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pathologicalreid · 1 year ago

Note

heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕

If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)

Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)

three's a family | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth word count: 3.16k a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think

“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.

Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”

Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.

“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.

You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.

Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.

Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.

You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”

Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?

Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.

As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”

Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.

“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.

Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.

You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.

Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”

Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”

Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”

While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.

“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.

Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”

Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.

He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.

“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.

In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”

Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”

“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”

You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”

For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.

Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.

He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."

You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.

By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.

Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.

You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.

“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.

Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.

You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”

Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.

At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.

With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.

You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.

Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”

Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”

When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.

He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.

“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.

As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“

“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.

Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”

Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”

He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”

Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.”

You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.

When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.

Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.

Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.

“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”

Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”

In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”

He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”

“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.

You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.

The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.

Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.

Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.

According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.

Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”

“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.

Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.

The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”

Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.

Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.

The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.

“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.

Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.

Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.

“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”

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whoahoney · 3 months ago

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brothers best friend!Eddie reading your diary while he's balls deep inside of you.

Note: Surprise bitches. 😏 Idk if anyone's gonna read this, ive been on HIATUS 5ever, but this is something I wrote while recovering from dental work high as balls. I hope you enjoy! I'll edit further when my phones charged.

Warnings: smut (18+) minors DNI, slight humiliation kink, secret hookups, kinda fluffy 🫶🏻

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

It had been a couple months of your sneaky schemes, Eddie sleeping over and sneaking into your room to "chat" for a few hours after your brother fell asleep. You and Eddie had always been close, but finding your place amongst your brother and his friends could be hard sometimes. So for the most part, Eddie sought you out, finding you around the house to shoot the shit.

Neither of you could tell who started it, neither of you cared. All you know is that one night, he was on your bed, your legs in his lap, his hand on your thigh, the weed was good and your faces were achingly close to each other.

Neither one of you fought before giving in, it was natural as can be.

so of course you just

kept

going.

Since then, any time he could manage to make his way to your room (or walk in on you in the shower), he was there, ready to unbuckle his belt and bend you over.

He loved working in and out of you, setting a brutal pace for himself since he never knew how much time he had with you. He often fantasized about the day he'd be able to take his time with you. Simmering on the idea of massaging your pussy til it was slick and gaping for him, wondering if you'd let him lean forward and lap it all up.

You weren't quite sure what to make of it all, it felt like just another thing you two did together. At least that's how you assumed he felt. The usual glimmer in his eyes as he sauntered into your room never changed, regardless if he was asking for popcorn and a movie or seeing your tits.

You didn't really care, you just liked being around him.

and you quickly found out you were more than willing to do casual if that's what he wanted.

Often times after he left your room, you tried to write about it in your diary to make sense of it all. At first it was passive thoughts about your hang outs, wondering if it meant he saw you as a friend or something more, but ever since you started messing around, its all you ever write about anymore.

Details from the way he made you feel, how long his dick was, and your innermost feelings about him were all in there, no holds barred. You'd never imagined that he'd care enough to read it, let alone what he was about to do next.

He had you face down in a pillow, hand cradling the nape of your neck, your skirts flipped up and over your back, panties discarded in the knotted up bedsheets. You're panting, the air around you is thick and sweet despite the lingering cigarette smoke clinging to his person.

"Oh, I love seeing you like this," He says under his breath as he grabs a handful of your ass. "Face down, ass up, that sweet pussy spread open around my cock," He pressed deep inside you, trembling as he relishes the softness of your walls and you give him a sweet whine. "Shh--not so loud, sweetheart..." His hand found its way into your hair, winding it around his fist and pulling it taught. Your mouth opens with a silent gasp.

He looks to the left and spots the familiar leather bound diary you're always scribbling in, and with a sudden urge, he grabs it up.

He lets it fall open to the place where you left your pen clipped to the page, which happened to be the latest entry about him.

The way it feels when he's inside me... I crave it. I think about him all the time...

He smirked to himself, quickening his pace and pulling your face up to see the page he's on, "You like me so much,I made the journal-how cute.." He cooed into your ear before taking the lobe between his teeth, sending tingles down your spine, your fingers clenching the pillow til you knuckles turned white.

You were so lost in him that you couldn't even speak, your cheeks flaming with embarrassment as he read aloud, "His touch feels like electricity, he makes me feel alive..." He softly chuckled before letting his teeth graze against your neck and biting down and making you clench around him.

"His dick is so long and hard, it hurts sometimes, but I never want to tell him to stop or slow down, I'll take whatever I can get from him. It's so pathetic. I'M pathetic. But do I care??" He recites in his best impression of you as you hide away in the pillow, he chuckles to himself before remarking, "My dick makes you feel pathetic? tsk, aww..."

Then his eyes skimmed over a passage, and he slowed as he took the time to read it, "I want to be around him all the time. For more than these moments we manage to steal-but I don't know if he feels the same way... maybe it's just casual. Maybe he does this with a lot of girls." His heart swells in an unfamiliar way, a smile fighting its way onto his cheeks.

"You're too kind- really," he chuckles as he tosses it to the side. He lets go of your hair and brings both of his hands to your hips, pulling himself out almost completely before shoving back in with a grunt, his front slapping your ass.

"I don't have a diary, but I will tell you this-" He withdrew himself and flipped you over settling between your thighs before sliding in with ease. You inhaled sharply at the fullness, your chest heaving. He licks his lip before pulling up your shirt, freeing your breasts to bounce as he pleased.

"There isn't anyone else I'm doing this with..." He pressed his bare chest against yours, looking deep into your eyes. His fingers gently smoothed your hairline as he worked a slow easy pace in and out. "Right here, with you, is my favorite place to be..." He whispered, nose to nose- working himself in and out in and out at an agonizing pace that dragged on deliciously. "I love being with you in any way I can get it." He admitted into the darkness.

Your eyes are huge as he plants a kiss on your lips. You open your mouth and nudge his tongue with yours, wrapping your legs around his waist as he plunges in with fervor.

"Aww, my pussy makes you feel pathetic?" You quietly mock with a smile.

"Aw, that's my girl," He mumbles against you, his embrace tightening around your torso, and thrusts growing more and more eager as he chases his orgasm and yours.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson smut imagine #stranger things smut #eddie munson fluff

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maddamoiselle · 2 months ago

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Tied Souls

Pairing: Sylus x NonMC!Reader, Xavier x MC

Summary; You didn't think being a dragon would ever be a problem. And yet, with your childhood friend Sylus and yourself as the last hunted dragons, you wondered how you would be able to live.

Words: a. 4.300

Author's nonsense; I’m wondering, where you kissed better when you were sick? I hope you will enjoy this chapter, I do not know why I’m so attached to this story but I was so excited to write those scene today. Please, let’s enjoy the… feast!

<- Chapter II Chapter IV ->

You were perched on a tree, staring toward the city lights that were so far away from your home.

Philos.

You turned your head away, looking down toward the child that was trying to climb the tree, not caring that he was blind. He was panting , lifting his head toward the sound of your tail against the branches he could use to climb.

Little Mephisto…

You smiled, amused as you watched your… little human child trying to reach you. Since You and Sylus rescued the boy, a few months had passed by.

He had a smart mouth, always moaning when you wanted to sing something with your music box. The poor boy would shriek while blocking his ears, begging for you to stop.

Of course, as soon as you turned toward him, he would bore a mocking smile before running away, knowing you would chase after him to entertain him. You felt pride bloom in your chest when you realized that Mephisto wasn’t stumbling anymore against your treasures on the floor. The boy was used to being with you and Sylus, and he knew where every single piece of gold was.

Mephisto was getting used to being carried around when you and your dragon decided to move away for a while from your den. The first time you changed into your dragon form, he shouted in fear when he touched you, expecting your human form.

Sylus was also enjoying teasing the human. He would order Mephisto to go into a human village and come back with something useful.The boy would obey and would usually come back with food; and that’s how he discovered that nor you or Sylus ate food.

”What do you eat then?”

”Souls.”

You remembered Sylus had laughed as Mephisto dropped the food he had, his face turning pale a bit. You had chuckled before patting his head, reassuring him that you wouldn’t eat him. His soul wasn’t something you wished to eat.

Back to the present, you smiled when Mephisto finally managed to sit next to you, holding onto the branches before turning his face toward you with a big smile. You patted his back while observing his red eyes, incapable of seeing things anymore. He had told you it was intruders that had come into his house and murdered his parents that turned him blind…

But you could feel he wasn’t telling the whole story.

The little boy gave you some fruits he had in his pockets. Even if you couldn’t taste anything, you made a habit of eating what he was giving you. Even if, from your point of view, it was meaningless, it always seemed to bring a smile on the child’s face.

“So, how does a soul taste ?” Mephisto asked while chewing on his blueberry. You bite the fruit, looking toward the city lights once more.

” It’s an experience…I don’t think you could understand.” You mocked the boy fondly. How could he understand the taste of a soul… It was just like you, you don’t think you would ever understand the taste of food…

”Like you will never understand the notion of love?”

You snapped your head toward him, and you growled, without any real anger, when you saw his teasing smile. Sometimes, Mephisto could be as infuriating as Sylus…

You flicked his forehead, minding your claws, and smirked when he cried out.

”What! You said dragons can’t feel love.”

”I don’t know… That’s what Sylus told me.” You turned your head away, your tail hanging loose in the air, behind you. You always wondered how Sylus knew about this and not you. Your parents never said that to you… and yet, in the few memories you had, you remember your parents being… caring for each other..?

You frowned as your brain started to think about it.

You didn’t know what love was. You didn’t know how it felt like… You have read a lot of human books, always focusing on the ‘love’ part.

Being caring to each other, protecting each other, wishing to stay with your partner…

You were doing all of that with Sylus.

But you weren’t human. Maybe dragons do love, but in different ways? While a human would press their lips against their loved one, a dragon would.. bite..? How many times did Sylus chomped on your cheeks so you could turn your eyes on him…

How many times did you bit his finger when he was stroking your cheek because he looked so…

”I think of going into another village today.”

You turned your attention back to Mephisto, who was kicking his legs in the air. You tilted your head, your eyes glinting with suspicion.

” Why? Where?”

The boy laughed at your questions, his body dangerously tilting backward. Your tail was already ready to catch him if he were to fall, but he didn’t. He turned his face toward you with a happy smile.

”You’re really worried about me? I’m just going to the ruins of an old village, it is said it’s a place of desolation. No need to worry, I’m not scared.” He said before shouting in fear, holding onto you as the tree’s branch shook violently.

You turned your head toward Sylus, who landed on the tree, making sure the branches were shaking strongly as the boy clung to you, unsure of what was going on.

“Well, Mephisto, I thought you weren’t scared?” Sylus mocked, amused by the boy’s behavior. Mephisto shouted nonsense at the dragon, pointing toward his direction while keeping a strong grip on you.

After a few minutes, you both watched Mephisto climb down the tree. He turned toward you and waved before running off. You clumsily waved back at you, hearing Sylus laughed at you.

”He can’t see you, you know?”

You stuck your tongue to him, your tail slapping his back while he chuckled at you. When you couldn’t see Mephisto anymore, you turned your body toward Sylus with a serious face. He raised an eyebrow with a smirk, waiting for you to speak your mind.

”Sylus. Why can't dragons love?”

Sylus sighed before adjusting himself on the branch, his back leaning against the tree trunk. He looked toward the sky with a frown that made you smile. He almost looked like he was pouting, which made him … cute…

Cute..?

”Dragons… want to kill their loved ones. It’s about violence, about—“

Sylus stopped talking when he felt your lips on his cheek. His eyes widened when he felt your little fangs munching on his cheek. You were between his legs ,on all four, one hand on his chest, and the other was on his shoulder.

You were purring as you kept giving him gentle bites before letting his cheek go. He turned his eyes toward you, his mouth opened, but no words were coming out of it.

You chuckled, nuzzling against him.

” Was it violent..?” You asked him in a whisper that made him shiver. You looked up at him, staring at him, wanting his answers.

Sylus always told you he was a weapon. He was dangerous, a fighter, a killer. Even when you were training, you could feel he was holding himself back while you were jumping on him with all your strength.

But for you, even if he was a weapon, a fighter, and a killer, he was your protector, your most beloved person in the whole world. When he would cup your face with his hands dirty from someone else’s person’s blood, you would purr.

Focusing your attention back on Sylus, you went on his other cheek and bit on it, purring loudly against him. You felt his hands on your back, caressing your skin. You turned your face toward him, asking once again.

” Was it violent?”

” No.”

”Then your turn, show me what ‘violent’ is.”

Sylus chuckled at your demand before looking away for a second. Your eyes followed his face as he turned back toward you. His hand came closer to your neck, using the golden necklace he gave you as a leash as he tugged you close to his face.

”You want me to be violent?”

”Well, you say dragon’s love is violent. Then show me. How do you love?”

Sylus’s eyes shined as he stared at you. You let him do it, not understanding why he needed to watch your inner desire. You rolled your eyes at him, a soft smile on your lips before you felt his hand on your cheek.

You closed your eyes, sighing in bliss as you felt his skin against yours. You could feel his hesitation. It seemed like he didn’t trust himself while touching you.

Sylus’s hand creeped around your waist before pressing you against his body. You felt his tail intertwining with your own, squeezing it until you let a little gasp. You opened your eyes, falling into his ruby gaze.

His hand slid from your cheek toward your neck, to your collarbones and your shoulders. You blushed, the touching seemed… too intimate… and yet you craved it. His gaze was observing carefully. Each part of you, his hand, was caressing; his eyes were staring at it.

”How do I love…? I do not know, but what I’m sure is… I want to touch you… I want you in my arms, I want to bite you… softly and strongly…” He whispered, his hand brushing against your breast before touching your waist and belly. “Sometimes, I imagine that you were killed alongside your parents… and I can’t breathe.”

Your eyes widened with concern at his confession. You leaned toward him until your forehead bumped into his, making his eyes look up at you. He licked his lips, trying to find the will to share more of his thoughts.

”If you were to disappear… I don’t know what I would do with myself. That’s why…”

You grazed his lips, making him shudder. His claws dug into your skin in a comfortable way, making you wish he would stop trying to control himself. His breath was mixing with yours, both of your eyes locking into each other.

Your hands were on his shoulder, trying to have some kind of material anchor on this storm of feeling that was swirling inside you. You closed your eyes as you saw him approach your face.

“ I can’t love you.”

You felt him kiss the corner of your lips, making you turn your head toward his mouth. You tried to catch his lips with yours while he kept kissing your face, torturing you with the feeling of his lips on your skin but never on where you needed it the most.

”I must not love you.”

He whispered as he kissed your neck, his hand holding your hair up so he could nip at your skin, marking it with marks that were making you lightheaded. You felt feverish. Your whole body was burning with a need to…

To what?

“I must not crave you.”

You moaned as his teeth dug into your neck, making you arch instinctively against him. Your hand tugged his hair as he kept you against him, between his legs, caging you with his limbs.

“ I must not… I must not…” He almost begged to himself, trying not to lose himself in you.

” Sylus..” You breathed as his face dipped toward your cleverage. You moaned louder this time as he bit near your breast, your eyes getting teary with need. “ Sy—“

”Don’t… Don’t say my name like this…” He growled, facing you once more. You whined, staring at his eyes, which seemed so primal, feral, and wild… And yet, you didn't feel any fear. You just wanted more…

You approached your lips toward him, feeling elated where you saw him approaching too. You couldn’t wait, you needed to—

You both snapped toward the loud sound you heard. Sylus immediately put you behind him as his eyes scanned the area. You did the same thing and grabbed his shoulder when you saw smoke coming out of the old village, the one your father had destroyed the first time you went there as a kid.

“Sylus, Mephisto went there!” You urged him before jumping from the tree and transforming into your dragon form. You flew toward the smoke, hoping your little human was okay.

In less than two minutes, you landed on the ground, roaring at any threat. You snarled as a Wanderer was standing in front of you, moving like he was just a puppet whose limbs weren't completely his own.

Sylus dove toward it, crushing it into the ground. You looked around, freezing when you saw Mephisto’s unconscious body on the ground, not too far. You changed into your human form and ran toward him, making sure he was alive.

He had some cuts but nothing life threatening. You turned your face toward Sylus, who had already taken down the Wanderer. He then walked toward the two of you, lowering a wing so you could climb on him.

Once you were sitting on his back, you hugged Mephisto as he flew away from there. But as you looked at the ruins, you had to do a double check as you were sure you saw someone with a white uniform.

But as soon as you thought you saw it, it disappeared.

Once inside your den, you laid Mephisto on his bed, making sure his injuries didn’t get worse during the flight. You almost collapsed in relief when he opened his eyes, wincing in pain.

”It’s okay, it’s just us.”

Mephisto relaxed as soon as he heard your voice. You were still feeling hot, sweating from all those last emotions, but seeing the little boy’s face gave you some relief.

Unfortunately, the relief was brief.

Mephisto was sick for almost five days. He was burning, a strong fever you didn't know how to heal. You and Sylus never got sick. You didn't know how humans healed themselves.

You were cuddling the little human who he was shivering, his teeth chattering as he clung on you and the covers. You looked up at Sylus, concern written all over your face. Your dragon stared at the human before leaving the den with a powerful jump.

You stroke Mephisto’s sweaty forehead. What were you supposed to do..?

“ Mephisto, look at me. You’re going to be okay… What do you need?” You whispered against his soaked hair. The boy opened his eyes, delirious from the fever, he didn't recognize you.

”Mom… ? Kiss it better…” He voiced softly. Your eyes fell on him, watching as his eyes closed once more.

A kiss could heal?

You kissed his forehead gently. You kept your lips against his skin until his body relaxed completely. You tilted your head, staring at the sleeping boy.

Did it work?

You snapped your head toward the den’s entrance. You stood up and stared as Sylus came in, holding a human by the throat. You frowned before the poor man was pushed inside the den by your dragon.

”He is a doctor.”

Your eyes widened before looking at the man who seemed horrified to be near two dragons. Your tail wagged in frustration, but what other choice did you have? You crouched in front of the man, your eyes shining with promise of threats if the man didn’t do his job.

”If the boy dies… You’ll be able to apologize to him in the afterlife.”

The man nodded furiously before walking toward Mephisto. He had needles and other tools you couldn’t understand. As you started to growled when you saw him looking at Mephisto’s eyes, he turned toward you, shaking.

”I’m sorry but… W-would you mind leaving me alone with the patient?”

You almost snarled, your body feeling so hot you felt like you needed to take it on someone. And if that so-called doctor thought you would let Mephisto alone with him, he was very wrong.

But Sylus held your wrist with his hand, staring at the doctor.

”Don’t worry. If he fails and runs away, I’ll just go for his family. Right, doctor?”

The doctor nodded. You could almost feel his soul shaking with fear, but before you could say anything, Sylus tugged you out of the den, flying to your usual spot.

As you both landed, you couldn’t stop moving. you were feeling so hot, you felt reckless… You were sweating so much. Did you catch Mephisto’s illness?

”Calm down.”

You growled at Sylus, daring him to say another word. He seemed shocked, but soon an amused smile appeared on his lips. He walked toward you, staring at your tail that was moving behind you in an agitated way.

”Are you angry? Want to work out a bit?”

You didn’t even wait before rushing toward him, your fist hitting him in the jaw. He stumbled back with a proud smile before coming for you.

You were using your legs, your fist, fangs… You couldn’t even feel his hits on you as your whole body was burning. You felt like it was harder and harder to breathe. Your vision was starting to get dizzy…

You fell on the floor, your back hitting the ground as you whined. Sylus immediately went to your side before freezing. You shook your head from side to side, trying to clear the fog from your mind.

”Sy-Sylus..”

You couldn’t see, but Sylus was staring at you like you were his prey. His parents had explained how a dragon could change depending on their age. He was older than you, not being more experienced, but he had more knowledge than you on certain subjects. After all, he knew a dragon would kill his most beloved.

But right now, he knew what was happening to you.

You were having your first heat.

He swallowed loudly, his body frozen. He needed to bring you somewhere safe. He needed to get away from you. He needed to make sure nobody would try to come to you.

Yet, his body stayed where he was.

He watched as your back arched, your claws digging in the mud under you, panting hardly as you asked for him again and again and again and again…

He shook his head, tearing his eyes from your body.

” S-sylus… It hurts…”

He closed his eyes, his body leaning toward you until his forehead touched your belly. Your body relaxed a bit as you felt him against you. He whispered against your skin, his claws digging in the ground, trying to keep himself sane.

Dragons couldn’t taste, and yet how he wished he could eat you up…

” Where… Where does it hurt… Tell me, I’m here…” he breathed hardly. He needed to protect you. He was your only ally… He couldn’t let himself be swayed by your sweet whimpers… If there were another dragon, maybe you wouldn’t call for him.

”Here… It hurts here…”

Sylus opened his eyes and looked as you moved your hand against your lower belly. He nodded slightly. What could help you ? What could he do? He wasn’t even sure he would be able to tear himself off you.

” What do you want me to do?”

”Kiss it better…”

Sylus growled darkly, his claws tearing into the ground under you. He shook his head, trying so desperately to hang on to his sanity. Were you doing this on purpose? Were you torturing him on purpose?

”You.. You aren’t thinking clearly… If another dragon was here…You..” He bit his lips, not being able to voice his thoughts out. He didn’t want to think about another dragon seeing you in this state? He didn’t want to imagine you choosing someone else than him.

”I would choose you…Always..” You cried out as another sharp pain echoed in your belly. You couldn’t see Sylus’s face as he kept his forehead against your belly. Was he disgusted by you? Was your current state pathetic for him?

You always carry yourself with pride and power, but right now, imagining that Sylus looked at you with pity or disgust made you whimper. You could feel fat hot tears dripping from your eyes.

”You… You don’t have to stay… I’ll be okay alone…”

You almost moaned when Sylus kissed your belly, his growl resonated inside your guts. You felt his fangs graze your skin as he whispered a question.

”Do you want me to…kiss the pain away?”

You gasped when he caught his gaze. You closed your eyes, nodding shyly. You didn’t truly understand what was happening to your body, but you trusted Sylus to make it all better.

”Don’t hesitate to hit me if I hurt you.” He said before kissing your belly in multiple places. Your body arched, your delirious mind wishing for something else. You opened your eyes to see Sylus laying flat on the ground between your legs, giving kisses and bites on your stomach.

Your hands trembled as they reached for his horns. He looked up at you as you pushed him slowly lower and lower…

Sylus’s eyes widened, letting you place him where you needed him. He was growling, his fangs bared as he tried to control himself. His claws dug into your thighs, trying not to dive between your legs to lap at the scent that was coming from you.

” K-Kiss it better…” you begged, your chest heaving with want and need. “ Sylus… Please…”

He closed his eyes, trying to keep his eyes from rolling back in his skull. You would indeed be the one to kill. He was sure of that. He wasn’t even sure he would be able to function with his tongue on you.

He leaned toward your clothes, ripping it without meaning to.

Fuck, he was losing his sanity.

He looked at his hands shaking as he gripped your thighs once more. He could control himself. He knew he could, he would, he…

You gasped as you felt his tongue against your soaked slit. Your eyes rolled back as your legs caged his head between his thighs. You tightened your grip on his horns as he growled louder as he tasted you for the first time.

Dragon couldn’t taste anything, yet Sylus felt like he was blessed to feel your taste on his tongue.He didn’t truly know how to bring you pleasure, yet his body moved by itself, controlled by instincts. You were putting a spell on him with your cries, your tastes, your body…

How would he be able to live without you?

You kept calling for his name as he thrust his tongue inside you. You arched your back as you felt his tail wrapped itself around your waist, bringing you closer to his starving mouth.

Your body was shaking from the pleasure you were feeling. How could you feel so good? How come you didn’t know such pleasure existed? You could hear Sylus growled as his mouth never left your most intimate part.

Your hips started to rock against his mouth, making Sylus purred, encouraging you to keep using him for your pleasure. You blindly reached for his hand that was on your thighs and squeezed it hard. All those feelings were scary…but then, you felt Sylus grabbed your hand and squeezed back.

You closed your eyes with a happy smile before moaning again. No matter what, no matter how deep Sylus was lost to his instincts, he would always be aware when you needed reassuring.

You felt something coming from inside your lower belly. You tried to push Sylus away, not completely sure what was going on. You felt like you were going to pee, and there was no way you would live the embarrassment.

But to your surprise, Sylus nipped at your fingers, his lips and chin soaked with your juices that he tried to capture with his tongue.

”Don’t… Please…Don’t take this away from me…” He breathed, his pupils dilated as he stared at you with desperation before diving back between your legs.

You didn’t know you could make such a scream as you came on his face. Your whole body tensed, your body arched as Sylus kept his grip on you, like a prey he didn’t want to escape.

Your back fell against the ground once more, your ears ringing so loudly you couldn’t hear what Sylus was saying. You panted as your dragon crawled on you, making sure you were okay.

You gave him a blissful smile that made him shake his head with a fond smile. You would have been embarrassed to death if you cared enough when you saw his soaked chin and lips. You would have been mortified if you were not still buzzing from the aftershock of your orgsam when you saw him wipe his chin with his hand before sucking it clean.

Sylus stared at you, stroking your cheek as you closed your eyes. He could feel his cock straining against his trousers but it didn’t matter. You were sated, you were happy and you were asking for his arms around you.

You were purring loudly, which made Sylus chuckled as he purred in a deeper voice. You felt so happy and sated that you nuzzled against him, like a thank you.

You didn’t feel like you were a walking flame anymore , you felt… better… Even if your instincts were telling you there was more that could be done, you were happy enough with what happened.

Sylus stroked you back, watching your tail wagging behind you with an amused smile. You could be so cute… Who would have guessed such a terrible dragon like yourself could turn into such an adorable kitten in those moments…

As you both laid there, his strong arms wrapped your body, and you both had one thought.

I’m scared to realize I love you.

Tag List: @nommingonfood @lunia-likes-pomegranet @lemonmoonmochi @just--crys @leftpoetrymoon @pillarofsnow @animegamerfox @erendipi @nm4565natty @vigtore @kclremin @thehenchsket

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douqhnxtss · 3 months ago

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ EFFORTLESSLY EASY ⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚✧˖°.

𝓱𝘶𝘩 𝔂𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗋? 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦?

✧ academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst (?) if you squint, one-sided pining, one-sided rivalry (by reader), reader in denial, reader hates but loves yunjin, flirty!yunjin, nonidol!au, university!au, death (of a bad person), partying, mentions of getting drunk and kissing, lots of love talk, downbad!yunjin, proofread — topstudent!yunjin x fem!reader ⋆ wc! 3.4k °° whooo!! longest one yet!! I love this sm, sorry for the lack of content, finals r coming up, updates will be delayed and I'm out of ideas tbh, so send some asks!! honestly can't believe I wrote this in like 2 days and it's this long like I have a jeongyeon draft that ive been writing since JANUARY. And it's still only 50% done... likes n reblogs are appreciated <3

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

HUH YUNJIN WAS EFFORTLESSLY SMART. that's what you though by the way she managed to party all semester and still score first in the finals every single time ever since university.

even before uni, she still scored top in middle and high school while all she did was play with her four bestfriends. she was cocky about it too; always flaunted how she isn't even in her books all day and she's the top student.

you found her so annoying. it didn't help that she stuck by you everywhere you went either— the professors paired you two together, being the smartest in the class, her seat being beside yours in every lecture you two share, which is every single one.

yunjin was charismatic, and very flirty, too. she didn't even try to hide her liking for you. she chased after you every chance she'd get. you were soo her type: pretty, smart, wicked, introverted, you were her better half in her eyes.

you ignored her advances, each of them, in the most non-hostile way you could. however, doing so became harder every other time you had to do it. it wasn't that you didn't like her— well, you didn't like her, yeah, you totally didn't like her one bit, she was a little annoying, but you didn't hate her guts either.

someone you did hate with, forget your guts, every single fiber and cell in your body, was you mom. she was the devil incarnate in your eyes, your father passed away when you were around one and a half years old.

your mom was a big businesswoman, she was the ceo of her own company of cosmetics, one of the most viral brands of them around the globe. she had a golden reputation.

she couldn't let her reputation be ruined all because she made the mistake of falling in love and giving birth to a girl who couldn't even repay all the favors she'd done for her by studying.

"all you have to do is study."

"you better not go on the wrong track."

"love is useless, it only drags you down in life."

"ungrateful brat, you need to do one thing and one thing alone, study."

"paint? it's gonna get you nowhere. study? you'll get all that you desire."

she treated you like her puppet, she wanted you to be her shadow, be just like her. she raised you the way she was raised. under pressure, expectations and insults.

she'd cut all contact and fell in love back in her time and she'd had you, she was content. yet, after your dad passed, she'd forgotten who she was. she became the one she promised herself she'd never be, a toxic mom.

somewhere along the way, the lines between caring and controlling blurred for her, resulting in who she was now. she could've broken the cycle of toxicity, but she became a victim due to the circumstances pushed on her.

she forbid you of painting, something you loved with a lot of passion. she never let you go to a party, they were all just distractions in her words. you had better things to worry about, like your grades.

the thing that made you hate her most though, was how she had to pit you against yunjin like it was her lifeline. she couldn't be stopped, every meeting with her, once or rarely twice in a month, was filled to the brim with her complaining.

heck, you knew that the only reason you said you didn't like yunjin was because of your mom's nagging. there wasn't necessarily anything that ticked you off about yunjin.

it was all due to your mom and her constant nagging at you for always being second and never first. you tried, you really did try your hardest for every single test, whether it be a little quiz or your finals, you'd given it you all.

you did everything how she wanted you to, you didn't even remember the last time you'd graced your fingers over a paintbrush or when you'd picked up a pencil to draw a quick sketch or a cute doodle.

knowingly or unknowingly, you'd lost yourself, you rarely smiled, became more and more quiet than you already were, always stayed in the library, and it worried four people the most: yunjin, yena, wonyoung and chaeyeon. your academic rival and your three bestfriends.

it was ought to be another regular day like it'd been for the last few weeks— study, have a snack, study, maybe eat if you feel like it, sleep and repeat. to say your girlies were worried was an understatement.

as you were, for the umpteenth time, reassuring your bestfriends that you were okay; your phone rung. you looked at the bright screen to see the contact saved as mom.

you sighed before pulling the phone to your ear, picking up her call, "hello? is this y/n l/n?" a polite voice asked, your brows furrowed in confusion, why was a random lady talking to you from your mom's phone?

"yes, who is this?" you responded, a strange gut feeling that something was going to happen soon settling in your stomach. the woman from the other side took a deep breath before she began,

"i'm speaking from seraphinity hospital to inform you, with our condolences, that your mom, m/n l/n has passed away in a plane crash in her flight from kyoto, japan to seoul, korea. we're extremely sorry to inform such news to you, we'll send the few belongings that were found of her."

the line disconnected at that. you didn't know what to feel, the phone slipped out of your hands, falling on the desk on top of your book that you were reading prior.

unbeknownst to you, tears streamed down your face, uncontrollably. you didn't love, hell you didn't even like her, but at the end of the day, she was your mom, she brought you into the world.

your relationship was always limited to numbers and accomplishments, although the sharp realization that you wouldn't see her again stung really bad.

"she.. she's gone, yena, she's not here.." you needed to go back to your house right now. you grabbed your phone, running to the entrance of the library where a certain ginger tugged at your wrist.

"woah, what happened, sweets?" yunjin asked, she always called you sweets, you let her call you sweets, you did roll your eyes sometimes and lightly scoff though.

then another realization struck, how were you going to get to your house? you halted in your tracks, your butler came to drop you everytime and calling him here would take too long.

"earth to sweets?" she snapped her fingers near your face breaking you out of your trance to see her worried face, a deep frown etched on her features.

"you have a motorcycle, right?" in any other circumstance, you knew your mother would catch you dead in a motorcycle, but she wasn't here now and you needed to go.

her eyes shined and a little smile pulled up at the corners of her lips, "you wanna ride on my motorcycle, with just me?" there was a whole zoo having a field day in her stomach at the thought.

"yes, now come quick, i'll show you my address!" you pulled her hand in yours, dragging her to the parking lot. yunjin was glad you didn't even bother to look back as if you did, you would've saw her mouth hung open and ears colored pink.

she coughed, taking her keys and getting on the motorcycle, motioning you to get on while you stood there confused. "what? never rode a motorcycle before?" she asked sarcastically with a chuckle.

her face dropped in shock when you nodded.

"what have you even done, sweets?" she reached her hand out for you to take, you complied reluctantly, "swing your leg over and rest your foot on the foot rest."

you somehow sat behind her, scared if you'd survive the ride. she turned her head back to see you, your eyes glossy, cheeks puffed and tear stained— it made her heart clench at the sight. she didn't like to see you cry.

"hold me tight, sweets, you're house isn't super close and you need to be there as soon as possible." you slowly wrapped your arms around yunjin's waist, your face squished against her back, your face was red, which you chalked up to being so due to the crying not because of the ginger, duh.

──────── ✧✦

three months had passed since the incident, you were better now. after the initial grief, you had to admit, your health was better. with all the expectations off your shoulders, you were happy.

you weren't happy your mom wasn't here anymore, but you weren't sad wither. you were just happy with your life, it was still the same routine but you spend more time with your girlies now too.

which leads to now, you were with the three in a cute café close to your home, "oh my god, yunjin's hosting a party tonight!" chaeyeon exclaimed, "we should go!" wonyoung followed after.

"yes, i've been meaning to, you know, have a blast!" yena said dramatically before laying her head on the table. "you all can go." you said taking a sip of your matcha latte.

their eyes collectively narrowed, "no, you will come." yena whined shaking your shoulders making you giggle. "c'mon guys, i'm not into parties, i've never even been to a party!"

"yeah, we should change that, don't you think?" wonyoung looked at you with puppy eyes and held your hand. "it'll be fun, we promise!" chaeyeon gave you a bright smile.

"maybe some other time, okay? i won't bail!" you promised the three and they all sadly agreed, they wanted you to be more social, have some fun outside of your books, but books were your comfort, they knew that.

on your way back from the café to your home, it wasn't that far, so you decided to walk. this wouldn't have happened with your mom, she had a reputation, her daughter couldn't be seen walking the streets; she was a multi-millionare.

you hummed an incoherent tune as you walked in your big mansion, storing your shoes where they should be, hanging your purse and skipping to the living room to see yunjin with a wide grin and a gorgeous, tight, short black dress.

your jaw dropped, "what are you doing here?" she stood up, the dress in her hand, "you're coming to my party, go get ready, sweets." your jaw dropped impossibly more. the butler probably let her in as he knew who she was from their last encounter three months ago.

she giggled, shutting your mouth, "i know you love your silence and books, however, can't you just have one night of fun?" you thought hesitantly, the three were going too, it would be a fun surprise for them as well.

"and why would i agree to go to your party?" you persisted, you didn't even like her, for god's sake! then why did your stern eyes soften when her grin faltered for a second, eyes losing a little shine? you didn't know.

seeing yunjin like this made you second guess, you were agreeing for your girlies, not for yunjin, "don't look at me like that." you let out a sigh, making up your mind.

you faintly nodded and she lit up, "you don't own any makeup, but don't worry, i bought you lots of it!" she handed you a bag full of makeup that probably cost more than it should in your opinion.

"i picked shades i think would suit you, now come on, we need to start quick!" yunjin giggled all the way up the stairs with you trailing behind her. you only agreed for the surprise and not because of her, right?

you didn't even know why your heart was probably going a mile a minute, you were so confused. and it only happened when you were around yunjin; not when you were with anyone else.

she plopped herself on your bed and swayed her feet as she waited for you to change. you had a pinterest-perfect room, cute flower pots, paintings, crafts, it reflected you in a way.

she always wondered why you didn't participate in anything art or craft related, she knew you loved it, it was your passion and where you shined most without even having to try.

your skill and love for art will never not surpass your love for reading and being stuck in your books, as much as you tried to deny, saying i love reading most.

there was a certain sparkle in your eye as soon as anything related to art was brought up, she loved seeing that spark in your eyes, she loved your eyes. yunjin loved your smile, your laugh, your personality, your painting, she loved yo—

she stopped, a hand coming to where her heart rested, "do i? do i love this cute little.. this pretty and witty shorty?" she laughed and talked to herself, feelings were so complicated.

you knocked on the restroom door as you came out, face red in embarrassment, you'd never wore anything shorter than knee-level, yet this dress came till mid-thigh.

yunjin gasped, audibly gasped as she saw you. after the initial shock, she eyed you up and down, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth, shamelessly staring at you, making you even redder.

you really needed to wear more form-fitted and short clothes, but only infront of her, for her only, no one else. "you look absolutely breathtaking, sweets, i gotta give you that!"

yunjin stood up, walking closer to you, while you stood there uncertain on what to do. she tucked a strand of loose hair around your ear, "now time for step two, makeup!"

let's just say, your first party night was eventful, to say the least, the girls were overjoyed seeing you, multiple men tried to hit on you and yunjin somehow dragged you away from each of them by an excuse, you got very drunk, however, not drunk enough to spew dumb shit, fortunately.

you were drunk enough to end up not noticing how yunjin's eyes followed you everywhere, she wasn't stalking you, she just couldn't get her eyes off you. the way the dress clung to each of your curves in the most perfect way, the makeup enhanced your features, making you look even more snatched than before.

she was so down bad and she didn't even mind.

──────── ✧✦

"how about we study together?" yunjin rushed up to you, doe eyes shiny and enthusiastic, smile bright enough to make your heart rate accelerate more than you'd admit.

"i'm studying with chae—" you started, ready to politely decline yet another of her advances to get closer to you, when chaeyeon, who was beside you, intervened,

"actually, y/nie, i have a quick errand to run, you two should just go, i'll be back in a bit, bye girlie!" she ran in the other direction, leaving you confused, didn't she just ask you to study ten minutes ago?

"well..?" yunjin leaned on the locker next to her, staring intently at you with a little smile, she was mentally thanking chaeyeon for the umpteenth time as she waited for your response.

"fine, i guess, why not?" you thought out loud and she giggled, quickly taking your hand in hers and leading you to the library. she pulled a chair out for you to sit on of a table placed in the far corner of the library.

you sat down, muttering a thanks as she nodded and sat infront of you, she pulled out her pencil case, her binder, paper and a few stationery items while you did the same.

"so, to practice this essay, the topic we have to write for is our romantic interest," she began and you looked at her wide eyed, tilting your head.

"what type of a topic is that?" you asked perplexed, you weren't too into romance novels, movies and related, you didn't know who your interest was. "i don't have a romantic interest either." you explained further.

"oh, you gotta have someone in mind. a romantic interest is someone who you feel safe, loved, happy with; someone who makes your heart do things that don't seem possible, as if it's doing backflips or yoga or something."

she laughed and you pondered, a revalation coming into mind, "in short, they make you mad by how much they make you feel at the same time— confusion, anger, sadness, like, love, whatever it may be, it's different for everyone."

"and this topic is fun, i don't want to write about boring topics, we're here to practice writing and illustrating emotions through text, not philosophy." you nodded along, not paying much thought to the topic but to what she said about romance.

heart being wacky, frustration, hating and loving the same person, this is how you felt about yunjin, was it not? you were so shocked to even realize that she'd already began, "hey, what are you waiting for?"

you mouthed a nothing before you began writing, you voiced your thought about her, what you felt all these years due to your mom or due to your academic rivalry, in one way or another you were falling, or maybe you'd already fallen.

the close proximity, the party, the nickname, if anyone else had tried to do the same, it wouldn't have mattered as much as it did, it clicked in your mind.

yunjin was special to you, you never realized it but you always treated her differently too, just like she did. you let yourself be flirted to by her, you remembered how you'd roasted a bully so hard he left crying because he kept hitting on you even after you said no multiple times and you were done.

maybe the hate you thought you harbored was all love? maybe you loved her all along? maybe she was living in your heart rent free since forever?

after a while and a shocking life crisis later, you two were done writing and switched papers to grade each other's essays and what you saw only made your mind go haywire.

it wasn't far from a love letter, she'd stated everything she loved about you, which was two paragraphs and it was written this wasn't even all of the things she loved,

she'd written how she felt, how she hated seeing you be sad due to your grades and how she saw you pushing away your art for your studies.

she's always tried to encourage you to paint more, she's always made sure you'd eaten and drank water properly, she always made sure you were happy.

yunjin was so in love and she admitted it and after you read the whole thing and looked up, you saw her with the most shocked and happy face mixed ever.

you both were practically tomatoes, having read and understood that the feelings were mutual, though you weren't sure whether you liked or loved her, you certainly didn't think of her as just a friend.

you didn't feel how you did with her with chaeyeon or yena or wonyoung, she made you feel special. she made you feel loved, she made you feel so many things it was hard to wrap your head around the cyclone of emotions in you.

"i never thought i'd see you so red, sweets, that too because of me." she shakily said with the most lovesick grin on her face and you nodded, "same here, you're redded than a tomato."

"should we kiss?" she asked leaning closer to you, making you lean back more, "not here, we're in public!" you hushed her, looking around to make sure no one saw her say it.

she tilted her head, biting her bottom lip, admiring you, "what now?" you asked. "let's go to my dorm, it's a five minute walk from here." she stood up, haphazardly stuffing her things in her bag and making you rush to pack your bag as well.

you two rushed back giggling like you were both crazy. you'd have to say your first kiss and first date, which was watching movies and cuddling, was perfect.

it wasn't planned, it wasn't for show-off, it was for you. it was spontaneous, fun, nice, it was so effortlessly easy. for yunjin, it was effortlessly easy to love you; for you, it was effortlessly easy to be loved by yunjin.

love was effortlessly easy with yunjin.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚✧˖°.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ᯓ✦ 𝓊𝗻𝚒𝘷𝐞𝗋𝓢𝙚 !

𐙚 taglist! @woniefication

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cece693 · 24 days ago

Note

hihi! i luvv ur hannigram work, i rlly need to start reading some of ur other work! especially now that I know u write for twilight!!

can I please request hannigram x reader who has really bad trauma and it gives them awful nightmares? like reader wakes up after a nightmare and cannot fall back asleep, or be alone, so they just lay in bed beside them. or they go to the living room and stay with one of the dogs. when I was little I went through a lot of things and they caused rlly bad nightmares that I still have, and ive read fics abt reader dealing with nightmares but they all feel so wrong for some reason.

NIGHT MANAGEMENT PROTOCOL

pairing: hannigram x gender neutral reader With this being a sensitive topic, I didn't fully disclose the trauma reader went through and from the deepest part of myself, I tried to be as respectful in writing such a thing. However, I'm still human so please (politely) inform me if anything is incorrect or offensive in any manner. Thank You!

You surface hard from the nightmare—lungs dragging for air as though someone turned gravity off while you slept. Sweat sticks the sheet to your back; the cotton feels like gauze in a wound. At first you don’t even open your eyes. The darkness behind your lids is an echo of where the dream left you: concrete overhead, fluorescence buzzing, bleach biting your nose. Somewhere, metal ticked like coins in a dryer. You concentrate on identifying a single sound in the real bedroom—anything familiar enough to prove you’re home.

There.

The radiator ticks once. Wooden house, Wolf Trap, January. If the heat’s running it’s past two-thirty in the morning; Will always lowers the thermostat before he goes to bed. You catalogue the detail like a field note and shuffle for another: faint dog snores, different pitches. Buster’s warble; Winston’s whistling exhale; Max’s occasional “hmmph” when his feet twitch. No echo. No metal.

That should be enough—but the snapshot of the dream has burned afterimages across your vision. A length of chain swings in bright, vicious loops. You taste copper and realize your jaw’s locked so tight it’s bruising the inside of your cheek.

Next to you, Will and Hannibal breathe in opposite cadences—Will a coastal tide, Hannibal an old cathedral organ. You could stay. You want to stay. But your skin is buzzing, every nerve ending convinced you’re still horizontal on that metal.…If you lie down you’ll flinch and wake them both, and that would feel like losing the small victory of silence you’ve practiced for months.

You open your eyes and ease upright, peeling the damp tee from your chest. The room’s temperature feels Antarctic on your skin, a shock that breaks the dream’s static. You slip out from under the duvet, feet searching the braided wool rug. At the foot of the bed, Winston’s ear flips. He’s on early-warning duty—he perks whenever anyone leaves the bed after midnight. You stretch a hand, scratch behind the ear in apology.

“Stay,” you whisper, though your voice cracks on the single syllable.

You cross the hallway by touch, refusing to switch on lamps—light this early triggers headaches. The house creaks. Nothing predatory, just timber shrinking in the cold. But your chest tightens anyway. Your therapist calls the sensation “echo fear”—when the body acts like time hasn’t passed. You rub the heel of your palm under your ribs, convincing yourself it’s bone, not chain, pressing there.

The living-room hearth throws faint glow; embers from the dinner fire still pulse behind the grate. You squat, prod a charred log until sparks jump. Fire, dogs, blankets: the recipe printed on Will’s fridge under a magnet shaped like a stag’s head, labeled “Night Management Protocol.” You almost laugh—Will, emperor of insomnia, reduced the worst parts of your life to a checklist. But the pragmatism works.

You tug an Afghan throw from the sofa back and sink onto the rug. Ellie ambles over, claws clicking; she thumps her head into your chest and collapses half across your lap, deadweight of a dog who knows practice rounds by heart. You bury both hands in her coat—live warmth, dusk-sweet scent of cedar chips and dog shampoo.

Grounding: five things you can touch (fur, wool, hardwood under one knee, the knuckle ridge of your own hand, the tackiness of old sweat). Four you can see (embers, fireplace grate, Ellie's mismatched eyes, the crooked picture frame over the mantel). Three you can hear (wind through the eaves, Ellie's breathing, the fridge cycling). Two you can smell (burned oak, dog). One you can taste (copper on your tongue, real, not memory).

Heart rate lowers; you feel it like a gear downshifting. You stroke Ellie’s side until your fingers stop shaking.

A floorboard moans behind you. You don’t jolt—Will never calls your name abruptly if he senses you’re raw. He pads into the firelight wearing one of Hannibal’s robes, silk pooling at the cuffs, drawstring of Will’s sweatpants peeking underneath. Bed hair collapses over his eyes. He eyes the hearth, then Ellie, and finally you.

“Chasing ghosts again?” he asks roughly. He doesn’t mean the phrase as flippant; it’s the label you gave the nightmares in group therapy.

“They didn’t want to stop running tonight,” you admit.

Will sits cross-legged opposite you, mirroring posture. He waits until Ellie shifts enough to rest her head in Will’s lap, then drapes a palm over yours. Your pulse drums beneath tendon; Will doesn’t comment, just lets the warmth drain from him into you. He studied polygraph biofeedback in Quantico—he can sync breathing like a metronome.

“Want company or quiet?” he murmurs after a moment.

“Both,” you say, embarrassed by the contradiction.

Will’s mouth curves. “We can manage both.” He scoots closer until knees bump, then simply sits, eyes half-closed, breathing a steady 4-7-8 pattern. You follow—inhale four, hold seven, exhale eight—and the edges of the living room sharpen; no more tunnel vision.

A soft flick of a switch: the lamp on the sideboard glows amber. Hannibal stands in the threshold, one hand still on the toggle, head inclined as though he’s observing a nocturnal species newly discovered. Where Will looks half-drowned in sleep, Hannibal is maddeningly composed—robe cinched, hair smooth, expression neutrally concerned.

“I woke and found the bed missing two occupants,” he explains, voice pitched quiet enough not to break the hush. “I feared the dogs had stolen you both for their own.”

“We are communing with the pack,” Will answers, tone affectionate but wry.

Hannibal steps onto the rug, kneels with a surgeon’s elegance, and settles behind you so your backs touch. The contact is slight—linen brushing your skin—but it chains you to the present more effectively than any grounding trick. You feel the rise of his breath against your spine like a slow tide.

“What remained when you woke?” he asks. Hannibal never says “tell me the nightmare”; that frames it as narrative, something he could pick apart intellectually. Instead he focuses on residuals—scent, sound, body memory. Easier to translate without reliving.

“Bleach,” you say after a swallow. “Cold metal table. Chain on tile. And…fluorescent hum. I hate that buzz.”

“Which sense feels safest to load first?” he prompts.

“Smell, maybe.”

Hannibal reaches, plucks a half-burned cedar log from the basket, nudges it onto the embers. Turpentine-sweet smoke unfurls. “Cedar counters bleach,” he says. “A softer antiseptic, one humanity has used for preservation, not erasure.”

You breathe in until lungs ache pleasantly. Ellie sneezes once in protest, then settles.

“Sound?” Will offers, glancing up. He reaches to the bookshelf under the window, retrieves an old wind-up metronome. He sets it to sixty beats per minute—average resting heart rate—and starts the pendulum. A gentle tick-tock over the fire’s crackle replaces the fluorescent drone in your head.

“Touch,” you murmur. Hannibal’s hand comes round, palm flat to your sternum, thumb stroking the dip above the xiphoid process. Will covers your hands where they drum a nervous tattoo on your thigh. Two points of warmth—front and back—like brackets sewn around a wound.

“Anything left?” Will asks, gaze steady.

You hesitate—taste of copper still lingers. Hannibal’s eyes narrow imperceptibly—he smells blood when no one else can. You lift your thumb to your mouth, wipe the inner cheek, show the faint red. “Bit myself.”

Hannibal rises, returns with the small first-aid tin kept on the mantel. Instead of antiseptic swabs he produces a square of dark chocolate—the emergency stash he pretends is for low blood sugar, though you know it’s for nights exactly like this. “Let us replace the flavor.”

You accept, let the chocolate soften on your tongue until bitter gives way to caramel notes. The tension between your shoulders loosens another centimeter. Will glances at the clock—3:07 a.m. “We could stay up,” he offers. “Hot milk, scrambled eggs, bore ourselves back to sleep.”

“Or,” Hannibal counters, voice the verbal equivalent of a down pillow, “we could attempt rest again, now that the worst has been named.”

A month ago you’d have chosen wakefulness, afraid the second sleep would reopen the wound. Tonight the room feels survivable. You nod. Hannibal’s fingers squeeze once in acknowledgment; Will stands, joints popping, and whistles for Ellie to go back to her bed.

The walk back to the bedroom is still a corridor of potential darkness, but Will’s shoulder brushes yours every other step, Hannibal’s palm rests between your shoulder blades, guiding. When you pause at the doorway, lungs hitching, Hannibal flips the hall light off himself—removing the choice that paralyzed you. Inside the room, moonlight paints silver stripes across the foot of the bed. Normal. Familiar.

Will crawls in first; you slide after him, and Hannibal takes the outermost edge, creating a human enclosure. Will tugs the duvet over your hips, then threads his fingers through yours and settles them on his chest so you can feel respiration without needing to check visually. Hannibal curls against your back, knees bracketing yours, his breath a warm tide at the nape of your neck.

“Five senses,” Hannibal murmurs against your skin, a reminder rather than instruction. You breathe in cedar, chocolate, clean cotton, dog. Will’s heartbeat thrums under your ear. The metal table dissolves.

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girlsworldillusion · 1 month ago

Text

I'll fake it until you give up (or will it be me?)

Final part

Part one > here

Ravenclaw!Barty - Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: The five times Barty tried to hint at a relationship with you, being actively blocked in the process, and the one time you were the one who did it.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Ella's Notes: This was originally a one shot, but since I have no self-control, I created a monster of more than 20k, so I divided this story into two parts. I strongly advise you to read the first part if you haven't already, or you won't understand anything here. (I had Maxence Danet-Fauvel in mind while writing Barty, but of course you can imagine him however you like)

Happy reading!

Word count: 15k

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

iv.

The Slytherins knew how to throw a good party.

Obviously they would need to tie you up and force a liter of veritaserum down your throat before you would admit that out loud. But you suppose it was safe to admit it to yourself.

The low beat of the music blasts into your ears in just the right way, a sensual, enveloping bass that has you subtly moving your hips before you even realize you're doing it. The green-hued floating candles and silver and black decor cast purposefully mysterious shadows across the sweaty bodies that excitedly crowded the dance floor. A near-suffocating amount of cigarette and whatever crap the students were smoking swirled through the air in almost hypnotic spirals - you don't know how, but they managed to make even this explicitly school-banned act (not to mention the fact that it's highly harmful to health) seem cool here.

There was a kind of absolute, yet elegant, chaos at Slytherin parties that you didn’t see in other houses. Definitely not in Gryffindor, where there was usually only the chaos part.

They made drinks stronger than any other house, true, but that wasn’t a bad thing - at least not tonight. After the absolutely awkward and intimate moment you’d shared with Crouch a few nights ago, drinking yourself into oblivion was exactly what you needed.

And so you were doing.

The thing was so strong that you were only on the second glass and already your body felt light and your mind relaxed, the happy confusion of drunkenness already taking over your thoughts. It didn’t help that the glasses were charm to refill as the drink dwindled.

You were tipsy enough to find the dramatic antics Sirius was pulling with James and Remus across the room quite amusing, finally pulling the wands out of their arses to enjoy themselves in a green and silver party.

Unfortunately, however, you weren't drunk enough to stand Lockhart's presence. Honestly, you were completely convinced that there was no level of drunkenness that reached such parameters.

"...and then I spotted the golden snitch right there, wandering restlessly through the pouring rain with its fragile little wings. Of course, without me, they would have lost that match. The seeker was so confused that you could say the poor boy had been hit by an errant bludger. Oh, if it hadn't been for me..."

The man was so self-centered and vain that it made you want to stick your nails in your own ear canals and rip them out so you wouldn't have to hear him anymore.

"That's very interesting, Lockhart, but -" You try, with a lame excuse on the tip of your tongue to disappear from that place. But of course it wouldn't be that easy.

"Gilderoy, my dear. I already told you that you can call me Gilderoy." He interrupts you with a grin that’s bright enough to light up the entire castle, winking at you as if he’s granting you a Order of Merlin by allowing you to use his name.

“Okay…Gilderoy,” you grin, “as I was saying, your stories are really interesting, but I promised Mary I’d find her and—”

“Oh, but why would you? Aren’t we having a good time here?” Apparently, interrupting is another one of his annoying quirks, because he’s doing it again. But this time in a rather direct manner.

“Huh—” you sigh as he forces you to flatten yourself against the wall to put some space between your bodies, advancing towards you with a catlike gaze and a big, stupid grin on his mouth.

“Do you know how many girls would beg to be in your place right now, honeybun? You must know by now how sought after I am…” His voice is something artificially friendly and seductive, so ridiculous that you want to laugh in response. But you're too frozen in place to do anything like that.

And it's not because Lockhart is someone who inspires any fear. Merlin knows the man doesn't have a single threatening bone in his body. It's just the sudden proximity, his considerable height shadowing yours, and his poor and unwanted flirting - and maybe the exorbitant and unnecessary amount of alcohol the slytherins put in those damn drinks is making you vulnerable after all.

The fact is that you feel cornered in a totally unpleasant and unexpected way. And that makes you freeze for a moment, not knowing how to react.

"Uh, what do you say? How about we have some fun?" He moves a little closer, close enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath wafting across your forehead, making your fingers press the glass until it feels like you could crush it.

"Lockhart."

A voice sounds behind the two of you, loud enough to be heard even over the low chords of the music, and you know who it is before you even see him, but Gilderoy still cranes his neck to find out who interrupted him at such an inopportune moment.

Inopportune for him, of course. For you it was a more than convenient moment.

"I'm surprised to find you here. I thought you were at the competition back there." Barty comments disinterestedly as raises the cigarette to his lips, looking at you over Gilderoy's shoulder with an appraising and intense look before turning back to the man.

"Competition?" Of course that's the key word to pique Lockhart's interest, making him take a few steps away from you as if you were nothing more than a background now, approaching Barty with a curious look while peering between the students with a raised eyebrow. "What kind of competition?"

"Something about who's the finest guy in our year or something stupid like that..." Barty smiles sharply and sarcastically, clearly disdaining the man's self-centered behavior, but Gilderoy doesn't even blink twice at his condescension. Honestly, you still have trouble understanding how someone as obtuse as Gilderoy Lockhart had been sorted into Ravenclaw. "The girls have already started voting."

The blond is already walking away from the two of you before the sentence is even complete, barely deigning to wave over his head as he shouts a 'talk to you later, honeybun.' A promise you hope will never come true.

Even when he disappears into the crowd of students, Barty still stands there; smoking his cigarette while staring at you with an irritating and very satisfied smile on the corner of his lip, winking gallantly at you with his left eye. He looks very proud of himself; with his stupid black jeans and boots, a gray shirt and a brown coat over it. His amber-toned hair is, as always, a total disaster, wisps of soft, unruly hair sticking out in every direction, as if he didn't even know there was such a thing as a hairbrush.

“You’re ridiculous, Crouch.” You roll your eyes, finally relaxing enough to go back to sipping your firewhiskey.

He grins wider.

“What? It was either that or hex that weasel face until he realizes he’s not to approach you like that ever again, princess. I assumed you’d prefer a more peaceful path. You know, because of all this gryffindor honor nonsense and stuff. Was I wrong?”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing. But the words lodge deep, nestling somewhere warm in your gut, and you don’t know what to do with them. So you do what you do best: push them away, hide them behind walls, blindfolds to keep yourself blind to what is already obvious, separated from words that could answer the only question that matters.

“I don’t need you to protect me.” You grumble sourly over the rim of your glass—though you feel undeniably relieved now that he’s shooed the inconvenient man away. But your faithful commitment to keeping Barty away and your absolute embarrassment over the last encounter still weigh on your mind, making you defensive. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

“I know.” He winks, but makes no move to leave.

Neither of you says anything else after that, and the only relief you have left comes from the fact that you’re both apparently willing to pretend the incident from the other night never happened. But in the absence of a conversation, since you certainly won't be the one to bring up any subject, you find yourself with no other choice but to keep staring at him with narrowed eyes that basically scream at him to get some sense and get the hell out of your sight. And of course he remains blissfully unfazed by such obvious signs of hostility, smoking his cigarette as if he doesn't owe you anything, as if he's not the cause of your nerves being frayed lately.

Merlin, he irritates you so much. The white flag you had raised that night is definitely down once again.

And it's in the midst of these silent thoughts of hatred, and since you vehemently refuse to be the first to look away, that you find yourself observing with a certain and very unwanted level of interest the way he smokes. Which, logically and once again, he absolutely shouldn't be doing - your Head Girl vein is throbbing in your forehead. But even you can't deny the kind of hypnotic allure in the way he blows the cloud of smoke through his lips, the soft, hazy curtain that escapes through his nostrils - like a dragon lazily exhaling its smoke through its nose.

Barty, like the inconvenient watcher that he's, has already noticed your reluctant interest and decides to put on a little show now that he has an audience.

You blink suspiciously as he parts his lips in a curious little 'o', a perfectly flawless circle of smoke blowing into the air with the movement. The smoky circle spins on its axis, expanding into a larger and larger quivering ring as it moves away from his lips, until it naturally dissolves into a blurry cloud that dissipates into the air.

The whole thing holds your attention to the point that you barely remember he's still there, eyes blinking rapidly as you finally focus on the boy once more. He smiles, proud and satisfied, and you feel your cheeks burning with the sheer heat of embarrassment as realize there's absolutely nothing you can say right now to save yourself from the very obvious stare you're giving him.

So of course you go ahead and do the next stupidest thing you can. Damn slytherins and their abnormally strong firewhiskeys.

"Show me what it's like."

He arches his thick eyebrows at you, blue gaze shining with something you can barely decipher against the dim green of the room.

"What's it like...?"

"Smoking, obviously." You wave a hand at the cigarette in his fingers, adopting a nonchalant attitude to try to cover up your own embarrassment. Not that Barty is buying it, anyway. "There must be something extraordinary about it, since every time we meet you have one of those in your mouth. So come on, show me what I've been missing all this time."

It's a half-truth, you suppose. Although your request was only made for lack of something better and more intelligent to say, you had indeed caught yourself once or twice ruminating about the man's harmful habits. You had noticed that he would alternate between smoking regular cigarettes and roll a joint with his friends - there was no doubt that his lungs must be screaming for help by now. And there was a certain curiosity in you to know what made someone as young and apparently healthy as him give in to such vices. What demons did he face to resort to such a thing as an escape?

Of course, Barty Crouch Jr would never be the sensible person who would try to use logic and common sense to stop someone from diving headfirst into a vice that could very well ruin their good habits - and lungs, in this case. So, with a mischievous smile and a level of ease that should be at least worrying in fulfilling your request, he is approaching you.

He's much taller than Lockhart, you think immediately, with your cheeks heating up when he positions himself right in front of you, making you lean against the wall instinctively, your head tilting back so you can maintain eye contact. This is the first sign of the huge mistake you had made in making this request.

Even in the common room as crowded as it is, smelling of sweat, weed, sex and alcohol - you can still smell him, as close as you are. A rich, woody scent of some expensive cologne, the same one you smelled that night. The distant, soft notes of something refreshing and clean, like eucalyptus or mint leaves. And smoke, of course, embedded in every bit of him.

He blinks slowly at your open-mouthed expression, his teasing little smug softening into a gentler, less cheeky one.

"Are you sure?"

You huff, rolling your eyes as answer him.

"Of course I am, Crouch. I wouldn't ask if I wasn't."

Your voice is more breathless than you'd like, heart beating fast in your chest at the man's proximity. Which only gets worse when he rests his forearm on the wall, just above your head, leaning his body even further towards you as he makes you look at him once more.

"Okay." He says slowly, rolling the word around on his tongue like a caramel. He’s so close now that you can see how long and dark his eyelashes are, the green lighting around him shadowing and casting an enigmatic tone in his pale blue eyes, unsettlingly locked on yours. He certainly doesn’t need to be this close to do what you’ve asked, and to be honest, you can’t say why you haven’t pushed him away yet. His presence overwhelms you and makes you tense, though definitely not in the same way that Lockhart did. Barty makes you feel hyperaware of yourself, of every inch of your body; makes you notice the erratic pattern of your breathing and the rapid beating of your heart, makes you feel the heat creeping across your skin with embarrassment and something else. Something else…

He holds your gaze as he lifts the cigarette to your half-open mouth, resting the tip on your bottom lip like you’re a damn ashtray.

"Close your lips around it gently, doe," he whispers, close enough to you that you can hear him even over the beat of the music around you rattling the walls. You do as he says, round eyes locked with his as you delicately seal your lips around the cigarette. "That's it, just like that." He compliments you with a lazy, satisfied lift of the left corner of his lip, his blue gaze glistening with something sweet and sticky, like molasses. "Now suck a gentle breath around it, real slow so you don't choke - hey, hey, slow, sweetie, no rush." He interrupts you with a low chuckle as you inflate your lungs like you're about to dive into the Black Lake, bracing yourself to inhale with far more eagerness than you should, absolutely distraught at what's happening. What these instructions, in that damned husky, low tone he's using, remind you of.

You’re sure there’s no need for such an intimately detailed tutorial when he could just tell you to put the damn cigarette in your mouth and inhale. But the way he’s doing it, your head is spinning and spinning with unwanted thoughts and you find yourself bitterly regretting asking for this in the first place, wanting nothing more than to get it over with so you can hide from him – preferably for the rest of your life.

You nod to let him know you understand, relaxing your body as best you can given the bizarre situation, sucking in a careful breath around the tip of the cigarette.

Even with his gentle and slow guidance, when the bitter, acrid taste of tobacco first slides down your throat, you find yourself unable to hold back the sudden wave of coughing that brings it on. Your eyes immediately widen and water and your throat closes up, body leaning forward as you feel like you might actually choke on it if you don’t start coughing right now.

"Shhh, it's okay..." Barty cups the back of your head in his broad palm, fingers stroking your hair as you bury your face in his coat, body shaking with the violent coughing fit that rips from your throat. "You did good, princess."

You feel like you could hex him.

"I-I did good?! Are you crazy, Crouch? Can't you see that - uh, fuck - I'm almost dying here?" You agonize against his chest, your voice rough with the hellish burning in your throat and lungs, eyes red and swimming with tears, a mess of smoke escaping from your nostrils and mouth as you speak, as if it don't quite know where to go.

You feel him smile widely as he rests his lips on the top of your head. And if you weren't completely focused on holding back the violent tremors of coughing and trying to stop yourself from crying like a little baby, you would have noticed the similarity of this contact with what had happened the other night. You would also have noticed how intimate you both are for anyone to see. Your smaller body curled up against his, his mouth in your hair as he murmurs reassuring words and smiles, one of his hands holding the cigarette away while the other slides down your back in comforting movements.

You pull away enough to lift your head to him, ready to give him a long and very rude lecture about how harmful it certainly was to anyone's lungs and that, now that you had tried it, you could state with complete certainty how insane he's for enjoying such a thing. But you don't.

Because instead of doing exactly that, you are suddenly too busy staring at the green lights flashing against his honey-colored hair, the blue depths of his eyes narrowed with sincere joy, the blatant softness in the wide smile he flashes at you.

Your lips part as you realize, with absolute shock, that you want to wrap your arms around his shoulders once more, to cling to him and feel the beat of his heart against your chest so that you know that you are both alive, together. You want to thread your fingers through that messy hair and feel if the strands are as soft as its look, you want it, you want it...

Merlin-

You want to kiss him.

And worst of all, you are so sure that Barty can see it, as if it is seeping out of you like red ink on white parchment.

You stumble back silently from the force of your own thoughts, giving him one last stunned look before stumbling through the sweaty crowd of dancing students towards the exit.

As soon as you are outside the Slytherin common room, you take a deep, shuddering breath. The knowledge that the world looks different now settles on your shoulders like a heavy, unbearable cloak.

You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it’s not just that Barty is attractive and annoyingly persistent.

It’s that you care about him.

And you don’t know what to do about it.

The weather was lovely.

Hogwarts, in general, offered the best backdrops and visual aesthetics, in yout opinion. No matter the season and whatever mood you was in, there was always something enchanting about the weather around the school. But even by Hogwarts standards, the scene that had unfolded was stunning.

The afternoon was sunny just right; enough so that, although the sun was shyly hiding behind some gray, fluffy clouds, it still sent its rays through them in an almost ethereal manner - casting fragments of golden light into the air and onto the ground beneath your feet that were absolutely mesmerizing. And, in an unusual and breathtaking fusion, the icy drops of a rain that had begun without any prior warning fell endlessly from the sky, glistening against the golden background like countless ice crystals.

The scene was beautiful. Breathtaking, like something out of the pages of an adventure tale.

That's why you didn't understand why there was only you out there, with your arms wide open in the air and body spinning around and around as you smiled like an idiot in the rain.

The students were running from the gardens as soon as the first cold drops started falling from the sky, entering the castle so quickly that you could say they were made of sugar if you didn't know better. But it would be their loss, in the end. Only someone very sad about life or indifferent to true beauty wouldn't enjoy this moment for what it really is. A gift.

Your laughing and joyful spin is slowly interrupted when you notice a figure standing under a tree. You don't need more than a single glance to know who it is.

Barty has his hands in the pocket of his uniform pants, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up at the elbows, a blue tie sloppily around his neck. His hair is as chaotic as ever. He's smiling, although not his usual crooked and teasing smile. He smiles softly, like someone who truly appreciates what he sees.

Your brows furrow softly when you realize he’s just standing there, staring at you from a far corner of the gardens. It confuses you for a moment, since he’s never had a problem approaching you before, certainly. But this time there’s something almost hesitant in the anxious swaying of his body as he clearly struggles to stay still, in the measured gleam in his blue gaze. As if he’s afraid of interrupting something, ruining a perfect moment.

You gaze contemplatively at the golden sky once more, lips parted in a long sigh.

When you turn your attention back to the man, you do so accompanied by a nod of your chin, subtly indicating that it’s okay to approach.

Barty doesn’t need a second prompt. Before you can even follow, he’s already in front of you: one moment his unruly hair is dry and protected from the rain, the next the light brown strands cling to his forehead, darkening a few shades, the icy drops running down its length until trail down the curved bridge of his nose. You blink at him, at his sudden proximity. And despite your heart racing in your chest, you don’t try to pull away this time.

It’s with butterflies in your stomach and strangely shaky hands that you realize you don’t want to pull away this time.

“What are you doing?” He smiles, looking a little pathetic all wet like that, like a scalded cat. A joint rolled methodically and tucked in the crook of his left ear (also soaked from the rain now), a jagged, swollen cut on his lower lip from some recent fight he got into and didn’t bother to heal with magic. It’s annoying how he’s still absolutely charming to the eye like this.

“I’m dancing in the rain,” you sigh, even though you’re no longer moving a single muscle in your body, with bright eyes and a smile so vulnerable that it pushes you straight onto the list of the most silly people you’ve ever met.

And the worst part is that you can’t even care much about it now.

He smiles wider at you, coming so close that you have to look up to maintain eye contact. And what a beautiful smile he has - so cheerful and open that little dimples form on his cheeks. Around you the rain continues to fall without stopping, crystal clear drops against a golden background that reflects directly in the clear blue of Barty's eyes, in the enviable length of his eyelashes...

Neither of you say anything else after that. There's no need. The whole scenario, straight out of a cheesy cliché that would make you vomit under any other circumstances, contributes to this moment moving in one direction. It's truly inevitable that your bodies will come closer, that the smile will diminish to something more intense and raw on both your lips, that your eyes will shine with unspoken whispers.

Barty lifts a hand to tuck a strand of your soaked hair behind your ear. You blink up at him as you feel the rain weighing your uniform. Feel it dripping down your hair and down your back. Feel it pooling in your socks and shoes. The rain is everywhere, covering you completely, and it should be uncomfortable, but it’s dulling all your senses. The rain and Barty Crouch Junior.

Tension blooms between the two of you in the silence that follows, his eyes actively searching yours before slowly dropping to your mouth. Both of you remembering what happened at that Slytherin party - what almost happened. He breathes and you move with him, letting one hand palm his soaked chest with a shaky exhale as his head dips lower, your wet, cold noses gently touching, a prelude that makes you yearn as if you can already taste him on your tongue.

“Please don’t push me away this time,” he murmurs and you gasp at the almost desperate plea in his voice, heart fluttering in your chest like the wings of a golden snitch. And within seconds, his mouth is pressed against yours.

It’s initially cold and slippery from the rainwater when his lips finally meet yours. A soft, gentle kiss on your parted, ever-indecisive lips. His fingers slide across your wet cheeks and you cling to his shoulders, feeling the soaked fabric of his shirt.

Barty tilts his head then, deepening the kiss, his mouth sliding so easily against yours that it’s as if he’s done it before. And though still wet, the inside of his mouth molding to yours is so warm and soft, and it’s making the dull ache in your chest dissipate.

Barty is a very good kisser, with the practice he’s obviously had, but you’re also good at following through, despite the lack of it. His kiss tastes like saliva and mint and the lingering weed from his joint and it’s so, so good, good enough that you think you could get high from it alone. You don’t hesitate before kissing him back, gripping his shirt tighter as you balance on your tiptoes, struggling to find purchase where the fabric is clinging to his skin. But Barty helps you, even as he’s kissing you like he’s been craving it for ages. His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer as he supports you with his tall, lean body, deepening the kiss with a confidence that makes your knees weak.

Your hands fist tightly in his shirt as his thumb continues to stroke your cheek, and you can’t help the shy sound that escapes you when he gently catches your bottom lip between his teeth with a playful tug before sucking it into his mouth again. Your tongue languidly slides across the bloody cut on his lip, soothing the wound, and it’s his turn to groan into your mouth, a vibrant rumble that starts straight in his throat and dies on your lips.

Another thick cloud of rain approaches, cold drops hitting your back, sticking your clothes to your skin even more. Neither of you cares about it, the rumble of thunder is distant to the east, the rays of the sun still bright above the horizon. The rain runs down your cheeks and between the panting gaps of your lips as you kiss, a different taste on Barty’s minty tongue.

With your hands tangled in his soaked shirt and neck, you kiss for what feels like hours. Any doubts about whether or not the two of you were compatible are completely trampled by now - considering the natural way you both fit together as you kiss. Dizzy from the smell of wet earth around the castle and the hints of Barty’s woody cologne, you sigh as you let the kisses naturally fade to something softer.

With a slow brush against your parted lips, Barty pulls his mouth away from yours, both of you breathing hard, your foreheads resting together. He’s still holding you, one arm around your waist and the other hand on your cheek, his body leaning over you, and your hands still firmly anchored on his broad shoulders. You try to speak a few times, your lips trembling where they’re brushing over his, and Barty can’t help but smile softly, stealing another kiss as if he can’t resist your cute nonsense.

The warm feeling in your chest makes you smile back, a weak one, trying to hold back the tears that have come without you even realizing it. And you look at him, at those eyes bluer than the blue of the sky, at the satisfied and hopeful smile on his lips. Lips soft and swollen with the kisses he gave you. And your heart calls to him, screaming silently and meaninglessly, in ecstasy and confusion.

The feeling of that irregular call in your chest, combined with the awe of seeing someone look more charming than anyone would consider fair... it was akin to falling in love. And it should have been obvious all along, it should have been. But you've spent so long pretending, so long building walls and barricades to keep yourself protected behind them, that now you don't know how to let them down.

You don't know how to let yourself feel, no matter how much you want to. And Merlin, you do.

It's obvious that you don't want to leave this silent sanctuary any time soon, but you remove your hands from his shoulders anyway. Press your lips against his cold, wet cheek one last time as let the fire die down with a breath of reality.

"No..." he whispers wetly when he notices your pull away, his smile dying and his gaze darkening to something so open and raw, almost betrayed, as he watches you stumble back.

You feel yourself breaking a little at this, because you know you did what he asked you not to do. But the truth is, you don't know how to do it differently. How not to ruin everything. Because that's what you do, always. Ruin everything. And you did it again; you masterfully ruined what was a beautiful afternoon at Hogwarts. All because you don't know how to feel anything good without panicking.

But maybe it was better this way. If you acted like it never happened, then you wouldn't have to think about it anymore. Barty was someone so special, so open with his feelings. He certainly deserved better than a constipated emotional person like you. He would realize that soon enough. And soon, to him, you would be nothing more than a forgotten memory. Everything would be okay. Yeah, right.

(And the fact that you couldn't even believe your own lie at that moment doesn't surprise you as much as it should.)

v + i

It's like you're promptly short-circuiting, not believing you're actually doing this. You can't believe you're actually going to do this. Maybe after this humiliation, you can run away to a faraway place and hide, preferably on the other side of the world.

"We need to talk, Crouch."

You burst through the dorm door with the strength of a hurricane, the determination of a warrior and the red cheeks of a sinner. In your silent desperation the door is pushed open and thrown with such force that it bounces off the opposite wall with a dramatic thud and almost hits you in the face again, making you wince and want to sink into the floor as you hold it.

Barty, as you learned through top secret sources, was right there, lounging in his dorm; leaning against the headboard, with one leg folded over the other. In his hands an open and empty box of Chocolate Frogs. His eyes widen at your bombastic entrance, freezing with the candy rolling on his tongue as if he’s been caught committing a serious infraction, sending you the most ridiculous and cute grimace you’ve ever seen on a man.

It’s out of sheer embarrassment at your own theatrical eagerness that you look away, staring at the blue curtains dotted with endless constellations of stars surrounding the beds and windows, the shelves crammed with books. And since there’s no such thing as the rest of the just, as your gaze wanders you realize that you’re not the only ones in the room—as the top secret sources had assuredly claimed.

Evan fucking Rosier of all people is lounging on the bed across the room, so naturally you’d think it was his. His eyebrows are raised, obviously surprised by your entrance as well, but he recovers much faster than Barty.

Just to wipe the smirk off his face, you almost threaten to give him detention for simply being there; well past curfew and in a dormitory that isn't even his own house to begin with. And you almost do. Until you remember that you absolutely shouldn't be in Ravenclaw Tower either, Head Girl or not - especially when it's not even your patrol night.

Rosier looks away from yours at his friend with an outrageous dose of mischief in his eyes, a cheeky smile that doesn't hide any of his thoughts. Which makes you remember that you only put up with the guy and his horrible behavior because he's Pandora's brother, whom you loved with all your heart. Merlin knows you would have punched the slytherin in the face already if that weren't the case.

You send him your most piercing look as gather what's left of your dignity into a fragile (but proud) bundle.

"Alone."

Evan folds his hands behind his head and sprawls comfortably against the pillow (which isn't his), showing that he was more than comfortable there, with no apparent reason to leave.

"Are you sure about that, beautiful? I think it would be much more fun if I stayed right where I am." He winks mischievously at you, a smile too big on his lips, teasing you and your obvious embarrassment as if he were earning a few good galleons with it. "Maybe you'll find out that you like a threesome..."

These men and their attitudes. You were already fed up with all of them!

With the blood boiling in your veins and an insatiable desire to frustrate him in the best way possible, you take a deep breath before looking at him with as much feigned innocence as you can muster at the moment.

"Oh, how did you guess?" The question is punctuated with a sigh of theatrical exaggeration, letting your eyes shine as you walk over to the bed and extend your hand to him in invitation.

The abrupt change in your mood would be comical and taken very lightly by anyone, but Evan accepts it much more easily than you could have imagined - albeit with a wavering smile, trying to understand what exactly was happening. You let him hold your hand as he stand up, his tall body towering over yours.

As you hold his gaze, you take a few delicate steps back, guiding him towards the exit without him even noticing. Men.

You lean into him a little as you whisper:

"Actually, that would be my dream come true."

"R-really?" He stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly, his electric blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Despite your frazzled nerves, you bite your lip to hold back your laughter as realize how easy it could be to fool him, but you still nod, batting your eyelashes at him slowly. At that, his eyes widen to their maximum size, and this reaction, coupled with the blush on his cheeks and the mess of blond curls on his head, lends him an air of almost innocence - despite his nefarious ways. "Merlin, then we could just-"

“Oh yeah, sure, but maybe another time, hm?” You cut him off with a roll of your eyes as you reach the open door, palming the slytherin’s chest. He smiles at that for about two seconds before sucking in a stuttered breath as he finally realizes where he is and what you’ve been planning all this time. You grin and blink at his daze, throwing him out with a single, hard shove before he can say anything else, locking the door quickly.

For a moment all you hear is silence, until there’s a loud thud on the wood that makes you jump a little in fright.

And you can only assume that’s his forehead hitting the door.

“Wait, so you’re saying it’s possible, yes?” His voice sounds muffled and hopeful through the door.

You almost growl. “Go away, Rosier!”

You stay there just long enough to hear a disappointed, almost sullen grunt before his purposefully hard footsteps sound across the floor as he reluctantly walks away.

"You know, he's not going to shut up about this from now on."

Your body turns to face the ravenclaw, who has recovered from the shock at some point and is now sporting his characteristic sly smile, his hands folded in his lap. His young, handsome features are highlighted both by the amber lighting of the stove located in the corner of the room and by the pale moonlight that enters through the stained glass window behind his bed. And, even from a distance, you notice that there is no longer any trace of the swollen, ugly cut on his lower lip. Which means that either this time the two of you hadn't seen each other in longer than you realized, or Barty had finally received the blessing of a modicum of common sense to use a healing spell on his own wounds.

You snort, feeling almost sick to your stomach from how nervous you are. "Like he'd shut up about anything."

He laughs and nods, but you feel too anxious to smile back. Your gaze darts back and forth between the floor and his eyes, hands clasped in front of you, unsure of what to do with your own presence now that silence reigns.

Barty doesn't look hurt, which is somehow even worse. That betrayed shadow in his gaze from last time, a memory that's haunted you ever since, is definitely gone. He looks almost... okay? That only makes you even more uncomfortable. Because you know he can't be okay, not after the colossal mess you've made of things. You know you've hurt him.

You're both silent for a moment, and when you summon the courage to look at him again, you see him staring at a blank spot behind your head for a moment, almost as if he's seeing through you, his eyes fixed and his jaw clenched. The whole thing happens in less than two seconds, and when he notices you watching him again, his face relaxes so quickly and artificially that it’s almost comical, and he gives you a wide smile, confident that he’s doing a good job of hiding what he’s really feeling.

But you see it, of course you see it, because Barty Crouch isn’t subtle about his emotions and reactions—he wears them on his face and in his body language without any suspense, an open book for anyone to see.

But now he’s trying to hide it, pretending that everything’s okay so as not to hurt you. Willing to play this hot and cold game all over again, just because he thinks that’s what you want. For some reason it makes you want to scream at him, shake him by the shoulders and tell him that he can’t do things like that—he can’t make you feel so humiliatingly attracted to him with gestures like that.

Because he should just be Barty Crouch Jr, the troublemaker of Hogwarts. He should just be Barty who is as spectacular inside the classroom as he is an absolute disaster outside it. Loud, arrogant, with no respect for rules or good behavior.

He shouldn’t be anything more than that, and you certainly shouldn’t have the slightest interest in him, being his complete opposite. You’re like water and wine. His audacity to disrupt the status quo of things makes you irrationally angry with yourself and with him.

But no matter how much you kick your feet and throw a tantrum and pretend it’s not happening, the situation is this:

a) you didn’t loathe his presence, as you sometimes pretended.

b) to be honest, you even missed his irritating looks when its weren’t there.

c) the irritation with your own inability to allow yourself to feel what he was so obviously willing to offer only grew with each encounter.

Of course, you still trying to persuade yourself—in a stupid and frankly pathetic effort—that you weren’t slowly falling in love with the man: the idea of love still gave you the creeps sometimes.

But the cold hard truth was that you couldn’t ignore those moments when you found yourself practically vibrating out of your skin, your breath coming in short gasps and your cheeks red as steam almost came out of your ears like a kettle boiling, with just the thought of him. And the more you thought about it, the more it seemed pointless to try so hard to resist, and it was really scaring the hell out of you.

And that’s why you were here. For clarification.

Coming tonight was entirely your idea. Well, almost entirely yours - Pandora had some part in it, and Merlin help you so she doesn't find out about it.

You could still remember the blonde’s reaction when you reluctantly opened up about the recent events involving you and Barty. "You can't keep doing this," she said, clucking incessantly like a mommy hen scolding her chick, "please decide on your feelings. I know it's hard for you to understand them and come to terms with them, but Barty is crazy about you. And I'm sure that's evident by now. You'd be a fool to let him go, especially over something as simple as pride or stubbornness."

You'd pouted at the time, indignant and offended that Pandora was giving you a moral lesson when you were already so emotionally fragile. But after pondering her words for a few days, arguing with yourself as you stirred your potions in the cauldron with a sour frown, and as you patrolled the empty corridors with heavy, sullen steps (scaring a few portraits in the process) - you realized there was a lot of truth in those words.

It turns out that knowing what to do and confronting your feelings head-on are two entirely different things. And though you know you should be the one to go to him this time, you realize you don’t really know what to say now that you have his attention. And that’s scary in itself, because words have always been everything to you; your defense, your offense, and your negotiation with the world. But when it comes to Barty, you always feel completely bereft of them.

“You—,” you begin, unsure and out of place, licking your lips when realize how suddenly dry they are. “Are you… really mad at me?”

“No,” he answers without even blinking, so quickly and with such conviction that it immediately convinces you of his sincerity. “I’m just confused. Confused and a little insecure, I guess.”

You can’t help but be puzzled, after all, insecure and Barty definitely couldn’t possibly be related.

“I don’t think that’s possible for you.” You huff out a low laugh, thinking this is just another one of his ill-timed jokes.

Barty sighs, shaking his head and tugging at a loose thread on the bedsheet. The corner of his mouth lifts in a tired smile before he confides,

"—It may not seem like it, but you can bet I never feel sure of anything when it comes to you, little lion." It's impossible not to notice the sudden intensity in his voice. "You seem to be changing your mind so often, I never know if I'm right or not."

The room is so quiet you could almost hear a pin drop, the atmosphere filled with tension and something more. The deep blue of Barty's eyes stare into your soul after his words, and you feel yourself trembling as realize your own feelings, which come crashing down on you all at once. The stab of the accusation, even said in a gentle tone, still hurts something in your chest and heats your cheeks with embarrassment and the compulsion to look away is strong, but you don't. You owe him that, at least.

You nod. "You're right," your voice is low and guilty, not even trying to deny the truth. "Sometimes it's just hard to believe that this is really happening to me... you know... most of the time I don't know what to do with it. What to do with you. But you're right and-"

You are interrupted, not by words, but by Barty's next actions. He suddenly abandons his place on the bed, standing up to invade your personal space with impressive speed. You have a few seconds to admire how comfortable and cozy he looks in his simple gray pajama pants and white cotton shirt before he’s on you. For a second, you almost think he might be considering kissing you again, since the closeness is so similar to last time.

Except there’s no kiss. Barty doesn’t even touch you. All he does is stand in front of you, too close for comfort, close enough that you have to clear your throat or look away, overwhelmed by his intense presence. You choose the first option.

“I don’t want to be right about this,” he answers then, so close that you have to crane your neck to look at him, heart racing in your chest. “I want you to be sure.”

You shake your head, unsure of how to respond, unable to understand what he wants to hear.

Barty narrows his eyes, his voice dropping several octaves as he asks,

“What does it take for you to be sure?"

"I - I..." You stammer, trying to find words that stubbornly refuse to find their way into your mouth.

Barty watches you for another awkward moment, then exhales and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more in the process. "Look, I get it, you have a hard time believing all this, right? But you're acting like this is a silly thing, something that's going to go away soon. As if I just woke up one day and decided to like you, but I'll soon realize that's not quite the case." He lets out a breathy but humorless laugh, his blue eyes almost desperately while search yours. "Do you know how long I've been stuck with you? How disheartening it was to realize that no matter how much attention I got from other people, the one person I wanted it was too busy treating me like a hindrance? Like an inconvenience?"

You hold your breath.

"I tried everything to get your attention," he continues, his voice rougher now. "Watching you discreetly, watching you not at all discreetly, beating you in exams to get a reaction, reading the same books as you to get a chance to talk about it - I even tried to sneak into the Gryffindor common room to talk to you one night, but that idiot Potter got to me before I could." He rolls his eyes at this part, making his disdain for James clear - as if it wasn't already obvious after all these years. "You obviously had a lot more brains than me on this, seeing as you're here now and everything..." he continues to mutter under his breath, now almost surpresed by your apparent ease to invade other houses' dormitories at will.

"You do know you're describing a stalking, right?" You sigh with a disbelieving laugh, though your entire body is practically shaking with anxiety.

Barty shrugs, unfazed by the accusation. "But it didn't matter what I did or how, because you..." He trails off, shaking his head, eyes shining into yours. "You always got away, always left."

Your skin turns dark red, chest tightening at the memory of how many times you had made him sad with this - even though your reasons were real and they were valid, it was still uncomfortable knowing that you had affected him so much in the process of understanding your own feelings.

Barty, sensing your inner conflict and wanting to offer some comfort (even when he was obviously the one who needed comforting at that moment) reaches up to grab your chin, his thumb stroking the delicate line of your jaw.

“This is scaring you, I get it. It’s not nonsense,” he says solemnly.

“Hngh,” you reply, very articulately.

Normally you pride yourself on being able to keep your cool. You can divert, change the subject and escape from one conversation to another when you want to. But—much to your increasing unhappiness, and because when it comes to Barty Crouch Jr nothing is as you thought—that’s not what happens.

You’re completely speechless.

It’s as if nothing is happening in your brain. You just look at him, feel his long fingers on your skin, his fresh, clean scent surrounding you, and your mouth tries to move, really tries, but nothing coherent comes out. Even the smoke notes that seem permanently embedded in him, though much softer tonight, feel appealing and captivating to you.

“If it’s proof you need, I can give it to you.” He murmurs at your inability to express himself, close enough that you can count each individual eyelash in his stupid blue eyes. “I can make you believe, little lion, I swear. Let me make you believe.”

The way he says it, hopeful and husky and so close to your lips, the impact of his request, makes you shift your weight to the other foot, uneasy. You feel a pressure in your belly, heat rising up the back of your neck. You burn with shame, guilt, but most of all, with excitement, because he looks a little silly like this, begging. But there’s fire in his eyes too, determined and intense, like a intense fire raging through the forest—destroying to rebuild, stronger, more resilient, burning you from the inside out, and…and you can’t take it.

"I know I'm loud, stupid, and a fucking mess at all, I know. I also know I'm far from the guy you envisioned as your boyfriend, but let me make you understand that this is real, that you can trust me with your heart. I won't mess it up this time, I promise. Please, just let me-"

Your hand comes up before you can think better of it, sliding through his soft, messy locks, and just as quickly as he'd come closer before, you bring his mouth to yours to cut off his babbling - partly because his words were making you tremble and blush in a particularly annoying way, and partly because he was right there, moving those soft lips without a damn pause for breath and it didn't feel very healthy.

You feel a little stupid when he immediately tenses, letting out a surprised 'hmmpf', muffled by your mouth on his. Before you can pull away, however, he recovers from the shock, wrapping his arm around your waist and tangling his other hand in your hair, pulling you towards him as he lowers his mouth to yours to deepen the kiss.

Your throat hums a soft sound, because kissing Barty is just as good as you remembered, absolutely exquisite, just like the first one had been. He’s methodical and careful as he licks your soft mouth, his arm tightening around your waist, keeping your bodies pressed together. You’re heated now, cheeks flushed with contentment as much as shyness.

Your head turns in the sweetest way when he parts your lips, applying more pressure to your tongue, and it’s dizzying, intoxicating, the way both your heads tilt and your lips fit together, the taste of Barty on your tongue; mint, chocolate and that annoying, inconvenient tang of smoke. He’s all slick heat and languid tongue, licking and stroking with a slow, lazy grace, as if he has all the time in the world.

The whole thing becomes too much and not enough at the same time.

You push your hand under his shirt to touch his bare skin, needing to feel him closer, better, your fingertips sliding over the hard muscles of his stomach, feeling the heat of him, the way they instantly contract under your touch; Barty makes a low, broken noise against your mouth and digs his fingers deeper into your hair, pulling your head back with that grip — and fuck — presses the entire length of his body against yours, letting you feel the effect you had on him with that touch.

“Oh merlin,” you sigh, breaking the kiss to gasp, keeping your eyes closed tightly for a few more seconds, head spinning as you realize that Barty is hard — like, really hard, against your belly right now. “Merlin,” you say over and over, oh. “Barty, that feels…”

With one hand still clenched in your hair, the other desperately gripping your body by the waist to keeping you close, he breathes as heavily as you do.

Barty murmurs your name, lips moist and already swollen from the kisses. He seems to be trying to say something as he touches his forehead to yours, but he’s also struggling to find the words—and it’s almost comforting to see that, to know that you’re not the only one who seems unable to express yourself right now. He hugs you tighter and leans down to rest his lips on your neck, gently brushing his mouth against the warm thrum of your pulse, making your magic sing beneath your skin, reacting intensely to that gentle touch.

Your name is whispered once more as he pulls away from your skin, almost reverentially, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your head up and make you look at him again. You do so with half-lidded eyes and crimson tinted cheeks, and you know in that moment that you’ve never seen anything as blue as Barty’s eyes.

"Can I... can I touch you? I just want... I just want to make you feel good. I promise to make you feel so good, little lion," he murmurs, his voice husky, body seeming to vibrate with barely contained energy, right where your palm is still flat on his belly - trembling with the need to do exactly as he said, pulsing with the desire to explore and worship every inch of you.

How could you deny that? How could you want anything other than exactly that?

You nod sloppily, but it seems that's not enough for Barty. He tilts his head, leaving a soft, wet kiss on the delicate line of your jaw, warm breath fanning across your cheek. He nudges your flushed skin with the tip of his nose, trailing a little further until he reaches the curve of your neck.

"None of that, pretty. I need words."

You let out a sigh - It's a little hard to form words when he seems determined to torment you with his touches.

Your jaw works as he sucks on a spot on your neck, heat growing in your chest the longer he continues.

“Y-yes,” you breathe as his tongue slowly undulates across your skin, his fingers, still deeply tangled in your scalp, squeezing pleasantly until you shiver. “Can you touch me, Barty...please, I want it—”

Barty pulls away from your neck and brings you face to face with him again, noses touching. “You’re finally being honest with how you feel, damn it.” He murmurs against your lips, fingers combing through your hair to cradle the side of your head, thumbs pressing against your jaw to tilt you back. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, exhaling a slow, warm sigh against your lips. Every hair on your body stands on end in anticipation, your nerves on edge.

“I’m going to kiss you again, okay?” He warns in a ragged whisper, as if giving you another chance to stop him if you wanted to. When you obviously don’t make any argument against it, his lips are on yours once more.

And if you whimper into his mouth, well, that was your problem.

You pant, hands fisted in his cotton shirt, head stutters as you feel his lips fit better between yours, sucking gently on your bottom lip. It feels so good, soft and languid, it makes your heart beat faster in your chest, heat creeping into your belly - warm and pulsing, like a star is shining inside it. It’s almost sinful the way he kisses you, so slow and deliberate - someone who knows what he’s doing. Sliding his tongue along yours without any rush, sucking and nibbling on your trembling bottom lip with a sensual and gentle pressure. He pushes you in the direction he wants, keeping you warm and needy with his expert touches.

The extent of your own intimate experience with the opposite sex, lack thereof to be more precise, is limited to a single, awkward encounter with a gryffindor boy after a won quidditch match - certainly not enough to prepare you for something like this. He was a virgin then, like you, and there’s no need to tell that the whole thing was a blur of awkward kisses, bumping limbs and inexperienced touches, lots of awkward giggles and apologies. It was over as soon as it began, and you fled his dorm like someone fleeing the plague—you’re not proud to say that you still try hard to avoid the poor guy, which is a decidedly challenging task at times, since he’s in the same house as you.

Barty, on the other hand, exudes confidence and ease in every touch—a confidence that can only come from true experience. Every movement, every kiss, every brush of his fingers is done with purpose and intent, a means to lead you down the path he desires.

It’s enough to make you feel something strangely akin to jealousy—the knowledge that he’s done this before, often enough to be quite good at it. It’s irrational, of course, and you certainly have no right to feel that way.

But you try not to focus too much on that, choosing instead to focus on the indisputable evidence that his prowess is your gain at this moment. Your body is certainly more than satisfied with his ability to read you, to know exactly where and how to touch you.

When your back touches his mattress, you are already completely and disastrously kissed. Your mind is so clouded and drunk on his mouth that you didn't even notice when he guided you towards the bed.

As you settle your head more comfortably on the pillow, Barty unties the curtains to hide the bed from any unwanted presence that might invade the dorm, murmuring a silencing charm around the two of you. Your face heats up and your heart skips a beat at what this represents, the flush on your skin evidenced by the pale glow of the moonlight that shines through the stained glass window next to the bed.

"Comfortable?" he asks with a small, affectionate smile on his lips, smoothing the heat on your cheek with his thumb. The smile widens in amusement when you mumble some random response, round eyes, blinking at him like an owl.

He kneels slowly between your parted legs, reaching behind him to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling it up over his neck—and it’s strange how the gesture makes your stomach churn. You can only admire the creamy planes and defined lines of his chest and abs for a moment before he’s above you again.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” he confides as he slides one hand under the oversized shirt you wear to bed, leaning on his other arm to press his mouth against yours again. Your hands roam all over his upper body—and it feels incredible under your hands, muscles taut and defined from years of quidditch, skin warm and soft—and it feels even more incredible when pressed against yours.

His fingers are amazing too when they touch a strip of skin on your belly and you sigh at it, opening your lips to accept the slippery slide of his tongue, melting in how his mouth conquers you with hunger and evasion, alternating mind-blowing kisses with teasing caresses of his tongue that leave you breathless and trembling.

You let him take what he needs, tilting your neck towards him and moving your lips in time with his. There’s no reason to fight it anymore. Not when this is all that’s left.

The thought tightens your throat, so you focus your attention on the grip of his fingers on your hip and the slide of his mouth. On the thrill that runs through you when he breaks the kiss, his forehead touching yours. He gasps sharply into your mouth, his eyes still searching yours under the shy rays of moonlight, and you wonder if intimacy should scare you. It doesn’t.

He stares at you as his fingers continue to tug at the hem of your shirt, and before long, his warm hands are running up your waist, slowly caressing the shape of your ribs, all the way up to just below your breasts.

And when he gets a little closer, you blurt out, “I-I’ve only done this once before.”

You don’t know why you say it, your mouth running before you can stop it.

He looks deeper into your eyes, searching for something. “Okay…” He nods carefully, and you think he’s about to end it all. “We don’t have to do anything other than kiss tonight. It’s okay if-”

You shake your head immediately. “No. I want to keep going. I just…you know…” You stutter, unsure about exposing your insecurities. “I just don’t want to disappoint you or anything.”

Barty chuckles softly as he shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your forehead for just a second before whispering, "That would be impossible, little lion. You're too perfect for something like that. Too perfect for me too...but I'm a selfish fucker, you know."

His hand feels huge and warm against your ribs and you swallow hard as a wave of heat washes over you at his words.

"Is it okay if I touch you here?" He keeps those gorgeous blue eyes on yours as he asks, carefully moving his fingers an inch higher, towards your breasts.

Heart racing, but without any hesitation, you answer, "Yes, please-"

His hand finally moves, reaching for your chest. You dig your fingers into his broad shoulders as he finds your breast. Pressing his lips to yours lazily, he runs his thumb over your hardened nipple, making gentle circles over your bra. It feels good. Amazing in true. Even better than when you touched yourself.

"What can I do?" he whispers into your mouth, and then lets his lips trail over the warm, flushed area of your cheek. "With you. Tell me what can I do?"

“Everything,” you sigh at him, feeling in that moment that you really mean it. He can have all of you.

He grunts against your skin, his thumb still teasing the hardened bud of your nipple. “You shouldn’t say things like that, little lion, it might make me greedy.”

You blush, but you also almost yell at him for being so stupidly slow with his teasing. Barty is always so assertive, hyperactive and eager - it feels like a punishment that he’s decided to be patient tonight, simmering you like this.

Deciding that you won’t leave any more unnecessary delay, you can’t squirm to get your shirt off fast enough, nearly elbowing Barty in the face in the process. He chuckles softly and dodges your flailing limbs, and you flop panting back onto the bed when you’re done, this time in just your bra and sleep pants. You hope he gets the message, but you’re fully prepared to take your bra off yourself if need be.

"Someone's in a hurry." Of course he's annoying about it too, smirking all too smugly at your eagerness.

"Barty, I swear to Merlin if you don't shut up and start doing something I'm going to... I'm going to... I-"

The words trail off as you feel him slip a finger under the strap of your bra on your shoulder, slowly lowering it, leaning down to trail kisses along your shoulder and collarbone. You shiver. His soft lips brushing against your skin, along with his warm breath, makes you shiver and your nipples harden. Meanwhile, his other hand slides the strap off your other shoulder.

"Are you going to...?" He teases, his eyebrows raised in curiosity and amusement, but he continues to kiss your neck and shoulders as his hands slowly slide down your back to unclasp your bra.

"Fuck you." You curse, but still help him remove it and let it fall to the floor. His hands are gentle as they cup your breasts and brush his thumbs over the sensitive peaks of your nipples. Each stroke of his thumb sends little jolts of pleasure down your spine. When he leans forward and takes one into his mouth, you moan and grip his shoulders tighter. He sucks slowly, sweeping the soft peak with his undulating tongue and you squeeze your eyes shut, small stuttering sounds falling from your lips.

“What about there, baby?” His hand leaves one breast alone and drops to your knee. Your stomach twists at the warm touch. He slides his hand up your thigh and whispers over your drooling nipple, brushing the sensitive peak with his lips until you squirm and mewl, “Can I touch you there?”

You nod eagerly, the easiest decision of your life, really.

Moving slowly up your thigh, his hand finally wraps around the waistband of your sleep pants, pulling the elastic down your legs—you can’t kick the thing off fast enough.

His waist is between your legs, his mouth on your breast, and the first brush of his knuckles against the crotch of your panties has you gasping. He does the same to your nipple, murmuring, “Fuck.”

You feel his fingers moving against you further to the side, his thumb massaging your nipple now that he’s stopped lathering it with his tongue. You tangle your hands in the soft mess of his hair and hold his mouth against yours as he leans down to kiss you once more, hungrily and deeply, grunting into your mouth between gasps of breath. He runs his fingers along the flimsy (and embarrassingly wet) fabric of your panties, slowly moving up to the spot that throbs and begs for attention, then back down again. Over and over.

"Barty, please don't be so slow," you finally break the kiss, breathing heavily, your eyebrows furrowed, and cheeks flaming - a sullen pout on your lips.

"Fuck, I always knew you'd be a brat, little lion." He sighs almost happily, catching your bottom lip between his teeth with a slight tug before releasing it. "When that pussy is nice and slick and ready for my cock, you'll thank me for being so 'slow'."

You gasp at the dirty words that suddenly pour from his mouth like a damn faucet turned on - words that heat up not only your face, but your pussy as well.

"I'll thank you when you stop being such a teasing bastard and make me come."

Your words show a lot more courage and sass than you actually feel, but you're glad you can get them out.

He chuckles slowly, blue eyes darkening right before you.

“Spread your legs wider for me then, pretty.” He commands softly, and if you weren’t so hot and throbbing you would have denied it on instinct alone, but as it is, you just send him a very poor scolding look before doing as he says. He shifts, tilting his body so he’s on your side on the bed, getting a better view of your legs parting for him. You want to tell him the bed is too small for the two of you to be like this, but somehow it works - he’s on his side on the mattress now, balanced on his forearm but still leaning almost on top of you, his forehead resting on the side of your face as he looks down. He groans softly, right next to your ear, as curls his fingers into the crotch of your panties and pulls it to the side.

“Fuck, you made a mess here, love…” is the first thing he points out - and yes, it’s true. The fabric of your panties is soaked where it pools at your crotch, and even though you don’t have the courage to look down and confirm it, you know you’re glistening in the moonlight with all the sticky mess leaking out of you. “So fucking beautiful.”

He slowly runs his finger along the outside of your folds, seemingly mesmerized by what he sees. You shiver, sighing impatiently at the light touches that seem to have the sole purpose of driving you wild. He pauses and looks up at your face, letting your cheeks heat under the weight of his hungry, analyzing gaze. With a wry smile, he moves his forearm to the inside of your knee, lifting and spreading your leg so that it rests above his hip. You’re spread wide now, shamefully wide—and this time he doesn’t hesitate as slides his hand down to your sticky center, rocking in your wetness and spreading it with his fingers.

“Still want me to make you come, hm?” His voice was husky and dark.

You mumble a drunken agreement against his mouth, and then his fingers slide against your clit. You gasp loudly, and his tongue immediately dives into your mouth.

You have serious trouble keeping up with the hungry pace of the kiss, moaning softly as Barty runs his thumb back and forth over the tip of your clit, gliding easily with all the wet mess there. He offers some mercy when he pulls his mouth away from yours so you can breathe heavily, one hand gripping the bed sheet in a tight fist, the other instinctively coming up to cup a breast.

“That’s it princess, squeeze that pretty tit while I make you come on my fingers.” He whispers hotly in your ear, getting to work in earnest, still holding your thigh open by his forearm as you writhe enthusiastically under his ministrations.

You moan as your hips lift off the bed to try get closer. It’s impossible to keep your eyes open as your body begins to tremble. He alternates between rubbing your clit with his thumb and running his fingers up and down your folds, circling your opening teasingly, and starting again.

“Fuck, you make the cutest little noises.” He tilts his hips to rub against your inner thigh, his erection hard and heat against your flesh, even through the barrier of his pajama pants. “Merlin, this has to be a dream.”

“Barty—”

“Shh, I know, love, I know, I have to focus—” He chuckles softly, breathlessly, letting his sweaty forehead fall against your shoulder, making you shiver as he continues to slide his fingers over the warm, swollen folds that sing beautifully under his attention. “But it’s hard to believe this is happening. That you’re here, letting me touch you like this…”

You’re not sure if you’re even forming coherent words at this point. His touches, his voice in your ear, saying things that make you want to run and sink into him at the same time, it’s all too much and you vaguely remember yourself gasping “yes” and “more”, or occasionally moaning his name in response.

Suddenly his fingers are stroking you with purpose and he’s somehow better than before. One long finger slides inside you and you’re sure this must feel like heaven.

“Like this?” He whispers the question against your skin.

“Oh, yes!”

His lips nibbling and licking your earlobe leave you in a lustful smack as he focuses his attention on his finger, slowly moving in and out of you. A high-pitched cry rips from your throat as you feel a second finger being added. The coiled feeling inside you tightens and tightens.

"Feel's good baby?" he asks in a feverish groan, as if your pleasure reverberated through his body.

You feel the sway of his hips as he snuggles into the mattress and against your body, his back and ass flexing and relaxing in alternating motions, thrusting his clothed cock into your thigh. The sensation alone is almost enough to make you pass out.

How does he expect you to respond in this state? All you can do is buck your hips to his rhythm, masturbating yourself carnally with his fingers. And fuck, his fingers. So long that when he curls them, you go rigid.

“Ah, ah,” you moan breathlessly, sweat breaking out at your hairline, skin heat and flushed. His fingertips brush over and over that spongy spot inside you, and as he slowly pulls them out, brushing against it, you think you might cry.

He pulls away for a moment to speak, his fingers still pulsing inside you. “You have no fucking idea how much you’re driving me crazy, princess.” His voice sounds as broken as you feel. He attacks your clit and picks up the pace with not only his fingers, but also his wet, skilled thumb on that mound of nerves. He moves it back and forth against the nub as he slides a third finger inside you and push his fingers in and out rapidly. The stretch is maddening—almost more than you can handle, but not quite. “It’s like you were created with the deliberate intention of destroying every shred of common sense in me. Not that I have much to begin with,” he half-laughs, half-sighs against your cheek, breathing heavily on your damp skin—“and that’s why this is so dangerous, you know? You’re fucking dangerous, little lion.”

He curls his fingers again, hitting that spot inside you without mercy, and your back arches off the mattress. He’s going to make you come.

“Barty,” you moan. "So close, I'm so close, please-"

Still with his forearm extended under your head for support, he uses his hand to cup your jaw, forcing your face to the side so that you have a clear view of his gaze on yours. Blue eyes, now dark and bright, the pupil so wide that it takes up almost the entire space of the iris. His skin is also flushed, sweat making a few strands of brown hair stick close to his temple. Soft, parted lips, a little swollen and red from the kisses you exchanged. His naturally well-shaped eyebrows are furrowed in concentration - in feverish desire.

He is beautiful. So beautiful.

"Does my princess want to come?" The cute nickname rolls on his tongue the same way velvet rolls on your skin, and you let out a shamefully desperate moan. With breathing starts to become irregular and the tremors in your thighs increase in intensity, your little fingers kneading the soft flesh of your breast, teasing your nipple without taking your eyes off his for even a second.

"So good. That's it...that's my pretty, sweet girl."

"Please, please," you moan, fist on the sheet clenched so tightly you could rip it between your nails.

"Please what, love?"

"Make me..." a long moan coming from your mouth interrupts you - and you sob before continuing, "...make me come. Please. I need...I need to come."

Barty groans softly, his eyes leaving yours for just a moment to watch where his fingers slide in and out of your pussy, his thumb flicking your clit back and forth over and over. “Fuck, fuck, you’re going to kill me. Look at that, baby—”

You force your eyes to stay open as he lifts his head again, tilting his chin to indicate where you should be looking. And when you let your gaze slide down, your cheeks turn impossibly redder. You watch the muscles in your stomach tighten as you writhe, the center between your legs so wet that your inner thighs glisten visibly in the moonlight, making sinful noises with each movement of his fingers. Long fingers belonging to a broad hand, glistening with your own arousal. In and out. In and out. His wrist, slender but defined like his entire body, marked with high veins along its length and a thin leather bracelet around it, moves rhythmically as he fucks you and the sight of it is almost enough to send you straight underground.

You can’t take it anymore. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, legs trembling as a devastating rush of electrification pulses on every nerve in your skin.

“Come on, baby,” Barty groans, his fingers speeding up even more. “That’s it, come for me. Come for me, my good girl.”

Your head falls back against the pillows, locking your drunken, hooded gaze with his as he pushes his forehead against yours, both of your breaths puffing against each other’s lips. You’re going crazy, writhing and shaking, and then it all culminates in the slow fall, the stellar heat of it all between your thighs; suddenly, the pleasure reaches its peak, and your entire body shudders from the inside out as wave after wave of your orgasm washes over you.

A fucking powerful orgasm, gripping you tightly, and your legs immediately try to close, but Barty holds you open with his forearm hooked on the inside of your knee. You try really hard to stifle your screams as best you can, but most still escape - high-pitched, whimpering ones that sound like need personified. You moan and thrash beneath Barty, who continues to roll your clit in languid circles and push his long fingers as deep as he can, prolonging your release until you sink limp and boneless against the mattress.

You breathe like you’ve been running through the Highlands for hours on end, shaking on the pillows as you come down from the euphoric high. There’s barely any awareness of your surroundings as your ears ring and your tear-stained vision struggles to clear.

It’s with snail-like slowness that you notice Barty above you, the feeling of abandon between your legs as he pauses for a few moments, looking up at your face with dark eyes and ragged breathing. His lips are parted as if he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t, and you watch as his tongue runs over them almost nervously.

And then he lifts the three fingers that were inside you moments ago, staring at them as if he’s caught in a hypnotic trance before bringing them up to his mouth to clean them, moaning softly as he does so, his body shuddering for a moment. You catch a glimpse of his pink tongue as it licks the sticky strand between them, and despite the orgasm that hit you just a few minutes ago, you know you’re ready to go again.

“I-I…” Barty stutters as he slowly pulls his fingers from his mouth, looking very dazed as he looks down at you—blue eyes almost confused, as if not even he knows exactly what’s happening. “That was... I never thought I’d see something like that, much less feel it-”

You frown, confused by his abrupt stutter.

“Barty...?”

“I need you,” he confesses suddenly, his broad, defined chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his fingers trembling as they sink into the soft mess of his hair, “I need, fuck... I swear I’m usually more patient than this, fuck. But right now I don’t- I can’t think-”

“I-I don’t want you to do this now,” you sigh as you understand, leaning forward to support yourself on forearms as he shifts on the bed until he’s kneeling between your legs again, restless, “please-”

“I want,” he groans, “fuck, y/n-”

“Barty,” you cut him off, pleasure shooting up your spine, holding his gaze so he understands - “I want it too. I want you. It’s okay.”

He lets out a long, relieved sigh, watching you the whole time as his still-shaking hands reach down to grip the elastic of his sleep pants. You sit up straighter, eyes fixed on the hand pushing the waistband down, your breath coming in short gasps of nervous anticipation. There’s a wet spot on the fabric and you feel yourself swallow and shiver at it.

His eyes are on you as you watch him push his pants down enough to release his straining cock.

You barely contain a weak squeak as he springs free of the pants. It’s not intentional, but when you see him—long and thick, red and glistening with the ridiculous amount of moisture leaking from the tip—it’s an impossible reaction to hold back.

Again, you didn’t have much to compare him to, but he was far more impressive than your only previous partner—a fact you instantly decided you’d never share with Barty, Merlin knows he’d just be insufferable about it.

And he would have reason to be because, heavens, all you can think about is that his dick looks just plain adorable.

But dicks aren't supposed to be adorable, are they? They could be a lot of things, but adorable wasn't one of them.

So you just stare, feeling that moan escape your throat because - because, fuck, honestly, you don't know why... it's a penis, that's all - it shouldn't be able to instigate any physical reaction in you just by looking at it. A penis is a penis, a means to an end. A part of the male body that, more often than not, can't even be described as pleasing to the eye. It's just a penis.

A really nice penis-

A penis that you immediately want to drag your tongue along to taste, feel the weight, clean off all that sticky wetness and -

Fuck, isn't just a penis.

When you look up at him again, face blazing with flames and bottom lip caught between your teeth, he's wearing that stupid, smug little grin - knowing full well what kind of unholy thought was going through your head at that very moment. As if he wasn't literally stuttering and shaking with the urge to fuck you just moments ago, like an silly virgin -

Of course he just needed a good dick appreciation to get back to his confident self.

Right.

You narrow your eyes dangerously at him. "Don't you dare say a word."

He pretends to zip his lips, very precariously containing a smirk.

Deciding to be merciful and not extend this any further because, well, he deserves to show some smugness; after all, the man gave you the best orgasm you've ever had using just his fingers. And you really feel the need to focus on more interesting things right now, anyway - like reaching out to touch him, for example.

The proud smile dies as your little fingers brush against his cock for the first time, muscles all over his body tensing in response, creamy skin glistening subtly with sweat. His eyelashes flutter prettily and he sucks in a breath as you reach around him to give him a slow stroke along his erection, far from being able to wrap it entirely, thumb twirling the soft, flushed, pulsing head to spread the wet mess along the rest of his length. Your cheeks heat, but you still smile shyly, blinking up at him from beneath your lashes. He’s firm and smooth beneath your grip, like tempered steel wrapped in the softest velvet—the most enchanting contradiction you’ve ever feel.

It’s incredible. Thick and dripping, a silky, wet trickle running from the reddened tip to the drenched base. Definitely an insanely dirty scene, a wet dream come true. Panting, you have your hand completely wet in an instant, completely falling in love with the way his cock pulses between your fingers in response to each messy, wet sound, the veins straining against your palm as another thick pulse of liquid releases and slides over your fingers.

“You- you’re so hard-”

“Mmf--” Barty’s hips buck, his handsome face scrunching up in something that can only be described as pain as his hands ball into tight fists at his sides. “Don’t say things like that now-”

"No, seriously." You sigh innocently, trying to give him a harder stroke, blinking owlishly as Barty moans loudly and hoarsely at it. "Does...does it hurt? Does it feel good, a-am I doing this right?"

You can't help but feel a little insecure, especially knowing how experienced he is - how many handjobs has he receive, in total? Fuck, you don't want to think.

"Stop talking, please..." he groans through his teeth, throwing his head back, his adam's apple bobbing in the slender column of his throat. "I'm gonna fucking cum if you don't stop talking right now, little lion."

You shiver. The thought that he could do something like that with just the sound of your voice and light touches makes your stomach churn, heat coursing through your veins like a whisper of the flames' kiss. But you don't want it that way - not this time. You want to feel him more, you need to feel him inside you, and you’re not even ashamed to admit it at this point. You really want him inside you. And don’t want to wait any longer for it.

Your eyes are bright and your face is warm as you gasp, looking up to look at him, “Barty…can you…can you fuck me now, please?”

His head tilts toward you so fast you swear you hear something snap somewhere. He stares at you with his mouth open and his eyes glazed over, his body shuddering with each wet pull on his cock. His face contorts, gasps escaping his mouth as he continues to stare, and, Godric, it might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

Your pussy clench as your eyes roam over his body, sculpted and slender, as if every inch of it has been meticulously arranged by the skilled hands of an artist. His broad, toned chest rises and falls with each quick thrust of your fist, his breathing shallow. He’s biting back every moan, clinging to that last thread of control that you just want to snap.

You’re frighteningly hot again, ready for more, “I need more, Barty, please…”

“Damn it, what did I tell you about that pretty mouth, baby?” He groans through his teeth as throws himself on top of you, pushing you until your head is back on the pillow. “You don’t fucking listen to anything I say, do you?”

Desperation spreads across his face. Your mouth is met with a passionate kiss, sharp and rude. His tongue dominates yours, and you melt blissfully under his control. You’re breathless when he finally pulls away.

His grip tightens as he tears his lips from yours, “tell me, baby.”

“I, I,” you stutter, your legs spreading so he can fit between them.

“Come on,” are the words that come out of his stupid mouth, spread across a stupid grin in that stupid voice of his, framed as a demand when really he’s just begging, “tell me what you need, baby, I’m right here…”

A strained sound leaves your mouth as his hand slides down your side, lips sliding over your breast until a tongue lathers saliva over one hard nipple. Arousal drips down your thighs and stains the sheets, a reminder of how much you want him. The corner of Barty’s mouth lifts, his eyes glinting with something akin to mischief as he looks at you, your nipple still being tortured by his tongue…

“Please,” you push yourself against him, “I need you now,”

“Fuck,” his hands are warm on your body, searching, “is that it, baby?”

“Inside me,” Your shaking hands fumble as you try to grab him, one on his shoulder and the other in the soft strands of his hair. “Please...”

The words die in your throat as you shiver under his touch as he rubs himself between your folds.

The tip of his cock brushes against your clit, pre-cum dripping down your skin and mixing with your arousal. You can feel him move slowly – so painfully slow – against your core until his tip presses against you lightly.

“B-Barty, don’t be mean. Don’t tease me,” you manage, your mewls sounding almost whiny. “Please. I need this so bad, please– ah.”

This was fucking torture. He wasn’t inside you—just sliding wetly between your legs. One hand forcing your head closer to his mouth, gripping the back of your hair, tugging. Your scalp tingles with adorable pinpricks of pain, lips parted against each other.

Your voice just above a whisper that should sound so angry—but it just comes out breathless and shaky: “W-what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you manage to ask, using the last of your sanity to scold him.

He’s put you on the edge of reason, your boundaries broken.

“Sliding into, baby,” he says, thrusting his hips into yours, his gaze mischievous on yours, a husky moan playing across his lips as you dig your nails into his scalp.

"Not yet," you huff, body shaking as he hits your clit once more with the soft tip of his cock. "I'm starting to think you never will. I-I thought you wanted this, Crouch."

"I bet you complain even in your sleep, little lion," he says with a certain affection, taking your leg under your knee and bending it against your chest to expose your wet, throbbing, open hole. He groans at the sight of you like this; your cheeks, chest, and the tips of your ears painted with a deep blush - drunken, half-lidded gaze, a sullen pout on your lips.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" Barty groans as he squeezes the base of his cock, avoiding something embarrassing like cumming before he even enters you. "You act so innocent, a good girl running away from me all this damn time...and now you're like this, all brat and crying because I'm taking so long to fuck you."

The blood roars through your ears. His dirty mouth only turns you on more, even though you feel embarrassed for finding it so inappropriately sexy. He kisses you again, sliding his tongue into your mouth with a husky sound, tasting every inch of you.

The kiss ends, and you stare at each other as he mutters a charm with his hand flat on your stomach, which glows subtly and briefly before returning to normal - making your eyes widen and cheeks burst into flames of embarrassment. Contraceptive charm. Of course he would know one of those.

You don’t have time to think about it too much, though, because soon he’s finally sliding his cock against your soft folds with the right aim. Slowly, he pushes forward, and your mouth opens as your walls stretches around the head of his member. Every inch that’s pressed into you increases the mix of burning excitement coursing through you. You hear a groan escape his lips at the same time you feel his hips press against the curve of your ass, but you’re not sure if the high-pitched mewl that spills into the lust-filled air is yours or Barty’s.

He’s a bit of an animal now, whispering breathlessly in your ear that it’s going to be okay, and to just breathe, and try to relax, and you’re desperate and shaking and a little helpless, considering it’s not like this is your first time. But it seems. And then Barty’s biting your neck and pressing in harder, harder, slick and hard, pushing his cock as deep as you can handle—and you just take it, and take it, and let yourself be filled.

“Barty,” you gasp, gripping his bicep with all your strength when he’s finally all the way in. His cock throbs against your walls, and you feel your poor pussy straining to accommodate him. He kisses you sloppily before you can say anything else, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths.

“Tell me I can move, please-” he begs after kissing you breathlessly. You’ve never heard anyone sound so broken before, and nod before you can even process the question. Barty pulls his hips back until only the head of his cock is inside you, and then pushes forward until he’s fully seated again.

Slowly, fucking you slowly, he starts to establish a rhythm, you feeling so full as his hips roll forward against yours, pressing deeper and only eliciting stimulation against your pussy. He pulls back, once again leaving nothing but the tip of his cock trapped inside you—before thrusting back in, harder.

A desperate moan escapes you, your body arching into his, the pleasure building so fast it’s almost unbearable.

“Barty—ah—”

He groans. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”

His pace quickens, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your body clenches around him, pulling him in deeper, tighter.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well, holy shit,” he hisses through his teeth. You can’t help but hum a tentative agreement, each breath wrenching from your chest with the force of his hips slamming into yours.

He grips your hips with one hand and thrusts deeper, faster, until the wet slap of skin against skin begins to sound embarrassingly loud in the room. When you look down and see the length of his cock emerging from between your legs, glistening with your wetness, you can’t help but moan and blush even more, the head hitting the pillow hard. Barty takes a deep breath, chuckling softly in your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” his voice is strained. “Do you hear that? Yeah, every time I thrust like this... Oh, just listen to yourself, little lion, listen to the beautiful sounds you make for me -”

You clench instinctively at his words. It makes his hips buck and pulls a broken moan from his throat.

“A-ahh…” Your head is rolling from side to side on the pillow as you writhe, tilting your hips even higher, trying to align yourself so that he rubs against your clit with each thrust.

“More, more…” you cry out, almost not realizing you’re begging.

But he hears you.

He pulls back and adjusts himself so that the next thrust comes at an angle, aimed at your entrance. And when his tip brushes the rim— “Yes, please, Barty, please, please, I want this so bad—”

“Merlin, so tight for me, love,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, strain evident in his words, “it’s going so fucking good.”

For me.

“Oh, you’re so good for me, princess; I promise I’ll make it good for you too,” he continues, panting as he pushes his forehead against yours. “Fuck, I need…” he breathes, “I need you so bad, I need you…” he sighs, chuckling breathlessly, blue gaze burning into yours. “It feels so good. You. Close to me. Right now.” He swallows hard. “Please don’t pull away. Please, Y/N.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, your eyes bright with tears—of pleasure, of horny, of sadness, of hope. “I won’t. I promise, Barty, I— oh.”

And he keeps going, moving hard and fast, whispering your name as he pulls back before nuzzling in. You’ve never heard him say your name like that before—all tremble and sweaty and breathy and needy. Like a reverent song. You do your best to respond, calling his name out loud as you move with him, one hand tangled deep in his messy hair while the other traces the familiar features of his sweaty face in the moments when your lips don’t touch. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, sweaty bodies swaying against each other endlessly, your legs trembling where they wrap around his waist, hips lifting to meet his as he rocks against you until you’re both sliding together toward the edge. Falling into each other’s arms from a cliff you’ve been dancing on for too long.

It’s all so intimate, so immensely intimate.

…And you fall once more. With a pathetic moan, you arch and twist your upper body, seeking his mouth while cums. He dips his tongue in, swirling it around yours, nipping at your lip, sucking air into your lungs along with a torrent of words:

“In all my shitty life nothing has ever been important enough for me to seek, to keep—but you—” and it’s more than you can process; you’re still shaking uncontrollably, clenching around him, tears streaming down the sides of your face, you think you might pass out. “You I want to keep, little lion. I need to keep. Care for. It’s only you that matters, only you and—oh, shit, I’m going to…! Fuck—”

He bends over, covering you with his entire body, nipping at your shoulder. Deliriously, you beg. "Barty, please, please - come for me, please-"

“Ugh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” is all you hear as he buries his nose in your neck. You have just enough time to register his lips on your skin, kissing you repeatedly, before your world shrinks to the space between your legs.

He pushes in as hard as can; his tip nudges the deepest spot inside you, pushing you closer and closer to overstimulation. But you hold on, for him, for this almost painful pleasure that’s the only thing keeping you trapped as he expands inside you.

Barty grunts in his throat and pushes forward, as if there’s more of him to fit inside you. He holds you tight, pressing you against him as his broad body trembles above yours, his hips thrusting one last time before he groans in a long, raspy sound before comes.

One of his arms wraps around your waist, holding you steady, while the other reaches between your bodies to play with your clit. You startle at the unexpected touch, the extra stimulation making you see stars; you think you’re going to scream, but you can’t hear yourself over the ecstasy coursing through your body.

The overstimulation turns, to your complete and utter surprise and shock, into a new orgasm.

You convulse around him, his fingers pushing you to the edge you didn’t even know was there. Your belly, tight with his cum inside, contracts rhythmically as you spasm and he thrusts gently, sighing shakily in your throat.

You shiver and finally find relief in his increasingly slow thrusts, in the way he lifts himself up on his forearm, his breathing ragged and cheeks bright red, sweat trickling down his hairline and temple.

Slowly, he stops, panting heavily, and when he’s almost stopped shaking, he slowly withdraws. The feeling of being empty is strange, but you don’t have the energy to think about it when you can barely form a sentence. You gasp, wiping away the tears that roll down your face and you can’t stop the small tremors that run through your body even after the euphoria has passed.

“Are you okay there, little lion?” he whispers next, leaning down to give you a soft kiss on the lips. You nod, but stay silent and have to hold yourself back a little to be able to respond fully. He seems to understand this and rolls onto his side so he can hug you affectionately.

“That was...merlin,” you murmur, and bury your head in his damp chest, the scent of oak and sweat. “I can’t feel my body from the waist down…” The thought of standing up seems impossible, your brain is in a strange and pleasant fog and you can barely concentrate.

“Is that a good thing?” His laugh is light and husky, lips resting on your forehead.

“It just to much,” you reply, fingers trailing down his bicep, sighing gratefully when he uses a simple charm to cleanse your bodies of all the wet mess. “It’s hard to think now, but…” you hum and adjust your buzzing limbs to get a little more comfortable. “It was…really good, yeah.”

He hums happily and you snuggle into his chest, one leg thrown lazily over his waist, reveling in the warmth he exudes, skin against skin, warming you like a nice campfire on this cozy cold night.

“You’re staying here tonight, right?” His breath glides over your hair, nose brushing your forehead. You swallow a sleepy sound, the warmth of his closeness spreading like molasses through your bones. His question is asked softly and almost hesitantly, but also hopefully, and you bite your lip before blinking up at him.

"I-I want to, but I don't know if its a good ideia. What if they see me before I can get back to Gryffindor Tower tomorrow?"

"No one here is going to say anything, princess. And it's not like you're the first person to wake up in a bed in a dorm that isn't yours." He rolls his eyes with a smirk, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear before freezing, thinking. "Wait a minute, you're Head Girl. That means you have your own dorm separate from the other students, doesn't it?"

You're quick to pick up on where his thoughts are going.

"We're not going to fuck in my personal dorm, Barty."

"Oh baby, we're going to fuck in every corner of this castle if I can have a say in it..." he teases playfully, grabbing you by the waist to bury his nose in your neck.

"Don't be so rude, idiot." You scold him with red cheeks as pull yourself away, adjusting your body better on that bed that is too small for two people, pulling the sheet to cover yourself. Barty smiles even more at this, realizing that you are, in fact, snuggling up to spend the night with him.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, trying your best to contain your own smile.

Hair disheveled as always, but with a radiant air of exultant satisfaction. Bright eyes, warm cheeks. He was so gorgeous it made you sick.

A gorgeous man who wouldn't shut up for a moment. He breaks the silence after a few minutes.

"Does that mean when they see us together in the Great Hall or in the hallways tomorrow, I can tell them that you're my girlfriend?"

You yawn loudly, nonchalantly adjusting the blanket over your body, as if his question hadn't made your heart stutter and heat up in your chest.

"And who said I want them to see us together?"

His jaw drops comically, blue eyes round and pouting like a kicked Puffskein pup's.

"You didn't—but I thought...what?"

You can't help but laugh, covering your face with the sheet to hide yourself.

Barty lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Wait, is this a joke? Damn princess, this is so much fun for you, isn't it?" He pulls the sheet off your face, stretching his fingers to tickle along your belly, laughing along with you when you start to squirm and giggle.

By the time he's finished torturing you, your face is red and streaked with tears from laughing so hard, struggling to catch your breath.

"Barty?"

You call out to him when you finally calm down, running your fingers over his thin chest, feeling the muscles relax before all the laughing, his heart starting to beat at a steady pace. Comforting.

He tilts his face towards you, a soft, lazy smile on his lips. "Hmm?"

"You can tell them I'm your girlfriend."

He smiles, wide and happy, pulling your face up to place a quick, smacking kiss on your lips, followed by countless pecks on your cheeks and forehead.

He’s practically vibrating when asks the next question:

“Does that also mean you’ll be wearing a blue scarf to the next Ravenclaw match, right?”

“No!”

“...”

You snort when he pouts dramatically.

“Maybe.”

He blinks those same round eyes again.

You roll yours.

“Yes.”

Another long, blissful moment of silence that you know he’s going to break.

“...even if it’s against Gryffindor?”

“Limits, Crouch. Limits!!”

#barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch smut #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #barty crouch jr smut #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts #barty x reader #x reader #ravenclaw barty #ravenclaw #gryffindor

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jacaerysgf · 10 months ago

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summary: your long time betrothed jacaerys heads to winterfell to make good relations with the north, your relationship has always been one of love and happiness until you show up a month into his trip to winterfell where everything seems to have changed between the two of you. your relationship may never be the same and it has everything to do with a particular stark.

jacaerys velaryon x cregan stark x fem!non targ!reader

cw: infidelity, internalized homophobia, queer cregan and jace, threesome, poly relationship, hand job, oral (f), prob ooc for everyone man, p in v, anal, top!cregan, sub!jace, dom!reader, like one smack to the face, ‘sara snow’ mention? (its just cregan), not proofread

an: havent written in a hot minute im rlly rusty but ive gotten asked to write this for forever so here you go 😁

perm jace taglist ! (open) @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @earth4angels @itsemohours @valdezthg

perm cregan taglist ! (open) @ireneispunk

He had been acting weird since you arrived. avoiding you at every turn, barely speaking to you and it bothered you to no end. His letters to you had been nothing but positive, speaking highly of winterfell and the lord stark who jacaerys also seemed to be avoiding as well.

he spoke about how much he missed you, how much he longed to see you but now that you were actually here he seemed to want nothing to do with you. a month ago you were the love of his life, he was obsessed with you, and now he would not even do so much as look your way.

then you heard the rumor for the first time. It seemed everyone had been trying to hide it from you but you heard it one night. the maids had been talking around the corner. Sara snow. The lord rumored bastard sister. With pretty long dark hair just like her brother. They had been sleeping together for basically his whole time there you presumed, you had even heard they got fucking married in front of the weirwood trees before you showed up.

You were sick. so sick about everything so sick of the thoughts you were having and you grew angry, furious but you managed to stay rational, calm, for now.

“are you happy?” he looked up at you started, you had barged into his room and locked the door quickly behind you. “y/n-“ “i am not angry, i was angry, but this is a very typical thing in marriages here i just wish you had informed me,” He stands up from his desk. readjusting the buttons on his white tunic to cover himself up further as he looked at you alarmed. He looked beautiful and you hate that. His hair wet and face flushed as he tries to find his words.

“i dont know what,” “ive heard the rumors. everyone talks about it, everyone looks at me with pity in their eyes. whether its this sara snow or some other lady i dont care because i believe it.”

He freezes. He looks down at his hands which shake, you wait for him to say something. Anything. a part of you hopes he denies it, even if it would be a lie you pray he can give you some false sense of hope but he doesn’t. merely standing quietly in shame while you let out a soft laugh devoid of anything. “if you wish for our marriage to be one of agreement then so be it. but do not try to trick me into believing itll be anything more than that any longer i refuse it.”

You turn to walk out of the room, no longer being able to stand in his presence but as you go to open the door his voice calls out to you. “there is no other lady.”

You scoff and turn back to him, his eyes are glazed over with tears as his chest rises with heavy breaths. A part of you wants to walk over to him and wipe his tears off his face but you remain firm as you scoff. “do not take me for a fool-“ “i mean it. there is no lady.” he puts an emphasis on the word that has you tilting your head. you open your mouth to question him until the pure desperate look on his face causes it to click. there is no lady. but there is someone.

“im sorry.” he flats and looks as though he did not expect you to say that. “for what? you have nothing to be sorry for it is i who should be-“ “i cannot be mad at you for who you are it is not your fault.” He walks over to you as you close the door, grabbing your hands as he shakes his head. “you miss understand me i like you i love you like i man loves a women but he,” he lets out a frustrated sigh but you can tell its not directed at you, “i love him as i love you.”

When there is a silence in the air for far longer than he likes he squeezes you hard tight as he looks at your blank face. “please say something my love.” “who is it?” he looks down once more as you remain firmly staring at him. “y/n..” “who?” “cregan.” He says his name likes its forbidden, the word travels in the air like a brush of wind but you still hear it all the same.

he doesn’t dare look up at you again as another wave of silences washes over you two. His heart is aching so badly he wants to clutch his chest and fall to the ground. He does not want to be like this, one of those men. He holds himself in higher regard, but he cant help how he feels about the winter wolf who smiles at him so kindly. He thought it could be one and done, manage to shake this illness from his skin and be done with it but it has only gotten worse.

it is wrong. he should not want to love cregan as he loves you. you are his light his world but why does he think of cregan as he thinks of you. Its wrong, immoral. He should be punished, he wishes for you to yell, to scream at him, hit him but you don’t. you merely pull away from him and walk out the room without another word. He drops to his knees when as you shut the door and he clutches his chest as he begin to sob, he is a monster and this fate is a cruel but just punishment in his eyes.

Cregan wake up that morning prepared to walk the same routine he always does. The images of the dark haired prince that flash in his mind go ignored another day as they have been ever since the princess arrived. he did not hate you, no he actually rather liked you a lot but he did miss getting to spend time with jacaerys who clung to his side before you had shown up and now had not even spoken a word to him.

He walks into the hall and pauses. There you sit, arms crossed and two plates of hot foot in front of you. it clicks. he looks around at all the guards and maids in the room, “everyone out.” the room quickly scatters, “and make sure nobody enters.” the doors as shut with a hard slam as he stalks towards you, eyeing you down with a gleam of mischief in his pupils. “its a shock to see you here princess.” “i am not a princess.” he hums as he takes a seat and begins to pick at his food while you merely stare at him. “something the matter?” “how long?”

he raises his brow as he dunks his bread in the soup before shoving it in his mouth, “how long what?” “dont play dumb with me lord stark.” He chuckles leaning back in his chair and you find yourself readjusting in your seat. He watched you with a pleased look as he licks on of his fingers. “not long enough that your pretty little head should be worried about it princess.” “he said he loves you.”

cregans face falls and his face turns serious as he looks at you. He can see the questioning in your eyes and lets out a sigh. “two weeks. but we’ve been friends this whole time. i never meant for it to go further i swear on my sons life. stepping in between the bonds of a betrothal is not my way.”

You hate that you find yourself believing him. you itch at your skin to the point it becomes red. “do you like him?” cregan scratched at his jaw as he moves his food around on his plate. “i do. very much. i apologize.” he watched as you take a deep breath as you stare at your plate, “i will not peruse it, you are his betrothed and it would be inappropriate and wrong of me. i will leave him alone, i will never even glance at him i have disrespected your honor and dignity enough.”

he stared at you waiting for a response, he watches as you bring the bowl of soup to your lips snd take a long sip before placing it back down and wiping the excess from your lips. “would you accept his mother terms here and now so we could leave by the afternoon if i asked?” “yes of course anything you want.”

he expects you to ask him to do it but you merely bring your chalice to your lips as a sinister grin finds its way to your face. “do you find me pretty lord stark?” his brows raise in question but he coughs into his fist, “um, yes i do princess.” he watches as you lean over the table and grin at him sweetly. “just how pretty lord stark?” he almost asks you whats wrong before he feels your foot drag up his leg slowly letting out a shaky breath before a groan as your food digs into his bulge. shakily and breathlessly staring as you as you press your boot covered leg harder against him leaving him gripping the table. “i have an idea im sure you will be pleased with.”

jacaerys is on the edge of cracking. he had not seen you all day. he had gone to your room to ask you to have breakfast with him but he was informed you were not there. he had gone looking for you, searching every corner for you and he found nothing. nobody would even tell him where you were but they all had an odd look in their eyes when they said that to him.

He does end up seeing you, finally with cregan stark on your arm and he feels his heart plummet. “good day jacaerys.” his mouth opens and closes like a fish as he stares at the two of you. “good,,, day,,,?” he watches the look the two of you share as he feels his heart stop, “cregan’s been showing me around a bit would you like to join us?”

He feels like this is a trick. The two of you look far too happy, he gulps and fiddled around a bit before giving you a weak nod. he ends up trailing behind the two of you as the two of you talk about winterfell. you ask cregan about the history of certain things and he eagerly answers your questions. jace is just waiting for the fire to lit, for the two or you to turn on him and begin to berate him.

His mind wanders as he imagines the two of you punishing him the way he deserves, cregan holding him down while you tease his cock, refusing to give him what he truly wanted. He lets out a light whimper as his thoughts continue to run wild and his eyes widen as he coughs into his fist trying to play it off as nothing. He lets out a sigh of relief as the two of you say nothing but he misses the look the two of you share.

You all arrive at a large study, “this was my fathers before he passed.” “do you not use it?” cregan shakes his head, a more somber look on his face. “i should, i will, one day, for now his legacy shall be preserved here.” you hum and nod your head in understanding. you take off your cloak as cregan also begins to strip himself of his outerwear. jacaerys stares at the two of you confused, you walk over to him and begin to untie his cloak from around his neck. “you should make yourself comfortable jace.” “what is happening my love?” he asks you in a hushed voice but you dont answer him, a small smile creeps its way onto your face and he grows worried.

he allows you to strip him down to his undertunic, making no move to fight you his eyes drift behind you to cregan who has made himself really comfortable his undershirt untucked and being held open but just one button, cregan raises his brow at jace as he catches his eyes, taking a long drink from his bottle.

you grab his face and jacaerys blushes, “what are you looking at?” cregan stalks his way over and stands behind jacaerys his hands wrapping around his waist as jacaerys feels his breath caught in his throat as cregan presses his head into his neck.

“you’re such a greedy boy, wanting two people at once huh?” he whines. cregan begins to suck at the skin on his neck. he’s confused. he has no clue whats going on. “what’s happening?” he curses as your hands dip into his pants and harshly grab at his cock, “me and your secret lover have come to an agreement isn’t that right?” cregan lifts his head and hums. He watches in amazement as the two of you share a small kiss and he throbs at the sight of the two people he cares for most being intimate.

“hmm thats right princess.” jacaerys struggles to think as you tug on his throbbing cock, rubbing your thumb around his tip as cregan goes back to sucking on his neck. “since you’re so greedy, you can have us both arent we so kind?” jacaerys moans in delight at this turn of events and buckles his hips into your hand. your face sours and you lightly smack him across the face, “and not a single thank you? you’re disgusting.” jacaerys whines and shakes his head vigorously. “im sorry im sorry thank you thank you i love you.”

He feels cregan chuckle into his neck, his hands pull away the buttons on jacaerys tunic not caring about the now ruining garment as cregan caresses his skin. jacaerys continues to greedily rut his hips into your hands feeling himself closer and closer to his release. He suddenly feels cregan press into his back and he lets out a shudder as cregan begins to grind his hips against jacaerys, his tunic having long been disregarded and their bare skin presses against each other.

Your hands are suddenly pulled off him and cregan also takes a big step away from him and jacaerys whimpers at the loss of contact and the way his cock throbs as his orgasm dies down. “dont think im going to let you get away with this that easily.” your lips are suddenly presses against his and a fury and he eagerly tried to match you. “fucking another man behind my back so cruel.” he whimpers as it feels like a dagger begins to dig into his chest, “im sorry im sorry.” he slurs against your lips messily as you begin to pull him back as you sit on the bed, staring up at him. “prove it.”

He drops down to his knees like he was born to, quickly throwing himself under your skirt and get a taste of you like hes been craving for weeks now. your hand grips the back of his head while he begins to lick at you through your underwear and you look at cregan who takes another chug from his bottle before placing it down and walking back over to the two of you. jacaerys pushes aside your underwear and moans into you as he gets a taste of you. you gasp and look down at jacaerys skirt over head as your free hand grips at the sheets below you. “fuck jace.”

as his lips wrap around your pearl he gasps into you as he feels a body press against him and hands wrap around his cock. “dont think im not gonna join in.” jacaerys heart pounds as he continues to messily eat at you while cregan rubs his hands all over his cock, coating his fingers in his precum before sliding him inside of jace. his back arches and the vibration of his moan has you throwing your head back while cregan works open his hole as hes done plenty of times now.

the pit continues to build in your stomach and you lock eyes with cregan who grins at you and you wipe some sweat off your face, “dont you look pretty?” “shut the fuck up cregan.” the man laughs as he continues to work his fingers inside of jace, “you look so pretty when you’re about to cum doesn’t see jace?” the man though he cant see you now knows the expression on your jace far too well and nods eagerly against you. once you do release jace eagerly licks up every drop before you rip his head away and cregan pulls his fingers out. jacaerys still without any sort of release grows desperate as tears stream down his face.

“im sorry im sorry ill be good i swear please just let me cum please please.” you lean back into the bed and stare at cregan with a mock pondering look, “hmm what do you think my lord you think hes been good enough?” cregan smirks while jacaerys looks up at him with a pleading look, “oh how can you deny this face? look at him.” cregan cups his face in his hands and brushes some of his tears away. you look at jacaerys fucked out face and pretend to ponder for a few more moments while jacaerys squirms in cregans arms before grinning. “fine, come on my love.”

jacaerys heart beams at your words finally calling him by the affectionate name you had given him and he rushes towards you, “undress us.” his hands greedily tug off your clothes stripping you both bare and you grab his face and kiss him lightly. “you know ill always accept you jace, no matter what.” the layered meaning of your words hits him like a truck and the tears continue to well in his eyes, “i do not deserve you.” you shake your head as you affectionately run your fingers through his hair, “if this is who you are i do not mind it. i am serious, the three of us can be together if you so wish. cregan will grow on me im sure.” “im still here you know.”

you lightly chuckle as jacaerys beams at you, “you are the most amazing person i have ever met.” cregan now as bare as the both of you walks towards you two and raises a brow, “am i atleast second place?” jacaerys turns his head towards him, “of course you are.” cregan softly smiles and leans to press a gentle kiss against his lips.

When the two of them pull away the lust returns and you greedily turn jacaerys towards you and pull him into a deep kiss, falling back with him on top of you, “fuck me jace.” he moans as he eagerly lines himself up and pushes into you, shoving his head into the side of your neck as he bottoms out. he begins to work himself into a gentle rhythm before he feel cregans cock press against his hole and he freezes as cregan works his way inside of jacaerys.

jacaerys has never felt so full. so content. with the two people he loves the most bringing him to the heights of pleasure. he hopes his days are like this for the rest of his life, with the two of you by his side. that night after you had left the study and made a mess around cregans room as well he listens to the two of you bicker in bed about the mess youve made in his father study and how his legacy has been tarnished, “is it not strange he has a bed in his study?” “my father spent most of his time in his study, how do you think i was made?” “yuck do not say those things.” “oh you were certainly not complaining as i was eating-“ “oh dont bring up old news stark.” that night jacaerys falls asleep with a big smile on his face your voices lulling him to sleep.

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yikes-aemond · 10 months ago

Text

I love you. It's ruining my life. (Part IV)

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader (no descriptions of reader except that she wears dresses and has long hair)

warnings: canon typical violence, cursing, death

summary: You and Benjicot Blackwood plan for the future. Things don’t quite go as planned.

word count: 5.1k

author note: Thank you all so much for your patience! I will not lie—this part was a struggle to write. I think I rewrote it at least three times, and I am still not sure if I’m absolutely satisfied. Fair warning, I’m putting our lovebirds through the ringer, but do not worry—I’m a girl who loves a happily ever after. Also, no smut in this part, but stick around for part five. Happy reading!

part i can be found here, part ii here, and part iii here.

“Have you lost your mind?”

You could not have heard him correctly. Surely Benjicot Blackwood had not just asked you to marry him, while you were half naked.

You hurried to adjust your dress and cover yourself in a desperate attempt to establish some sense of dignity and propriety in this moment. Had you not been overwhelmed by the day, had you not been so taken off guard, you might have responded a little more kindly to a proposal from your beloved.

Benjicot laughed as he watched you try to gather your wits about you. He followed your direction, adjusting his breaches so that everything was tucked back into its proper place.

Once you were both decent, Benjicot reiterated, “I am quite serious. We should marry this evening.”

You shook your head, mind racing as you tried to comprehend what he was saying, what he was asking. For years, you had watched Benjicot from afar. Watched the way he grew into a man, into someone that people feared and respected in equal measure. Being with Benjicot was always your dream. The one you had tucked away in your heart for years, never to see the light of day should you dare to do the most dangerous thing in all of Westeros—hope.

And now he was asking you to marry him. You felt unbalanced, unsteady. Your head and your heart were at war.

You managed to get off the bed. Needing a moment to collect yourself, you put some distance between you and Benjicot and moved back across the room to the fireplace.

When you turned back to Benjicot, you saw that he had not moved. His eyes were fixed on you, that predatory gaze locked onto your form, waiting for your response.

That look in his eyes never failed to make you squirm. The weight of that stare made you think he could hear every thought in your head, all your secrets and dreams.

You sighed, breaking eye contact and said, “You know that our families will never allow it.”

Benjicot stood then, and slowly stalked toward you. With each step, you felt your heartbeat pound louder against your chest. You had thought that the longer you spent in his presence, the more you would become used to him. But you could not deny the effect Benjicot had on you, on your body.

Benjicot took your hands in his, and pulled you against him. Placing your hands on his chest, he rubbed his thumbs over the scrapes you had gotten earlier in the woods. Had that only been this morning? Time seemed to hold no meaning in this room. A prison that now felt like a sanctuary.

“That is why we must marry tonight.” Benjicot smiled, and then placed a kiss on your brow. “By the time they find out, it will be too late.”

You pulled back, just enough so that you could look at his face. “And do your really expect your father and Black Aly to welcome me into the family with open arms?”

Benjicot was still smiling, still so sure of his plan. “They will once they see how happy we are. How much we love each other.” He shrugged before continuing, “And we would not be the first Blackwoods and Brackens to marry. Others have done it in the name of peace.”

“But our families do not seek peace now!” You practically shouted, frustration coloring your tone. “We are on the brink of war, and our families stand on opposite sides.”

You tried pulling away, but Benjicot tightened his arms around you, stilling your struggle. Whatever good humor Benjicot had was slowly leaching from his features. “You know as well as I do that Queen Rhaenyra is the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”

You closed your eyes and took a steadying breath.“Of course I agree with you, but that does not change the fact that my father will disown me if we do this. I will never be able to return home.”

Benjicot pressed another kiss to your temple and whispered against your skin,“Would that be such an awful thing?”

You felt your heart jerk at his question. The idea of never seeing your family again, of never being welcomed home, of never eating your cook’s fruit pies or riding through the moorlands outside of Stone Hedge on a misty morning, or gods never visiting your mother’s gravestone, was enough to send a wave of nausea through you.

You hid your face against his chest. “My father was not always the most loving, but he is my father. For all the faults you may find with him, he has never been cruel to me.”

Benjicot felt the shift in your mood, could practically feel the sadness and desperation radiate from the points where you touched. He knew the sacrifice he was asking you to make was no small thing. He rubbed his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort the turmoil within you.

You could not stop the tears even if you wanted to. You did not wail, did not scream at the unfairness of your situation, did not rail against the old gods and the new for cursing your families and subjecting them to an endless blood feud. For what else could this ancient, hateful grudge between the Blackwoods and Brackens be except for a curse?

Even if you could convince your father to bless a marriage between you and Benjicot, any children between you would be enlisted to the war. Generations of prejudice had proven that. It was no matter that the Bracken or Blackwood on the other side would be a cousin. No matter that no one could remember how the hatred between your two families even began. No matter how senseless the bloodshed would be.

This was your and Benjicot’s world. You could not run from the truth of your situation, could not hide from your fates. Not if you wanted your love to withstand.

And even though the thought of never going back to Stone Hedge was devastating, the thought of never seeing Benjicot again was unthinkable. Never hearing his voice or his laugh. Never seeing his smiles. Never having him hold you in his arms. You could not bear the separation, not after having a taste of what your life could be like together.

Your tears slowed and your breathing evened out. Whatever doubts that had plagued your mind were banished. Resolution steeled your spine. You took a fortifying breath and lifted your head from Benjicot’s chest. With a watery smile on your face, you said, “I accept your proposal, Benjicot Blackwood.”

Benjicot’s joy was infectious. Smiling wide and bright, he lifted you into his arms and kissed you with such a reverence that left your breathless. Gods, you loved this man. Wanted him again and could not imagine ever being parted from him. The very thought of being separated was enough to send a panic through you.

You wrapped your arms around Benjicot’s neck and tangled your hands in his hair, your tongue in his mouth. You felt his joy in that kiss. And you let that joy into your heart. Let it fill and warm you. In this moment, you allowed yourself to be happy.

The impossible dream was becoming a reality.

When Benjicot had proposed, he did not have an actual plan. He did not have any rings or a marriage cloak. As a Blackwood, he preferred to have a ceremony before the old gods in front of the ancient, colossal weirwood tree in the godswood.

Because there were no clergy associated with the old gods, the current Lord Blackwood usually performed marriage ceremonies at Raventree Hall. But seeing as his father would likely oppose the marriage, that left Benjicot with few options. With a little convincing, or in Benjicot’s case, a little threat of bodily harm, the maester finally agreed to perform the ceremony.

You could not stop smiling as Benjicot snuck you out of your rooms. With each passing hallway and corridor, you felt your excitement grow. You could barely contain your glee as you clung to each other, arms linked and hands intertwined, as you made your way into the godswood.

The maester stood before the weirwood tree, with only the moonlight and a few lanterns to light the way. Hundreds of ravens were to be your witnesses. On any other night, feeling the weight of all those eyes watching you might have felt unsettling. But nothing could spoil this moment, nothing could come between you and Benjicot—

“What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?”

Every muscle in your body tensed. Panic settled in your chest, and you felt your stomach drop.

Black Aly stood at the edge of the godswood, her bow and arrow knocked and poised to strike.

You felt the world shift. One moment you were standing beside Benjicot, and the next, Benjicot stood in between you and Aly, putting himself in the way of the arrow that had been aimed at your chest.

“Lower the bow, Aly.” Benjicot’s voice was hard and low. You watched as he moved his hand to the hilt of his dagger, ready to draw the blade at any moment.

Even from a distance, you could see Aly roll her eyes at Benjicot’s actions, but she did not lower her bow. “Do not overwork yourself, nephew.”

You grabbed the back of Benjicot’s cloak, pulling slightly as if to hold him back. You glanced wearily back and forth between the Blackwoods. Two warriors preparing to battle. The last thing you wanted was for there to be violence. For surely a duel between Bloody Ben and Black Aly would be a fight for the ages.

Benjicot’s body was tense as yours. He did not truly believe that Aly would hurt you. Aly was tough but fair, and underneath her brash attitude and hostility, she had a gentle heart. But he would not risk you. Would not allow anyone to threaten or harm you. Not when he had the ability to protect you.

Benjicot pulled out his dagger. “Put the bow away, Aly. I will not ask again.”

You wanted to step in between them like you had done in the fight with Aeron. But this situation was different. This was two Blackwood who were taking the measure of each other, testing how far the other was willing to go. You could not intervene, even if the sight of an arrow pointed at Benjicot was enough to send your blood running cold.

After what felt like hours, Aly lowered her bow. Sighing, she returned the arrow to her quiver. Only then did Benjicot sheath his dagger.

“You sure have a flare for the dramatics, nephew.”

Now it was Benjicot’s turn to roll his eyes. “Says the woman who had an arrow aimed at my betrothed.”

Your heart fluttered at the word.

Aly huffed out a laugh. “Is that what she is to you? Your betrothed? I do not recall your father agreeing to any such arrangement.”

Benjicot remained in front of you, a barrier between you and Aly. “I asked for her hand, and she accepted.”

Aly stood with her hands on her hips, eyes directed toward the heavens. She looked as if she were searching for patience amongst the stars. When she cut her gaze back to Benjicot, you could not miss the look of pity that flashed across her face.

“Benji, you know that you cannot marry her.”

You reached for Benjicot’s hand, needing his touch and warmth to ground you in this moment. Whatever happiness you had felt, whatever joy that you had shared, was now slowly falling through your grasp.

Black Aly would never allow you two to marry. Not like this.

But Benjicot’s stubbornness was no light thing. “I love her, Aly. I will marry her, and you cannot stop me.”

Just as Aly was about to respond, you saw her face pale and expression grow uneasy. And when you heard the voice behind you, you understood why.

“You would be wise to reconsider that position, son.”

If you had thought you felt panic before, that was nothing to the sickening feeling that plagued you now.

Because standing on the opposite side of the godswood, directly across from Aly, was Lord Samwell Blackwood. Benjicot’s father, and your own father’s sworn enemy. And with him stood a dozen Blackwood guards, each looking between you and Benjicot with expressions that ranged from disbelief to disgust.

You had never been formally introduced to Lord Blackwood. He was a rather tall man, with hair as black as a raven’s wing. His close-cropped beard was the same. Like Benjicot, his gaze was enough to send a lesser man cowering. And right now that gaze was cold and enraged and fixed on you and Benjicot.

If Benjicot had not been holding your hand, you would have been trembling. The two of you were trapped.

“Are you so eager to start a war, Benjicot?” Lord Blackwood asked, his tone was like ice. “For some Bracken wench?”

You felt Benjicot’s hand tighten around yours, almost to the point of pain. One glance at Benjicot told you that he was furious. His glare held that feral edge, and he was close to snarling. Bloody Ben was backed into a corner, and he looked itching for a fight. Even if that fight was against his own father.

“You will mind how you speak about my lady, father.” Had you not been so fearful for your life and his, you would have thought that declaration rather romantic.

Lord Blackwood did not look impressed. “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you and your lady have brought to our door, Benjicot?”

“We wish to marry, father.” Benjicot glanced at you as he said, “We love each other.”

A long suffering sigh escaped from Lord Blackwood as he motioned for his men to stand down. “That does not change the fact that she is a Bracken. You cannot simply marry her without expecting there to be consequences.”

“I am prepared to accept any consequence if it means we can be together.” The surety in Benjicot’s tone was enough to ease the fear that had gripped you since you had been discovered. You could help but give him a small smile.

A smile that Lord Blackwood did not miss. “And you, Lady Bracken?” Lord Blackwood sneered. “Are you prepared to face the consequences of this marriage? Your father will seek retribution for this little act of rebellion. Are you prepared to have blood on your hands?”

Now you were the one who squeezed Benjicot’s hand. Lord Blackwood terrified you, and so did his words. You did not wish to be the cause of another fight between the Blackwoods and the Brackens, did not want to send anyone to their death because you fell in love with someone who was never meant to be yours.

Benjicot nudged his shoulder against yours, offering you what strength he could. With him standing at your side, you found the courage to meet Lord Blackwood’s gaze. “Whatever trials and tribulations may come our way, Lord Blackwood, I am prepared to meet them with Benjicot as my lord husband.”

Even without looking at him, you could feel Benjicot’s eyes on you as you held your own against his father. Could feel how proud he was of you for defending your future together.

Taking another breathe, you could not help but add, “You speak of my hands becoming bloody, but I could not think of anything more fitting for a woman betrothed to Bloody Ben Blackwood.”

The silence in the godswood was deafening.

Every person and creature seemed to be holding their breath for Lord Blackwood’s response. You did not dare break eye contact with him, determined to hold your ground and prove yourself worthy of being Benjicot’s wife.

Lord Blackwood finally moved his gaze from you and back to Benjicot. “We will treat with Lord Bracken tomorrow. Offer him a parley. You will ask his permission to marry his daughter. You will accept his decision, no matter what he says.”

“Father! You know he will not—”

But Lord Blackwood had heard enough. Holding up his hand, he demanded silence. “Those are my terms, Benjicot. Be grateful I am allowing this much.”

A weariness had settled over Lord Blackwood’s features. Although he was still a man in his prime, in that moment, he looked aged and tired. As he turned to leave the godswood, he said, “We stand on the brink of war. The Targaryens are at each other’s throats since King Viserys passed. Soon House Blackwood will be asked to choose a side, and you have allowed your foolish heart to guide your choices.”

You could tell Benjicot wanted to protest, wanted to push back on his father’s orders. He knew as well as you did that convincing your father to allow the two of you to marry was going to take an act of the gods.

And even though Benjicot knew when to pick his battles, knew when he had lost a fight, he could not help but have the last word. “There are worse things to be guided by than one’s heart, father.”

Benjicot’s words gave Lord Blackwood pause. For a moment, you thought he might respond, might reprimand Benjicot for his lack of respect. Only when Lord Blackwood continued walking out of the godswood did you feel like you could breathe again.

The Blackwood guards followed their ledge lord, leaving you, Benjicot, and Aly in the presence of the ravens. You could have collapsed from exhaustion. You felt wrung out from the day. Too much had happened in such a short period of time, and your body was protesting.

Aly approached and stopped just short of you and Benjicot. “Well, that did not quite go as I expected.”

Benjicot rounded on Aly, and with animosity in his voice, he asked, “Why did you stop us?”

Aly stared at Benjicot like he had grown a second head. “We’re trying to prevent a war, Benji. Had the two of you married, Bracken would have shown up here with a thousand men seeking your head. You might love each other, but is that love really worth the lives of hundreds? Thousands?”

“You are overreacting—”

Aly shoved at Benjicot’s chest. “And you are being an idiot! Use your head, Benji. If you had married in secret, the Brackens would have stopped at nothing to avenge that insult. You know that, even if you are too blind to see it.”

With a softer tone, Aly continued, “Be grateful your father is supporting you in this. He could have just as easily returned her to Stone Hedge. You have a chance.”

Benjicot scoffed. “A chance? Do you really believe—”

“Enough.” You cut Benjicot off before he could say another word. You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “My father may hate Blackwoods, but he is not unreasonable. We will convince him.”

You could tell that Benjicot was struggling to control his temper. He was still running hot from the confrontation with Aly and his father. Bloody Ben was lingering too close to the surface. You pulled his face toward yours and pressed a kiss to his lips. Nothing more than a gentle peck, but enough to distract him.

When you pulled back, you could see that some of the edge had worn off. Benjicot’s face was calmer, less hostile. “I love you, Benjicot Blackwood. I do not plan to give you up without a fight.”

Benjicot smiled at your words, the soft smile he reserved just for you. He wrapped his arms around you, tucking you under his chin. “My brave girl. I pity any man who would dare cross you.”

You held each other for a moment before Aly cleared her throat. “If you two are finished, I’m going to escort little Bracken back to her rooms.”

With a quick kiss to your head, Benjicot released you and said, “Sleep well, my lady.”

You did not want to leave Benjicot, but you knew there was no way Aly was going to let you stay with each other. As you followed her out of the godswood, you could not help but take one last look at Benjicot.

You nearly stumbled when you saw him. Beneath the ancient weirwood tree, bathed in moonlight and surrounded by ravens, stood Benjicot. His head bowed as if in prayer.

You did not have to guess what he was praying about. You only hoped that the old gods were listening.

The only neutral territory acceptable to both the Blackwoods and the Brackens were the boundary stones near the old windmill. The day was overcast and cold, with the wind tearing through the cloak Aly had lent you.

Aly had not left your side since collecting you from your rooms that morning. You and Benjicot had been kept separated for the entire journey. You had asked for him, begged Aly to allow you two a moment alone, but she had refused. Lord Blackwood was keeping both she and Benjicot on a tight leash until this matter was settled.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. You had tossed and turned the entire night, too anxious to close your eyes for fear of what your dreams may hold. You might have been confident with Benjicot the night before, but in truth, you had no idea how to convince your father to allow you to marry.

The Brackens had arrived first.

A host of about fifty men had gathered on their side of the boundary stones. A sea of red and gold with a few horses scattered in the mix. You did not miss how all the men were armed with swords at the ready.

And in the front, seated atop his favorite war horse and adorned in battle leathers, was Amos Bracken. Your father.

Amos Bracken was not as tall or built as Samwell Blackwood, but you knew your father to be a proficient swordsmen and respected fighter in his own right. You had no doubt that should this come to blows, he would hold his own.

Aeron stood beside him. A united front against their perceived enemies. And while your father’s face was blank of all emotions, calm and controlled, Aeron’s disdain for the Blackwoods was clear for all to see.

The Blackwood host equalled that of the Brackens’. You had ridden to the neutral ground on the back of Aly’s horse. You had tried to spot Benjicot all morning, but there were too many men, too much chaos. The closer you got to the boundary stones, the more you felt Aly tense in front of you.

When you finally stopped, Aly directed you to the front of the vanguard. She had drawn her bow the moment your feet hit the ground.

Your first sight of Benjicot sent your heart thumping. His dark hair was mussed, as if he had run his hand through it multiple times. But that was the only sign that Benjicot felt uneasy. His posture was relaxed, and his mouth was fixed in a smirk, like this meeting was an every day occurrence. He showed no fear.

Aly stopped you slightly behind and to the right of Benjicot. You saw the moment when your father and Aeron spotted you. Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Aeron’s face twisted into a mix of shock and disbelief.

You swallowed down the fear and anxiety. Swallowed down the nausea that threatened to upend your breakfast. Swallowed down any uncertainty you felt. You had to present a strong front to your father and his men. Otherwise, they would pounce on any hesitation and demand that you be returned home.

Lord Blackwood broke the silence first. “Amos. A pleasure as always.”

“Cut the shit, Blackwood,” Lord Bracken snarled, “and return my daughter to me.”

The words were not unexpected. You tensed as Aeron shifted his hand to the sword at his side, stomach twisting as he gripped the hilt.

You exhaled a long breath and fixed your gaze on your father. “I am well, father. The Blackwoods have treated me kindly.”

Lord Bracken’s face darkened, and you instantly regretted speaking. “I do not want to hear a single word from you.”

Your cheeks flamed at the dismissal, but you refused to lower your eyes. Refused to cower before your family. “Then I am sorry to disappoint you, father.”

“You insubordinate, ungrateful—”

“Lord Bracken,” Benjicot interjected, stopping your father from insulting you further. “I am here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You did not so much as breathe as you waited for your father to respond.

And waited.

The longer you waited, the more panic seeped into your veins. But when your father finally responded, you wished that he had not.

With a sneer on his face, your father glared at Benjicot when he said, “I would sooner feed my daughter to one of those Targaryen dragons before marrying her to some Blackwood cunt.”

You had felt like someone had knocked the air from your lungs. You had never seen such hatred on your father’s face. Had never heard his voice sound so cold and cruel. You knew that he hated the Blackwoods, but to sentence you to death rather than let you marry?

You looked at your father like he was a stranger.

You heard angry shouts and curses behind you from the Blackwood host. Felt that the bloodlust in the air had upped a notch.

Lord Blackwood held up a hand to silence his men. “Careful, Bracken.”

“My daughter was taken by your son. Subjected to gods knows what. I will not be careful, Blackwood.”

“That’s not true, father!” You shouted, launching yourself to stand before your father. You had to find some way to convince him, some way to get him to listen. “Benjicot and I are in love. Please, just listen to us.”

Your father scoffed. “Love? Between a Bracken and a Blackwood? Do not make me laugh.”

The Bracken host jeered at your father’s word, laughing and snickering at the very idea of you and Benjicot being together. You even heard a man call out, “Blackwood whore!”

You did not see Benjicot move. Did not see him reach for the dagger at his hip. Did not see him launch the blade into the air.

But you could not miss the dagger embedding itself into the man’s throat. Could not miss the splattering of blood or the final wheeze of breath the man took before falling to the ground. Dead in the blink of an eye.

A scream tore from your throat. You whipped around to look at Benjicot and found Bloody Ben instead. His eyes held that crazed, feral look, but there was no smirk.

Every Blackwood and Bracken standing in that field un-sheathed their weapons.

“You may insult me all you wish, Bracken!” Benjicot called out, moving forward. “Call me a cunt. Call me craven. I do not care.” He stopped next to you and took your hand. "But I will cut down any man who dares to say such vile insults to my lady. Of that, I promise you.”

Your father did not look pleased by that declaration. If anything, he looked more enraged than before. “You violate the terms of this parley, Blackwood. You have spilled Bracken blood. I have the right to demand your head. But I will settle for the return of my daughter. Now.”

You were close to tears. Nothing you or Benjicot said moved your father. He was determined to hold onto his hatred, to see the Blackwoods in the worst possible light. But you could not give up—you had to try.

“Father, please,” your voice broke at the words, “I know that the feud between our families has lasted for a millennium. I know that the thought of a Blackwood and Bracken being together, of loving one another, is inconceivable to you. I know that this is not the life you wished for me. But I have lovedBenjicot since I was a girl.” You took a quick glance at Benjicot to give you strength. “And he loves me. I humbly ask you to grant our union.”

Your father refused to look at you. Refused to acknowledge your words or pleas. You clutched Benjicot’s hand tighter. For you knew what was coming. Knew that your father was about to crush whatever hope you still held onto.

Ignoring you and Benjicot as if you were insignificant, he directed his words to Lord Blackwood, “I do not give my blessing to this marriage. Return my daughter to me or we will have war.”

Your vision swam and your ears began ringing. Somewhere in the distance you heard Lord Blackwood sigh and give the command. Your hand was ripped from Benjicot’s, by whom you did not know. You felt as if the entire world had spun off its axis. How had everything gone so wrong?

One moment, you were standing next to Benjicot, his warm hand against yours, and then in the blink of an eye, you were on the other side of the boundary stones, with Aeron leading you away.

You felt as if you were disconnected from your body. Aeron’s arms were around you, guiding you. You were vaguely aware that he was trying to say something, speak to you about what had happened. But you felt nothing. Heard nothing. A numbness had settled over you.

Only when you heard Benjicot call out your name did you snap.

You shoved against Aeron, tried to run back across the boundary stones to Blackwood land, back to your love, but Aeron held firm. You struggled against him, screaming and hitting and kicking, but your strength was no match for his.

You looked across the field to see Benjicot being held back by three men. He was snarling and raging, but the men held firm and forced him to his knees. You watched as Aly tried to speak to him, tried to calm him down.

But there was no calming Bloody Ben. Not now. Not when his lady had been taken from him.

When Benjicot saw that you were watching him, saw that you were struggling against your own constraints, he stopped. His eyes were wild and fierce and held the promise of retribution. With laboring breaths Benjicot shouted across the field, “I will come you for you, my lady!” He vowed. “I will always come for you!”

You sobbed at his words. Sobbed for the happiness and hope that you had felt only hours before. Sobbed for the future you might have shared together.

For the second time, you were forced to leave Benjicot behind in this accursed field. Only this time, the heartbreak was so much worse. You had gotten a taste of the impossible dream, gotten so close to getting everything you wanted.

Your dream had become a nightmare.

final author note: I know! I know! We have to suffer before things get better. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Love you babes xx

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