.” He fixed his eyes on me, looking at me with a new tenderness. 

I look up at him, biting my lip, holding back a smile. He sees the joy in my eyes, and I can tell he’s doing the same.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, his voice a whisper. 

I nod, already moving towards him. 

And he’s there again, kissing me slowly and affectionately, his hands wrapping into my hair, and pulling him closer to me. My hands wrapped around his neck, and I kissed him back in the same leisurely fashion. I could see lifetimes ahead of us. Lifetimes of happiness, of kisses like these, where we could take our time because for once, we had it. 

He guided me gently to the bed, and placed himself over me. It felt so different from all the times we’d shared our lust together. It felt like we were starting something entirely new. He kissed my lips, then my cheek, and then my neck. He knew my body as well as his own, finding the spot right below my ear that consistently made me moan his name. He grinned as he heard the noise escape my parted lips, rising to move the hair out of my face. He kissed my lips again, mumbling against them. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, leaning closer and I smile softly at the words.

 I bring him down for another kiss, and this time around, he’s slowly removing the buttons off my work shirt. With every button he removes, he kisses the newly exposed skin. I can feel his lips tickling the swell of my breasts, my sternum, and my stomach, eventually removing all the buttons and shrugging off the shirt. He then goes back all the way to kiss every place his lips hadn’t touched, and then some. It felt like an act of worship, of devotion. As if he was remembering me all over again, as if he couldn’t get enough of it.

He undid the buttons of my jeans, whispering sweet nothings all the way, and a pleasurable sigh escaped my lips, feeling his lips trail near my inner thigh. He pulled down my underwear, taking a breath in as he saw the glistening folds. He situated himself between my thighs, looking up at me. 

“Can I?” He asked, clearly eager. I found it adorable he asked, as if he could sense the newness in what we were doing as well. I nodded, and brought my free hand to his curls, the other laying on the sheets. I could feel his smile as he brought himself closer to my heat, and gave a long lap of his tongue against me. I moaned out at the feeling, and it seemed to spur him on. He hooked his hands beneath my thighs, and began to delve into the hot flesh like a man starved. I breathed out his name like a prayer. His tongue darted out and licked harshly against my clit, and I could feel myself devolving. Even in this moment of vulnerability, I trusted him enough to fall apart, knowing he’d put me back together, and that’s exactly what I did. With another movement of his tongue, I reached my peak, moaning his name as  my thighs nearly closed around his head, his strong arms holding me open. 

He smiled breathlessly, my arousal coating his chin as he leaned over to kiss me one more time. As he did so, I moved my arms to start undoing his belt, and to free his cock from his briefs, the tip already leaking pre-cum. I guided him to my wet heat, pushing him in slowly. I moaned at the fullness and could feel myself enter a stage of total bliss.

He began to thrust into me, slowly at first, but increased the pace. He cupped my cheek, jutting his hips against me like a man possessed. 

“You feel so fucking good around me, you know that?” He cooed,  looking down at me. “So perfect for me. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” 

I smiled, dazed at the words, feeling myself rapidly approach my peak as he pounded into me, and I could feel the same for him. I opened my eyes, looking up at him with an expression that was full of lust and love all at once. “You’re all… I ever wanted .. too'' I moaned, feeling him start to go even faster at my words. 

“Yeah?” He said, grinning again. “Then take it. Take everything I’m giving you.” He moved his fingers to begin circling around my clit, and moments later I was falling apart all over again. I came with a loud moan of his name, convulsing as he continued to thrust into me. 

“Just like that, pretty girl.” He said, smirking. “Come all over my cock.” 

I moaned at his words, squeezing my eyes shut as I felt him move faster against me, bottoming out inside me before I felt the stuttering of his own hips, followed by a warmth at my deepest point. He moaned at the feeling,  pulling out afterwards and leaving me so empty. The feeling didn’t last long though, as he moved over next to me on the bed, pulling me close and kissing my forehead. 

“You’re so amazing, you know that?” Spencer says, stroking my hair. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head whispering, “You know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” 

I knew at that moment he wasn’t talking about the sex. We’d done that before. But this? This was different, and it was god-awful terrifying, but I think I could forget about the fear when Spencer was playing with my hair, treating me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever touched in his entire life. I nestled into his arms, allowing the warmth to envelope me. 

“You know you have to get up soon, right?” Reid muses, playfully.  “Peeing after sex, and all that.” 

“I know.” I murmur into the bare skin of his chest, sighing. “Just let me stay here a little longer.” I say, hoping he’d give in and just let me relax on him. 

“Mm.” He replies, and I could feel the vibration of his lips from where I was. “There are some words I never thought I’d hear from you.” He answered, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.

I playfully hit his shoulder, laughing as I pretended to move away in mock offense, but he wouldn’t even allow that, pulling me even closer.

“Stay.” He whispers. “You feel nice.” And so I did, pressing myself against him and breathing in his scent. 

He felt like a new person to me, and even now, I was absolutely insatiable for him. It’d never felt like this before, to feel so safe and loved for. We’d done that. We’d created that love for each other. 

I recalled a quote I’d seen a lifetime ago, smiling at my own thoughts.

“Do all lovers feel like they’re inventing something?” 

With Spencer, I think I truly was. 

aa! second fic. this one was long. i hope you all liked it. reblogs, likes, comments are all gladly accepted. my reqs are also open so! go nuts. thank you for reading :3

[gold-dustwomxn]

mystified

summary: after sudden attacks on women around town, you take a self defense class. ellie, your long standing crush is the instructor

fair warning, future chapters will include discussions of abuse and other heavy topics. each part will contain its own warnings please read them! eventual smut

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

cw: small interaction with a scary man, smoking weed

fluff fluff and more fluff, a little angst. protective ellie makes an appearance

inhale, exhale. grunts and bodies slamming against gym mats could be heard outside the big double doors of ‘miller’s defense studio.’ news of women being attacked at night had been circulating quite loudly in your sleepy town. dad says you should attend the free session, be able to defend yourself if anything happens. only problem was half the town was in here and you fucking hated being around large groups of people. you had your pepper spray keychain on you at all times, did you really need to learn how to fight? yeah, probably.

one of the many annoying things about being in such a small town is knowing everyone. at least your best friend dina and her boyfriend jesse were here to soften the blow of all of this chaos.

sat on the sidelines, you observe everyone attempting to show off sloppy, embarrassing ‘defense’ moves. jesse spots you and obnoxiously yells your name across the gym. rolling your eyes, you make your way over to him and dina.

“hey, ___ you’re late and you’re not gonna like what I have to tell you,” he smiles nervously. darting your eyes from him to dina, you eye them warily, regretting coming here even more now. “well? spit it out jesse.”

“jesus ok. well since you’re so late, there’s no one else for you to pair up with-“ you cut him off, “oh? that’s fine I’ll just watch then.” him and dina look at each other before she looks at you cautiously. “well, the only other person who doesn’t have a partner is the instructor for today.” you squint your eyes towards the front of the room trying to make out who it is, and oh fuck no, it’s ellie. the girl you’ve had a crush on for quite some time.

“ha, no fucking way. you guys can just teach me later. I am not making a fool of myself in front of her and the whole fucking town. you know I hate being the center of attention and she’s gonna demonstrate on me to teach everyone!” you turn your body attempting to walk away.

dina grabs your forearms softly trying to chill you out with her witchy, calming demeanor. because seriously how is she able to do that with just her touch? “you’re gonna be fine, ___. just breathe. no one else knows what they’re doing either, that’s why we’re here. you’re not gonna look like a fool,” she nods at you slowly, “plus, jesse already told her you’d be her partner.” she gives you an apologetic smile.

“ugh. why can’t you be her partner jesse? she’s your best friend.” dina grabs jesse’s arm and nuzzles into his side with a gross, love drunk smile. “because, I wanna be with my man. sorry, babe but you can do this. you can shamelessly use this as an excuse to be close to her anyway” she wiggles her eyebrows.

“oh my god,” you scoff and roll your eyes, “you guys seriously suck.”

an ear piercing whistle startles you, nearly making you jump out of your skin, and the room goes quiet. “good morning everyone, I’m ellie. welcome to miller’s defense studio. today, I’m going to be teaching you guys basic self defense techniques. learning self defense is more than how to prevent an attacker from overpowering you, but also about keeping a clear and calm head in the face of danger and how to gain the upper hand..”

her introduction speech fades from your ears as you observe her confident demeanor. dressed only in a simple white wife-beater tank and sweatpants, she still stands tall with a commanding presence. her hair sits in a low bun at the back of her neck, tattoo on full display while her toned arms move animatedly as she speaks.

you blink a few times snapping out of it as dina taps your shoulder and looks at you. “what?” she nods her head at ellie who is looking at you, waiting for you to join her at the front. your eyes widen briefly, “oh fuck.” you mutter under your breath.

you quickly walk up to her in embarrassment and she smirks at you as if she knows something that you don’t. she puts her hand on your hip and leans to turn on the bluetooth speaker behind you. “hey ___” she whispers in your ear. goosebumps travel down your body. fuck, this is gonna be a long day.

after some basic blocking and hitting techniques, ellie decides to teach everyone how to throw an attacker over your shoulder. many cry of “what if they’re taller or heavier?” blah blah, doesn’t matter. next thing you know, ellie turns and steps away from you, grabs your arm, squatting and lifts your hips against her ass before pulling your arm forward, rolling you off her hips onto the floor, wind knocked out of you, hand now around your throat. you lay there stunned, out of breath as ellie’s face hovers close to yours. you take a small glance at her lips before looking up into her eyes and she smirks, also out of breath. fuck, you were caught.

with everyone now practicing the technique, she grabs your hand and pulls you up. “you okay? didn’t go too rough on you?” she places her hands on her hips and looks you up and down so quickly that you could’ve easily missed it if you weren’t paying close attention.

you laugh “no, no, I’m fine. that was pretty crazy. when did you learn how to do all of this shit? I mean, I knew joel had this place obviously but I didn’t know you were involved in it.”

“hm.. well, when joel adopted me I had some.. anger issues, getting into fights all the time. he eventually gave up on trying to ‘change my ways’ and decided to train me how to fight properly so I wouldn’t hurt myself.. tricked me into taking out my aggression elsewhere, so I guess he ended up changing me anyway..” she chuckles “but, yeah I don’t teach or join in on the classes, I do it on my own time. joel’s been booked up so he convinced me to do this for him.” she scratches the back of her neck sheepishly and blushes. you wonder if it’s because she told you something personal or it’s because it’s her first time teaching.

“well.. I wouldn’t have guessed this was your first time. you really know how to command a room. you’re a natural,” you smile at her shyly. “dunno know if I really feel prepared to come up against an attacker though, maybe you could teach me some more.” you mentally pat yourself on the back for your brave attempt at flirting.

she laughs, “oh yeah?” moving closer to you. you look at her briefly before looking away. “mhm!” is what you come up with. jesus christ. she laughs again and nods. “alright, I guess I can make an exception for you and give you some free lessons. I’m gonna go do the closing speech or whatever the fuck joel wanted me to do..” she looks somewhere behind you and her eyes widen. you follow her line of sight and see dina and jesse look away abruptly. okay, suspicious.

as everyone is packing up their belongings, you make your way over to jesse and dina. dina smirks at you, “so?”

“so what..?” you furrow your brows. “how’d it go up there?” before you can respond, ellie comes over and greets you guys. “ellie! ___ and jesse are coming over tonight, you wanna come smoke and chill?” she looks at you as she answers “yeah, sure” she shrugs and then looks over at dina and jesse, “just text me and let me know.”

as you walk to dina’s house, the cold bitter air of winter sends a chill down your spine. all of a sudden you hear a car pulling up next to you and a window rolling down. the sound of a man’s voice has your adrenaline pumping. walking away quickly, you put your phone to your ear and pretend that you’re talking to someone “hey! you think you can help me with some directions? my phone is dead and I’m lost.” your heart is racing and you click off the safety on your pepper spray. another car comes to a screeching halt behind you. a slam of a car door and quick footsteps has you looking back in fear.

ellie comes into your line of sight and puts you behind her, looking at the man with a challenging gaze “is there a fucking problem here?” you hear a flicking sound and look down, eyes widening when you see a switchblade in her hand. he skids off and she manages to take a picture of his plates, putting the switchblade in her back pocket before turning to you. she gently grabs your shoulders and looks at you in concern. “you okay? what happened?” she looks down at your hands and you hadn’t realized until now that you’re shaking. “c’mon.” she grabs your hand and leads you to her car, opening the passenger door for you.

“why are you walking around by yourself? jesus, ___ you could’ve been..” she looks away from you, cutting herself off and shakes her head, clenching her jaw. “I would’ve picked you up.” she starts the car, and pulls away from the curb.

“I know! fuck. dina lives so close I thought- yeah it wasn’t smart knowing what’s been happening.” she turns her head to look at you briefly, her gaze softening. “just text me or something next time okay? I don’t want you walking around by yourself, I’ll pick you up.” you nod and take a deep breath. “thanks for the save,” you laugh, trying to soften the mood. she, however does not laugh which makes you even more nervous. great, you think, I pissed her off. she glances at you, noticing your nervous fidgeting. she briefly squeezes your hand “it’s okay, I’m just glad you’re safe” she gives you a small smile. you feel butterflies in your stomach. the rollercoaster of emotions from fear to anxiety and now to the feelings ellie is giving you are a lot.

“I’m gonna stop back home to show joel the pics of the plates and tell him what happened so he can take it to the authorities or whatever. I don’t really wanna be the one talking to the cops. you want me to drop you off at dina’s first?” she glances at you. “no, it’s cool I’ll come with you.”

ellie’s house can be described as old and rustic. outdated wood paneling lining the walls, decor and photos that give it a country feel, the cozy smell and crackling sound of the lit fireplace flooding your senses.

joel greets you warmly. small town means he’s seen you grow up, being friendly with your parents. his demeanor is rough around the edges with a don’t fuck with me attitude, but also very polite and caring. you now realize how similar ellie is to him.

as ellie explains the fucked up situation which occurred minutes ago, your phone vibrates in your pocket.

dina🤍: dont kill me pls but I have to cancel tonight. my mom found out im failing stats and she’s on the fuckin warpath. ill make it up to u promise xx

me: fuccck i’m at ellies rn she saved me from some shit i’ll tell u ab it later but now i’m nervous help🥲 sorry ab ur mom i’ll pray for ur soul

you lock your phone and put it back in your pocket. the internal panic of now having to be alone with ellie settles deep in your gut.

ellie walks over to you “alright, joel said he’s gonna deal with it. you all set to go?”

“did dina text you? check your phone.”

you watch ellie’s eyes glide across her screen and it gives you a moment to ogle over how fucking attractive she is. her long lashes, sharp jawline and freckles more pronounced due to the soft glow from her phone emitting against the low lighting of the room. she looks up at you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “uhh fuck, well, do you want me to take you home?.. or we can hang out here if you want.” she looks away from you.

“yeah, I’m down to hang” you smile at her. she gives a small smile back and blushes. alright, maybe she feels the same way I do. “okay cool, you wanna smoke and watch a movie?”

smoke hazes around ellie’s dim lit room and the movie in the background is long forgotten. you’re laughing so fucking hard with tears in your eyes, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re so high or if ellie is really that funny. “you really decked your foster sibling in the face because he borrowed your savage starlight comic ellie?” she scoffs and throws a pillow at you. “he did not borrow it.. he stole that shit and thought he could get away with it. can’t let people fuck around with you like that in the system. makes you an easy target” she takes another drag of the joint.

“uh-huh,” you grab the joint and take a hit “well, clearly these kids learned not to fuck with the big, bad aggressive ellie huh?” she laughs and rolls her eyes “oh my god, shut up, ___.”

ellie thinks about how she likes that you’re not taking pity on her for her fucked up childhood, and how it’s so easy to talk to you. it feels natural opening up to you, not being able to do that with other people, not even jesse. it makes her like you even more.

you groan as you try to peel your heavy, post high eyes open feeling warmth around you, inhaling a scent filled with clean laundry and a hint of woodsy cologne. you open your eyes and see a sleeping ellie, mouth slightly parted, breathing slowly. your eyes widen, realizing your head is on her chest and her arm is wrapped around you. you glance over at her clock that reads 3:54am. fuck, you don’t even remember falling asleep. you move slightly trying not to wake ellie to text your mom saying that you fell asleep at dina’s. ellie stirs and groans, pulling you closer to her. fuck it. you don’t know if this will ever happen again. you close your eyes and drift back to sleep.

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

Dusk

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Summary: Javier sees you again years after the end of your love affair. Torn between the memories of what happened then and what is now, you both face the weight of your actions from Bogotá to Madrid.

read on AO3 | masterlist

Rating: Explicit, +18

Warnings/Tags: past lovers, secret relationship, angst, smut (penetration, f oral), implied age gap (not mentioned). Reader has hair, foreigner (not explicit which country, she isn't American or Colombian), knows multiple languages and is able-bodied. No use of y/n, Spanish translations are between the paragraphs.

Word count: 8,7k

Tabby note: My first Javi P fic for angst challenge by @almostfoxglove 💔 Even if I go around difficult topics, most of my work is lighter, so this was a great exercise to go deep into emotions! You can the moodboard inspiration here and the list of all fics here! 🐾

now

“Are you happy to be in Madrid?” The receptionist with a pearly smile cheerfully greets him, or maybe not, it sounded more like she was talking for a while, following a script, that he ignored.

He could be in Paris, Tokyo, or anywhere in the world at the moment he wouldn’t give a damn. Tiredness has been consuming him for a while now, and the week passed at an agonizing pace. Inside his head, there is silence and chaos altogether.

Somehow, he comes to his senses already inside the hotel room. What had he answered to the receptionist? He can’t recall but he got the key, which is more than proof that the autopilot was working. Taking off his jacket, he opens the minibar and takes whatever alcohol he can find.

His head mends the last months as just one, a very lonely one. He can’t fully remember what it felt to be together with someone, closely, intimately. From family to friends, everyone becomes a blur as he tries to get his shit together. The alcohol burns down his throat, he doesn’t even mind reading the label. Once he can rest, it will be fine.

The night promises to be a long one, the timezone difference is a pain in the ass to deal with. Whenever he is about to drift away into sleep, his legs kick repeatedly and startle him awake. The clock reads 1 AM, then 2 AM, at 3 AM he decides he has enough and starts to dress up again.

Passing by the mirror, he ignores his reflection, paying attention only to what he will do. Have a cigarette, walk a little, and head back to sleep. Simple. He locks the room’s door, orders the elevator, presses the button to the ground floor, waits, and walks out when it stops.

For a summer night, Madrid is cold. The scenario is drastically different from the streets of Bogotá and further from the ranch in Laredo, everything he wanted for a fresh beginning. For a week of his time, some words on his experience, and training on how to deal with narcotraffic, the Spanish police paid some considerable money, the type of money Peña couldn’t ignore. Now, here, he is watching the downtown buildings and wondering if it was worth it.

Lightning his cigarette, he drags a puff and looks at his surroundings without much curiosity. Neoclassic buildings or whatever style they are, mostly white now warmed by the orange city lights in a classic boulevard. Not many floors, four maximum, but full of balconies. In one of them, on the third floor, a woman screams at her husband.

The small woman is shouting fast words as she throws some clothes down at the man, who tries to ask forgiveness from the street. Another neighbor, from a couple of balconies away, asks them to quit it and go back to sleep, but the woman ignores and continues the fight.

Getting amused by it, Peña keep watching the scene from his place on the other side of the street. Another balcony, now on the fourth floor, opens and reveals a confused sleepy woman. Even with the low light, he can recognize the pout on your lips.

The cigarette is long forgotten as he watches the details on your face waiting for the best moment to enter the fight. It is like a memory played in front of him, seeing you in your underwear and t-shirt, the angle of your hips making your ass jiggle a little every time you try to stretch yourself down at the balcony the floor under. He doesn’t hiss when the cigarette burns his fingertips, lost looking at you.

When the moment comes, you grab the attention of the small woman in tears and murmur something too softly for him to hear from afar, except for how you sweetly say “Vamos a dormir, cariño?” And so he walks back to the hotel to sleep.

("Let's go sleep, love?")

then

Cheerful bubblegum pop fills your room as you carefully paint your lips red. It takes a little effort, but in your lace lingerie and big hair you feel like a woman, not a girl. Next to you, an open big window lets the chill mountain breeze caress your skin, raising goosebumps in your almost naked body. 

Your dad had separated what he thought was appropriate for the occasion as if you were still a child. Being the ambassador’s daughter isn’t an excruciating task, except when you get to play into your father’s business. You know little to nothing about the USA’s DEA or whatever their mission is in Colombia, what you had access to was that your dad invited part of the DEA into your house for lunch. Sitting pretty and smiling is your task for the day.

With a pop, you touch your lips together and inspect the lipstick line. Perfect. Voices are filling the garden, gaining your curiosity. Coming to the window, you can see men in suits greeting your father and grandma as they walk on. All of them are looking ahead, but one. His brown eyes are locked with yours, inviting you to come down and see them up close.

“Javi,” someone shouts, making the man return to the group. You stay there watching him go before finishing dressing up.

In a white two-piece Chanel suit, you strut down the stairs to the first floor feeling small compared to the high ceiling. It had become a regular sentiment, to look around and see a big house nettly decorated and think to yourself “Why am I here?”.

By the garden door, the ambassador waits for you as he keeps enchanting his guests with some story. Here you aren’t his daughter, you are a state piece and it is key to remember your place in this chess game.

You can feel the brown eyes boring into your skin as the ambassador introduces you to the DEA officers. Following his command, you greet one by one as if it is normal behavior for a diplomat to know every policeman’s name. You heard him review all their names with his assistant the day before.

“Javier Peña, ma’am,” the owner of the brown eyes says to you. Enveloping your hand on his, you do your best to ignore a shiver when he puts pressure. His thick fingers leave a hot trail, his big hand engulfs yours.

Whatever you feel, he does too. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Peña.” His brown eyes shine when you politely say his last name back at him.

Gathering around the table, you sit in front of him and scold yourself every now and then to look at the others, even if you only want to stare at the handsome man. He, however, isn’t as discreet putting weight in his stare cornering you.

With sips of white wine, you try to ignore it doing your part as a pretty little thing full of questions. How long have you been in Colombia? A few months for most of the department, Javier is in his first week still fresh from Texas. Have you made any progress in your mission so far? Yes, still in the early stages, they are gathering all the information about the cartels. Are you enjoying the country? The food is great and the weather is mostly nice, even in cold Bogotá. Is your family enjoying the country or are they missing the USA? They are getting or already gotten used to it, Javier is single, though.

 You laugh when necessary, showing your white teeth in contrast with the red of the lipstick. Legs crossed like a lady, nails carefully done around the glass, you are well-behaved and it shows.

“Your daughter is an exceptional young woman, your grace,” one of the men says in a sincere compliment to the ambassador, even if he is speaking about you.

“She is indeed. Even more now, after her year abroad.” You smile back at your father, who is doing the proud dad bit.

Tradition is that in your culture once fine man and woman become an adult they have to choose a place to spend a whole year, it is supposed to represent their coming of age on their own terms. You don’t count having access to everything money could get, a comfortable house, and stability as the coming of age journey of the century, but here you are.

“Where did you go to?” Javier asks as he drinks more of his wine.

“Egypt, Cairo.” You reply as you drink his facial features without shame. The sharpness of his jawline, the way his mustache heavily adorns his thin upper lip just to emphasize the plump bottom one.

“What an unusual place! What motivated you?” Another man asks, forcing you to move on from Peña’s face after a lingering second.

The ambassador loves that you can captivate the room’s attention so easily, but your father tried to convince you to change your destination many times. 

Europe was much more chic, but attending an international boarding school made you get bored by it. If the DEA knew how little you care for the USA, they would quickly find you a pain in the ass. The Middle East was much more interesting, far from the restricted embassy’s house in sunny Colombia.

“I like history, to deeply learn a culture. There wasn’t anywhere else that I could experience it so vividly. I’m glad my family could proportionate it to me.” You smile truthfully, gaining a glance from Grandma.

“Must have learned a lot, being on your own out there,” Javier states in a lower tone.

“She knows where to put her foot, soon will go to Oxford to study just like her father,” Grandma praises raising her glass in your direction.

It was a question of time before they brought it onto the table. It is a sensitive topic to you, still unsure how to navigate that new part of your life. Far from homeland, between boarding schools and the embassy, then an ocean of distance from your family, you hadn’t stuck your feet anywhere for too long and suddenly you had to choose something to call yours for the long run. It feels more than just a diploma.

“Well, if everything goes right. I still need to get their acceptance letter.” You remind Grandma with a small laugh, that doesn’t exactly reach your eyes, but nobody seems to notice.

Grandma, playing as a governess, gets up to announce the dessert order with a tentative to marvelous the guests with your home country food. As everyone gets interested in her chat, you and Javi opt to sneak a glance at each other.

In a moment of courage, you lift your high heels and gently caress his leg under the table. Gaining a smirk from him, he slides his leg to get closer to yours. Hidden by the tablecloth, you keep touching as the conversation goes by.

“Has my son already invited you to the annual ball?” Grandma asks with a smile. The ambassador coughs in surprise but is ready to charm.

“Oh, you absolutely should come. We spend the whole year planning it, a celebration of our culture at its finest. If you liked the food today, just wait until you get the beverage. We are known to be good matchmakers too, you might fall in love there, Peña.”

Javier takes his eyes from you to look at his host, who is waiting for an acceptance of the invitation. Pushing his leg closer to yours, he grabs his glass and raises it.

“I trust your gut, sir. Count me in.”

now

The national police of Spain, or CNP, headquarters isn’t far from the hotel. The district itself is bougie, fancier than what Javi was used to, too formal, too classy with the embassies and mansions. He feels out of his element, but no wonder you chose to live there.

He slept well after seeing you, like old times. Your presence always made him feel at ease, even if your departure was bittersweet. The aftermath is still with him, folded in his wallet as a reminder of what once were you both.

From the hotel to the police, he keeps thinking about you. It wasn't new, during the years his mind would drift to you after a long day, but now that you were here it is a different kind of thrill. He tries to bury it down to that place where all his failures and worries are lost, but he can't.

The job, however, is a great distraction. As soon the formalities are finished, he jumps head in on what he knows how to do. Six years in Colombia were enough to showcase his skills.

During the first break, he goes out to smoke. Sunny day, blue sky, and good weather. A nice sight of a busy fancy street. More than enough to keep his mind in the present and not lost in memories. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he puts a cigarette in his mouth and starts searching for his lighter when you appear in his vision.

Dress pants, a white t-shirt, and a clock with a leather strap on the wrist. In your arms, a plastic case full of paper forces you to bend a little forward. Clipped on your pants pocket is a badge of some kind with the national police logo. Whoever is with you, speaks with a heavy madrileño accent, but you don't bat an eye to understand it.

To simply put, you are different. Far from the glamour of the embassy, from the party life late at night that he knew so intimately because of you. There was a time when your eyes would find his so easily in a crowd, but now you don’t even glance at him as you enter the building, too immersed in your conversation.

Ignoring his cigarette, Javi follows you down the hallways of the CNP until he reads “Traducción y Letras” on one of the plaques outside. This is more like you, classier.

("Translation and Languages")

Checking his clock, he sees that he still has a few minutes before going back to his lesson. You are alone in the room, just you and archives. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, you invite him in without looking up.

“It's good to see you,” he states without much thought as if it was casual to meet you there. You quickly look up at him with big eyes.

He can't read if the expression of surprise on your face is good or bad.

“Javi,” you say, putting whatever you were working back on the table. Your eyes are locked with his but without the playfulness of before.

“I thought you were in the UK,” the last time he spoke with your grandma she told him, it sounded like brand new information. It had been years since.

You scratch your neck, like you used to whenever you got anxious. He can still read you after so long.

“I was. What are you doing here?”

“CNP asked me to train their DEA.” You scoff in amusement like it is the most obvious thing ever.

“Of course, I heard something about it. Didn't connect it with you, sorry.” 

Another glance at the clock, he has less than two minutes before getting back to class but wants to stay here with you.

“Are you free tonight? We should have dinner,” he says straight to the point hoping you will say yes.

He phrased it like that because it is obvious that you should have dinner with him. It isn’t a question, it was a matter of when for Javier.

Still in shock, you swallow hard and shake your head. His heartbeat rises, ready to have another harsh goodbye.

“We can have lunch if you insist. I'm busy tonight. Just come by whenever you're ready.”

Simple as that, you get back to work and ignore his presence. You aren't rude, it isn't your nature, but it feels colder than he remembered.

Nodding at your statement, he leaves you alone and walks down to his office for the week. His bluntness will be a problem, he can't scare you away or he will be settled for another couple of years wondering “what if”.

The weight of his wallet gets heavier with every step, the souvenir of the last night you were his still there begging him to do not fuck it up this time.

After some concentration, he can focus again on training. Work was there for him when he needed to ignore the world and move on. The autopilot was carefully crafted doing the tactical work in South America and reigns free in Europe, for what it seems.

His body craves nicotine, but he needs to guarantee that you won’t run away before. In solid steps, he walks fast toward your office again. At least he thinks it is yours, it is absurd to have you, of all people, working for a police force.

The door is open, but you don’t notice his arrival. With you back to the entrance, you are speaking on the phone in a calm tone.

“Cena es mejor. Aun tengo muchisimo que hacer hoy, harta de trabajo con todo lo que vino de Marruecos.” You heavily sigh before laughing at whatever the person on the other side of the line said. “Sabes que flipo con teatro, mi amor. Ya, nos vemos en mi apartamento a las ocho. Te quiero, bye.”

("Dinner is better. I still have much to do today, I'm full of work with everything that came from Morocco. You know I love theatre, my love. Okay, see you at my apartment at 8 PM. Love you, bye.")

Javi steps back to the corridor before you turn, giving you a few seconds to sit back in your chair. It is logical, you moved on and so did he. Yet, he feels in his chest how unprepared he is to face it.

“Ready?” He knocks on your door as if nothing has happened, like you are still close and this is a regular thing.

“Ah, yeah. Do you have a place in mind?” You ask grabbing your purse and leading the way out, following his play-pretend of acting normal about whatever you two had become.

then

If your lips weren’t so busy kissing Javi’s, you would kiss the landscaper who projected the embassy’s garden. Far from the noise inside the ballroom, further from curious eyes, illuminated only by the moonlight and shadowed by a centennial tree. In the garden’s corner, you are peacefully focusing only on Javi’s body reactions to yours.

How his big hands are divided between caressing your neck and holding your waist so close to his, you can’t but throw your arms around his neck to flush his body into yours. 

You didn’t bring a coat, even if is a chilly night. The heat emanating from him to you keeps you warm, almost burning where the skin meets.

You hadn’t touched a single glass since the party started, too busy waiting for the right moment to come to him. Through the open kisses, you taste on his tongue cigarettes and champagne, getting you drunk with every twist and turn.

Your lipstick will be smudged from the pressure of his lips, that’s why you kept the package and a mirror in the pocket of your dress for a small maintenance before going back to the party.

Your neck, hopefully, bruised with every nibble and hot kiss he inflicts on the tender skin, so you opted for using your hair down to keep to yourself the souvenirs of the night.

With a soft moan, he kisses you back before putting some distance as he catches his breath. You want more, so you pressure your open mouth on his again as he softly laughs.

“Eager, huh?” He asks with his thumb making soft circles in your jaw. You nodd back, positively drunk of him.

Everything became Javier Peña the moment he left the diplomat’s house. You counted the days until the annual ball, daydreaming about your next meeting. From the dress to your position in the room, where you could easily see every guest's entrance, it was all a conscious choice.

You saw him before his brown eyes locked with yours. His regular suit, not a tuxedo, appeared to be out of place when sided with your gown, but you didn’t mind a bit as you made small talk waiting for the moment for you to lead him outside. Dividing the attention between guests, you moved inside the ballroom from one person to another, brushing your hands in his whenever crossing his path.

Inside the ballroom, you were a state piece, but in the garden in his arms, you are you.

It started small, as you softly spoke to each other walking further in the garden. Javi isn’t a man of many words, but for you, he tries. When the last guest went inside, you threw yourself in his arms and happily kissed until he lost his breath.

With the moonlight, his sharp profile is a heavenly vision. In his embrace, you wish for nothing but to be there with him forever. Putting both hands on your face, he kisses your lips one final time.

“We should go, people will start to ask questions,” you whisper glancing at the party. His eyes follow yours before his hands leave you to look for a cigarette.

“Want one?” You shook your head, remembering how he tasted seconds ago. “Not a smoker?”

“No, but I like the smell, though.” Licking your lips, you inhale big hoping to look less flustered. Javi stares at you nodding slowly, pondering about what you said.

Taking your pocket mirror and lipstick, you adjust the makeup as he finishes his cigarette. Your eyes roam his body looking for any clue of what just happened, his tie is crooked and he has lipstick in the corner of his mouth.

His eyes stay on your face as you straighten his tie until perfection, they focus on your freshly painted lips when you clean the lipstick on his with your thumb. Looking up at him, you take a deep breath.

“Perfect, shall we?” You suggest and he gives you his arm, taking you back to the party like nothing happened. Just an innocent walk in the garden, a good host for a guest that didn’t match with the ambient he was in.

It is the first of many nights where nothing and everything happens.

now

The sunlight finds your eyes the moment you leave CNP’s door, Javi can’t remember when he last saw you out in the sun. Maybe he never did. The hue of your iris is pretty just like your face, your stare is more like a woman now. 

You used to be all smiles next to him, clingy even, constantly touching him in the privacy of taxi cabs. He used to think about holding your hand in public, wonder what would feel like to touch you in front of everyone. To claim you out in the open, where you could be just his.

He signals for a taxi, you enter it giving the driver the restaurant’s address just to be quiet in sequence. Sitting far from him, your eyes are distant in the street, ignoring his that inspects every inch of your body.

Javi never learned how to deal with frustration, so he does what he can and lights up a cigarette.

“Do you mind?” He questions remembering how you would watch him exhale smoke with lust, pressing your body closer to his post-sex cigarette. In the late night of your meetings, the first thing you did was to smell him and close your eyes in comfort.

With your eyes still looking through the window, you speak in what appears to be lost in thoughts.

“A little, don’t like the smell of it.” 

He immediately flicks the cigarette out of the car window.

The restaurant is nice, as he expected. Not too fancy, with a minimalist ambiance and small menu. Even if some things are different, you remain the same in others. You wear glasses to read, he isn’t sure if for aesthetic or prescription. The crimson red lipstick is a more cherry tone. You hadn’t smiled yet.

When the waiter leaves and you put down your glasses, he can’t take the silence anymore.

“Didn’t expect to see you working for the police.” A simple statement, you are intelligent and more academically inclined.

“I don’t. I work for their intelligence, translations, and interpretation. I don’t do field work.” Your eyes finally look at his, it bothers him the lack of passion there.

“You do back office work then?” He tries to stretch the conversation to any clue what your life is like.

“Something like that. I work for the government, not the police. Spain has ultramarine territories, plazas de soberanía if you prefer, my job is to provide verbal and cultural translations of information that they might have an interest in. It’s more about the countries that neighbours the territories than these cities.”

“You learned Arabic.” This makes you smirk. 

It was an old wish of yours, you wanted to read more, to experience the culture in another way. It wasn’t unusual for you to switch between languages during the day back then, to him you reserved a few words in your native language when alone.

“I did. There’s a diploma that proves it.”

University is a topic he isn’t keen to speak about. 

The day you left Colombia to never come back is burning inside his mind, the folded paper in his wallet flashes into his head. He wants to open it up on the table, to interrogate you about it like a fugitive, instead, he chooses another topic.

“Why Spain?”

“Why not?” Your eyes are defiant, you understand what is behind his words. You hated Europe, you tried to stay away, why here?

“You could be anywhere in the world, so, why Spain?” He tries again, watching as you bring your hand to the neck.

“I don’t know.” Looking back at him, you keep your voice soft. “Guess it ties parts of my life. I came here as an intern, when the time came the intelligence decided to keep me and I stayed. It feels familiar to listen to Spanish all day. Almost like home, if I have one.”

“You hated the accent, always preferred the South Americans.” It sounds bitter because it is bitter.

Javi wanted to meet the version of you he knew all about, to come back to the day you left and continue from there.

“Relajate, tío. No te cabrees tanto.” You tease doing the Spaniard lisp. He rolls his eyes in response.

("Relax, tío. Don't worry about it." Tío is a traditional slang in Spaniard Spanish, similar to dude.)

“Your grandma was sad when I last saw her, you didn’t visit enough.”

Javi saw her two times after your departure. One when he went looking for you in the diplomat’s house just to be received by the elder woman who informed him that you had gone away already. The other one was on an official visit to the embassy, where he politely asked about you to receive a sympathetic look from her. “She never stays longer than a weekend.”

“Got tired of Colombia. Seems that you feel the same, you left.” Two can play this game, now is your time to be bitter. You are right, he can understand how you feel about it.

“Finished my mission, it’s different.” He is being reasonable.

“And I left to find one. Who says that this isn’t my mission?”

Enough. Javi always hated games.

“What will you watch tonight in the theatre?” Your eyes subtly widened with the realization that he heard you on the phone.

You open your mouth to reply, but the waiter comes with the food forcing the conversation to an end.

then

With every night spent together, you understand less why you are lying. Javi has a respectable job, treats you well, and, on top of everything, the sex is amazing. He makes you feel like the one, yet, you get to be with him only in the shadows.

It starts with quick whispered calls between the house and the DEA to schedule late night meetings, evolves to random encounters in restaurants and bars far from the embassy district after the sun goes down, and ends on your bed after midnight.

Quickies in his car parked in an alley, heated kisses with hands all over the place in the back of a cinema, and ends up on your bed. All paths lead to your bed.

You know every freckle in his body like it is yours, you kissed all the corners and folds in his skin. He learned when to shut you up before moans get too loud to echo through the house, the exact rhythm of his hips thrust into yours that makes you see stars. You know when he will close his eyes ready to come, appreciate how much he likes to give your face little pecks right after.

There is a lighter inside the drawer of your bedstand in case his don’t work. A jacket he once forgot is hidden far in your coat rack waiting for you to wrap yourself around it on the nights you don’t see him. You sleep on the right side of your bed because the left one is his, but only until before sunrise.

Months of obsession led to this. With perfumed skin and the red lipstick he loved so much, you met for what was supposed to be just a couple of drinks. Javi don’t make it so simple.

Two shots of aguardiente and his tongue taste like anise, which you never really liked, but here you are savoring like it is your last meal. He is drunk and whispering sweet nothings between kisses in the back of the bar.

“Stay with me,” he supplicates as if it wasn’t obvious, you laugh at the absurdity of it.

“You say like I have other plans,” his pupils dilate making his eyes almost black, staring right at you. He smacks his lips into yours hungrily with a groan, earning a full moan from you.

“I mean it. Don’t go,” the words hit you like a bullet.

Don’t go to Oxford, stay here. You thought about it since the acceptance letter came weeks ago, if you should ignore it and study in Colombia instead. It is irrational, you know that you will choose yourself over him in the end, but it sounds lovely to be just his in this fantasy.

He senses your hesitance in giving in, so he pushes a little more.

“I like you, stay,” with a low voice, murmuring like a prayer on your lips.

Your brain gets foggy and you listen to it as I love you, wishing to be the same, to have the semantics of it changed to what you want.

That night you think you made love, not sex. You mistake lust for passion, that his stare is of devotion and not of arousement. He gets inside your body and you don’t care about how vocal you are, focused only on his reactions to your nails scraping his skin.

You are sat by the bed, wrapped by the bedsheet as he uses your lighter on a new cigarette. The window by the vanity is open, welcoming the moonlight to shine on his tan skin and create a halo around his profile. He is up to smoke into the air of the night, fully naked so you can see the red marks on his back.

“Stay,” is your turn to plea. He exhales smoke before looking at you.

“We can’t,” a sober Javi says and you miss the drunk him.

“And? Stay, just for tonight.” You smile biting your lip, wanting to wake up tangled limbs with him.

“It’s better if we don’t.”

With a final puff, he puts away the cigarette and kisses your head before dressing up.

“I have a big lead to search on early tomorrow. I can meet you another time this week, maybe.” His eyes don’t find yours, you feel cheap, even if the sheets around your body are expensive.

With a nod, you try to put away the apprehension and give him a chaste kiss followed by a smile before putting on a robe to take him to the door.

The big house seems bigger in the dark, the coldness of it makes you embrace yourself to get heat. By the door, he puts his hand on your jaw and you lean on it, seeking comfort. He kisses you deeply, but softly, before walking out.

Dragging your feet to the stairs, you do your best not to remember the drunk Javi's words, to not give in to the fantasy. Getting to the top, Grandma calls you by your childhood nickname.

“Are you sure of it?” She asks in your native language and you know exactly what she means.

Her eyes search yours in the dark, filled with concern. It doesn’t take much to read behind them.

“Yes. I am.” You start going up a few steps but stop at the top of the stairs.

“These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.” She murmurs in English to the empty room and you shiver from the instant recognition.

The quote stays with you in your lonely room. It is painfully obvious why you are lying about Javi, keeping him a secret.

Your bed is cold on the left side, even more in the morning. There is a man’s coat that is cheaper than everything you own inside your closet. You keep lavanda incenses inside your drawer to erase every trace of him, a floral scent to clean the cigarettes you hadn’t smoked.

Intimate details about him sound far from whatever you did inside these walls. You kissed all his freckles but don’t know his middle name or the city he grew up in. You know his drink of choice, but not his fears. Everything feels superficial, not enough to get you feeling what you are.

Laid on your bed, you turn your back to the left side and drift to sleep. In the end, you choose you.

now

You don’t tell what play you will be watching and don’t mention once who will take you. Javi doesn’t put pressure, no matter how much he wants to know.

Lunch is almost normal, you answer here and there a few of his questions, but don’t ask him anything. You used to be talkative, intrusive even, trying to learn everything about him, the curiosity is gone and boredness gave in.

He pays for it, but you don’t kiss his cheek with a thank you, instead, you say the words out loud before taking a deep breath.

Now you would head back in a taxi with your legs on his lap as you talk about whatever you wanted on the road to the diplomat’s house. He would hold your high heels in his hand and massage your shins, thinking about how intelligent you are and how much he wants to take your clothes off. You would tease him about being too quiet and he would answer, truthfully, that he likes the sound of your voice. You would smile big, with soft eyes that could see him as a whole.

Except this is Madrid, not Bogotá and you are close, but so far away. Your eyes are once more looking into the window, both hands on your lap tensed by his presence.

The folded paper in his wallet is the anchor that sinks his heart with its weight. He wants to touch your skin, kiss your face and ask you to say anything, but he is six years too late.

By the CNP door, you get out of the taxi before him. Unsure of what to do, you open and close your mouth.

“Thank you for the lunch. It was nice.” It is a lie, but he takes it. You don’t want to hurt him.

“Thank you for the company. I’m glad that you found a place where you belong.”

He is happy for you and sad for him. You always were better than he could be, good to see that you made life on your terms and don’t depend on anyone. Sadly, he doesn’t have a place in it.

Your eyes are big, round as you stare at him moments before you give his cheek a peck. A small smile adorns your face and he feels better for a second, watching you enter the building.

He sleeps well that night, wakes up like it's an ordinary day, tries to keep life going despite knowing there is a possibility to see you for the rest of his stay in Spain.

First, the idea of seeing you again is a threat, then is a wish. He wants to see you, he looks around the people coming and going through the corridors hoping that you will appear in the corner. Giving in to failure, he focuses once more on his work until the break when he listens to your name being spoken by one of the detectives with a mocking tone.

“El Conde ataca una vez más. Ayer la llevó al teatro, tanta cosa más interesante en esta ciudad y es esto lo que amanece en El País!” He laughs while pointing out a photograph in a newspaper.

("The Count attacks once more. Yesterday he took her to the theater, so many more interesting things in this city and this is what is being reported in El País!")

“No seas tonto, hombre! Está en la parte de society, qué esperabas? Geopolítica?” Another mocks back.

("Don't be stupid, man! You are in the society part, what did you expect? Geopolitic?")

From his position, Javi can see you in a cocktail dress next to a good looking man. You are smiling with your teeth as the man has his hand on your lower back. He looks polished, well raised, Javi can smell money on him.

The detectives leave, still in banter, but the newspaper stays. He reads the small note at the bottom of the picture “El Conde y su hermosa pareja, nuevamente en cita”. It must be a recurring thing, he wonders if the nickname is actually this man’s royal title.

("The Count and his beautiful partner, once more on a date".)

Money searches money. From party dresses, two pieces sets to tennis outfits and countryside all-white, you flaunted generational wealth. He invested a big slice of his payment in suits that looked more put together to appear like he belonged in your world. El Conde, from what Javi can see, never had to worry about such triviality.

Putting his work aside, Javi isn’t a name to remember. He doubts that growing up in Laredo, being a small-town man at his heart would be worth the news. Except to you, who treated him like the most interesting person you ever met, even if he tried to keep the personal information to himself.

Looking back, sounds off why he couldn’t give in to you. Rationally he can understand his actions, you were going to live abroad and it could set you back having someone waiting for you on the other side of the world. His life was too dangerous, with the risk of getting those close to him hurt rapidly growing and he wouldn’t be in peace if something happened to you. Despite all of it, you were worth the inevitable pain from day one.

So worth that seeing you in a dress, having fun with another man, made him think about the countless nights spent out in Bogotá. 

Your room was his favorite place in the city, he slept on the left side back on his apartment’s bed to imagine that you were there with him when the morning came. He never asked for the coat he forgot in your house, he liked to imagine you wearing it to have a little piece of him. Everything back then felt like home.

He closes the newspaper and goes out for a new cigarette, puffing a cloud of smoke with the smell you can’t stand. El Conde must smell like an expensive perfume.

then

You don’t take him to your bedroom anymore, not since that night. If he notices something about it, he keeps to himself. You are still his sweetheart in the backseat of his car, where his hands are all over you and the heavy air fogs up the windows.

The car is parked in a blind spot, where the light from the streetlamp doesn’t reach. It is dark, mostly shadows inside of it, everything is hidden by the tinted windows.

Words aren’t exchanged, the only sounds are the flesh against flesh and the uneven breath from your lips as you ride him hard. Big hands knead the tender skin of your hips, pushing you further to meet his thighs. He is deep inside you, making you clench with every move. His open eyes stare at you with the same devotion look you try to avoid by shutting yours and hiding your head in his neck.

“So good,” he whispers into your ears as his hips increase rhythm.

You cry out loud from overwhelm, the angle makes your clit rub his pubic hair more and more when he moves. He knows you are close, so he hugs you tighter, almost suffocating. You hate how much you are an open book to him.

“Let it go, baby,” he orders and you follow, giving in to ecstasy.

He is not far behind, as he uses your spent body to achieve his bliss. With legs shaking from oversensitivity, your mind is lost between heaven and earth as he pushes one final time inside of you.

 He kisses your face in needy little pecks, softly tracing your silhouette. Your eyes are still closed.

After a minute or two, you start to untangle yourself from his embrace and search for your outfit on the car floor. You still haven’t looked into his eyes and it clearly annoys him.

“I can take you home. Don’t take a taxi.” He offers and you want to accept it, but know better.

“You know I can’t, Javi.”

You haven’t spoken about why you decided to get cold at him, it has been weeks of slowly putting some distance between you two. For every push, he pulls you back in this tug of war.

He breaths harshly from his nose, but gives you a positive nod anyway. Getting out of the car, you start walking to the closest avenue, but he promptly pulls your arm and kisses you.

It makes your head spin, your bodies illuminated by the street lights where everyone can see it. For a second you want to ignore your guts and stay there, claim him as yours until daylight, but you don’t.

“Call me when you get home,” he asks with puppy eyes, already searching for a cigarette inside his pocket.

You don’t call.

The next days pass in a hurry, with your attention divided between doing your bags and ignoring the heartache that is creeping in. Javi asks you out and you find an excuse, if he doesn’t buy it, he doesn’t say it.

Your room constantly smells like lavanda. At night, you try to fill your head with anything that takes your attention from him until you can fall asleep from tiredness. The sheets don’t smell like him anymore, but you know it from memory and let fill your mind when you feel lonely.

You are strong in your decision, to choose you until the night before your flight. His coat is in your bed and you have been thinking about packing it or not. If you let it here, every summer break it will be waiting to shove in your face what you once had and it is still free in Bogotá. If you take it with you, will be a constant reminder of what you can’t have.

Before you reprimand yourself, you call for a taxi to the other side of town. It is after midnight on a weekday, he must be at home, preferably, by himself. You don’t know what to do if he has someone there.

Paying the driver fast, you sprint out of the taxi to look around trying to find the number in the paper. Javi wrote down his address once in case of emergency, you think that having him one last time is one. You locate the apartment and knock erratically on the door.

The moment your eyes see his, you throw yourself at him and leave all worries free when he kisses you back with hunger.

He tastes like cigarettes and you love it. His mustache tickles the hollow of your throat, as he fastly goes down on your neck. Goosebumps everywhere his hands touch while clumsy undressing you. When you are naked, he pushes you into the wall and you arch your back inviting him to where he belongs.

On his knees, he starts to eat you out letting out a heavy groan when you stretch your arm behind and tug on his hair. He alternates between sucking your clit and twisting his tongue inside you, making your body feels heavy with pleasure.

You try to look behind your shoulder, to find his eyes, missing the heat behind them. He happily obliges, gaining his height back just to hold your head in his hands and look deeply into your eyes before devouring your mouth. It tastes like you and him, like happiness.

“I missed you,” he whispers and you believe it because you missed him too.

The rational part of you is stronger, so you decide to show instead of putting out in words, taking off his clothes just like he did to you.

He fucks you against the wall, biting on your earlobe and breathing his airy moans directly into your ear. On his sofa, he looks into your eyes up close as his hips thrust so deep you let your mouth hang. With his hand squeezing harshly your jaw, he guides you to his bed until your head reaches the pillow.

It is a mix of wanting, needing, and despair as he opens your legs and positions himself back inside of you. The warm lights inside his room make his tan skin glow, you feel heated up by sunlight when he slides his nose on the side of your face, bracing himself as your hips find his.

There are no words, but this time silence is forced by the moment’s intensity. He gasps directly in your mouth, unable to keep his breath and kiss at the same time. His whole skin feels wet, from the thin layer of sweat in his collarbones to your sex soaking him up. 

You place one heel on his back, urging him to give it all to you. He responds by increasing his tempo, going harder until you lock your fingers with his and let pleasure overcome your conscience. 

He frantically searches for his own release, looking at you like you are his. You bring your interlocked hands to your lips and kiss his fingertips while staring back at him. When he spills inside you, is your turn to give his face little pecks in a silent devotion.

His body weight is on you, his face is tucked in your neck. You can feel his fast heartbeat, still high as his needy hand is caressing the side of your face. It feels different than everything you did. It feels like love.

But you have thought about it before and it was just drunk words. Yet, you let yourself feel whatever he wants to give you. He raises his head until you are eye to eye.

He keeps touching you delicately in silence for a while, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t control the smile that beams from you to him.

The night gets darker by the hour, but you don’t care. His body is constantly touching yours, begging you to stay. It is his turn to say whatever he wants to, he tells you about his week, the mission and how time went by slowly without you. When exhaustion comes, you sleep on the right side of his bed, with his arm on your waist and his face in your hair.

With the first rays of the sun entering between the shutter gaps, you wake up and it takes all of your will to leave the bed without making him notice.

Your flight will be soon. It chokes you to see him so peaceful in his sleep, to know that he will be searching for your heat when the morning comes.

Having mercy, you get paper and a pen and write down a final message. With precision, you paint your lips red and kiss the paper corner before placing it on the pillow.

The way back to the diplomat’s house is sad and dark, even if the sky is slowly brightening with the sunrise. You cry until there are no tears left. Grandma is having coffee in the garden by the time you get there, she sees your puff face and gives you a sympathetic look.

The sun is high in the sky when your plane departs.

now

Javi stopped looking for you in corridors and the streets near his hotel. He is the one who wants closure, yours happened years ago and it is folded in his wallet. It feels bittersweet to find you and not have you, but he lived it before and didn’t kill him.

The years after your departure were busy. One can’t mourn a love that didn’t live to see the light of day when work is suffocating. He found joy in the small victories against the cartels, consoled with the bodies of the many women he slept with over time. The aftermath is what bites him back, the way your eyes avoid his with such precision.

Madrid is pretty in the summer. He likes to walk around until late at night having so much daylight still, calms his nerves and lets him rest once. The only thing left to do is to repack his luggage, but he doesn’t want to be alone in the hotel room on the final night of his stay.

He doesn’t notice how much time passed since he started to walk. It must be late, the sunset is starting. Shades of orange, lilac, and pink are coming together on the horizon, the warmness of the sky reminds him of the red of your lips back then.

Stopping by a bridge, he lights up a cigarette and stays on the sidewalk admiring the dusk. It is peaceful, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time.

There aren’t many people around, the street is almost empty, he looks around until his eyes lock with yours. It’s warm, but you are wearing his coat, both hands in the pockets.

He meets you in the middle of the bridge, following the pace of your timid footsteps.

“Hi,” you almost whisper still staring back at him, “I couldn’t stay alone in my apartment.”

“Why?” He stomps on the cigarette and takes a mental note of your traces in the warm colors of the sky, flashes of the bliss on your face back in his apartment appear in his mind.

“You know why.” 

He does. Too many memories flowing, a ghost from a past life that keeps haunting, but in the flesh and front of you. He is your ghost and you are his too.

“You kept the coat.” It is a simple statement, no more than an observation, but enough to make you embrace yourself around as if you were searching for comfort inside of it. “I kept something too.”

For the first time in many years, he opens his wallet and unfolds your note from the last night spent together. The corners have little dents from how much his fingers pressed on, reading it again and again. The color faded a little, just like the mark of your lipstick isn’t vibrant anymore.

He places the note between your bodies and you take it, fingers slightly scrapping his. You read it like it is a surprise as if you forgot whatever you poured your heart into that final time.

Your eyes are glossy, the waterline is full and about to overflow when you look back at him. The sun shines one last time into your skin before disappearing, allowing the night to come.

[rakurairagnarok]

I dedicate this story to my good friend and writing buddy @idesofrevolution. Merry Christmas buddy and please PLEASE Enjoy. Happy holidays to everyone and Happy TF's.

A Green Christmas

`What!!`

Ryan screamed at the news.

You sighed.

´I have no choice, my family has to move, and I have to go as well, I don´t have any accommodation here.´

Ryan grumbled. `Bro... you can´t leave me man... you´re my best bud.´

You grimaced. Your friend had been acting weird lately. You used to be super close, and you honestly still are, but your interests had began to shift. You used to play games, watch cartoons and study together, but lately Ryan had become absent from you life. He had been ´busy´ with other things but his grades had been plummeting and he had picked up smoking. Ryan had no idea you knew this, but you had seen the pictures from your classmates. His wardrobe had changed too. Before he would wear shirts and khakis, now its oversized shirts and hoodies. He started wearing contacts as well, which, to be honest, was a great look for him, he looked very handsome without glasses. His lingo had switched as well. No more academic jargon. Just simple sentences, which almost always had at least one bro in them.

`Look Ryan, I really am sorry, but I just can´t make this work´

Your family was moving, and while you were a college student, who by all accounts should have received some form of scholarship due to your amazing grades, you never did. The truth however, was that you wanted to move. The alienating feeling you got from your former best friend broke something in you, and you had to put some distance between eachother. You could easily apply for the on-campus dormitories but you just couldn`t bear staying near the now almost stranger.

`Look you´d better go, I want to be home before Christmas and I still have a lot of packing to do.'

Ryan sighed and left. After closing the door behind him, You let out a grunt.

"Why does it have to be this way! What happend to him?"

Reluctantly you began packing. Your father would come and get you and your things on Christmas eve, so you had your work cut out for you. You were currently staying Ryan, but this had always been a temporary solution. Ryan's landlord didn't want two friends staying together only couples or families. Ryan had become quite open to you about his sexuality. He had told you he was bisexual and that he could always tell the landlord the two of you were dating, but you had declined. You had a hard enough time not getting picked on. If word would get out that you two were dating, you would not be able to survive. What Ryan didn't know is that you were in fact also bisexual. You really liked girls but men really were where you got your satisfaction. From porn that is, because you were still a virgin. You grew up in a strict Christian household, with a Father from the south. Your parents would never approve and they were the reason you didn't have to work, so coming out was never an option.

A loud knock shook you from your deep train of thought. You opened the door and Ryan was standing right there, smiling.

"Steven, can we talk bro?"

"Ryan, I told you. I need to pack for..."

"Please, just for a little while."

"...Fine..."

Ryan walked in and sat down on your bed.

"Look man... I've been thinking... I need to be honest with you about something."

You looked at your former best friend with confusion. He had been so dominant and confident these last few weeks, and all of a sudden he looked shy and insecure.

"I... I picked up smoking... and... not just cigarettes. Weed too"

You sighed.

"I know Ryan, I have seen you. Don't worry, it's whatever... Your body, your choice."

Ryan smiled.

"Yeah for reallll broo but, I wanted to ask you a favor."

"What is it?" You asked, slightly impatient.

"Come sit down first" Ryan had this shit eating grin on his face, his perfect white teeth on display. Wait that doesn't sound right. he had braces right?

Because you took so long, Ryan grabbed your arm and pulled you onto the bed, right next to him.

"What the hell man!" You exclaimed.

He quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders, his musky scent drilling into your nose, and holds something up to your face.

"I really, really want to smoke this with you man. Like dying wish and shit."

You look down and see a blunt in between his fingers.

"I don't smoke Ryan, you know this" You point out.

" Just one hit bro, that's all, I won't tell anyone, you don't have to smoke any more, just humor me with this man."

You took a deep breath and wanted to decline, but then something clicked.

"You know what. Sure."

Ryan's grin widened. 'Let's fucking go bro!!!" He quickly grabbed a lighter, and lit the blunt.

He took the first hit, blowing the smoke right into your face, the fumes invading your nose and throat, leaving you gasping for air.

"Sorry there bro, just wanted to give you a little taste."

"I'm only taking one hit bro... fuck" Your eyes widen not only did you just curse, something which you rarely do, you also just used bro in your sentence. Hoping he didn't notice you hold out your hand to take the blunt.

Ryan, who's grinning from ear to ear, hands you the blunt, and you quickly take a hit. You deeply inhale, feeling the smoke fill your lungs and the weed invade your brain. A single hit, and you can almost feel your brain stopping.

"W...whaaat the fuuuuuck" You mumble. Your jaw slacks a bit as the smoke escapes from your lips.

"You gonna take that hit or not bro?" Ryan asked with a sly grin on his face.

"Huh didn't I just?'' You asked confused.

"Bro are you already tripping? I just blew some smoke in your face man, thats all. Now come on bro, you promised."

You took a hit, taking a deep breath, feeling the smoke fill your lungs, and your whole body. Slowly blowing out you feel constricted. You look down to see your buttoned up shirt bulging. You tug on it a bit, and it flies open, revealing a chiseled abdomen and two meaty pecs.

"Brooo wat the fahk' You mumble. "My chest is so big... what the hell"

"Yeah bro I know right. I love that strain. Made me who I am today" Ryan smirks as he takes off his hoodie showing his massive arms and chest.

You look in awe as he stretches a bit, his smooth torso , and bulging muscles on display. He drops his sweats, showing off a massive bulge in his white briefs as he looks at you and smirks.

"Wanna take another hit bro?"

Before he even finished his sentence the blunt was back in your mouth, filling you up with even more smoke. You look down and begin to giggle as you bounce your growing pecs.

"Huhuhu broo they are so bigg... what the shit..." You say as a familiar musk begins radiating from your growing body.

Ryan smiles back.

"Yeah bro you're getting so fuckin huge. You're so hot"

You look at him with a flushed face.

"What... did you say?"

"You're hot. You look amazing."

"Thanks..." You can't help but blush, seeing as he himself is a fucking model.

"You're really hot yourself" You say with a beetred face

Ryan stops smiling and looks at you. He sits down and looks you in the eyes.

"I don't want you to go Stevey. I love you..."

Your eyes widen at the words, and before you know it, his lips get pressed against yours. Before you can react he pushes his tongue into your mouth, and a torrent of smoke follows suit. It's almost as if hes blowing you up, and it feels that way too, Your muscles getting bigger, your mind hazier, and your dick... well...

You manage to push away and look at him.

"Ry... I ... "

"yeah?"

"I think... no ... I know... I love you too man"

Ryan signature shit eating grin flies back onto his face.

"Fuck yeah bro!!"

A sheepish smile creeps onto your face as you grab the blunt from his fingers, taking a massive hit before grabbing his neck and blowing the smoke into his mouth.

"You're so sexy." You say as he blows the smoke back into your face.

"What about you then, such a fucking cute stud you are"

The two of you continue laughing, finishing the blunt before crawling into each others arms.

You text your dad that he doesn't have to come get you anymore, as you will be staying with your boyfriend, and promptly block him afterwards.

You nuzzled up to your boyfriends pit and took a deep breath. It smelled amazing and it bricked you up knowing you smell the same.

This will be a pretty special Christmas.

__________________________________________________________

Happy Holidays Everyone!!!! Feel free to send in some asks or order something at Rakurai Inc.!!!

[writingjourney]

Small Beauties

Life at court while beneficial to your station is above all else one thing – unbearably lonely. With a youth spent in unreciprocated longing, the trap of an unhappy marriage, illness, loss and untimely farewells there is one thing that does not change throughout the years – your infatuation and blossoming friendship with Otto Hightower. After all is said and done, are you not both deserving of the very thing you never allowed yourselves to have?

pairing: Otto Hightower x fem!reader // rated E, 18+ MDNI

content: 19k words in five parts + epilogue, pining, forbidden romance, mostly gentle!otto, talks about pregnancy/infertility, minor character death, grief, religious themes (faith of the seven), smut (thigh riding, hand job, oral sex f!receiving, p in v, unprotected, coming inside, mild hand kink)

This story is available on AO3, split into five chapters ♡

1 The Maiden Days

Otto Hightower lifts the ornate cup to his lips, taking a lazy sip before he slowly lowers it yet again. A crimson stain lingers on the soft skin, the Dornish wine momentarily painting them red. You are transfixed by the sight. No matter how often he repeats this simple action it never fails to incite a war in your chest – heart beating rapidly, your lungs fluttering with every breath.

You fold your hands in your lap to ground yourself, observing him from your spot on the cool stone bench that sits at the far end of the balcony. Around you, a handful of other young ladies has erupted into lively chatter, most of them a few years younger than you.

“Ser Alister is so very handsome,” one of them chirps, giggling under her breath as they all turn to look at the man. “A fine knight, tall and strong and most honourable. His blue eyes are captivating.”

“Have you seen Ser Matthos? I hear that he has never lost a battle, the strongest knight in all the Riverlands.”

“Who do you admire, my lady?”

The voice resounds close to your ear – your friend, the Lady Emeline. You answer in a low hum, feigning contemplation. But your eyes still follow his every movement. Often times the lord will keep to himself, observing these gatherings more so than participating. His auburn hair shimmers golden in the warm sunlight and you are so very grateful to behold him outside of the gloomy chambers of the castle.

“Ser Otto,” you whisper.

They all burst into laughter like you told a hilarious joke, guffawing quite unladylike which garners the attention of the entire balcony, including the man you have been speaking of.

“I am not jesting,” you inform them.

Their laughter stops at once. Emeline’s hand wraps around your forearm. “But, you cannot be serious?”

Your eyes stay on the Lord whose solemn gaze still holds you captive. “The Lord Hand is handsome and tall, he is intelligent and experienced in life. An honourable man who serves our realm most faithfully. Any young lady would be lucky to be wed to him.”

“But he is… old,” she whispers now.

“And he is the Lady Alicent’s father,” another girl adds.

You decide to end your rhapsody, if only because you know they could never understand your infatuation. The Lord Hand is not older than half of the men your father is considering as a match for you, even though he certainly appears to be wise beyond his years. Recently widowed and in no want of a new wife, you are well aware that all your dreams of being with him are hopeless. However, this knowledge does nothing to quench your desires as his eyes remain fixed on you for longer than is appropriate. You confidently hold his gaze, even as your heart threatens to burst from your chest. Finally, he averts his eyes, just as the red stain slowly fades from his pale lips.

✦ ✧ ✦

Your father has been pacing since the sun began to wander westwards, his arms crossed behind his back as he fiddles with the rings on his fingers. You’ve seen this nervous gesture plenty of times in your life, only this time his distress has been inadvertently caused by you. Not even the splendid view over the prospering gardens of King’s Landing seems to calm his agitation. “She is of age, she has been of age for long enough that anything but a swift betrothal would be considered shameful, especially now that we are here.”

“Surely that should not be an issue, my lord?” your mother asks. “I hear from the other ladies that she has many a handsome suitor.”

“Suitors, yes, but no promising match. We have to entertain the possibility of sending her to the Riverlands or even the North, though I would prefer for her to stay in the capital. It is always useful to have a direct line to the crown.”

“Perhaps a Lannister?” she asks. “Or Ser Alister? All the young girls seem enamoured with him and his father sits on the king’s council.”

“What about Ser Otto?” you interject.

“The Lord Hand?” Your father barks out a laugh. “He will not have you, girl.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are not important enough, child, and most certainly not handsome enough to tempt a man like him. If he harboured any interest in you he would have already expressed it.”

“My lord.”

You startle at the sound of the deep voice that haunts your very existence these days, followed by the crunching of heavy footsteps on the gravely path. Your face instantly drains of all colour until you can feel the blood rushing back to your cheeks tenfold. You and your mother are seated underneath a rose-colored pavilion but the shade does nothing to cool your heated skin. At the arrival of your guest, you both stand for a polite greeting. From your spot close beside him you make out a familiar pair of leather boots and the ornate hem of a set of dark green garbs, the elaborate pattern of which you could describe in great detail from memory alone.

You cannot bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“My Lord Hand,” your father greets. “To what do I owe the honour of such an unexpected visit?”

“I was informed of your arrival, my lord. I deeply regret that I was kept busy for most of the day – as you well know from your own time in the capital the council never truly rests.” He stops for a moment when your father chuckles, then his voice softens. “My ladies.”

“My lord, what a pleasure to see you,” your mother replies. “It has been nigh a decade.”

“Indeed, my lady. I trust that your lord father is in good health?”

“He is,” she says with a playful smile. “The only ailment he cannot quite soothe is his growing ennui. He so loved to meddle in politics, now all he gets to dictate are his servants while my brother commands his army.”

The Lord Hand gives a kindhearted chuckle and you can almost feel the deep rumbling of his chest vibrating against you, a quake that has your own body trembling helplessly. You realise that every second of silence raises the risk of appearing unseemly to the lord, and so you finally glance up at him, only to find his green eyes already resting on you.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” you say, wishing the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

“My lady.” The corner of his mouth bends into a kind if not sympathetic smile. He must have heard his name coming from your lips upon his arrival and you cannot help but suspect that he finds the suggestion pitiable.

For the remainder of their conversation you stay quiet, withdrawing into yourself to nurse your deep embarrassment and sneaking glances at the lord only when you’re certain that his attention lies elsewhere. Soon your father follows the Lord Hand back inside the keep for a private audience and you remain seated in the gardens with a broken heart. Your mother inquires about the knights and lords you have met in your time in King’s Landing, riddling you with questions about potential marriage candidates.

She does not ask about Otto Hightower.

✦ ✧ ✦

The lady Alicent pulls the book from the shelf ever so cautiously in the way that she was taught to handle the ancient tomes that reside in her lord father’s library. You stand by her side, reading the spines of the books in the collection that his lordship as well as his predecessors have accumulated over the past centuries. Storybooks and fairytales are scarce, you are quite certain that you have read all of them thrice at this point, and so you and your friend have moved on to the historical accounts that the septa never taught you about.

The Lord Hand is eyeing you from his desk where he is taking care of his correspondence, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as the quill scratches the ink into the parchment. Alicent, who has retrieved the book by now, presents the title to him.

“Hm, a good pick, my daughter.”

You both smile at him and his eyes stay on you for so long that you are inclined to stall your departure even as Alicent makes her way to the door. You have never been very subtle about your feelings for the lord and for the past few moons he has indulged you by meeting your eyes more often than would be deemed appropriate should anyone notice.

“A word, my lady?” he asks, sensing your apprehension.

You glance at Alicent who merely gives you one of her kind smiles. “I shall wait for you in the godswood.”

A nervous sensation spreads in your limbs, numbing your fingers as you link your hands behind your back. His lordship stands and beholds you for a moment, his gaze betraying none of his thoughts as it flits between your face and the rest of your form. You stand still, meeting his eyes as you are wont to do, trying to uphold an air of confidence and maturity beyond your years.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your betrothal, my lady,” he says eventually.

“Thank you, my lord.” You hesitate for a moment in surprise as he is the first to bring up the subject since your father presented you with the news. “I was not aware that it had been announced already.”

He sits down behind his desk, neatly folding his long hands on its surface. “I assisted your father with the arrangements. The match was my suggestion.”

“Oh.” You feel your limbs trembling, the realisation like a knife in your chest. “I see.”

“I know he may not be who you dreamed for yourself,” he continues with a knowing expression that softens his features in a way that makes you want to weep.

“My lord has a keen, observant eye.”

“Indeed I have noticed your glances, my lady.” His brows pull together in a display of almost fatherly sympathy but it only makes the knife twist and sink in deeper. “And while I am flattered by your… infatuation, I must point out that this arrangement spares you a life by the side of a man much older than yourself. Ser Alister is in the prime of his youth, a well-favoured knight, and he will make a fine husband for many years to come.”

You nod, swallowing the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I am fortunate to be betrothed to such a brave and noble knight. And yet **I feel that I must point out that you are being most unkind to yourself, my lord. Your age only adds to your character, your wisdom and gentle disposition are unmatched by any knight I have met in my life. If you ever chose to marry again, the lady would be most fortunate indeed.”

“Your generous words are appreciated, my lady.” He gives a smile that feels more genuine than the ones you have seen before. You refuse to get lost in the way it makes his eyes glow in the light of the candles. “May the Seven watch over you and bestow you with a prosperous future.”

You swallow around the tears that are painfully forming in your eyes, willing the corners of your mouth to return his kindness. “Thank you, my lord. I am certain with your blessings they will.”

2 The Wedded Days

“Seven blessings on your hunt, my lord. May your arrows fly true.”

You press a kiss to your husband’s pale cheek, the courtyard a cacophony of neighing horses, shouting men and clattering weapons in your ears. The hour is early and yet the keep is already alive as it prepares for a day that promises fresh game and other spoils of the woods.

He mounts his horse with a chuckle. “Can you not hear the deer already bawling? They are quivering with fear.”

You fight off a grimace, feeling sorry for the poor animals, and wave after the party as they depart for the Kingswood. A few other ladies who have bid their husbands farewell are waiting with you, waving until the last horse is out of sight and quiet settles in.

Your husband of three years recently inherited his father’s titles and has risen significantly in the king’s esteem ever since. As a proficient hunter since his childhood days it is no surprise that he was invited to join the party. You are surprised, however, when you encounter the Lord Hand on your way back inside, the quiet of the keep’s interiors enveloping you most welcomely.

“Are you not joining the hunt, my lord?” you ask when he stops to greet you.

“No, my lady, it is a small party.”

“His Grace would leave without his most trusted advisor?”

“His Grace has little use for me in the Kingswood, my lady. I am tending to important matters of the realm during his absence.”

You nod in understanding. Naturally the Lord Hand knows to prioritise his tasks but that does not mean you cannot tempt him to a small diversion. “Perhaps his lordship would allow me to keep him company, then?”

He scoffs mildly. “I hardly think that is appropriate, my lady.”

“Why not?”

The lord stops in his tracks, his gaze suddenly softening. “My lady.”

You raise your brows. “Are you concerned about matters of propriety?”

“I am concerned about the matter of your propriety, my lady, yes.”

“If you are alluding to…” You pause and he quirks an eyebrow, almost as if in amusement. “If you are alluding to my childish infatuation with you, my lord, I can assure you that it has long since passed. All I wish is for some company. It has been quite some time since I had the chance to enjoy the sunrise on a morning walk and I merely wish to share the beautiful view the gardens offer at first light.”

For a brief moment, the lord regards you as though he is trying to decipher one of his books. Eventually he tips his head to the side, locking his arms behind his back. “Very well, my lady. Since you are so fond of the gardens, I shall let you lead the way.”

You chuckle good-naturedly. “That is only because his lordship is so busy with politics that he hardly leaves the council chamber. Something he has in common with my husband.”

“There are duties that require an environment free of diversions, my lady.”

“Beauty is a diversion, then, my lord?”

“It most certainly is.”

You exit the keep onto a rather large balcony, the view opening up to the gardens that are still draped in deep shadows as the sun slowly rises above the horizon. A clear sky stretches out in purples, pinks and oranges, their pastel hues blending into each other with the soft brushstrokes of an artist. The sight takes your breath away for several seconds and when you come to, you notice that the Lord Hand is observing you.

“A marvel, don’t you agree?” you ask.

Otto Hightower smiles softly, his eyes crinkling beautifully in their corners. “A marvel indeed.”

The pink on your cheeks must mirror that of the sky when you descend the stairs and tread along the path. The cool air is not unwelcome even though your gown with its southern cut is not meant to keep you warm. You have only known the warm climate of the capital, hardly remembering your time before you were sent here as a ward, but you imagine that this is what the earliest signs of fall would feel like further up North.

“I don’t think I have properly conversed with anyone but my own servants in over a fortnight,” you muse as your footsteps lead you past flowering bushes, their blossoms still closed from the night. “Not even my lord husband has any time to spare for me these days, so busy is he with the council and his… lordly activities.”

“My lady, if you suffer from feelings of loneliness, I am sure we can make some arrangements to ease that affliction.” The tall lord's footsteps are heavier than yours, a reassuring sound that follows you along the path. “Perhaps we can send for one of your sisters.”

“I do not wish to talk to my sisters who I hardly know and hardly remember.” You pause, trying to hide your disdain as you let your hand hover under a particularly beautiful flower. “My lord, I so long for easy conversation or even just the silent companionship that being in the mere presence of a familiar person offers. Since becoming a wife my social circle has only grown smaller which I find quite odd.”

“Perhaps it simply lacks the carefree nature of childhood,” he says wisely.

“Perhaps it simply lacks another intelligent being to converse with.”

“In which case you flatter me, my lady, by seeking my companionship.”

You cannot hide the small smile that slips onto your face. “I have always enjoyed listening to you, my lord. Your insight and wisdom in any conversation over a shared meal has taught me more than my septa during her lessons.”

He rewards you with a deep chuckle and you glance at him, the way his usually stoic face lights up in a smile. “I should think that your septa did a fine job in raising a knowledgeable, kind-hearted young lady.”

“She did, you are quite right. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” You continue to walk, trying to focus back on the sun that wanders along with you. “However, I cannot deny that I regret the ways in which time has passed. I have lost my friends to motherhood while I myself have been less than fortunate in this area. I now suffer the consequences of these shortcomings.”

“There is still time, my lady. You are quite young.”

The smile you give him is tinged with sadness, even though you appreciate his kind words. In truth, you are close to giving up all hope to ever conceive. You have been married for three years now and in all that time you have not once been with child. Not for a lack of efforts from your lord husband nor from your unwillingness to endure said efforts, no matter how unenjoyable you found them. As of late, however, he has shifted those efforts to other recipients, if your staff is to be believed who has spotted him frequent certain establishments in the city. You are not sure if that is a blessing or a curse.

“You speak very kindly, my lord, and yet deep in my heart I can feel that this marriage will not be as prosperous as anyone would have hoped. Perhaps the Gods did not intend for me to be a mother, as much as it pains me to entertain this possibility.”

“My lady, let me assure you that it is not necessarily the fault of the mother,” he says, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Many good men have not sired a child in all their life.”

You consider his words, consider their implications that perhaps the fault of your childless life is not yours alone. “You may be right, my lord, and yet if the purpose of a woman is to bear her husband’s children then I cannot help but feel like my worth has been impaired by my failure to give him an heir.”

“Some narrow minds may view it like that, yes, but I cannot agree. My own lady wife was much more to me than just the bearer of my children and I miss her dearly to this very day.”

You cannot help the wave of pain this opens in your chest, your eyes stinging the faintest bit. “How beautiful it must be to be loved and cherished as you did her.”

“Do you not feel cherished, my lady?” he inquires.

“I never expected to be blessed with a happy marriage, my lord,” you confess truthfully. “And yet the reality of it disappoints me greatly. They say a lady may not love her husband but that she will love his children. It fills me with great sorrow to find that there is no love in my life when my heart is overflowing with all that I have yet to give.”

He halts right beside you and you do the same, the view from the edge of the retaining wall quite spectacular now that the sun has risen above sea level.

“I know my lady is visiting the city’s orphanages quite frequently,” he finally says. “And that she is very fond of my own grandchildren, generously helping my daughter in her care for them.”

“Indeed and it may not be quite the same as having a child of my own that I can spoil as I please but it brings me a few moments of domesticity now and again that I deeply cherish.”

He nods sagely, his sombre gaze meeting your own. “Seeing that you find yourself lacking for company perhaps I may extend an invitation to join us for supper more frequently, my lady? With or without your lord husband, as his schedule allows.”

You find yourself smiling freely at him, awakening sensations that are altogether too familiar, too intimate. If only he had not married you to a man incapable of such affections. “I shall gladly accept your kind offer, my lord. It would please me greatly.”

There is no pity in the expression he gives you this time but a gentle friendliness that you cannot remember seeing in his eyes before. You resume your stroll through the gardens, the increasing warmth of the sunlight invigorating your cold limbs the further you go, and when you reach a fork in the path that leads either further down or back towards the keep you do not wish to turn around.

“Shall we keep going, my lady?” the lord asks.

You cannot help but smile when you agree.

✦ ✧ ✦

Otto senses some reluctance as he glances at the names of staff that is working for your household, if only because he is keenly aware that the findings of his current research may upset him in ways that will tempt him to folly. However, if your husband is mistreating you then he simply must know. His net of spies within the palace is tight as it is in the rest of King’s Landing but the proximity will make it much easier to have him observed.

It instils amounts of regret in him that border on a stomach ache. Marrying you to Ser Alister had been a logical decision at the time but he cannot deny that keeping you in King’s Landing influenced his judgement severely.

A handsome young knight, to inherit his father’s titles and possibly even his seat at the king’s council, Ser Alister was an easily agreed upon match for your father, easier still for Otto who felt like he was doing you a favour after he had noticed your attentions for a while – attentions he could not return at the time, for your protection and out of the overwhelming grief he still felt after the death of his wife. Even so, Otto has to admit to himself that your very openly displayed affections have always flattered him, that you are a true beauty with a comely face that is not just a joy to look at but also a delight to listen to. You are educated, intelligent, sweet, bold in private but shy in the company of others. Endearing even to his old and fractured heart.

Alister did inherit the title as well as the seat on the council within the next three years after your wedding, having wrapped the king around his finger with his open support for the Princess and his Grace’s adamancy in keeping her as his heir. Otto can see now where he went wrong – a severe lapse in judgement of his character, to think him respectful and harmless despite their political disagreements. To think him even remotely worthy of you.

The questioning of your staff as well as a few of his spies in the city reveals quickly that the man he had you marry is a well-known customer in the Street of Silks. Otto cannot, will not believe that anyone would discard a woman like you so foolishly and after only three years of marriage. Such disrespect to the Maid and the Mother of whom you are such a striking image, deserving of nothing but reverence and adoration and a family to love. There is no honour in men like Alister, in men like Daemon Targaryen and so many others who do not know how to cherish their wives as they vowed before the Gods.

A vivid feeling of contempt takes hold of Otto, at himself as well as your husband. He cannot alter what he did in arranging this match but he can make sure that you are comforted in knowing that you deserve more.

✦ ✧ ✦

The Tower of the Hand has not changed much over the past few years, the narrow staircases, the cool stone walls still caging you in. To be summoned now makes you wonder what his lordship could possibly need from you. When you enter, the Lord Hand swiftly dismisses his guards and they close the door behind you. The chamber is dark, only a few candles flickering from his desk and the mantelpiece of his unlit hearth, and yet you can make out the lines of worry on his handsome aging face.

“My lord,” you address him.

“My lady, I am afraid that I have requested to see you on a rather… delicate matter. Please, have a seat.”

There is hardly enough time to scan the circular room before you sit at a small desk with his correspondence spread over top, the wax still melting over a candle. You can see his bed from the corner of your eye – his private quarters.

“My lady, after our conversation in the gardens…” He stops himself, making sure that you are meeting his gaze. “I could not help but look into matters that you have hinted at, in genuine concern for your well-being, and I am afraid that I have uncovered a concerning truth.”

“Pray tell, my lord, what truth? You do not have to spare my feelings.”

“I got word from a trusted source that your lord husband has been seen in… certain establishments in the Street of Silks.”

“I am afraid that this is not news to me, my lord,” you say and he regards you with surprise.

“You are aware?”

“If it please, my lord, I would prefer for this to remain private. It is already shameful enough without the entire court knowing.”

“Of course, my lady, I merely wished for you to know the vicious acts–”

You have to suppress a dry chuckle, wondering why he seems so astonished by your husband’s ways. “Vicious? My lord, I am hardly the only lady bound to a husband who seeks his pleasure elsewhere.”

Otto’s voice drips with venom. “That does not make it any less despicable.”

You nod, conceding to his point. “May I be truthful, my lord?”

“Certainly.”

“I would rather he takes his needs elsewhere than continue to…” You pause, trying to phrase your thoughts without leaving respectability. “I have given up hopes on a child of my own, so there is no need to continue our efforts. I find no enjoyment in them and with no remaining purpose I find myself incapable of putting my body through the pain.”

His gaze changes now, sympathy perhaps. The crease on his forehead is deeper. “Pain, my lady?”

“Were you not aware that it is painful, my lord?”

“You say this as though it is a fact.”

“Is it not?” you ask, confused as to his meaning.

He looks at you as though there is something weighing on him, something he is desperate to share, but when his mouth opens no words come out. The lord spreads his palms on his desk as he sits up straighter, his hands pale and broad, adorned with rings that reflect the light of the candles. “My lady, I fear that the continuation of this conversation will lead us beyond the realms of propriety.”

You nod, averting your gaze in shame. “Please forgive me, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my lady. I understand there is a… curiosity that grows upon the discovery of such intimate matters.”

You fight back the tears that have gathered in your eyes. “No matter, he is not requesting my presence anymore. I just wonder–” Again, you have to pause, feeling like a child again and not like a woman of two-and-twenty years. “Is it true, my lord?”

He furrows his brow. “Is what true, my lady?”

“Am I not handsome enough? My father–”

“Your father should never have spoken to you like that,” he interrupts, only catching his tone after the words left his mouth. You are surprised he still recalls that conversation. “I can assure you, my lady, that your beauty is greatly admired at court and certainly not the reason that your husband is disrespecting you in such a way.”

“And yet, perhaps he cannot find it.” You swallow the tears of irritation that are threatening to spill. “Please forget that I ever mentioned this to you, my lord. I hope you can forgive me for my transgression. I am aware that my intent is one that does not befit a lady of my station and that you cannot give me counsel in such matters. I thank you for your concern and for looking out for me when no one else does.”

“My lady.” His voice is soft, hardly more than a whisper and when you meet his eyes you see a glimmer in them that is akin to the longing you feel in your heart.

Perhaps it is this notion that gives you the courage. You place your delicate hand on top of his, feeling the lines and ridges, scars of a long life spent with a sword in his grasp. He does not pull away, not even when you smooth your thumb over his skin in a tender stroke. You repeat the movement, his eyes fixated on your joint hands, and round the table without letting go.

Once you are in his lap, you let go of his hand to toy with his doublet, tracing the chains around his neck, the brooch that shows the world that he is the hand of the king, the second most powerful man in all the Seven Kingdoms. And yet the power he wields over you far surpasses that of anyone else. Your faces are at the same height now, your noses brushing together before you lean back. You take his hand in both of yours, admiring how large it is, how you have to use both hands to fully grasp it. For a brief moment you bring it to your lips, breathing a kiss to his knuckles. The silver ring on his finger feels cool against your mouth, his skin softer than you expected.

“My lady,” he warns, the hesitation evident in his eyes.

You place his hand on your waist and to your delight he curls it around your shape. When you reach for his other hand he meets you halfway. They settle over your hips, holding you in place, and you rest your own hands on top of them for a moment to feel the warmth of his skin. This is how a lover’s touch should feel, you think. Gentle and warm. Safe.

“This is foolish,” he comments but his voice is too soft to convey the sentiment.

“Perhaps,” you agree. “Let me be foolish for once, my lord. I want to know what it feels like to follow my desires, to have a memory that I can retreat to when I need it.”

His throat constricts as he swallows, his gentle gaze fixed on you as you inspect the soft wrinkles on his face, the discoloured skin below his eyes that crinkles when they move. You lift a hand to caress him, shy fingertips exploring the shape of his face. Your lord stays still for you, allowing you the innocent touch even as his heart tightens at the intimacy of it all. He has not been touched by a woman in so long that he quite forgot the reactions it lures from his body, the want, the need it stokes when such a sublime creatures offers him the tenderness and comfort he so craves.

You shift forward and suddenly his thigh is pressing against that soft part between your legs. The pressure sends a jolt through your body. You gasp and his eyes flutter closed for a moment. You move your hand to comb his beard, your fingertips grazing the skin underneath until you can cup his cheek. The lord leans into your touch, eyes still shut, and breathes a burdensome sigh.

“Let me adjust you,” he finally says as his eyes open, waiting for you to give a nod before his grasp tightens. He lifts you enough that your leg slides between his, shifting his hips forward to give you more space. You are straddling his thigh now, the fabric of your dress bunched up high enough that you can feel him pressing against your core through your shift and your linens.

“My lord,” you whisper.

“Move your hips,” he instructs. “Gently, and tell me when you feel it.”

“Feel what, my lord?”

“You will know, darling girl.”

With your eyes on his you do as he says, rocking your hips clumsily at first. His hands guide you into a more fluid rhythm and you find more confidence when you feel the first sparks of pleasure his firm leg sends through your body. Your gasps soon fill the room, even as you try to hold them back. You recognise the feeling and the heat, you have felt it at times when your husband happened to touch certain parts of you, when you tried to touch yourself but weren’t courageous enough to continue. Only now the intensity is tenfold, especially with the lord’s keen eyes so focused on your mouth, on every sigh that leaves your lips.

“My beauty,” he whispers. “Carved from marble, a face that even the Gods must envy, and yet he does not see it, does not treasure it. What a shame to be gifted such a beautiful flower and to let it wilt in neglect.”

His words hardly register as he bounces his leg to meet your rhythm. The sparks of pleasure that spread in your body feel wrong, almost shameful, and yet you want to chase, need to chase them. But then the pressure slowly becomes uncomfortable, a tension that you don’t recognise but that is bordering on painful. You whimper, stopping your efforts, whispering that it is too much.

“Keep going,” your lord orders, gripping your hips tightly to drag you across his leg. “Do not stop.”

“I c-cannot–”

“Shhhh,” he coos. “Trust me, my girl.”

You cry out softly, picking your rhythm back up as he helps you with strong hands, the hands of a knight, a powerful man that you have wanted since you knew what wanting really meant. The tension pushes you towards an invisible edge and then you fall–

“My lord. My lord.” You wail as if in pain, your face falling against his as your breathing becomes more shallow and the pleasure tears through your body. He does not stop you as you hide your face, his beard soft against your cheek as he drags out the sensation by moving his leg back and forth, pressing against that spot again and again. The fabric of your linens as well as his pants feels damp against your core.

Your body goes slack and his arms wrap around you, cradling you against his broad chest as you catch your breath. Even as your body stops trembling the warmth and contentment stay trapped within you, your muscles slowly relaxing now.

“My darling girl,” he whispers, breathing a kiss to your hair. “And how well you did.”

“What have you done to me?” you ask breathlessly.

“What you are owed, my lady,” he says with a chuckle. “I have given you pleasure”

“Pleasure.” The word tastes sweet on your tongue but it comes with a sting. How cruel to give you a crumb of bliss only to pull it away again.

You lift your head to look at him, a softness on his face that lets you believe he holds a warm affection for you, at least for this fleeting moment. The desire to kiss him is overwhelming and you place your hand on his other thigh. Immediately you feel the hardness between his legs against your arm and you flinch back in uncertainty. “My lord.”

“Pay it no mind,” he says.

You ignore him and place your hand on his stiff member, feeling the outline clearly even through the fabric of his garbs. The gasp that leaves him sounds like music, the first sign that this is affecting him beyond what he is willing to share. You want to kiss him still, your face inching closer on its own accord. His hand moves up to cup your chin and he places his thumb on your plump bottom lip, only allowing you to hover above his own mouth. It is but a futile attempt at restraint, at keeping up the illusion that nothing here is untoward. You move your hand to stroke him through his pants and his hips buck to meet your movement.

“Gods have mercy,” he breathes, his voice raspy and barely audible.

You wonder how long it has been since someone touched him like this. Mesmerised by his reaction, you do it again and his eyes flutter closed, his unkempt brows furrowing so tightly that they almost meet. After only a handful more strokes he releases a scarcely concealed groan and you feel him kicking against your hand, the thick fabric turning wet as it soaks up his spend.

His ragged breathing betrays his state, even as he controls any other sound that leaves him. You are still trapped in the haze of your own bliss, in the newfound sense of power you have gained from whatever it is that you just did to him. He still won’t let you kiss him, his thumb firm against your lips. Perhaps it is better that way, you think, the only skin of his you have touched being that of his hands.

“My sweet girl,” he says after a moment, clearing his tight throat with some effort. “We can never speak of this again.”

The words tear you back down from your high, their reality so evident, so clear. You nod and allow the pain to spread in your heart, expected but all the more severe. Of course nothing has changed, not in truth, even though you feel like you will never be the same again.

Otto removes you from his lap, making sure that you can stand on your own and waiting patiently until your legs stop wobbling, his hands firm on your hips. His face betrays his regret – he cannot hide his emotions from you anymore, not after what you just did. He is such an honourable man, valuing propriety and respect above all else, that this must pain him more than you can understand.

You make sure your gown sits correctly and smooth out the strands of hair that have fallen into your face from moving so erratically. The door-handle feels cool against your warm hand, a feverish sensation spreading within you. You spare the lord one last glance, your eyes meeting his for a burning hot moment, and then you slip through the door, a profound sense of loss slowly settling in your bones.

3 The Lonely Days

Your handmaiden carefully adjusts the sleeves of your gown, a deep blue fabric with golden accents to match the colours of your husband’s house. Bejewelled earrings and a bracelet complete your look, dainty jewellery with blue stones just like he once told you he prefers. You stare at your reflection in the polished metal for a long moment, struggling to recognise yourself even after years of wearing his colours. You are almost ready when the door to your chambers opens and a footman enters with his gaze lowered.

“What is it?” you ask impatiently.

“His lordship has requested to stay in bed tonight,” he says. “He is not feeling well enough to accompany you to the celebration, m’lady.”

“He is unwell?”

“He has been sleeping for most of the day, m’lady, complained about a headache.”

“Why have I not been informed?”

The servant simply stares at the floor and you sigh as you realise that the signs point to a long night down in the brothels more so than an acute illness. It would certainly not be the first time that he is leaving you to your own devices to nurse the ailments of a night spent drinking and– You clear your throat.

“Send for a maester should he not feel better in the morning,” you tell him. “And inform me of his condition the moment it changes.”

A nod and the door softly closes. Another event you will have to attend by yourself. You would be glad to avoid a night of his indifference were it not for the fact that his absence must appear even more worrisome to the other houses. You are anything but a strong unit and talks about your childless marriage never cease – you see them whispering their rumours from ear to ear whenever you enter a room, followed by pitiful glances.

“Anything else, m’lady?” your handmaiden asks. “Perhaps a shawl in case you feel a chill?”

You falter for a moment as you look down at yourself and suddenly detest your whole attire. Why are you dressing for a man who disrespects you at any chance he gets, who cannot even exert himself to appear by your side when it truly matters? “Apologies, Malena, but I have decided that I will wear the green dress tonight after all.”

She bows and you begin to undress as she fetches the garment. There is only one pair of eyes that you want to feel on your body tonight and it won’t be drawn to blue fabric.

✦ ✧ ✦

The hall is filled to the brim with people of all houses – a banquet to which not only the capital’s nobility has been invited but any noble who was willing to commit to the journey to King’s Landing. It is a celebration in honour of the Prince Aegon’s nameday but Otto insisted on the opulence – the prince has to stay on their minds, his grandson, namesake of Aegon the Conqueror, and as far as Otto is concerned the future regent of the Seven Kingdoms.

Noisy chatter fills his ears as he watches his lovely daughter introducing Aegon as well as the Princess Helaena, her second child, to the lords and ladies who have not had the pleasure yet. His Grace is watching them with a gentle smile on his face and Otto cannot help but feel a hint of complacency. Thanks to Aegon the mess the king created in naming his daughter his heir can be mended, if he plays it well.

Even though he feels a deep affection for his grandchildren, two innocent infants who are blissfully unaware of the role they are going to play in securing peace and order in the realm, Otto’s eyes are drawn to the entrance. You are late, a few minutes of tardiness that Otto spends wondering if you decided against attending after all, perhaps in favour of staying with your lord husband. He was informed just an hour ago by one of his little mice that the lord is feeling rather unwell this evening, that he has been complaining about different symptoms for a while now. Otto is not surprised by the news. These may well be the first signs that his increasingly frivolous whereabouts are affecting the man’s health and, therefore, his accountability.

When you do arrive at last, Otto is quite struck by the sight of you entering the hall – so much so that Alicent rouses him with a concerned look on her face. He gives her a reassuring smile, then trains his eyes back to your form. It is quite distracting, the way your dress accentuates your womanly figure. His colour, he notes, the dark shade of green he usually wears. A mere moment later you eye him with a gentle smile playing at your lips and his suspicion is confirmed that you’re wearing it for him. Gods, he finds that your beauty is taking his breath away even more so than usual. Not that he did not admire you before, you have always been a sight for the Gods, but now that he knows what you sound like in the throes of your pleasure you fully and irrevocably occupy his mind.

Perhaps tonight, then, he thinks, toying with the small box he has been keeping in his pocket for a few weeks now. You are tempting him to folly, evoking emotions of a strength he has not felt in years. Even his work is impacted by this attachment. He finds his hands forming fists underneath the table whenever your lord husband speaks up during council meetings, most days still half drunk from the night before. Pathetic, with no sense of honour, besmearing your good name in the process. Seeing you now without this worm hanging by your arm is most welcome, wearing his colour no less, a beautiful deep green. It seems that you are well aware of who you truly belong to.

No, who you should belong to, Otto must correct himself. A constant reminder of a mistake that caught up to him faster than he would have wished for. A mistake that calls for more mistakes that he cannot allow to happen.

Dinner passes with stolen glances and timid smiles. Ever since the moment you shared in his quarters you seem to blush and turn away whenever you catch sight of him and yet it seems like your gaze never strays too far. It is quite endearing, the shy glances, the rosy cheeks that no one else knows are just for him. As daring as you were in the privacy of the tower, you have respected his wish to never mention it again. It is for your own protection, of course, although Otto fears what it would do to his own integrity if word spread about an illicit affair, no matter that what occurred between you hardly deserves the name. He has been meticulously crafting his reputation for decades now and he cannot allow these foolish desires to taint it.

Soon, the dancing is in full swing. For a brief moment he indulges in the fantasy of asking you to do him the honour, to see the cheerful smile on your face he has not seen since he married you to Alister. Judging by the expression on your face as you observe the dancery, he imagines that you long for a partner to share the delights of a joyful evening. Young as you are, it is a shame that you should sit in your chair all night. Another reason to loathe your husband, not that he is lacking for those.

Perhaps this is the reason why you slip away the moment the steady flow of wine and musical distractions allows you to do so unobserved. It is his only chance. Otto rises as soon as he can without arousing suspicion. The hour is late enough to justify a reprieve.

“Excuse me for a moment, your Grace,” he says without waiting for an answer.

The castle is abandoned and his steps echo loudly, bouncing off the stone walls of the keep. He finds you in an empty hallway halfway back to your chambers, gazing out of a window that overlooks the gardens that he knows you are so very fond of. The two guards who are closest pay him no mind, yet he dismisses them with a nod and they take station at a more unobtrusive spot.

You turn as his steps approach, confused momentarily as to who could be following you. When you recognise the figure as him your expression visibly softens and your guard is let down once more. The effect he has on you should alarm you but on the contrary, you seem to be eager to welcome him in your presence.

“Are you tiring of the festivities, my lady?” he asks, approaching you with cautious strides.

“I do not have much to celebrate, my lord. You might have heard that my lord husband is feeling rather unwell.”

“And yet you are not with him, no?”

You eye him with barely hidden annoyance and he chuckles lowly, satisfied. There is hardly any cause for jealousy when your disdain is so very obvious. Otto approaches, closing the distance cautiously to make sure that you remain comfortable in his proximity. He stops about two steps away from you, a towering and broad figure compared to your shorter frame, and you have to look up to meet his eyes. He drinks you in for a long time, not lustful but in admiration, letting his gaze wander over your body in a way that has goosebumps spreading all over your skin. He would count every single one of them, if he had the time.

“You look beautiful tonight, my lady,” he whispers. “A new colour?”

You meet his eyes, boldly this time, in the way that makes him want to pull you into his arms and ravish you. “My favourite colour.”

“Is that so?”

A timid smile. “I know, I should not, I cannot… But, my lord, you know that it is true.”

“It is alright, my sweet,” he assures you. “Indeed, catching you alone allows me to do something I have been avoiding for too long and I do not mean complimenting your beauty.”

“And what would that be, my lord?”

“I do not wish to offend your sensibilities, my lady, I know it is not my place to lavish you with gifts and you may find it presumptuous, but… I have something that I wish to offer you.” Your eyes widen, so he quickly continues. “I am in no position to put a claim on you and yet it would please me greatly to see you wearing it on occasion. I am certain that you can think of a plausible explanation as to how it came into your possession.”

Before you can protest he retrieves the small box from his pocket. Taking off the lid he reveals a  finely crafted ring with a sparkling green gemstone – a real emerald. He must admit the choice of colour was quite on purpose, green as the beacon of the Hightower when his house rides to war. A war Otto cannot win, he knows, but it is a war he is fighting every day nonetheless. To see you fighting it with him, if subtle, would be a great source of comfort.

“My lord, but this is…” You admire the beautiful piece of jewellery, your eyes drawn to the way it shimmers in the moonlight, subtle and delicate but breathtaking nonetheless. “It is too much.”

“I am afraid that no gemstone will ever suffice to express what I truly wish to say, my lady,” he says. “And yet I hope you will honour me by wearing it.”

You nod and stretch out your hand. The lord takes the ring and carefully slides it onto your finger. A perfect fit of course, he made sure of that. His larger hand gently holds yours so that he can admire the jewel and you briefly rest your other hand on top of his. His skin is warm and weathered. It is all you want to feel for the rest of your life.

“Forgive me,” he says and you’re not quite certain what he means until he lifts your hand to his mouth and places a reverent kiss on the back of it. He lingers, his beard tickling your soft skin as his lips travel along your knuckles and finally rest on the gem.

“I shall think of you whenever I wear it,” you supply. Then, with a softer voice: “Though, in truth and in shame I must admit that I already think of you more than is proper, my lord. You occupy my mind and heart at all times. You always have.”

He smiles, a tight-lipped, pained smile. “You honour me, my lady, in ways that I fear I do not deserve.”

“It matters not what we deserve, my lord.” You lift your hand and cradle his face, stroking his cheekbone tenderly with your thumb. “I shall find comfort in knowing that you return my affections at last.”

“My darling girl,” he whispers and the words sound like a prayer from his lips.

You close your eyes for a moment, trapped in the sensation of his lips on your skin, the feeling of his beard against your fingertips just like he is trapped in the gentleness of your touch, in the longing for more of your simple comforts that he has to deny himself over and over again. You both pray in silence that the moment never ends, and yet he has to let go of you eventually and come to his senses. How cruel to ache for a love that he denied himself in the first place.

✦ ✧ ✦

Your sitting room is illuminated by burnt-down candles, the hour late as you have reclined on a settee to read in your book. Truth be told, you should be sleeping, but you cannot bear to let your mind wander as it tends to do in the quiet of your canopy.

To your surprise, the door opens and your husband stumbles in. Even from afar you can tell that he reeks of wine and the fumes of the city. He sits down in a chair and stares at you in a manner that has always made you rather uncomfortable. Rare as it is, you do not enjoy his company.

“I overheard a most interesting conversation in the council chamber,” he says out of nowhere, a smug smile playing at his lips. “About the Lord Hand, Otto Hightower.”

You pause, closing the book as you gaze at your husband in interest now. He is not in the habit of discussing politics with you and certainly does not bring up the council on his own accord.

“He was dismissed as Hand to the King,” he continues, standing now to pour himself a glass of wine from your private pitcher. “Finally, thank the Seven.”

“Pray, what do you mean?”

“The king finally had enough of his little schemes. He does not wish for Aegon to be his heir, he insists on keeping the Princess in the position and rightfully so. Your lord got too bold with his endless attempts at installing his own grandson as heir, spreading rumours about the Princess. His greed for power is so obvious even our blind king can see it now. Perhaps you should go and bid your lord farewell before he departs.”

“He is not my lord, whatever are you talking about?”

He sets the glass down, turning to you with a withering expression. “Do you think I am not aware that you are wearing green more often? That you’re suddenly wearing emeralds instead of blue stones? That your lord continuously eyes me with disdain when I speak up during council meetings and dismisses any of my suggestions, even proceeds to work against them? How his eyes linger on you when we are invited to sup with the king and his family? I may not be the most devoted of spouses but I do have eyes in my skull.”

“Unlike you I remain in control of my desires. As does he,” you reply coldly. “The Gods see what you are doing in the Street of Silks, what you are doing to your own wife.”

“Perhaps,” he admits. “But my sins do not absolve you from your own and, let us be frank, my dear lady wife. The difference between thought and action matters little to the Gods when it comes to corruption. Whether it festers on the inside or the outside you end up rotten. I might as well take what life offers to me instead of pining after someone who could be my own father. It makes you look pathetic and not just in my eyes.”

You bite back a reply. His provocations mean little to you, especially with the knowledge that the Lord Hand has been dismissed from his position. If it is true then he may leave King’s Landing for good.

Leave you.

Without another word you abandon your book and exit your chambers. In the quiet of the old hallways of the keep you take a few deep breaths, the tightness of your dress suddenly suffocating you. This cannot be true, you think, His Grace would never dismiss such a trusted advisor, such a devoted servant of the realm. But then you know Otto is ambitious, that his plans at times may be unpopular and that the peace of the realm has always ranked higher for him than the will of the king. The Princess threatens the delicate balance between the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, threatens the loyalty of many houses to the crown who will not accept a queen where there is a male heir to be had. And while you always loved the Princess and considered her to be a worthy successor you can see why he may have tried to sway the king in Aegon’s favour. He is his grandsire, after all, and he knows the ways of court politics.

As soon as your racing heart beats a more bearable rhythm, you hurry to the Tower of the Hand. However, the guards inform you that you cannot enter as it has been abandoned not long ago. You are unaware as to when this conversation your husband overheard took place and the hour is late, or perhaps too early, when you finally decide to retreat to your own chambers.

You see nothing of Otto over the next day, even though you are pacing the hallways of the keep in a way that must make even the guards nervous. You all but give up on ever seeing him again until from a window you spot Queen Alicent by the gate across the courtyard with a rider who you can only assume is her father.

He is leaving, you realise.

Heart pounding anew you hurry down the stairs, nearly tripping over your dress as you run faster than is deemed appropriate for a lady. But you care not, even as your feet begin to ache and you finally reach the courtyard. It is pouring, the rain mercilessly beating down from the skies above but you cannot wait for anyone to fetch you a coat. When you approach the gate you hear the clicking of the hooves on distant cobblestone but the rider has already left.

You don’t, cannot, stop, not until you are by Alicent’s side, your Queen, your friend, who falls into your arms in painful, shaking sobs that vibrate deep within your chest. Something inside of you breaks with a finality that weakens your very bones. You cannot hold back your tears either, letting them mix in with the rain until you cannot tell them apart any longer.

4 The Widowed Days

Every morning, you observe the murky water rushing down the river and mouthing into Blackwater Bay – a steady, endless stream with harsh currents as well as the occasional softer tide when the weather is more agreeable. Time passes in much the same way.

It has been nearly ten years since the first symptoms showed, made memorable by the night of Prince Aegon’s name day celebration. While the illness progressed slowly at first, with years and years of mild symptoms, your husband’s health has been declining rapidly over the past two years. You take care of him to the best of your abilities but as a proud man he does not wish to be fussed over and more often than not he sends you away. The maesters are clueless as to his condition, perhaps the repercussions of his drinking excesses that would not cease even as his affliction progressed. Whenever you look at him you see a withering face, the face of a man much older than the years he truly lived. Even though you don’t hold much love for him it pains you to see him succumbing to such an undignified illness.

You have not much to hold onto besides the fantasies your mind conjures up in the quiet hours you spend in the keep, a weak attempt at comfort. The years have not diminished your love for Ser Otto, or rather the desire for a love that could have been. He comes to you in dreams, fragments of memories of the feel of his weathered hands in yours, the scratch of his beard against your fingertips.

Alicent knows about your affections for her father as you spilled your heart to her the very moment he had left and you found comfort in each other’s arms upon his departure. Ever since, your bond is as strong as it used to be in your childhood, perhaps even more so with years of hardships added to its weight. Thanks to her you know that he is in good health, that he is safe in Oldtown, and as much as you long to see him again you are comforted in knowing that he is faring well.

You spend much time helping her raise her children, especially the Princess Helaena, an intelligent but misunderstood girl who struggles with the life she was forced into, not unlike her mother. Alicent’s role as queen is demanding and you notice how she is changing, becoming more and more like her father, a clever woman forged by court politics and increasing responsibilities as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Life at court has become tense with rumours about the legitimacy of the Princess Rhaenyra’s offspring, with tensions between her children and those of the queen as well as the notable decline of the king’s health. You do not envy her.

The night he left, you found a letter from Otto on your bed, delivered to you in secret – a brief message that was written in haste before his departure. My lady, I regret to inform you that my time at court has come to a premature end. However, I remain hopeful that we will meet again under improved circumstances. Know that it pains me to leave you without as much as a spoken farewell. In my absence, I ask you to remain by my daughter’s side, if not for the affection that I hope you still hold for me then as her loyal childhood companion and friend. May the Seven keep you in good health, Otto.

You know it by heart, the parchment old and scarcely readable by now. Since then, some letters have been exchanged between Ser Otto and you in which you have informed him about the whereabouts of his grandchildren and he thanked you for your support of his daughter and family. Even so, you remain a married woman and regular correspondence with a man who is not your husband raises too many questions, too many rumours on top of an already strained reputation. So you keep the exchanges sparse, hold the replies he sends you as dearly as you can, and tell yourself that he must be thinking of you fondly still or he would not write to you at all.

With your husband bedridden and often unresponsive, you find yourself a widow in all but law. Though your life feels even lonelier than during the first few years of your marriage, you found solace in frequenting the gardens, supporting the capital’s orphanages as well as keeping the queen’s company. Every morning you go on a lengthy walk, reminiscing about the time you spent here with Otto, following the exact route you took with him the morning of the hunt. It feels as though centuries have passed since then – the bushes have been replaced, the paths altered, even you yourself don’t feel like the same person anymore. What never changes, however, is the beauty of the sunrise over Blackwater Bay, though the colours vary and are never quite the same – every morning a welcome but familiar surprise.

When you return one morning, the Keep is more alive than usual at this hour. Servants are running past you almost as though you are invisible. Perhaps they prepare for the arrival of some noble guests, you think and head to the nearest window facing the outer courtyard. You cannot see any larger wheelhouses, nor do you spot anything out of the ordinary. That is, until one of the riders by the gate lifts his hood.

You scarcely believe your eyes. It must be a trick, an evil one at that, but you could swear that he looks like Ser Otto. It would not be the first time that you see him in someone else’s face, that your mind deceives you so cruelly into believing that he is near. Missing him has been one of the harder burdens of the past decade and sometimes relief means delusion for just a few precious seconds. However, as you continue to observe the man, you cannot help but see Otto in in his shape, his height, in the way he moves.

Of course you know that Lord Strong and his son Ser Harwin recently perished in a fire at Harrenhal but you had not assumed that Alicent would send for her father to replace the Lord Hand. It is entirely possible, however. Suddenly invigorated, you storm down the stairs and head outside in what may be unseemly but entirely necessary for your own sanity.

You nearly stumble when you finally exit the keep, though fortunately the lord does not notice your ineptitude as he gives orders to a footman. Seeing him in the flesh feels like a dream, his tall stature only slightly more slumped with age but not diminishing his dignified presence in the slightest. Your heart begins to hammer in excitement, in relief, and you have to hold back the tears to feign an indifferent politeness.

“My Lord,” you say. “How it delights me to see you back in the capital.”

He turns to offer you his full attention. Within a split second recognition flits across his face. “My lady.” A soft chuckle. “Well, you honour me. How lovely to be greeted by a welcome, familiar face.”

“It gladdens me to see that you are in good health,” you say happily as your eyes meet the very face you have not seen in near a decade. “In fact you have not changed at all, except perhaps for a few grey hairs.”

He smiles at your mild teasing and you wonder if the years away from court have softened him. “As a wise lady once told me: My age only adds to my character. And the same appears to be true for you. You have…” He pauses, weighing his words. “… matured.”

You give a soft laugh. “It has been ten years, I should hope so. Or are you implying that I look old, my lord?”

“I would not dare suggest such a thing,” he says. “Let me rephrase, my lady. The years have served to enhance your beauty.”

Warmth blooms in your cheeks at the first openly spoken compliment after so many years and for a moment you feel like the little girl that used to admire him from afar. If she were here now she would be floating on saccharine clouds for the rest of the day, daydreaming about him reciprocating her hidden desires. But you are not that girl anymore. The past decade has left its ugly marks on you and coveting what you cannot have has only brought you the deepest misery. You vow to protect your heart, no matter how much it wants to beat out of your chest and land in his gentle hands.

“Thank you, my lord,” you say. “I trust that we will see each other more frequently now.”

“I should hope so, my lady, since I am reassuming my position as Hand of the King.”

You perk up in delight at the news, your suspicion confirmed. “I do not wish to keep you, my lord, I am sure you long to be reunited with your family and acquaint yourself with the current state of affairs. I do hope we will get the chance to speak in more depth.”

“I will make sure of it, my lady.”

His expression gives you hope that his promise is sincere.

✦ ✧ ✦

“A green dress,” you order, dabbing some of your scented oils to your neck and wrists.

“Which one, m’lady?”

“The darker one with the lower neckline, I think. Or the green-gold one?”

Your handmaid smiles to herself; you think she must be amused by your antics. “I think he would like the lower cut, m’lady, if I may speak so freely.”

As always she can read your thoughts and you have to agree. “Then that one it is, Malena. And don’t forget to bring the emerald ring.”

You hope his lordship won’t be cross with you. He did not seem opposed to your initiative the last few times you were alone together, even if that was over a decade ago, so you hope he won’t mind you paying him a visit so soon. He has been rather occupied since arriving but tonight Alicent invited you to sup with their family and you are quite certain this means the Lord Hand must be ready for company.

The hour is still early, the sun has only just risen and you are getting ready to start your day with a visit to the Tower of the Hand before your morning walk. You are not sure you could sit through supper without having seen him for yourself first. The past days have been filled with anticipation, the sheer prospect of being in his proximity enough to keep you awake at night.

As your feet carry you up the stairs after many years of absence, your heart is beating mercilessly against your ribcage. You carry a small basket, clutching it tightly to your front so its content comes to no harm.

The men of the Hand’s household guard allow you to enter without a second glance, announcing you briefly. Otto Hightower stands from his chair, surprise but no dismissal in his features. He easily rounds his desk to approach you and you are once again struck by his tall frame, the grace with which he moves.

“Good morrow, my lord,” you say, trying to find your courage. “I have come to deliver a welcome present for you. I thought you might still be weary after your long travels and–” You pause, looking at him and his tired eyes. “Forgive me for being so forward. I am certain that you are quite occupied and–”

“No need for apologies, my lady, I would have sent for you shortly.”

“I wanted to give you more time to arrive, my lord, but I simply could not–” Again you pause, your heart hammering so fast that it drowns out the thoughts in your head. “I could not fight the urge to see you.”

The lord takes a step in your direction, an untamed emotion in his eyes now, and he only falters for a moment before he fully closes the gap between you. His hands grasp your wrists and wander up your arms, careful and slow, as though he is trying remember the shape of you. With a tender expression he finally captures your face and while his openly displayed attention confuses you you can’t help but melt into his touch. The lord leans forward, his beard and nose brushing against your cheek as he inhales, taking a deep breath to have his fill of you. All of his senses satiated, he releases a wistful sigh, the depth of which sends heat pooling into your lower belly.

“I brought you some oils, my lord, lavender for sleeping a– and–” You pause when his lips trail along you jaw, so soft you hardly feel them. “My lord–”

“Tell me,” he urges. “Tell me you feel the same, my sweet girl. That you did not forget me. You must let me know.”

You can’t help but whimper, his insistence making your skin tingle with need. “I have missed you every single day, my lord,” you whisper as if in silent prayer, the truth spilling out despite your resolution to be cautious. “No day would pass that your vision did not haunt me. I have dreamt of the day that the Gods would return you to me, begged for it in the darkest hours of my existence.”

Another deep breath, shakier than before, and he looks at you with a fire you have never before seen in the calm lord’s eyes. “The Maid herself sent you into my arms all those years ago, the sweetest girl I had ever seen, and I was fool enough to refuse her gift. To this day it is my biggest regret.”

“Regret not, my lord, please.” You set the basket down on his desk right by your side, then you place your hands on top of his, gently grasping them where they are still holding your face. “You did what you thought to be right and honourable.”

“And doomed you to a life by the side of a man who could not cherish you as I wished to do.” He huffs out a breath, two long thumbs stroking over your wet cheeks. You are unaware as to when you started crying but now you can feel the tears burning in your lash line, pearling onto his fingers. As you grasp his hands tighter his eyes are caught by the sparkling emerald on your finger and his expression softens with sentimentality. “You still own it?”

“It is my greatest treasure.”

The lord closes his eyes, his brow furrowed tightly in a way that betrays his pain. “I shall make things right, sweet girl. I promise this to you.”

“But my lord, I am still ma–”

A loud knock interrupts your words. You break apart just as a servant enters the chamber and you are certain that you must be red and hot as the flaming tips of dragon’s breath. The servant appears to be quite winded, as though he ran up the many stairs of the tower in quite a hurry.

“Excuse me, m’lord, m’lady,” the man says. “It is urgent. I was sent to come looking for you.”

“What is it?” you ask, brow furrowed in increasing confusion. You look to Ser Otto for help but his expression is filled with sympathy, almost as though he knows what the man is going to say even before you do.

“It is your lord husband, m’lady. He passed in his sleep.”

✦ ✧ ✦

An orange sunset coats the roofs of King’s Landing in its golden light as you let the evening fade out on a balcony with Alicent by your side. You were supping with her family just earlier, for the first time in a decade joined by her father as well. Even though you had to push the occasion back, caused by the recent news of your lord husband’s passing, the evening was pleasant and a welcome distraction. You had not seen the Lord Hand since visiting him in the Tower and though not many words were spoken between you this evening you found comfort in the way he would meet your eyes so reassuringly.

It has only been little over a week since the Silent Sisters took Alister for cleansing, to prepare him for his final goodbye. Since then you have received many offers of commiseration, in letters as well as from people here at court. You wanted to spend your period of mourning alone but your queen forbid it after a mere four days of isolation. She said she needed you, having received her own news of loss, and that you should spend each other comfort in these times. Now, watching the sunset for the first time after you lost him you are glad that she is here with you.

“The Stranger has visited us again and so soon,” Alicent says, pouring you a glass of wine. “First your husband and now Laena Velaryon.”

You accept the wine, even though you don’t drink before your queen has taken her first sip. “And they were both too young, though I am afraid my husband won’t be as direly missed as the Lady Laena.”

“Perhaps he sensed that my father came back, that it was his time to go knowing you would not be alone in your grief.”

“He would not have done me the kindness of letting go so that I could be with your father,” you reply, no emotion in your voice as you speak the words frankly for the first time. “If he had known he would have made sure to live another decade, just to make me miserable. He once said that my feelings for the Lord Hand made me pathetic and I doubt he ever changed his mind. He was always too fond of the Princess.”

She regards you hesitantly, the monotony in your voice no doubt unsettling her. “No matter, he is gone now, a blessing after all the pain and suffering he had to endure. May he rest with the Gods.”

She finally drinks and you take a sip as well, tasting the sweetness of the wine in contrast to the bitter reality of your life. A childless widow now, at just over thirty years of age. Even though you never loved your husband you feel a sense of loss. For the life you could have had, perhaps, a life without the stain of a childless, loveless marriage that ended far too soon. The family he never gave you, the true love he took from you.

“If it is still your wish,” she says, sensing your thoughts, “then I will not object to a match between you and my father when the time comes. You are already an integral part of our family, we might as well make it official. And I want you on my side for what is to come, the both of you.” An awkward smile. “Though I must admit… it will take me some time to get used to calling you mother.”

“Please, do not call me mother.” You both have to laugh at that notion, the first real sign of emotion you allow to bubble out of you in days. “However, I am not sure if the Lord Hand’s affections run so deep that he would propose a wedding.”

Alicent smiles, grasping your hand in hers. “He would be a fool not to marry you and my father is anything but.”

5 The Happy Days

You roll up the letter and place it back on the table, staring at the broken wax seal with the sigil of your father’s house. Amongst the bustle of the royal family arriving back from Driftmark you nearly missed the raven this morning. The keep had been entirely too quiet as the king’s family was away to attend the Lady Laena’s funeral but now that they have returned rumours are spreading like fire.

It is easy to tell that something has gone awry. The Prince Aemond is missing an eye, the people at court whisper when you take a stroll in the gardens to clear your head. A conflict, a bloody fight between the children of Queen Alicent and the Princess Rhaenyra. You have to refrain from intruding as your concern grows after hearing increasingly violent stories, the need to see Alicent and the children overwhelming. It is almost enough to distract you from the news you received that very morning.

You don’t expect anyone to call on you soon in the aftermath of what happened and with the tension still so very palpable within the Red Keep. The very evening of the family’s return, however, a footman arrives at your door carrying a small chest with a familiar crest.

“The Lord Hand sends for you, m’lady. He wishes for you to wear these.”

✦ ✧ ✦

The Tower smells of incense. It is the first thing you notice and you wonder if your lord has been praying, calling to the Gods for his grandson. Unlike many times before you do not find him behind his desk but on a daybed that must have been brought in recently. The padding looks unused, rich green brocade, and it is positioned perfectly in front of the hearth to provide ample warmth during cooler nights. You wonder if his joints are troubling him.

Otto Hightower looks up, the flames casting an orange glow on his handsome face, and his features soften remarkably as he beholds you. Under his gaze you fiddle with the matching pair of emerald and gold cuffs he gifted you and that his eyes are drawn to immediately.

“My lord sent for me,” you say, hovering by the door.

“I should like to have your company tonight,” he says, patting the spot beside him. “I am in need of a gentle face and a soothing voice. But only if it please my darling girl.”

He looks weary, you note. Despite his sweet words there is a heaviness to him that he must have carried here all the way from Driftmark.

“Can I offer you wine?” he asks as you approach.

“Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I am perfectly content.”

As you sit down beside him the scent of incense grows stronger; like perfume it clings to his robes and skin. His hands are folded in his lap and you see the tension in his white knuckles, in the way his rings bite into the soft flesh of his slender fingers.

“May I, my lord?” you ask cautiously.

He nods and you reach for one of his hands, pulling it into the lap of your black linen dress. You gently take off his rings, soothing the abused skin with a kiss. Your lord allows you to linger and when you press your lips to the next finger you meet his gaze. The warm light of the fire has softened his features even more but his eyes are keen as always as they observe your doings. When his lids flutter shut as you press yet another kiss to his knuckles it satisfies you greatly.

After a few more kisses you stand to rid yourself of the rings, placing them on his desk instead. The oils you brought him before his departure still lie in their basket and you take a deep purple phial before you settle by his side once again. Applying some drops to his wrist you begin to massage the tincture into his skin with a circular motion of your thumb. The lord sighs and visibly relaxes as the rich scent of lavender penetrates the air.

“How are you faring after your loss?” he asks after some silence.

“I am quite well, my lord. I have long since started the process of grieving, tethered to his bedside for years. Now the Stranger has ended his suffering and I feel at peace knowing that my husband is with the Gods.”

“I am glad to hear it. I would not wish for you to be in pain.”

“It is a tragedy,” you say, carefully then, “what happened to your grandson, my lord. Will the prince be alright?”

He gives a court nod. “He will, though I am afraid that his eye will not. But that is the price he paid for his dragon.”

“His dragon? You mean Vhagar, my lord?”

“Yes, my sweet. I am certain you heard the rumours.”

You smile at the term of endearment, ending your massage with a kiss to his palm before you reach for his other hand. The lord is rather pliant, allowing you to move him this way or that with the odd grunt of amusement. You do not dare ask for details, aware that he is looking for distraction and comfort tonight.

“Such good care you take of me,” your lord says, his voice deep and calm. “I should like to have you in my chambers more often.”

You glance at him, your resolve melting at the fondness in his expression. “I should like to take care of my lord whenever he is in need of me.”

“Otto,” he corrects softly. “Please.”

You look into his eyes. “Otto.”

A smile, gentle and warm. You continue to relieve his muscles, giving his second hand just as much attention as the first. However, your heart is heavy as you sit on the news you do not wish to bring up. The letter that arrived this morning makes any moment you have with your lord bittersweet.

“I am not sure how many evenings we will have, my lord. It seems that the Gods do not wish to see us together,” you finally say.

His left eyebrow rises. “What do you mean, my girl?”

“A letter arrived this morning in which my father requests my presence at our family’s seat.” You swallow, trying to hide the bitterness in your voice. “An old friend of his has expressed a specific interest in me and the match would bring me much closer to my family.”

“I certainly cannot fault him, my darling. Your presence is a gift to anyone who is fortunate enough to enjoy it.” He begins to stroke your hair with his free hand, gently running his fingers through the loose strands that aren’t pinned to your head. His movement carries the calming scent of lavender back to your nose. “However, I shall not allow it.”

“My lord?”

“Otto,” he corrects again, his brow furrowed in disapproval as his fingers curl underneath your chin, firmly holding it in place.

You try again. “What do you mean, Otto?”

He resumes his attentions, trailing his hands over your shoulder now in a gentle caress that mirrors the movement of your hand. “I claim you as my own, sweet girl. Your father will not dismiss the request of the Hand, I am quite certain.”

You sit up straighter. “And you mean it?”

“I will not see us parted again,” he states and his hand comes to rest on your cheek, more tender now. “If it is agreeable to you then I will send word to your lord father and after a reasonable period of mourning we arrange for the wedding.”

You cannot hide your relieved smile. “That is most agreeable to me, Otto.”

“Very good.”

You resume the treatment of his hand, noting the subtly pleased smile on his lips. He has always been sweet with you, sweeter than with anyone else as you know him to be stern and not too sentimental outside of his family. As a child you interpreted the changes in his demeanour as sympathy, pity even, and perhaps it truly was at times but now you realise that he must have always had this soft spot for you. Perhaps this was inevitable, perhaps it was always meant to be like this.

His hand tenses in yours, then, and his expression sours. “I do not know the extent to which my daughter has let you in on the tensions that are rising within the royal family but I feel that I must–”

“I am aware,” you gently interrupt with a hand on his arm, not wanting him to speak the words that trouble his mind. “My lord – Otto – whatever may come, I promised my Queen to be by her side a long time ago. In what function matters not.”

Perhaps it is his fatigue that makes him accept your decision so easily or perhaps it is the conviction in your voice. You were always rather adamant that you saw yourself by his side, that you were loyal first and foremost to your queen’s party. When your eyes meet you exchange a silent promise and there is no need to speak of it any longer.

Otto’s hands reach for yours then, softened by the oils. His eyes take in the sight of the finely wrought cuffs adorning your wrists, his thumbs trailing their rims where they meet your skin. The bracelets are narrow enough to remain delicate but still allow for the emerald ornamentations that run along their outer curve to stand out. The gems sparkle in the firelight, endless shades of green.

“Do you like them, my darling?” he asks.

“They are beautiful, Otto.”

He smiles, then runs his thumb over the matching ring on your finger. “I had them made for you before I left for Driftmark.”

For a brief moment the memory of him gifting you the jewel flickers in your mind, how hesitant he was at the time and how you both had to stop yourselves from speaking the truth of your feelings. Now he seems less hesitant to stake his claim, less hesitant to open himself to you.

“Thank you for such generous gifts, Otto,” you whisper. “I do not know how I deserve them.”

“You are deserving of more than mere jewels,” he replies, grasping your hands even tighter. You are surprised by the strength he still has in them. “You must know how very dear you are to me.”

You give a weak nod, getting lost in the intensity of his blue eyes. His lips part and you realise that you have leaned closer, a mere hairsbreadth separating you. The rough tips of his beard tickle your chin and you shut your eyes. His breath is warm against your lips.

“Otto–”

You want to ask for it but you cannot bring yourself to say the words. He does not close the distance but he also does not pull away. You blink your eyes back open and find his brow deeply furrowed, his eyes trained on your mouth.

He is conflicted, you can see it plainly written on his face. “You are in mourning, I would not offend–”

“There is no offence,” you whisper. “Otto–”

“If you are sure–”

Your lips meet before he finishes as you desperately press yourself against him. He groans lowly, his grasp on your hands tightening as he leans into you. Your lord tastes of sweet wine and tart berries, the flavours of a fading summer. No kiss has ever felt so warm and inviting but then you have gone without a lover’s touch for so long that you can hardly remember.

With some effort your lord pulls away, a sharp exhale through his nose following. His forehead comes to rest against yours, fingers searching for your cheeks as he cradles your head. “Is this what you want?”

“You said the Gods placed me in your hands,” you whisper in reply, skin prickling where his beard touched it. “I believe you are right.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, long thumbs swiping along your cheekbones. “You would let me have you, tonight?”

“I would let you have me every night.”

“Hm, such tempting promises.”

His lips wander, so very soft in contrast to his beard as they travel along the sharp line of your jaw and down to the much more sensitive skin of your neck. You inhale the smell that clings to his hair, incense, lavender and something that is distinctly Otto, some mix of ink, parchment and the crackling fire in front of you.

“We have denied ourselves for so long.” Your voice is desperate even to your own ears. “I do not think we have to repent any longer for sins of the past.”

“No,” he whispers against your jugular. “We give thanks to the Seven for their graciousness. Worship–”

“Worship?”

He stops as his hands stray, ghosting along your bare neck and then, suddenly, he tugs at your bodice. You gasp in surprise, and after another attempt it finally loosens, your breasts spilling over your dress as you shiver in the cool air. The lord’s warm hands soon find the soft flesh and with his slender fingers he kneads them, drawing noises from you that sound so very unfamiliar to your ears. You can tell that he is quite overcome as well. His breathing comes in hard bursts that betray his state and yet he is gentle with you, careful.

“Worship their gift,” he clarifies, glancing down at your partly revealed body. “Cherish it, treasure it.”

His mouth presses to the pliant curve of your breast and you realise that it is you he is idolising, your body the sole object of his adoration. You are melting under his lips, the reverence with which he kisses every bit of exposed skin exhilarating and new. When his warm mouth closes around your nipple you bury your hand in his hair and he moans deeply, wantonly. You feel yourself clenching at the sound.

It must have been some time since he touched a woman and just like you even the simplest contact seems to affect him. You would explore the possibilities if he allowed you to but presently he is too occupied with the mechanisms of your dress. You gently urge him away and help with the fastenings on your back, but he soon finds that he prefers to peel it off your skin in a rather slow, torturous fashion.

“Black,” he states with a hint of distaste, freeing your arm from one of the wide sleeves.

“I know my lord prefers me in green,” you whisper.

“And soon you shall be wearing it for me, my darling. It suits you so well.”

It gives you a thrill to have him take off your mourning dress with which you commemorate your late husband, a husband who shamed you for your attraction to the very man you are intimate with now. It is a sick feeling, a sinful feeling, to strip off your memory of him so soon and give into your desires with the man he so loathed. It gives you a perverse sense of satisfaction. But you have suppressed your needs for too long and you think it truly must be a sign of the Gods that they have brought you and Otto Hightower together again tonight.

When you are in nothing but your shift, the lord sinks from the daybed and kneels in front of you, bunching up the sheer fabric until your legs are exposed. You want to alert him that he should not rest on his poor joints on the cool stone floor but then his lips press to the inside of your knee and the thought is forgotten. He is yet unhurried, languid kisses pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the roughness of his beard sending pleasant tingles into your belly.

The nearer he draws to your core the more restless you become. You feel yourself getting wet, throbbing in anticipation. You grasp at his hair, a blush spreading over your cheeks and when he does not stop you tug at the thinning strands. The lord’s eyes find yours, heavy-lidded, and you feel the warmth of shame blossoming in your chest at the lustful display.

“My lord, I have never–”

“Otto,” he corrects yet again, a mild reproach with one hand stroking your calf. “Lean back, my girl, I want a taste.”

It is not a request. You rest your back against the brocade and he grabs one of your thighs, placing it over his shoulder to reveal your private parts to him, to angle your hips just right. He holds your gaze and even though your heart is hammering almost too violently you cannot bring yourself to deny him. His lust-blown pupils paint his eyes black, a thin sheen of sweat gathering on his brow. It is an odd sight, a new sight, the usually so composed and controlled lord driven by his carnal impulses in a rare loss of composure.

He beholds you for another moment to make sure you are in agreement before he presses his mouth to your cunt. It is entirely too much, the lighting bolts of pleasure it sends into your body, the way he feels so hot and wet against your most sensitive parts. You moan, an obscene sound that you stifle with your hand the moment it leaves your lips. Otto’s eyelids flutter shut and his lips part against you. His tongue is soft in contrast to his beard that is chafing your thighs, licking along your slit and flattening against the sensitive bud at the top that you only rarely found the courage to explore on your own. He continues like this, his nose pressed to the swelling knob while he devours you like a man starved. When the lord pulls away to breathe you roll your hip in his direction, trying for more, and he gives an amused chuckle.

“You are a wanton thing,” he says. “I should have known.”

He says it fondly, running a thumb over the coarse hair that gathers where your legs meet, wet with your arousal and his own spit. He rubs along your slit then, circling the spot that lures the most sensual sounds from you. Your hips move on their own accord, trying to meet his rhythm, and you feel the heat building in your lower belly as he stokes the fire.

“Please–”

You clench around nothing and the lord withdraws, leaving you aching. His beard is glistening wetly in the light and you watch as he cleans the digit with a low hum. “My girl has the sweetest of tastes.”

You do not know whether he speaks the truth but his eyes are filled with devotion and desperate longing. When he stands, you pull your legs to your body to nurse the dampness and unsatisfied pulsing between them. The lord flinches as he straightens his knees, no doubt feeling the pain you anticipated but he recovers before you can inquire and reaches for your hand to help you up. You understand he does not wish to feel old tonight.

“On the bed,” he says.

His voice is firm and controlled. When you stand before him he surprises you with a hungry kiss,  hands following the lines of your scantily clad form and squeezing at every bit of soft flesh he can reach. You feel like a debauched woman and modesty seems to be out of place. With shaking hands you pull your shift over your head and crawl onto his heavy four poster bed. The fabric of his sheets feels soft against your bare skin and you sense a thrill running through you at the prospect of what he might do to you. You are nude safe for the jewellery he bestowed you with.

“You are an exquisite sight,” he says as he watches you from the foot of the bed, the buttons of his garments coming undone with practiced fingers. “And you are mine now, sweet girl. Does it please you?”

You forget to reply, quite distracted as he reveals the tunic he wears underneath. The lord knows, as he always does. The admiration for his body must be written all over your face and you cannot look away as he fully exposes his torso to you. Despite his age his body is that of a knight, toned in places but overall softened by decades spent behind his desk. Tufts of greying hair cover most of his chest, the supple curve of his belly resting right above where he is already hard inside of his breeches.

The same bravery you felt all those years ago takes hold of you at the sight of him and on your knees you crawl over to where he is standing. Cautiously, you run your hands through the hair covering his upper body, feeling the soft skin underneath. He seems rather docile, allowing you to squeeze and palm whereever you want to, silence interspersed with the odd hum of approval at your exploration. Starved for the touch of a woman there is no resistance but a deep infatuation in his eyes. Perhaps he is just as enamoured with the sight and feel of you as you are with his.

“Pleased is hardly a word I would use at present,” you finally reply and allow your hand to cup him through his breeches. “Are you aching for me, too?”

A dry huff of a laugh, as though the question itself is superfluous. Two fingers tilt your chin up, the fire burning in his eyes answer enough. His free hand dives into your hair, not gentle but not rough as he frees it from its constraints and allows it to fall over your shoulders. Once he can angle your head how he pleases the lord closes the distance and litters your neck with kisses, teeth and tongue teasing at your skin. You find the fastenings of his breeches but your fingers are too jittery. The more you palm at him the rougher his kisses become until all breaths between you are drawn in desperation.

His patience has run thin. He climbs onto the bed, effectively urging you to lie back as he settles between your legs. His weight on top of you is heavenly, the feel of his skin against yours enough to have you whimpering underneath him. Otto grabs your wrists, one in each hand, pinning them down on either side of your head. The gold cuffs bite into your skin but not unpleasantly so with his warm hands covering them. His fingers slot between yours, grasping them, and you feel your pulse hammering against the ball his hand. Large as they are his hands almost completely cover your smaller ones and as his weight comes to rest on his forearms you feel like he is spreading you open for him.

“You are a sight for the Gods,” he whispers. “Such beauty, even they must envy me.”

You buck your hips, desperate for the feel of him now that he is within reach. “Please, Otto–”

“Needy, shameless,” he chides, voice sultry and deep. “Tell me, how many times have you fantasised of this? Or have you stopped counting?”

The arrogance in his tone only makes you want him more. His hands tighten almost painfully in yours as he kisses you, feverish and filthy, forcing his tongue between your lips with a distinct possessiveness. It is evident that he intents to claim you in more ways than just adorning you with jewels. You are not resisting but you cannot match his pace, overwhelmed with the intensity of your desires for him.

When his mouth releases yours, bruised and wet, you moan at the loss of him. The gasping breath you take burns in your lungs and once again you cannot help but tilt your pelvis to try and find some relief.

“Shhhhh, I know,” he whispers. “I will have you, my girl. You were very patient.”

The blood flows back through your wrists when his tight grasp loosens and he finally works his breeches open. His member is coated in arousal, thick and throbbing after his own stalling. You release a sob when you feel him sliding between your folds, grazing your swollen bud. The lord groans when you reach down to help him find your entrance and you notice how hot he is, how painfully stiff against your soft fingers.

“Yes,” you whisper when you feel his tip parting you. “Please, more.”

He relents, tries to go slow for your sake but you are slick and worked up and one thrust is enough to fill you to completion. The feeling is unlike any of which you have experienced before, no pain or discomfort but just the dizzying need for more of him that burns through your veins. He stretches you open, both of you glancing at where your bodies join so beautifully before your eyes meet once more. Your lord takes your wrists again, softer now, and as your hands link together it is you this time who tightens their grasp.

He begins to rock his hips, gentle at first as he holds your gaze, swallows the first of your moans with his puffed lips. Soon his thrusts harden, the pace he sets merciless as he drives himself into you over and over. You are both too sensitive for it to last long, the lingering fire inside of you spreading into your fingertips, your toes, and you feel as though you could explode with the sheer bliss of it all.

You come undone a moment later, crying out his name and spasming with a force you have not known before. Your lord holds you and you sink into the feeling, trembling and weightless in his arms. Otto hums at the sight but he only pauses for a moment before he resumes his movements, prolonging the pleasurable sensation. He moves to pull out of you as he nears his own end and you catch his wrist, pressing it against your chest.

“No,” you whine. “Please.”

He holds your gaze as he continues to take you, chasing his own pleasure more savagely than before. You cradle his face, brush the sweaty hair back that has fallen into his forehead, and when he finds his release the sound that comes from his throat is broken. His hips still but you feel the heat of his spend as he fills you, his body going slack on top of yours after the efforts of the night.

You recover with his gasping breath warming the crook of your neck and even though he is resting some of his weight on his elbows his strength has ultimately left him. Wet skin clings to wet skin, soft and comforting as you stroke his back through the aftershocks. Your chests heave in sync and you swear you can feel his heartbeat matching your own.

A deep sigh tickles your shoulder, then, and he carefully rolls you onto your sides, wrapping you up in his arms as he gathers you against his chest. The position is much more comfortable and you curl up against him with a warm, sated feeling in your belly.

“Will you stay a while?” he asks.

“For as long as you will have me,” you reply, using the quiet to allow your fingers to explore more of his chest. “I thought you might tell me about Oldtown.”

A smile, so soft and genuine that your heart stutters. The lord brushes your hair back, thumb following the line of your brow down to your jaw and resting on your lips. You can only imagine the mess you look but he does not seem to mind.

“Perhaps you should like to dine with me tomorrow?” he asks.

“I should like that very much.”

“Good,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “Very good.”

He is exhausted and you know sleep will take him within moments. Lips softly pressed below his ear you reach for the end of the comfort and provisionally pull it over your entangled bodies. The fire is still burning but you know you will catch a chill once your skin cools. You will have to leave before the morrow but right now dawn is far away and you are too content to rest in the safety of his arms. At last.

Epilogue: A year later

A yawn parts the lord’s lips. He stifles the noise quite quickly but it does not escape your notice how his hand flies to his mouth. He so rarely makes a sound, a man of silent concentration, choosing every word with a deliberation that requires his full attention.

You smile to yourself. “I did not take you for a man who falls victim to ennui, husband.”

“It is a slow night,” he concedes, rubbing an ink-stained finger along his brow.

“And you have copied this letter…”

“Seven times, my heart.”

You softly close the book you have been reading while sitting in quiet companionship with the Lord Hand. You so love watching him when he dedicates his evenings to his correspondence, the scratching of the quill a calming noise in the background.

“Perhaps I can aid his lordship in finding a less tiresome occupation?”

He leans back in his chair, surrendering the quill as well as his efforts as you saunter over. A smile tugs at his lips, amusement. You find him less serious these days, less stern, at least when he’s sharing your company. The months have been kind to you both.

“My darling wife is as insatiable as during our first night,” he muses, pulling you into his lap.

“How disappointing, I made such an effort to become worse.”

He kisses the mock pout from your lips. For a man who has aged so gracefully his hunger has not dwindled. He tells you that your enthusiasm keeps him youthful and perhaps that is true. After over a decade in a love and passionless marriage you have a lot to make up for. Otto is happy to indulge you.

“The hour is late,” you whisper against his lips, a subtle proposition.

“Indeed,” he says, one hand sliding up your hip, then pressing down gently on your belly. “What are we to do with this hunger of yours, lady wife?”

“Perhaps my neglectful husband can sate me.”

“Neglectful?”

“At times I feel that he prefers the touch of his quill over mine.”

He lifts you abruptly, placing you on the surface of his desk where you can hear the parchment crumpling underneath your skirts. Your lord stands tall in front of you, broad-chested yet slender of frame save the small pouch of his belly. You trace the soft curve up to his chest but he quickly grasps your chin to draw your gaze up to his, ever imperious.

“Audacious,” he chides, “that you would make such accusations.”

The hint of teasing in his voice sets you alight. His long fingers curl underneath your jaw, denting your cheeks with his grip. With a raised eyebrow he studies your face, knowingly, your flushed skin betraying his effect on you. His patience is like to drive you mad as he is methodical and studious even in your shared intimacy. You think he reads you as though you are words written on a page of his books, drawing meaning from tracing the shape of you with his eyes.

Only when you are writhing does he close the distance in a heated kiss. As if to prove you wrong his hands eagerly roam your body, unfastening the lacings on your dress and groping every soft spot he meets in the process. Before long you find yourself stripped and heaving under the strain of your passion. It is a well-rehearsed dance by now, the undressing, the way from his desk to the bed where your lord likes to take his time with you, pleasuring you, teasing you until your begs and whimpers fill the quiet of the chamber and at last he is satisfied.

Under the canopy he leaves scratchy, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat as his fingers work you open. So far his seed has not taken and the maesters are not sure it will. You had hoped that you could refute the rumours of your barrenness but even so your second marriage is a much happier one than your first. The Gods have been good to you and you wonder if in time you may be blessed with a son after all.

“Focus on me, my girl,” Otto rasps, then, and you find him staring down at you, pupils so wide that they swallow his irises. His hair has fallen into his face, thin strands clinging to his forehead. You reach out to brush them back and as always he leans into your touch, starved for affection. An ink smudge stains his brow. He works so much that the signs never leave his face.

“Forgive me, I lost myself for a moment,” you whisper and push at his shoulder.

He removes himself and sinks into the pillows beside you, reclining with a soft, weary sigh. You climb on top of him, easing him inside of you. Otto pulls you forward, wrapping his arms around you as you both begin to rock against each other. You can feel his soft chest hair tickling your breasts, pressed together as you are, and you breathe broken moans into each others mouths.

“Where were your thoughts, then?” he whispers, biting into the soft skin of your neck.

“I thought about the future,” you say. “I thought about you giving me a son.”

His hips buck and you keen as he hits you deeper than before. You tug at the hair on the back of his head, following his rhythm as he groans into your ear with that deep, raspy voice. You smile, enjoying the feel and sound of him so desperate for you.

Whatever the future may hold, you know that you will never tire of this, the small intimacies with your lord, the knowledge that he burns for you so vigorously after a lifetime forced to spent apart. You can taste your own fire on his lips, feel it as you both crest and his seed drips down your legs. Otto kept the promise he gave you – he made things right, he cherished you, and now nothing shall part you again.

“I am doing something I learned early to do, I am paying attention to small beauties, whatever I have – as if it were our duty to find things to love, to bind ourselves to this world.” – Sharon Olds, from "Little Things"; Strike Sparks: Selected Poems, 1980-2002

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

[iaure]

𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶; 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢

𝖞𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝖔❜𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 2: 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3: 𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 4: 𝔰𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 CW: self-awareness, stalking, obsession, delusion, ptsd, mention of a brother's death, thoughts of kidnapping. Written in the third person. Use of Y/N. Spoilers for Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ heaven have mercy on my simple soul. we might have another dearest series on our hands, but for miguel. god. jesus. i made this in one (1) day. it's two am.

wc: 1.7k

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻❜𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀.

Miguel knew that feeling all too well. Gabriella faded away in his arms, a flash of technicolour and geometric shapes. An entire world, falling away and escaping from him, like grains of glass as fine as sand but still so colourful. That's what kept him moving. He never wanted someone to make the same mistake. But he was only a man. he couldn't be alone in the isolation of his own making forever. He built up those walls, praying he'd have the sense to never knock them down. But brick by brick, other people did. First was Jess. She was his friend, his sister in arms. Then Peter, then a thousand other faces and names and hearts and morals and everything that made Spider-Man, Spider-Man. They each took a brick, as though it was nothing. It was just by pure chance that she was the one to take that last brick. She was a new addition. Friendly, witty, quick on her feet. Just like everyone else. Another Spider in another place and another time. Another in a million, another clone, another warm body as fodder. But when Jess brought her to him, Miguel knew; she was one in a trillion.

She had stood next to Jess, firm, with a thousand yard stare like she'd been digging around Miguel's soul and yanking out her favourite bruises. Harrowing was a good word for it. Her estranged brother, a captain in the police, had died. She looked like she'd seen Hell. Fresh bruises, scarring, her suit torn in some places...and she stood tall.

"Spider-Woman, from Earth 7290. Also known as Y/N."

Jess spoke softly, a hand on Y/N's shoulder. Her breathing was steady but her eyes had glazed over, completely tapped out to the situation. Miguel felt his heart tug. He knew what it was like. Everyone did. Most Spiders were sad, upset, but she simply seemed...angry. Furious, even. Like if Miguel made a move towards her, she'd chew him up and spit him out. He'd seen people try to tame horses before, ones that would buck and kick and neigh until someone's leg was broken. It was like Jess was doing that. The one hand on Y/N's shoulder, keeping her in place.

"Miguel?" Jess spoke up, and he came out of his haze. "Are you listening?" "Yeah." He nodded, quietly clearing his throat. "Sure. Get her a watch." Jess shared a look with Y/N, one that he couldn't quite tell the reasoning behind, but the glance of her eyes was enough.

Spider-Woman of Earth 7290 took the last brick.

He'd see Y/N around, walking around the Spider Society and speaking with other Spiders. She seemed to hold that anger close to her heart, despite the other Spiders telling her that it'd get better over time. They'd healed, or got over it, or pushed it out of their mind. But not Y/N. She stayed mad. She stayed angry. Miguel understood that more than most. Mourning took time. So many had gotten over it after years. It wasn't fair to expect Y/N get it over it so fast. He didn't think so, anyway. After all, it was an anomaly that took her brother's life. A mistake. It had fallen off the proverbial map, but according to Jess, Y/N had 'handled it her own way'. Whatever that meant. Miguel didn't really care. All he worried about was her. Rather than just taking the brick off his walls, she smashed it in with a hammer and ran it over with a bulldozer. She had a wrecking ball to smash a single blue and red brick. And he hated it. Because what about Gabriella? What about his wife? Did their deaths mean nothing now? And how was this healthy? Granted, Miguel wasn't a healthy person. Not like that. But the sudden way his mind dedicated himself to her was absurd. Did it have to do with his DNA? With the spider mutation? Rapture? Mating season? There had to be an explanation. A cure.

But there was none.

Now, Miguel's mind was rotting away. He wished he could pry it open and take to it with tweezers, to prod out the parts that he hated. But his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long, and he knew he didn't stand much of a chance anymore. It was all Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. Even just the faint, passing scent of her was enough to drive him up a wall that very much shouldn't exist. Passing word of her wellbeing made him tune into conversations he was never part of. He began to develop a seventh sense: touch, hearing. sight, smell, taste, spidersense, and Y/Nsense.-the uncanny ability to know when she needed help. Trademarked, owned by Miguel O'Hara exclusively. Peter once teased him about how Miguel would suddenly jump up and scoot over to the cameras, checking in on Spider-Woman 7290.

The teasing didn't last long when given way to the severity of the situation.

Gradually, Miguel leaned into it. If he couldn't fight it, then join it. Revel in it. Let his eyes linger on her frame. Let his waking hours resort to thinking of her. Let him suffer. He deserved it. He began to follow Y/N around. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. And sometimes, Miguel would see enemies-a Vulture here, a Doc Ock there-and he'd help when she wasn't looking. Little favours here and there began cropping up. Getting her groceries. Taking care of her cat. Fiddling with the gas for the car of the one creep that kept following her around that was so sure she was Spider-Woman. Granted, the creep was right. But he didn't know that.

(He did. Love comes in many shapes and forms.)

Y/N never seemed to notice. She was off, battling her own demons and fighting the good fight in her own world. She was good and kind and still angry but she used that anger so well, and Miguel loved her for it. She burned with the anger of a thousand dying stars. She was everything. When Y/N would stop by the Spider Society, Miguel made sure to look good. Brush his hair, brush his fangs, make sure his eye bags weren't too obvious, or if they were, then they looked good. He was trying to get her to like him, after all. Check to make sure his suit didn't have any tears or holes. Because Y/N was gorgeous. She could drag herself in with her guts spilling out like roadkill and he'd still think she's the most beautiful thing to grace the multiverse.

The beauty of delusion, he supposed.

He was aware how delusional this was. He knew how absurd it was that he saw her and fell immediately. Was this what happened in fairy tales? Is this what Prince Charming felt when he saw Cinderella? The world completely spinning the moment there's even a hint of her? The complete dedication of his heart to this woman that barely acknowledged him...someone who would only glance his way if it was a requirement. Y/N was cordial to him, but little more. And it made his heart ache. She spoke to Jess more than she spoke to him. It felt wrong. It felt cruel, like a tease, trailing up and down his spine but never providing relief. One word to him was ten to Jess.

Miguel refuses to admit it, to accept that he was willing to stoop so low. But there was a brief moment where he thought about hurting Jess. Or getting her on some mission that would take forever. Breaking her bracelet when she least expected it so Y/N would have to come to him.

He'd never act on it. He was sure of that.

If there was one thing Miguel was proud of for himself, it was his restraint. He had the unparalleled ability to simply...hold off. Another day, he'd tell himself. Next time, he'd self-assure. Then another next time. Then another. Until heaven knows how many next times it's been, and he's aching for her to even look at him, but why won't she glance his way? Why was she so cold? He's done everything he could. Just look at him! For god's sake, just fucking look at him! That's all he wanted! Five minutes with your eyes on him, your undivided attention.

But no. Another day, he said. Next time.

But maybe he could simply...take Y/N away. Her world was inconsequential. It'd be easy to take care of any villains. He'd do it for her, single-handedly. She were everything. He could just keep her there, in his office, never allowed to leave. He could come back after a long mission to her loving arms, her warm embrace, flush to flush to flush to flush. He'd do unspeakable things just for her to trace the vague outline of his body with her eyes. If Y/N told him to kill, he'd do so without question anymore. Miguel barely had any control over himself.

The next time he saw her, it was while dealing with Miles. It was so much, all at once and never at all and undying and swarming his senses. It was so much that he didn't realise how much she'd been smiling at the two teenagers, how sweet her gaze got, the gentle touches and warm laughter and how Gwen and Miles looked up to her.

He didn't know Y/N had a soft spot for kids. And he found out most vividly when she was the first one to help Miles escape, blocking off what must've felt like half of the Spider Society with the same undying rage, now spent on protecting her new friend, the child she called such sweet things. That she saw as her own.

Miguel felt his heart shatter when he had to take her down. The way she fell into the floor, limp and dangling like she was nothing more than occupied space. His heart was wounded, wailing like a dying dog. She picked the newcomer, the anomaly, over him. Him, her one true love. Did it matter that she'd known it yet? No. It only mattered that she helped Miles escape.

Lord, he thought. I worry that love is violence.

[preseriesdean]

if you don’t mind me asking, could you share some of your favorite fanfics or authors? thanks ❤️

oh hi hello!! yes of course!! i actually haven't read any spn fic in a while but i have spent a lot of time organizing my bookmarks. i'm going to assume that you meant samdean fic but i'll add a few non-samdean ones at the end.

authors!

@zmediaoutlet (deadlybride on ao3)

candle_beck (ao3)

@goshen-applecrumbledore (ao3)

whereupon (livejournal)

Linden (ao3)

sevenfists (ao3)

there are so many more great authors but these came to mind :)

fics!

i am going to list my forever-favorites first - the ones i would recommend to anyone and everyone, screaming-from-the-rooftops kind of love - and then many many more under the cut.

beloved by urchinesque (2016, 1.9k, NR, warning: death) It might be the gentlest thing that's ever happened to them.

in my opinion everyone should read this once. it's quick. they die. it's-- happy, somehow. beautiful. i think about it all the time.

Last Day on Earth by candle_beck (2009, 10.8k, E) A list of things to do if you only have one day to live, presented in inconvenient non-list form.

last year my best friend and i were pondering which fic felt quintessential to samdean for us and somehow settled on this one. i still agree with the choice.

Odysseus, American by coyotesuspect (2010, 10k, M) Dean finds Peter O'Toole's recording of the Odyssey in a bin marked “Audio" in Casa Grande's only used bookstore. The place smells like cigarette smoke and old books, and it reminds him of Sam. Stanford era.

my favorite stanford era fic. i think it captures dean's loneliness and desperation beautifully.

A man with his insides out and his outsides off by britomart_is (2016, 5.3k, E, time travel, underage) They say there are only two stories in the world: man goes on a journey, and stranger comes to town.

another fic i want everyone to read. it's so short and feels like a novel. sam is messed up and dean is in love and everything is miserable.

Breathing Hard by whereupon (2009, 9k, E) The day Dean figures it out.

this is so simple and yet-- everything to me. i can't think about dinosaurs without thinking about this fic, which doesn't tell you much, but you'll see. sometimes this is really all you need.

The Last Outpost of All That Is by gekizetsu (2008, 59k, E) The world ends while they’re asleep.

this fic has stayed with me my whole life. i thought about it even during my years away from spn and fandom entirely. they're alone and you don't know why and they build their life together and you end up wondering, is this hell or heaven? whenever i come across a screenshot of the last couple of paragraphs i want to cry.

see things so much clearer by deadlybride (2020, 11.7k, E) Sam's been acting oddly. Dean learns how to use the history on an internet browser and finds out why.

this is a fic that hits the spot for me personally so well. another favorite preseries fic. i love the idea of sam using livejournal, and of dean finding out this way.

Stay The Distance by lazy_daze (2011, 24k, E) Sam is dependent on Dean's touch and closeness after the wall falls - Dean's presence reminds him of why he chose to wake up, and keeps the memories at bay, allowing Sam to function.

i love enmeshment, and i love that here it's literal. i love that they're just sort of fine with it.

more fics below!

in absolutely no particular order whatsover. please check the warnings and tags on these before reading!

Recall by De_Nugis (2012, 6.3k, E) Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.

Living in god's blind spot by applecrumbledore (2022, 25k, E) Of all the situations Dean didn’t need his dad to see him in, ‘getting off to being pushed around by a guy’ was in the top three. And ‘a guy’ was a massive glossing-over of reality. Any guy—any other guy—would be bad enough, but Sam was fucking cataclysmic.

Almost At Home by balefully (2008, 24.3k, E) Sam graduates from high school in early June in rural Tennessee. He and Dean start the summer with an all-nighter of celebration; the day after, while both fight hangovers, John calls to assign them their first hunt by themselves.

they said it was the fall of man by jukeboxhound (2016, 7.4k, M) Sam gets his soul back on a Monday.

When I Fall Asleep It Is Your Eyes That Close by britomart_is (2009, 1.9k, E) Post-Season Two. Sam is alive. Dean is happy.

Life As We Know It by sevenfists (2007, 13.7k, M, curtain fic) On the morning that Sam woke up, Dean ran five red lights on the way to the hospital, his half-empty coffee cup sloshing in the holder.

tied up like two ships by orphan_account (2014, 3.1k, E) Dean liked to hold hands.

Gospel Truth by Cerberuss (2020, 15.2k, E, case fic) ‘DOES YOUR BROTHER KNOW THAT YOU WANT HIM?’ Individually placed letters, bold and tinged brown with the weather. Sam can’t look away and he prays, dream dream dream.

Buy You A Mockingbird by candle_beck (2011, 10.3k, M, underage, outsider pov) A genuine horror story.

because you want to die for love by hathfrozen (2021, 27.3k, E) Sam and Dean settle into their Heaven—and into each other, too.

the constant vow by deadlybride (2022, 119k, E, fem dean-ish) They've just finished up a pretty standard job and are killing time in snowy Wisconsin when Dean wakes up no longer looking like Dean. That's just the start of their problems.

This Fortress Made of Us by mickeym (2009, 10.8k, E) Sam really didn't do very well without his brother. Coda for Mystery Spot.

State of Love and Trust/As I Busted Down the Pretext by cormallen (2010, 2.9k, M) When you know exactly what your brother's thinking, there are some chances you just don't take.

Quiet with the Rain by Linden (2014, 5.3k, T) Dean can spot an undercover cop at thirty paces, a hooker at twenty, and rims that will match his baby's at ten. But the fact that his little brother is in love with him—that, he can't see worth a damn.

have a cigar by deadlybride (2020, 5.6k, E) What happened with Andy and Ansem unsettles Sam. Dean doesn't seem worried.

Heart Shaped Balloon by winsive (2022, 18.5k, E, underage) Sam and Dad are fighting. No surprise, but it's the weekend before Valentine's Day and Dean isn't missing out on the chance to bang a cheerleader just to console his bratty little brother. He does bring back a heart shaped balloon for him, though. It's not supposed to be cursed.

Bare by gracerene (2022, 2.2k, T) Of all the things Dean hasn't done before, Sam never expected something as innocuous as skinny dipping to be on the list.

Speechless by candle_beck (2008, 11.2k, T, case fic) Dean loses his voice and their rapport is only moderately impaired.

Like It Was Yesterday by nomelon (2014, 4.9k, T, fem dean, amnesia) Sam can't remember a time when Dean wasn't there. Dean is always with him. Sam's whole life, there's never been anyone else.

Like a Ghost with Two Voices by Dyed_Red (2022, 46k, E) To cure Dean from the Mark of Cain, Sam has to let Dean, in all his demonic glory, possess him for 28 days. It goes about as well as expected.

Breathe You In (Choke You Down) by orphan_account (2021, 5.9k, E, pwp) Dean really likes the way Sam smells.

lost in yesterday by margaryes (2023, 1k, NR, john pov) John hasn’t seen his youngest son in 18 months.

Unraveling by Linden (2017, 855 words, E) No, he’d said, the first time Sammy had tried to kiss him, sixteen and half-drunk and stupidly beautiful, even though he’d wanted so badly to say yes.

pack up the moon by deathdreamt (2021, 5.9k, T, pre-slash) Sam storms back out from their room, his backpack on and his duffel hanging off his shoulder and isn’t it kind of tragic that his whole life fits in two bags. He looks suddenly much younger than he is, eyes shining. John is back at his guns, whiskey at his elbow, and Dean can hardly believe how rapidly his life is cracking down the centre.

Yesterday, minnesota by applecrumbledore (2022, 30k, E, case fic) Any initial awkwardness filtered away over a hundred miles of highway as Sam thumbed through the missing witch’s diary again. Some people had secret coke habits or secret second wives, and some people had passionate, pitch black, no-kissing sex with a family member every four to six months and never talked about it. You had to find ways to cope.

All Heartless Spectres, Happiness by orphan_account (2021, 5.6k, E) Lisa Braeden receives an email with the subject line, "You Deserve to Know." It contains a single video file and nothing else. (soulless sam)

The Palm Oasis by fictionallemons (2022, 12.3k, E, underage) John strands Dean and Sam at a middle-of-nowhere motel while he investigates possible demon omens in Arizona. The place is nothing to write home about, but at least it has a pool. Dean resolves to think of this as a vacation for him and his studious little brother, but when their money runs out sooner than expected, he considers turning tricks at a nearby truck stop so he can feed Sam.

Other Brothers by homo_pink (2020, 7k, M, underage, outsider pov) A callow boy can go from infancy to someone’s lover in the space of two wildflower summers.

Leader of the Pack by astolat (2007, 14.9k, E) Teaching old dogs new tricks.

Underground Wires by eggnogged (2012, 15.8k, E, fem sam, underage) It’s hard enough being a teenage girl even without all the extra crap: they move around all the time, her family is as far removed from normal as it’s possible to get, and she’s in love with her older brother. Sam has no control on any of it, she’s just trying to stay afloat.

Multitude of Sins by Linden (2015, 4.4k, T, outsider pov) Every now and again, Jim Murphy would look up from his altar and find the Winchester boys at the back of his church.

Like Arrows in the Hands of a Warrior by ADeedWithoutaName (2018, 10.3k, E, underage, dub con-ish, john pov) John Winchester loves his boys, and would take a bullet for either of them. He knows that he's doing it right, the way he's raising them, the things he's teaching them. Not every problem, however, has an easy answer. Like what to do after an incubus case in which their target got his pollen all over both of John's sons.

You Can't Lose What You Never Had by nigeltde (2016, 5.6k, E) You can't spend what you ain't got, and you can't lose what you ain't never had.

Flagstaff by Linden (2014, 7.3k, T, pre-slash, john pov) John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.

I'll take my chance on a beautiful stranger by fleshflutter (2007, 3.8k, M, outsider pov) If Chase were a better friend, he might try to end the game now, before Brendan loses even more money. But if Brendan is a dick at Stanford, it’s nothing compared to how he is on break.

Cupid's Got A Gun by geckoholic (2012, 13.5k, E, non-con) Fuck-or-die, set in early S4. But they've been fucking for years, so that shouldn't be a problem, right? Wrong. Ever since hell, Dean's in no hurry to get that show on the road again.

Someone Else's Blood by sevenfists (2006, 6.7k, E) The first time, of course, was an accident. (pretend dating)

How Many Floors to Realize by lazy_daze (2009, 26k, E, swesson) AU from the end of It's A Terrible Life, in which Zachariah decides to keep stringing them along a little while longer, because damn if they aren't somewhat entertaining, right?

Worthless cartography by applecrumbledore (2022, 15.6k, E) Dean didn’t know what finally made him go for it. The djinn’s dream was a catalyst, but the call was coming from inside the house, and he’d been letting it ring for a very, very long time. (They get one night together right before Sam is taken to Cold Oak. Dean has to deal with that.)

The Space Between Sense and Memory by orphan_account (2021, 4.8k, T) There are a hundred unwritten rules on all the acceptable ways brothers should touch each other. There are hardly any ways at all to break them. Or; five times they follow the rules and one time they don’t.

Ions in the Ether by nigeltde (2019, 10.9k, E, case fic) When was the last time you trusted happy.

Crossed Wires by rivkat (2015, 10.9k, E) Dean thinks Sam is dead.

Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena (2010, 23.7k, E, underage) Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn't get along with his distant, distracted father, he's figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he's a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who's taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.

Wear Him Lika a Habit by sevenfists (2008, 2.2k, M) Their first kiss isn't an accident. It's anticipated well in advance, discussed for weeks, argued over, second-guessed.

Amor Prohibido by phoenixflight (2020, 3k, M, underage) They spent the spring of Sam's sophomore year living in a shitty apartment south of San Antonio. Every Friday night the clearest channel played three hour marathons of a Spanish soap called La Casa del Corazón. There was a mutually understood truce about watching it, because the alternatives were infomercials or creepy kids’ cartoons that futzed into static every fifteen seconds.

Open Road by Mollyamory (2010, 2k, T) Sam's old enough to know what's good for him.

It's the Blueprint of Your Life by queenklu (2011, 38.4k, time travel) Sam jerks awake in the middle of the night and everything goes to hell. Well, not literally, though Dean is staring down the barrel of less than a year before his deal comes due. In the midst of dealing (or not dealing) with his impending death, a killer ghost ship, and Bela showing up out of the blue, Dean also has to figure out what’s going on in Sam’s head to make him so twitchy, why he’s suddenly breezing through this case while writing endless notes in a notebook he won’t let Dean see.

North of Wednesday by Mollyamory (2008, 3.5k, G) Sam's behind the wheel before he realizes he doesn't have the keys. Coda to Mystery Spot.

non-wincest fic.

dean/omc. We Drank a Thousand Times by glorious_spoon (2010, 43k, M, warning: death) They meet in a bar fight in North Carolina when Dean is nineteen, broke, and desperate, then again when a hunt brings the Winchesters into town a few years later. Neither one of them ever puts a name to it but every once in a while, through the years, Dean finds his way back.

dean/cas: terror & desire intertwined by rupertgayes (2022, 39k, M) Faced with Castiel suffering a fate worse than death, Dean makes the decision to let Cas use his body as a temporary vessel. All things considered, Dean thinks, it could have gone worse.

gen, sam&dean: what lasts by deadlybride (2021, 17.2k, M) Not long after they move into the bunker, Dean loses a leg. Most of a leg. After the hospital, Sam brings him home, and they figure out how to live with what remains.

gen, dean-centric: To Repair Broken Men by procrastin8or951 (2015, 3.1k, T) Dad and Sam keep fighting. Dean can't fix his family, so he fixes things around the crappy apartment they are staying in.

dean/michael: our hour came round at last by orphan_account (2015, 1.8k, NR, pwp) "I want to be inside you," says Michael, low and velvet and hungry and that really shouldn't turn Dean on but it does.

dean/lucifer, dean/cas: exploratory by sp8ce (2022, 4.9k, E, non-con) One night, Castiel proposes he and Dean have sex. Except it's a little more complicated than that.

dean/cas: for a healthy heart by Askance (2013, 2.4k, T) A strange black box appears in Castiel's bedroom one afternoon.

gen, sam&dean: charmer & gentle by Askance (2015, 3.7k, G, outsider pov) The afternoon girl calls them Big and Tall, the strangers who come in late every now and then, buying this or that. The night girl doesn't think those names fit quite right.

dean/cas, past sam/dean: whose wings, though tattered, shall carry me home by fleshflutter (2009, 2.2k, T) There is a breeze moving across the field. It stirs the long grass in lapping waves like the sea. Castiel runs his fingertips through it and remembers flying.

[myung-heee]

manipulation c.yj

kinktober: day 9 + manipulation

pairings: yeonjun x f!reader

warnings: manipulator!yeonjun x (kinda) innocent!reaader, manipulation, unprotected, (noncon at first), oral (f receiving), missionary

yeonjun is your closest friend since high school, both of you are complete opposites. he was popular, athletic, and had good grades, making him every girl's ideal type. Well, you can't blame them. yeonjun is a total package, embodying everything one could desire in a guy. he's like the living standard of a man.

both of you are quite close, and the reason why he was close to you and never broke your friendship remained a mystery to you and the other students around you. imagine being friends with the most idolized man on your campus while you consider yourself just a potato. however, yeonjun doesn't see you that way!! he views you as a cute potato.. (lol) he likes you as a woman, as a lady. he just hasn't found the right time to tell you

on the other hand, there's kai, your new friend who recently transferred to your class. initially, yeonjun didn't pay much attention; he would casually greet kai with a smile or a simple 'hi' whenever they crossed paths.

your friendship with kai seemed to flourish as yeonjun got busier with his basketball practices.

"let's hang out at my place," yeonjun approached you while you were sitting at your desk, copying the notes kai had lent you. you looked up at him and said shortly, "sorry, can't," before returning your attention to your notebook.

he raised a brow and asked, "can't? why? do you have something important coming up today?" he replied, "yeah, I'll be studying with kai," you said without even glancing at him. his expression faded, and he scoffed, "kai? the new guy, huh?"

"are you replacing me, y/n?" he asked. You looked up at him, trying to find a joke in his expression, but he seemed genuinely serious, gripping his towel, eyes fixed on you. "it's just one time.. i can always hang out with you, you know?" you explained. he sighed and looked away. "that's the point—just one time. this is the first time you don't want to hang out with me and choose someone you met just weeks ago?" his voice grew louder, drawing a few glances from your classmates. you sighed and looked around.

"jun, let's talk about this tomorrow. i have something to do," you said, showing him your notes. he just scoffed, wiped his face with the towel, and walked away. Before he could leave the classroom, he said, "i'll see you at the gate after class. i won't take no for an answer," and left.

your brows furrowed as you were about to say something, but the door had already closed. you sighed, put down your notes, and placed kai's notebook on his empty desk.

you told kai you weren't able to study with him tonight because something urgent came up. luckily for you, kai didn't actually mind it and told you that it was all fine.

you smiled at him. after class, you went to the gate right where yeonjun told you to. you saw him on his phone, a basketball on the side of his waist, and he had a towel hanging over his shoulder. you cleared your throat; he immediately looked in your direction and smiled, putting his phone in his pocket and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

"i really thought you didn't want to be friends with me anymore," he chuckled. you looked down. he was your only close friend, so of course, you would choose him over anyone else.

you had been debating with yourself earlier about whether you would hang out with him or kai, then a thought came to your mind. yeonjun was a popular guy, yet he chose to be friends with you. you felt bad, so you thought that maybe you had to choose him too.

"well, you're my best friend... why wouldn't i hang out with you?" you smiled. he patted your head. "i am your only best friend, so you'll choose me over anyone, okay?" he whispered. you nodded.

"that's what i thought," he smiled. you looked at him, confused about what he meant, but you just brushed it off. as you arrived at his home, his parents were there, and you greeted them.

"we'll just study together," he said and guided you upstairs into his room.

as you entered his room, you immediately made your way into his desk. you put your bag on the table and sat on his gaming chair. his eyes were fixated on you. "do you really think we'll study?" he chuckled. you furrowed your brows and threw a glance at him. "wait, we won't?" you asked in a confused tone.

 

he put his towel on the doorknob before clicking the lock. "yeah.. we'll hang out, remember?" he smiles innocently. you looked over at the doorknob, confused about why he locked the door.

 

when he saw your doubting expression, he slightly scratched the back of his neck and looked at you. "i just wanna have some privacy, so i could make up for the time i should've been with you instead of my practices," he sighed. you slightly nodded. "it wasn't your fault though.. besides, we're best friends, it doesn't really matter. it's not like i am your girl or anything," you said quietly.

 

best friends. he smiled at that word.

"yeah, best friends," he replied. you smiled and stood up. "what should we do then? we aren't going to study, right?" you asked. "do you want to play games? multiplayer?" you continued.

 

he shook his head.

 

"there's, uh, thoughts in my mind that i want to ask out loud, but at the same time, i can't" he softly said. you tilted your head in confusion. "what is it? Tell me, I'm your friend," you smiled.

 

"yeah, that's why I can't tell you because you're just my friend," he sighed. you stared at him for seconds. not knowing what to say. "what.. should i do then?" you asked, his face lit up like a candle. smiling at your response as if it were the exact words he wanted to hear from you.

"are you sure you can do anything i'll ask?" he raised a brow, making his way towards you.

 

you slightly nodded; you trusted him. so why not?

"you know.. you've been spending a lot of time with kai, and it makes me.. jealous." he sighes. he stops walking. he's in front of you, towering over you. you looked up at his tall figure.

 

"you feel jealous?" you asked, confused. he nodded.

 

"yeah." he places his hands on your chin and looks at your eyes deeply. "i wonder if he's being this close to you." his voice sounds like it's hypnotising.

 

you immediately shook your head. "n-no.. he doesn't," you said. he chuckles. "he better be," he says, lowering his head. "you won't let him, right?" he whispers in your ears.

 

"no," you shortly said. "good girl," he said as he kissed your temple. "that's what i thought, hmm?" he smiled.

 

you nodded. with each second, you grew more desperate and needy for your best friend. all the signs of battling from your thoughts that he was just a friend disappeared. every word that leaves his mouth feels like music to your ears.

 

"i know you like me, y/n, so why don't you show how much you do?" he held your shoulders and sat you on the bed

"h-huh? right now?" you asked, confused. you held his arm and shook your head. "we can't.. your parents are downstairs." you whispered.

 

"let's just be quiet and quick," he said reassuringly. he gently kissed your neck down to your shoulders, your hands holding on to his shirt.

 

"wait—"

 

you said, stopping him from removing your shirt. halfway through it, he paused and looked at you. he can see that you were hesitant.. you were about to say something, but he cuts you. "don't you trust me? come on, y/n.. i'll take care of you. hmm? you'll love this," he confidently said, kissing your nose before completely removing your shirt.

 

he traces soft kisses on your shoulders, leaving soft marks. "trust me, okay?" he said softly. he cupped your clothed chest and massaged it softly before removing your bra. you blushed, feeling all shy and embarrassed.

 

"you're so pretty," he whispered, giving both of your chests equal attention, sucking and licking, leaving bite marks all over them.

 

he knelt on the bed and pushed you on the mattress, back touching the comfortable sheets. he rubbed his palm against your inner thighs. you're still wearing your denim shorts.

 

he was about to pull them down when you stopped him again, holding his arm. "wait—i don't think—" you were stopped when you met his eyes; his eyes are dark, staring into you. he seemed to be losing his patience now.

 

"don't act like you didn't do these with kai. Such a whore." his words hit like a brick as he pulled your shorts down. you rubbed your legs together, and you knew deep down that you didn't want this at all. but you can't do anything. you like him, and you trust him.

 

you bit your lips as you felt his finger rubbing your clothed sensitive spot. you've never felt this way before, not with your best friend.

 

you gasped when you felt him pull down your panty, revealing your wet core. he laughed softly when you covered your face embarrassingly.

 

"cute"

 

he said before completely diving into your wet entrance, covering your mouth to muffle your moans, the other hand gripping to his sheets.

 

"kids! dinner's ready!" your body froze as you heard his mom shout from downstairs. your brain is getting fuzzy. your eyes shut, you force yourself not to moan so hard.

 

"yeonjun," you moaned his name quietly, making him look up, his mouth still on your entrance. your eyes met, you could see how his jaws move up and down and the way he eats you out.

 

he groans, and he can tell that you're getting close. and he has a bad idea. as you were about to release, he removed his mouth from your core, your hips chasing his mouth. you whined at the sudden loss of pleasure. "junnie." you glanced at him, brows furrowed.

 

he chuckled at the view. he ran his fingers through his hair before lowering his sweatpants, just on his thigh. he took out his hard erection. you were about to say something but were stopped when you felt him rub his shaft against your wet pussy.

 

when he entered his shadt inside you, you couldn't help but whine. "hnggg!" you whine loud enough that both of you stopped at the same touch, eyes meeting with each other full of lust.

the surroundings were all quiet until you heard him chuckle, "keep quiet for me, y/n." he kissed your forehead and pushed himself deeper.

as he found his pace, he began thrusting fast enough that you could hear the bed creaking. your brows furrowed, hands on your mouth, and the other one is holding his arm.

you were so lost in pleasure, yet you remained conscious, forcing yourself not to release a sound.

"fuck. im near, fuck!" he groans. you shook your head. "please pull out," you said quietly.

the case is that he won't come unless you go first. he held it in and began thrusting harder and faster, hissing. "come on, cum for me," he said desperately.

you can feel yourself getting closer and closer until a wave of pleasure hits your body, making you moan out loud. yeonjun immediately covers your mouth and chuckles. "shh.. you're taking me so well," he says, still fucking you through your orgasm.

he closed his eyes and pulled out, exactly as his seed spurted out on your thigh.

[undying-love]

Paul being very secure about his sexuality: A compilation

"The reason why we didn’t do Up Against It wasn’t because it was too far out or anything. We didn’t do it because it was gay. We weren’t gay and really that was all there was to it. It was quite simple, really. Brian was gay…and so he and the gay crowd could appreciate it. Now, it wasn’t that we were anti-gay – just that we, The Beatles, weren’t gay."

“It was always obvious Brian was gay and we could talk to him about gay things, but he would never come out with, ‘Hello, Paul, you’re looking nice today.’ I was quite obviously un-gay, due to my hunting of the female hordes. I think we all gave that impression."

Q:  You must be very secure with yourself.

Paul: I think it is that. I'm OK with gay people, too, because I'm essentially comfortable with my sexuality. I can goof around with gay people. I sort of know who I am by now.  And it's about time.

"I imagine he heard it [Dear Friend]. I think he listened to my records, but he never responded directly. That wasn't his way. We were guys; it wasn't like a boy and a girl. In those days you didn't release much emotion with each other."

"One thing he told us was that one in every four men is homosexual. So we looked at the group! One in every four! It literally meant one of us is gay. Oh, fucking hell, it’s not me, is it? We had a lot of soul-searching to do over that little one."

"There's a song I do called Here Today which is specifically written for John. That sometimes catches me out. I realise I'm telling this man that I love him and it's like I'm publicly declaring this in front of all these people I don't know. I sometimes wonder what I'm doing.

Q: In “Here Today”, you talk about your love for John. Did you ever say that to him, in those days?" Paul: No. I'm sure we both felt it. But that is not something two boys use to say to each other. If they were gay, maybe. Otherwise it is rare that that happens."

"My view is that these things are there whether you want them or not, in your interior. You don't call up dreams, they happen, often the exact opposite of what you want. You can be heterosexual and be having a homosexual dream and wake up, and think, 'Shit, am I gay?' I like that you don't have control over it. But there is some control -- it is you dreaming, it is your mind it's all happening in."

"We were in New York before he [George] went to Los Angeles to die, and they were silly but important to me. And, I think, important to him. We were sitting there, and I was holding his hand, and it occurred to me — I’ve never told this — I don’t want to hold George’s hand. You don’t hold your mate’s hands. I mean, we didn’t anyway. "

"Yeah, I think he [John] did [love me], yeah. It wasn’t actually a spiky relationship at all. It was, uh, very warm, very close and very loving, I think. All The Beatles. We used to say, I think we were amongst the first sort of men to come out openly – and you remember, it was quite sort of strange in those days, we’re talking about a long time ago now when homosexuality was still sort of largely illegal."

"Because he [Robert Faser] was gay, it raised a few small-minded eyebrows, and funnily enough, one or two of them were from within the Beatles: ‘Hey, man, he’s gay, what you going off to Paris with him for? They’re gonna talk, you know. Tongues are going to wag.’ I said, ‘I know tongues are going to wag, but tough shit.’ I was secure about my sexuality. I always felt this is is fine. I can hang with whoever I want and it didn’t worry me. I mean, we didn’t share a room or anything."

"With Robert’s thing of course there would be gayness. But there was no open gayness. If there was to be gayness it would be a quiet phone call that Robert would go and take in the bedroom or something. That was one of the good things, actually, because I knew he was gay and he knew I wasn’t gay so we were quite safe in our own | sexuality. We could talk to each other. "

Lastly, there is this odd anecdote that may or may not mean anything, but here it is:

One of the strangest of these incidents came at the end of 1992 when Mark Featherstone-Witty attended the MPL Christmas lunch. Mark took an accountant friend to the meal, a McCartney fan he'd known for years, which led to a strange and unpleasant row. By Mark's recollection, Paul's manager Richard Ogden summoned him into the MPL office the next day where he read him the riot act for bringing an unwelcome guest to Paul's party. 'What do you mean by bringing someone who was so obviously gay to Paul's Christmas party? Have you any idea about the responsibility you carry in this project?' he allegedly asked. 'What are you talking about?' replied Featherstone-Witty, explaining who his friend was. 'But he was gay, you stupid fucker!' 'No, he isn't.' 'You've got to be careful. You can't do anything that would embarrass Paul...'"

Fab : An intimate Life of Paul McCartney by Howard Sounes

[sunflowerrosewood]

Reason to Be Overprotective ~ Bakugou Katsuki

Author's Note: Since my other account @cheekyredwillow got deleted. I am adding some of my favorite fanfictions to this account and revamping this one. I hope to make an actual list of fandoms I am still a fan of! NO requests for the time being.

On to the headcanon!

y/f/f - your favorite flavor

You have been dating Bakugou for about a year. While he is known as the aggressive hot headed person, you knew him as a hot headed, overprotective, sweetheart. Since dating at UA, the Bakusquad were excited to see their explosive boy taking a break. 

Bakugou and you were that odd couple that probably weren’t going to end up together until one made a move. You see, Kirishima knew Bakugou had a crush on you since you two started. You had a quirk that manipulated the Earth. You could open the ground up like an earthquake or cause volcanoes to appear, or just a simple stalagmite. You were so strong and did not look the part of your quirk. Of course this meant Bakugou had to make fun of you especially for hanging out with Deku. You would normally ignore and pretend like you did not hear him. This started Bakugou’s crush on you.

Your relationship only became more when Kirishima and Kaminari decided to lock you two in a closet. You continued to ignore him but you could hear the sounds of small explosions. His face was flushed as he was calling you stupid and his friends stupid. When you finally look at him, he is blushing and mutters his confession before calling you stupid again. He did not expect you to kiss his cheek and tell him you wanted to date him.

Now that you two were dating, you actually helped the Bakusquad from his wrath. You would just tug him into his room and hold him till he wasn’t going to explode them. But you could not always stop that.

You two were walking back from a date at the nearby park. You pleaded with Bakugou to just have a relaxing date and get some ice cream before going back to the dorms. It seemed fine until the ice cream man began to flirt with you.

“What can I get you sweetcheeks?” He said as he eyed you up and down.

“We-”

“You can get me and my girlfriend y/f/f and rocky road now.” Bakugou growled.

“Katsuki, please.” You said trying to not start anything.

“You’re dating him? Mister can’t keep his anger in check? Be with someone you won’t have to fear when you are older.” the ice cream man said as he reached out to touch your cheek.

Bakugou immediately grabbed his wrist and twisted it to almost breaking as the guy’s eyes were wide. He gulped as Bakugou got close.

“Get me and my girlfriend ice cream. Now.” Bakugou growled as he released the man’s wrist and the guy ran to the back.

You sighed as Bakugou’s hands were starting to send off little explosions. He was glaring as the man handed two ice cream cones. He dropped the change and grabbed the two cones before handing one to you. You felt his aggression when he handed you the ice cream.

“What did I tell you? Just waiting for him to explode on you. I’ll always be here.” The guy snapped. 

Before you could stop Bakugou, he made the ice cream truck just explode enough to tip it over and get all the ice cream all over him. You sighed loudly as Bakugou laughed.

“That’s what you get stupid extra.” He laughed as you began to walk away and both of your ice cream was on the ground. “Babe, where are you going?”

“Going somewhere safe.” You muttered as you felt him grab your wrist 

“Y/n don’t walk away from me.” He snapped as you looked at him with a glare.

“What? Going to blow me up?” You snapped as you saw his eyes widen and hurt appear in his eyes. You knew that was a low blow but Bakugou was getting on your last nerve. “I’m just done with you trying to blow everyone up who talks to me. Sure that guy was flirting and probably deserves it. But Deku doesn’t neither does Kiri and definitely not Todo.” 

“If you weren’t so damn attractive maybe I wouldn’t be so overprotective.” Bakugou growled as you continued to walk. He stopped walking and watched you. “I mean it Y/n. Every guy looks at you like a piece of meat or the next best thing.”

“I’m with you Kaachan! You know that!” You exclaimed and stopped walking. It kept you a few feet apart. You could see his head was tucked down and his shoulders looked like an immense amount of weight was on them. He seemed to be struggling with what to say. 

“But wasn’t that man right? You could be with the green shithead and he won’t hurt you. You could be with Icy-Hot and actually be safe. You don’t have to deal with this. You don’t have to deal with me. But for some damn reason, I’m head over heels in love with you.” Bakugou growled as you sighed.

“I chose to be with you Katsuki. You know that! I fell for you even with your hot-headed personality. Kaachan, I love you.” You said as Bakugou took a few steps forward. You stayed still as he stopped.

“Stupid woman, I knew you loved me. I just want you safe.” Bakugou grumbled as you took a few steps forward to make him look at you.

“Kaachan will you look at me?” You asked as you touched his cheek. He grumbled and continued to look away. “I know you are only calling me stupid woman when you won’t admit something.”

“You know me too well. Damn it woman, you still somehow love me.” Bakugou sighed as he leaned into your touch. “I just wish guys knew you were mine.”

“Doesn’t matter because I will always be yours. Just because I’m friends with Deku and Todo doesn’t mean I choose them over you. I still love you. Now since we ruined our ice cream, why don’t we go back to my dorm room and clean up?” You said before kissing his lips softly and pulling back.

“Stupid woman, we were planning on that anyways.” Bakugou said. “Now let me give you a real kiss.”

You gasped as Bakugou kissed your lips and dipped you back to deepen the kiss. It was hot and heavy. You felt weak to your knees as Bakugou backed away. Both of you were panting. His forehead was pressed against yours.

“I do love you Y/n. Just hate that everyone else seems to as well.” Bakugou grumbled as you pecked his lips.

“But I will always be yours.” You said as he laughed. You were the only person who he would laugh around and it actually sounded happy. It wasn’t arrogant or loud. It was soft and he would always throw his head back.

You two walked back to the dorm together and when Deku ran up to ask you a question about a project you two were partners for, Bakugou grumbled but when you intertwined your hands with his, he sighed. You told Deku you would text him later as you were hoping to take a nap before working on the project. Deku smiled and said bye to both you and Bakugou as you pulled him to your room. Soon after, you two tumbled into bed and you fell asleep against Bakugou’s chest. He sighed and ran some fingers through your hair. 

“I don’t see why you love me. I’m sorry for what you have to deal with but I will always protect you.” Bakugou whispered as he let you sleep for a few hours.

[angelispunk222]

it’s nice to have a friend!

joel miller x sweet girl y/n ୨ৎ

warning - fluff!!! super cute!!

-

joel miller wasn’t much of a talker. his rugged exterior and tough demeanor often kept people at bay. but for some reason, Y/N was different. she was a ray of sunshine in a world that seemed perpetually overcast, her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes on a breezy day. joel found himself drawn to her warmth, despite his efforts to keep his distance.

It was late afternoon when Joel pulled up to Y/N’s house, his truck rumbling softly as the countryside wind started to pick up. she’d called him earlier, her voice trembling with the weight of stress and worry. he didn’t need to ask twice before offering to take her on a drive—anything to see her smile again.

Y/N climbed into the passenger seat, immediately giving joel a gentle kiss. her eyes red-rimmed but brightening at the sight of him. “hey, joel!” she greeted, her voice soft yet hopeful.

“hey, darlin’,” Joel replied, his voice rough but tender. “figured we could use a little escape, huh sweet pea?”

she nodded, a small blushing smile playing on her lips “yeah, that sounds perfect.” she holds back a giggle of excitement

as they drove out of the city, the scenery transformed from concrete and steel to rolling hills and open fields. joel glanced over at Y/N occasionally, her face relaxed as she took in the view. The song playing on the radio was soft, almost as if it was serenading their journey.

“so, what’s been on your mind hun?” Joel asked, his tone gentle and warm.

y/n sighed, resting her head against the window. “just…everything. work’s been tough, and I feel like I’m constantly running on empty. I needed this, Joel. I needed to just…breathe..it’s tough when i’m alone, ya know? mind constantly fills up with all these thoughts..and.”

Joel reached over, his hand finding hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here for you, Y/N. always. just call me over whenever you want sweet pea. you know i could be a grump sometimes,huh? but i can still take care of ya. isn’t that right?”

She looked at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “thank you, joel. you don’t know how much that means to me.” she almost breaks down into a sob because of how gentle joel is being with her..knowing no one else could ever treat her with such kindness.

joel pulled over at a scenic overlook, noticing you being in the midst of your breakdown, he put the car in park and pulled you into his lap. as he wraps his arms around you he whispers “it’s okay sweet girl.. just don’t cry for me hun, okay?everything will be just fine sweet thang’ i swear to you..no doubt about it.”

she nods her head, wiping the tears away from her eyes and softly kisses joel. “i love you joel, please never go away..promise?” joel looks up at the girl with the vulnerable sweet eyes and just smiles at her exclaiming “of course my love, i love you”

“c’mon, let’s stretch our legs,” he suggested, his voice softer than usual. joel placed the girl on the passenger seat. shutting his door, and running to the other side to open it for y/n before she beats him to it.

y/n followed him to the edge of the overlook, the gentle breeze tugging at her hair. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and letting the stress of the past weeks melt away.

“It’s beautiful here,” she murmured.

joel nodded, his eyes not on the view but on her. “yeah, it is.”

she turned to him, a playful smile on her lips. “you’re not even looking at the view, joel.”

he chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “i am. just’ a different one i suppose’ huh?”

y/n blushed, the warmth in her cheeks spreading to her heart. she reached up, cupping his face in her hands. “you’re a good man, joel miller.”

he leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly. “only because of you, y/n.”

they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, as the sun dipped below the horizon. In that moment, all the stress and worries of the world seemed to vanish, replaced by the simple, profound joy of being together.

as they made their way back to the truck, Y/N slipped her hand into Joel’s, their fingers intertwining. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. they didn’t need words to express what they felt. Sometimes, it was just nice to have a friend—and in each other, they’d found so much more.

the end!

tell me what you think as always ;)

[kivrumi]

⭑ᡣ𐭩"₊SEVEN 𐙚⁺˚

chapter 1 - psycho

FEM!READER × ? JJK

ʚ PAIRINGS : Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Choso Kamo, Ryomen Sukuna, Toji Fushiguro, Ino Takuma, Higuruma Hiromi, Kento Nanami, Naoya Zenin ɞ

{ it is not stated here who the reader ends up with, the story is to find out.. }

NON-CURSE AU | COLLEGE AU

꒰ SUMMARY : How did you end up in such a mess with various guys? From strangers, friends, and crushes to ex-boyfriends and enemies. How did, what you thought was simple, life turn out like this? And who exactly were you to end up with?

꒰ WARNINGS : SLOWBURN - NSFW 18+ - mature & sexual themes - smut / lemon - language - violence - mentions of obsessive behaviour - sub/dom mentions - angst andd fluff :3

SEVEN MASTERLIST

next chapt

"Told you I'd win this time."

You snicker at Choso, who has now just shamefully lost at a mere game of Mario Kart.

"Doesn't make you better than me does it"

He then reaches out to your lap and grabs a handful of YOUR popcorn from YOUR bowl.

"Seriously? First of all, of course it makes me better than you. In fact, the BEST at Mario Kart worldwide. Second of all, I did not make two packets of popcorn for you to gulp all of yours down in 5 seconds to attack my bowl" You give him a cold, stern, serious look as he smiles with a mouth full of popcorn, slowly reaching out for your bowl again. You wack his hand out of the way, moving your bowl further from him as he chuckles whilst attempting to swallow. With your face glaring back towards the screen where it displayed your victory, he asks

"Do you have a third of all?" He then grabbed his Nintendo controller back to restart the match.

"Hmm, third of all..." You now face Choso, who still has his eyes glued to the screen.

"You like losing to me. "

Choso Kamo. Your best friend since you were only five. He knew every detail about you and vice versa. Growing up with him only drew you two closer, so here, you two were sitting on the floor of your dorm room, backs leaning onto your couch and Nintendo controllers in hands. If someone were to ask you to describe Choso, you would say how kind and forgiving he is and include his sense of humour. He knows right from wrong and is not afraid to stand proud of his beliefs. Many have framed him to be this extremely soft, introverted, shy man; they were along the right lines yet couldn't be more wrong.

"Choso, what are you still doing here? It's nearly 1 am; go back to your dorm." Your roommate, Shoko Ieiri, insists as she walks from her bedroom door to the sofa and plops herself down on it. She then grabs your entire popcorn bowl and multiple handfuls of your popcorn, stuffing it in her mouth

"Shoko- are you serious, you know you can make your own packet." You get up and snatch your bowl back to see nothing but popcorn kernels. Choso stretches his hand to Shoko to pass her a Nintendo controller.

"Okay, one more game, and I swear I'll head back to my room," Choso claims ready to press play.

"finee" Shoko says as she stretches her legs across the sofa as you sadly place your empty bowl to your side and grab your controller.

—

"What the fuck?" Choso and you say in unison. Not only did Shoko win all 6 matches you guys ended up playing, but you and Choso always ended up around last place.

"ooou what can I say" Shoko giggles, then glances at the time. "Oh shit, it's really late. Get to your dorm Choso and you. " she slaps the top of your head. "You get your ass to bed. "

With a defeated sigh from both you and Choso, you get up and drag your feet towards your bedroom. "Night then everyone," you slowly close your door hearing the two individuals still in the living room say goodnight back to you.

Shoko Ieiri has been your close friend for about a year now since you started college. You remember her looking lost in the dormitory halls and asking if she needed help by guiding her to her dorm room, only to shock you that you guys were to share a dorm. Going into college, the only person you knew was your best friend Choso, and Shoko had two of her own best friends you had yet to meet. A white-haired boy and a black-haired boy, you don't think you have ever seen them, but you are very familiar with their names via Shoko yapping to you about their latest drama. Shoko never really bothered, introducing you to them, not that they interested you in any way, but this was because Shoko didn't think they were a very good influence and wouldn't bother to care. Utahime Iori and Kento Nanami are friends to both you and Shoko since Shoko was nice enough to introduce you to some of her friends on your first days. It's been a year now, and all of you are 19 now. Well. Not quite everyone.

Toji Fushiguro. 2 years older than you. He is in mechanical engineering. It was love at first sight for you. The first day you saw him his biceps had you choking on your water, his hair stuck to his forehead sweating, fixing something in the car, who cares about that? He wore a black compression shirt first, which nearly made you melt and wanna scream, his scar by his lip that you just wanted to- GOD HELP ME.

He was an attractive individual.

You have been crushing on this man ever since you've attended this college; you damn sure wanted to get into his pants. But not only you, he also had countless other fangirls. So thinking he wants you and only you, despite never talking to you before, is fucking delusional. Countless rumours of him playing girls, high body count, and being really good in bed were spread around. You did, in fact, believe these rumours, but you really needed proof...

—

All of your friends knew about your obsession with this older boy. Choso always mentioned how Toji is not someone I should go for due to his reputation as a player, and Utahime is always there to agree with him.

"I can definitely agree with you, girlie. Toji is one fine ass," Shoko exclaimed as Choso and Utahime stared with disgust.

"Stop encouraging this Shoko!" Utahime says as she facepalms herself with a twitching eyebrow.

"Kentooo" Shoko purrs as she goes behind him to place her hands on his shoulders. "What are your opinions on Toji Fushiguro?" she asks, rocking him back and forth.

"Never interacted with him before so, don't know and don't care."

"You're all haters," you said to all, apart from Shoko. Just then, you had seen Toji Fushiguro walk past your hangout spot window, an abandoned cafe behind your school, with a girl trailing behind him. She had the same hair type and eyes as you, but everything else about her was the opposite. Mainly her style. She had a huge smile plastered across her face as she followed the man you've been eyeing for a good 2 months now. Despite the man being a whore, you still hope one day you catch his eyes.

—

But it's been 10 months till that day you saw that girl trail behind him. After that, there have been numerous different girls spotted with the handsome compression shirt man, not really fighting his whore stereotypes. Do you want to be one of those girls? You say no, but if he ever went up to you, you don't think you can turn him down. But the idea of you being used once or twice disgusts you. Why would you do that to yourself? But the tiniest minute possibility that you can change him was always there.

—

"eugh- huh- Shoko, what the fuck.." You say as you slowly open your heavy lids from your beauty rest, and to your surprise, you see Shoko leaning over you, a glass of water in hand, tilted to your face.

"Seriously, girl? You ignored your alarm 5 times now. I'm leaving now for class and don't know how you're going to arrive at your class late. Especially with your mad teacher, " She huffs as she chugs from the glass of water, which originally was supposed to be poured on your face, but to your luck, you woke up.

You get up and look at the time. Fuckity fuck.

"Oh my god, Professor Yui will not back down to give me a crazy lecture of disturbing her class, despite me trying to be stealthy to not interrupt."

"All psychology professors are insane like that, huh? Also, you're only noisy because of the dingly dangly earrings you wear every day. "

"Okay, okay.. What are you still doing here? Sho, get your ass to your scientists class. "

"andd what are you still doing in bed girlie.. Don't come for me, I'm dressed up and about to leave. You can always come with me right now, but maybe your Hello Kitty PJs will be too distracting to your crazy psychology professor. "

"ah fuck" you jumped out of bed as you hear Shoko leave your room and the front door slam "fuuuuckkk" It hurts to not put on makeup or your 'dingly dangly' earrings but you were really in a rush. You throw on a random zip-up, over your pyjama top, and change into some loose sweatpants. Grabbing all needed essentials and having to forget breakfast.

"shit, shit-" lecture had started 4 minutes ago, and you had just made it to the double doors. Slowly creaking it open, sadly the door just has to be rusty; you got a few heads turned towards you. Your professor has noticed your presence but remains carrying out her lecture. Wow, those earrings were the problem. You scout the area, and once your eyes land on him, you walk over and sit next to your best friend, Choso. He looks at your face, examining your appearance in great detail. You can see his eyebags look heavier than usual, which is obviously due to hours of Mario Kart last night. he must've-

"You look.. different" Choso states quietly, still staring at you weirdly.

"Wow, you see me without makeup, and you think I look weird, thanks a lot, Cho," you say with apparent sarcasm and chuckle lightly at your words.

"No, no, it's not that - oh my god, where are your earrings? Wow, you look weird without th-"

"Choso Kamo," an erupting voice from slightly afar, shook both you and the boy beside you. Your dang professor. You give Choso a 'haha you're about to get in trouble' look, but her next words made you probably wanna shoot the whole school and then yourself, "Choso.. Why do you continue to let that troublemaker sit next to you? Poor you, you get so distracted in my lectures as soon as she arrives". What? What did this teacher have against you? You look to Choso, who smirks at you lightly before formally replying,

"Well, it's not my fault, she comes to me, and I don't like talking during your lectures, but she makes me feel obliged to.."

WHAT? This man will be the death of you; all you can do is stare at Choso, who is so desperately holding in a giggle to the point he has to cover his mouth with his hand.

"Out of my lecture hall." Well, what was the point of even coming in?

—

"Cho, where the hell do you think you're going?"

"huh- you've been waiting outside the hall this entire time?"

"No, I'm not pathetic like you. I just came back to diss you."

"diss? Did you not get thrown out right now out of the lecture in front of various other students?"

"That's just because she favours you Cho; she's on some pedophilic shit. I just know it."

"Well, I'll let her hit for better grades. I'm failing,"

"ew cho- what- I seriously don't get how people find you sweet and shy, your a disgusting fuck, annoying, bitch, mischievous, and evil man."

"Ow?"

"I still can't believe you did that. What if she reports me for bullying or manipulating?"

"I think she was going to, but right after the lecture, I talked with her. Explained how we were friends, and it was a joke. "

"What? Thanks, but... Did you not get in trouble?"

"trouble? Nah, as you said, she loves me. Plus, if I were to get punished by her, all it would be is a lil spankin on the b-"

"Don't finish that sentence off."

All you get is a chuckle from him as he wraps an arm over your shoulder.

"I'll see you tonight, yeah? Kento needs me to help him build some weird shit for his front room. "

"Right now?"

"Yeah, you're dorm or mine?"

"Don't mind."

"mine it is," and just like that, his arm was off you as he started making his way to Kentos dorm.

You were just standing in a not-so-familiar hallway. Fuck, you were just following wherever Choso was going. Wait, this area was more where athletic students, engineering students, and law students were. Engineering? You accidentally found yourself looking around for a certain guy with a certain mouth scar. You moved around, peeping into classrooms and opening doors. One door caught your eye; you were sure that it was the one you once saw Toji enter, meaning that could be his class. Nearing the door, your heartbeat began to race. Just act like you're trying to find a friend if people get suspicious...

"Need something, sweetheart?"

"A FRIEND, I'M LOOKING FOR - I'm looking for my friend..." FUCK. You turn around to see a man you can't help but slightly recognize. He was no Toji, but you have seen him somewhere.

"And this friend of yours is in the Hunters soccer team? Since you know, that's our changing rooms"

You were in deep shit; you look like such a pervert. Mainly with your face turning a bright red from the embarrassment this alluring stranger has on you. You look back into his eyes nervously, but that's when it hit. This was no one other than Shoko's good friend.

Satoru Gojo.

—

"Girl, I hate Satoru. I think he fucked one of my friends," Shoko complained to you as she sat beside you on the couch.

"Again? Didn't he fuck your friends Keiko and Aiko?"

"Oh yeah, well, my point exactly. He is an ass hole, trying to get his dick wet. I need to hide you from him..."

"Damn, how good-looking is this guy?"

"I think he looks like a rat, but you know he has those deep, alluring blue eyes that everyone is so obsessed with. But apart from a pretty face, he can charm girls with his words. I'm completely unfazed by his words from being friends with him for so long. It just looks like a facade to me. "

—

Deep alluring blue eyes.. The man before you did fit Shoko's description.

It's not mistakable that it is Gojo, you've seen him around the college, not realising that this is the Satoru Gojo. His name is quite famous around here, known as the best football player at this college. Their soccer matches always make the headlines. Not that you were into soccer, but nearly every student knew there was the Hunters team, who wore blue eye-catching shirts, and there was an opposing team within the college. The Curses. Both teams are extremely popular and loved by fan girls, soccer wannabes, and, of course, the professors. You aren't sure which team is deemed better since your focus in life is not about your college soccer matches, but this is stuff you hear classmates rant about.

"You're not going to answer me? That's fine, sweetie. " You forgot said man remained in front of you, and that nickname nearly made you stop breathing. This guy has more than charm alright.

"I wasn't sure what class he was in... I'm sorry, I uh" fuck why are you stuttering? So what if this man was handsome, sexy and cute? You know what kind of man he is. He is just another college fuckboy. "I was just searching for my friend, but now I'm kind of lost."

"Lost? Are you new here? "

"No, but I'm not used to being on this side of college. I was following another friend, but he left my side now. I don't know how to get back to the dormitory"

"I see. Just wait up then. I came here to pick a few things from the locker room and was gonna head there too. You can follow me. "

"Oh really? thanks"

"Yeah, no problem, sweetie, just stay there," and with that, he went into the locker room. You waited outside, thinking back on that interaction. You don't want to be like every other girl that comes in contact with this man, not because you just want to be different but because you know what a real monster this blue-eyed freak is.

"Tojiii, you didn't call me back." You quickly looked to your right to see a girl, much shorter than the man she was confronting, cutely complaining to Toji Fushiguro.

"Lady, I said I WOULDN'T call you back."

"But that night was so.." she starts trailing her acrylic nails down his chest and then whispers into his ear. You see, his face turns into disgust as he slightly pushes her off.

"I said fuck off, no?" With that, the girl huffs as she whispers an insult, going away from the man. You watch her leave to the distance, and your eyes go back to Toji. But his eyes were already on you. From all the days he had a chance to notice you, it had to be when you're dressed down, with no makeup, and your hair looking shit. The eye contact was getting a bit too much for you but ended quite quickly when Gojo came back in sight.

"Okay! Follow me, " He says as you trail right behind him. "Must say it's a bit upsetting you don't go to this part of the college often, would be nice to see a pretty face like yours daily."

'This is just another one of his tricks', you remind yourself 'he just wants to get into any girl's pants'

"yeah, thanks"

'Fuck, did I just make it awkward?' you continued to walk behind him but he randomly came to a stop. 'Well we aren't at the dorms, why'd he stop' He then goes beside you, arm over your shoulder and then carries on walking.

"Don't walk behind me, makes you look like you're a fan girl" Oh you can see his game. He made you feel as if you were different from the other girls, and made you feel wanted and liked. You had the urge to tell him that you can see him right through.

"I know your game"

'Fuck I didn't actually want to tell him, that slipped out of my mouth'

"my game?" he asked, assuming you referring to soccer.

"You have fucked like half of the girls in this school"

'why am I blabbing on?' you get a chuckle from the white-haired man as his eyes remain looking forward.

"Is that so? And you know this for a fact?"

"Well yes, thanks to our mutual friend Shoko"

"ah- I see. Shoko my good cockblocking friend" he didn't seem pissed at your accusations, but in fact, was surprised and thankful he didn't have to create a persona for you "But without Shoko, you would've fallen for me. Right sweets?"

"Who knows, and- you can stop with the nicknames you know now"

"Why? I didn't lie about you having a pretty face, was disappointed I hadn't met you earlier due to you being stuck in another area of the college. What course do you major?" ignoring everything else he said because if you replied, you would be a stuttering mess.

"Psychology"

"ah I see, well I know where those lecture halls are so" he then stops to look at you, making you realise you two have found your destination "I will come to see you sometime, yeah?"

"Seriously? you haven't even gotten my name yet"

"Do I really need it right now? I'm fine with just calling you sweetheart" He then grabs a pen from his pocket, grabs your arm, rolls up your sleeve and jots down his digits. You didn't even get a chance to deny his number. "Don't wash this off before adding my number, text me as soon as you get to your room, okay?" Again not giving you a chance for anything, He leaves to go to the dormitory B building. 'Shoko is going to go feral and protective over me as soon as she finds out what just happened' You think as you walk towards your own dormitory building.

next chapt

@kivrumi do not steal / copy / reword / translate my work