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letmeloveyouuuu · 1 month

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To Serve

by @flower-cage Ao3 | Masterlist Aemond Targaryen x Servant!Reader Summary: That morning, the crown Prince entered the young Queen's chambers and changed your life forever.

Words: 3,768

Warnings: explicit sexual content, dubious consent, power imbalance, humiliation kink, voyeurism.

A/N: Here's that random smut I was talking about (two weeks off-schedule rip). It is not as edited as my other pieces, thus much cruder, and I enjoyed not stressing over every single word on it. I just let the story guide my writing hand and had fun with it! I hope you enjoy it too! Minors, do not interact.

Your new role of serfdom started not unlike that of attending to the needs and whims of the Dragons. Up before dawn, you ensured that dresses were washed and perfumed, jewelry and shoes polished. In the late morrow, you served tea to the Queen and her mother. At luncheon, you would have taken the chance, in their absence, to clean and tidy their chambers, had it not been for your newest promotion.

That morning, while his sister and mother broke their fast, the crown Prince entered the young Queen’s chambers and changed your life forever.

He had always paid you close attention. In truth, only seldom were you ever in the presence of the one-eyed Prince, but whenever chance brought you together, you felt his lingering, insistent gaze on the hairs in the back of your neck. Always.

It did not take long for others to take notice of it, too. Often the maids would tease you for the interest you had awakened in the Prince known to be harsh and cold and cruel like a winter storm.

“You are fortunate he does not take after his brother’s depraved malversations,” you would often hear.

This was what the whole of Westeros knew of him back then, before the Dance.

That morning, you had twisted your hands in your apron, standing outside his door and garnering the strength to raise one of them to the wooden slabs.

“It is unlike my son to show interest in a lady,” the Dowager Queen had told you, clinking a silver teaspoon against fine porcelain, “or anyone at all, for that matter.”

Your guts knotted of their own accord. Your spine shuddered cold.

“I would like you to tend to his needs from now on,” she had announced easily, breaking apart a piece of crusty bread. “All of his needs.”

Now, you often wonder if she would have offered you so unashamedly if she had known he would mature into such an unscrupulous man. Or, you wonder most often, perhaps she had always known. Perhaps she had hoped he would satisfy his dormant savagery, then inhibited by a pretense of duty and propriety, if only she delivered him a feast before it fully wakened.

And feast he would, though his hunger would never be sated.

In the end, he would teach you everything you learned of this world of carnal indulgences.

He had risen leisurely from his seat of leather, strode to you lazily, smiled self-assuredly. You stood stoic, hands fidgeting and sweating behind your back, a half-step away from his chambers’ door after courage and fear had finally coaxed you past it.

He stalked toward you until his nose brushed yours faintly and your back rested against the cold wood. His eye roamed you freely, his masculine scent of leather and cedar crowded your senses, and your body shuddered beneath his desirous stance.

“I shall not take that which is not freely given,” his whisper tickled the shell of your ear, “and I shall not award what is not yet desired.”

His promise stretched on for days on end.

You tended to him much like you had his sister: tending to his chambers, washing his clothing, learning his habits. You served him wine at supper and tea in the morrow. You dressed him before Small Council meetings and bathed him after his daily practices.

Until you didn’t.

“Prince Aemond requests your services,” a familiar knight announces after rapping on the door.

You rise from where you have been sitting at your vanity table, combing your hair to a shine as is your Prince’s preference. You fix the sleeves on your dress, but it does not grant you any decency whatsoever, not when its translucent, iridescent silk ostensibly reveals the shape and shades of your bare body, not when the slit that travels up your right thigh cuts up to your hip bone.

Such are and have always been your Prince’s preferences.

“Where is your uniform?” he asked you sternly when you met him at the training grounds.

He took the cup of fresh water from the tray you carried, gulping down its contents to then wipe his face and short hair with the towel you brought him.

“M-my Prince?” you asked timidly, breathless at the abrupt inquiry and at the sweat that glistened his pale skin.

“The dresses I gifted you,” he pressed, displeased. “I thought I made myself clear - you are to wear them henceforth. You are to solely wear them.”

His sharp gaze was menacing, surely, but the disappointment was there, too, hidden in the glint of his blue eye to chastise and guilt you. Though mortified at the improper implications of his demands, the thought of disobeying him was what truly shook you to the core.

The White Cloak takes you to a set of heavy doors and pushes them open to reveal King Aegon II’s Small Council. He was once the depraved son of King Viserys I, but he is no longer the exclusive bearer of such a title.

Your Prince sits to the left of the King now, across from the Lord Hand, in a great position of power. The Dance had reshaped many things in the Realm, and he had been no exception.

He doesn’t cover his monstrous gash and sapphire stone like he used to when his mother was still alive. He hasn’t held many habits of propriety since. More scars cut across his milky skin, some even crawling from beneath his collar, and the long white mane he used to proudly maintain in honor of his heritage is kept short to enhance all of his additional, menacing features.

His body is that of a man, now; no longer slim and taut but large and burly from battle, and yet his most striking transformations had not been bodily.

You walk toward him surely but quietly, eyes fixed on him whilst he does not award you a single glance. He is engrossed in the scheming that does not halt at your entrance, but you know he wants you when you see his parted knees, when you see leather pulled tight over his stiff shaft.

His jaw is clenched tight and the fingers on his right hand fiddle around thin air, so you know to step silently between his parted legs and descend to your knees underneath the table. The rough fingers that do not worry over it snake around the back of your head to gently thread through your hair. He needn’t say nor command anything else.

You stroke him to full hardness, grazing your teeth against the base, running your nose along the shaft, and then unbuttoning him quietly.

He is as silky and warm as always against your tongue. He drags against your cheeks when you hollow them and his skin, taut around his swollen tip, pulls back and forth when you suck on it. You don’t recall when you first enjoyed his weight in your mouth.

You risk a glance at him. He pays you no mind, and his stoic façade gives away nothing, but his chest moves up and down rapidly and you know it means you’re being good. You suppress a whine at his modest appreciation.

He is impossibly handsome as he towers over you, gaze sharp and jaw tight as he ignores you. You want nothing more than his praise and attention, so you lick and please him slowly, lazily and patiently. He is busy, you remind yourself, and he will reward you when the time comes. He always does.

Between your thighs, your skimpy dress slickens with your arousal as it builds steadily to an insatiable ache. It has become second nature for your body to give in to him in this way, even when he has yet to touch you. He has trained you this way.

“Have you kept it wet for your Prince?” he whispers against your neck each time he comes back to his quarters in the early evening.

The question is often accompanied by a slithering hand, like a snake that seeks warmth, it buries itself in your cunt to confirm it is to his standards. He hums in satisfaction each time.

“When in my presence,” he had told you once, depositing you in an armchair across his desk, “I want to marvel at my cunt freely,” he explained as he hooked your knees over the armrests and bunched your skirts around your waist.

And you awakened breathless, hours later, with his tongue licking inside you and his nose on your pearl of pleasure.

You had stood no chance. To you, he is intrinsically bound to that feeling that crawls under your skin, that under his touch erupts in elation.

Now, you are wide awake, and it is you who tastes him eagerly.

When he begins to drip, hot and salted, your fingers grip his thighs harder as your own quiver in a need you haven't been able to control in a long time. You look at him again. His cheeks are hollowed, jaw locked shut, eyes slitted in fury.

The lords in the Small Council haven’t halted their discussion despite your interruption and it is clear what they discuss displeases your Prince greatly. If not, he might have not summoned you.

This is not the first time the Prince has had you in their presence, it is not the first time he has had you in the presence of others at all. If it had been, perhaps you would have been capable of greater shame.

When he took you in and you proceeded to tend to him exclusively, little of your customary routine changed. But when his demands started to reflect his true intentions, his true desires, it couldn’t be said you were still a palace maid.

That first time, you had been brushing your hair at your vanity, as you often now did, and applying to your skin the feminine oils your Prince preferred. In an immodest lavender dress of his choosing and delicate jewelry he appreciated, you tended to yourself as he demanded.

The doors to his sleeping chambers push open to allow a small entourage of maids to set his breakfast - your breakfast. Your jerk reaction is to look away from them, the people who had once been your colleagues, and hide your healthy, pampered face.

Your eyes land on his lavish, sunny balcony where he leans against the railing directly across from you. He loves to watch his beast terrorize the city below with her sky-bound rounds first thing in the morrow. But he watches her no longer.

He shines brightly and god-like under the sun; his messy short hair glows a halo above him, and the sapphire lodged on the left side of his face glints to highlight the cut of his scar like thunder. Despite the warmth of the morning shine, he is cold, white-cold, with his silver hair and porcelain skin, his milky chemise that reveals his milky chest, and his silky pants that bulk to reveal his salacious musings.

Your breathing quickens as you take him in fully, in all his terrifying, improper glory. Your hand holds your brush halfway through its path and your lips hang parted as he holds your gaze intently, as you watch him with a hunger that escapes your agency.

When he pushes off the stone ledge, you let your brush hit the floor. Such is the effect he has on you, such is the extent of his influence.

He drops to frame you within his arms, leveraging against the cushioned seat of your vanity desk, to take your lips in sloppy teasing, giving you just enough of a taste that something within you quivers wantonly.

Behind you, the porcelains and silvers continue to clink against the wood, chairs scrape across the stone, and heavy cloth slaps in the still air.

“What’s this, then?” he whispers and deprives you of his tongue too quickly. You grasp onto his strong arms to center yourself, breathing heavily against him.

Fingers run up your inner thigh and you shiver violently, desiring him violently.

“Are you ashamed of serving your Prince?” he grins maliciously.

“O-of course not my-” you choke on a gasp when he brings his hot lips to your neck, sucking on the spots that have you dripping under your skimpy gown.

He takes your left knee and hooks it around his hip, pulling you flush against him as he presses you down on the long chaise. A yelp escapes you when you feel his hot girth against your cunt.

“Or are you ashamed of how thoroughly you enjoy it?” he grunts against your lips, thrusting his clothed bulge against you. You bite your lips closed painfully as you are painfully aware of the people behind you.

“I didn’t say you could leave,” he barks, glancing upward to your utmost horror. You hear the servants scurry behind you, imagining their bowed heads and embarrassed looks. Your own embarrassment grows until tears gather in the corners of your eyes.

“Not until she comes,” he adds, looking at you, grinning widely, while he snakes a hand between your legs and burrows his fingers deep inside in a swift stroke.

You burn in shame when your eyes roll to the back of your head and a long whine is forced out of your lips.

“It won’t be long now,” he continues, watching your tears spill, fucking your cunt fast, “she is wet and swollen already.”

Indeed, the noises coming from between your legs are excessively obscene. And he is right, he knows your cunt - his cunt - too well.

When he plugs you with his thick girth, you whine and moan in complete abandon. And when he plows you fast enough to make the chaise scrape against the floors, you scream and beg for him before soaking his cock in unlimited ecstasy.

The first time he’s ever had you in the presence of others was long ago.

Now, you know that when his fingers tighten on your nape you are to release his hard cock quickly. You know to mount it instead.

You make quick, silent work of it not to disturb him and the processes of the court that still unravel behind you. You straddle his thighs, tuck your toes behind his knees, grip his leather vest tightly, and hide your face in the crook of his neck. The hand that had been in your hair now rests on your hip, thumb hooked under the scandalous slit of your dress to bury in the crease where your thigh meets your hip.

You count the time that passes in the drops of sweat that roll down your temple, in shaky breaths you rein against his skin, in the thrums of your blood.

Your cunt, dripping and dripping, quivers weakly around him. Though you refrain from moving and driving yourself to your insanity, it throbs on his shaft as you feel the mere ghost of his touch on your most pleasurable spot.

Your body aches with the effort of keeping composure, keeping quiet, keeping from breaking. And every time your Prince has input on the session that stretches on, his chest rumbles and you must refrain from mewling in satisfaction.

It is not until your mind is hazy with exhaustion and your eyes spill tears of agony that the heavy chairs start to scrape against the stone floors, one by one. Your heartbeats pick up their rhythm from where they had rested in patience.

And when footsteps follow, he pulls your face from hiding by the sweaty hairs on the back of your neck.

A small yet immensely condescending smile plays on his sculpted lips. It makes you aware of your humiliating conditions: a servant, chosen to fulfill the pleasures of her liege Prince, at the brink of insanity from entertaining her own pleasures instead.

You are lost in his mismatched blue eyes, so much so that you are caught off guard when he starts shoving your hips back and forth to grind on his cock. Instantly, it drags a long gasp from you, crosses your eyes, waters your mouth.

“Hm?” he questions patronizingly, looking down with a raised eyebrow that mocks your lustful reaction.

His ministrations are excruciating, his cockhead bullying hard and unforgiving on your most pleasurable spot. In this way, you are violently driven to ecstasy, just shy of peaking with the same intensity, when he halts all movement without warning.

But you are given time to neither cry nor beg for his mercy, for he hugs you tight to his chest, angles your hips away from his cock, and thrusts.

You gasp painfully against his leather-covered pecs when he does, and he soon pulls your head back by your hair to place your chin against it instead.

Through your pleasure-hazed eyes, you see his mirth and his composure. And it is always this way: regardless of how eagerly he takes you, no matter how passionately he desires you, you are always the one debauched and he is always the one untarnished, always viciously becoming of his royal status.

“Go on then,” he murmurs when he watches your tears roll the sides of your face, your lips parted in unbearable pleasure. “Go on and cream on it.”

Because his growl electrifies you from within, because you’ve learned to be promptly obedient, because you cannot help it, you do as he commands.

Your cunt contracts so tightly, for a second his cock gets trapped mid-thrust before he repeatedly shoves himself inside you to forcefully ride the surges of your orgasm. Your loose chin bumps against his chest, leaving sloppy trails behind, and your breasts spill, little by little, from the flimsy restraint of the fabric that skates down between your bodies.

He loves to debase you in this way.

He doesn’t stop, and you are unable to determine when your first orgasm ends and the second starts to mount.

But he can.

He hisses when he feels it - your cunt throbbing again, dripping relentlessly - and bares his sharp teeth in a sneer, watching your glimmering, dopey eyes.

His grip on your hip strengthens, the arm that loops around your back to grasp your hair tenses, and he rises to his feet only to drop you unceremoniously onto the stone surface behind you.

“Gods,” he growls, slows his ministrations, and you savor every excessive inch of his, so evident now your cunt is hot and swollen from the long wait, from the incessant grinding. “I would keep you on my cock from sunrise to nightfall.”

He holds onto your hips, forcing them down against the table so that you don’t slide away from his powerful pushes, and watches his shaft disappear within you attentively.

“I would keep you on it,” he licks his lips, “at tea with my sister,” he meets your eyes again, after appreciating the uncoordinated bouncing of your breasts.

“On my morning flights,” he continues, lowering himself to hover above you, a hand pressed next to your head. “And I would carry you, and display you on my hard cock, all over this castle.”

He picks up his brutish pace again and you gasp and whine unabashedly, and new tears spill from your unfocused eyes, and your bottom lip quivers. Such is the effect of his praise.

“What’s that now, huh?” he coos, forcing a little sob from you, but you are unable to communicate. Instead, you part your lips and plead with big, wet eyes.

He lets go of your hip to support himself fully on his forearms, hovering a bit closer now. You can feel his warmth, now, you can scent his luscious exertion.

His nose brushes lightly against your own, just beyond reach, and you can’t avoid bending your back, tilting your chin, or your tongue poking out between your teeth, desperate for a taste.

His eye darkens significantly and he tuts in feigned disappointment.

“Needy little thing,” he murmurs, only to plunge his soft tongue right where you yearned for it.

His kisses are supple and sloppy and not enough to sate you. When he pulls away and you whine in agony, he lets his drool slide down his tongue and onto yours. And the debauchery of the act drives pathetic moans from your lips and desperate rolls of your hips.

Above you, your Prince moans and hisses, then plunges himself against your sweetest spot with renewed, unstoppable vigor. And yet again you cry pathetically, eyes crossing and mouth hanging open, tits flying and slapping, cunt gushing and thrumming.

“I fucking love it when you get like this,” your Prince grunts viciously behind gritted teeth, shoving his girthy length in and out without mercy for your sanity.

“Wet,” his hand lowers to grope your plump bottom, “hot,” he forces you against his unforgiving plows, “utterly dimwitted for your Prince’s cock.”

He loves to debase you in this way, and the response you manage is a string of blabbering, dimwitted pleas.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he grunts again, panting above you as his crazed movements and your lascivious reactions burn his muscular body, “I’d think you’re falling in love with it.”

“Oh, I am!” you yelp, long and loud, mind entirely lost in the bliss he fucks into you. “I love it… I love my Prince’s cock,” you whimper timidly against his lips and he angles his cock to bully that spongy, swollen button of yours.

“Yeeess,” you moan again. “There, there,” you beg with your cries and beseeching eyes.

You come on a scream that reverberates through the tall, stony walls of the Small Council. And though your walls contract viciously, your Prince pushes through them determinedly, driving you to an immediate third peak that absolutely floods your cunt before he even dumps his hot seed inside you.

You come on his cock long and hard, and you come still when he too finishes. And when he drops his weight onto you, finally, and his head thumps against the table next to yours, your cunt still flutters from the sensorial memory of the onslaught it endured.

Your skin is impossibly hot and sweaty, and your body impossibly exhausted.

And yet.

“Tonight,” your Prince starts after long moments of silence, raising his head only to meet your eyes, “we will hold a private audience for the King.”

Your body shivers cold, your eyes bulge out, but your cunt contracts around him meekly.

He watches you closely, with his eye delighted and a wide grin, malicious.

“I want you on your best behavior,” he warns, teasing, “just like this.”

He loves to debase you, and you love to serve him.

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letmeloveyouuuu · 2 months

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bride {vampire!aemond targaryen}

WARNINGS: explicit smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dubcon, loss of virginity, breeding kink, blood drinking

Only the light from the full moon shines down between branches and leaves, illuminating her way as she walks through the forest rarely traveled. She doesn’t know how she got here, still in her shift and robe that has been thrown over her shoulders half-heartedly, the forest floor crunching underneath her slippers, yet an unknown force seemingly presses her forward. Her mind is in a daze, heart thrumming against her chest sporadically and her ears feeling as if they are under water, and through her vision is a fog that refuses to leave, no matter how many times she rubs her eyes. Up ahead, through the heavy brush, sits the abandoned castle that was once called Harrenhal, an accursed place in history. Steadily, she makes her way towards it.

Harrenhal is a mighty fortress, once home to many great houses of Westeros, all in which were struck down by unforeseen tragedies. Whispers of its twisting halls being cursed, haunted by those that died within, scattered throughout the Riverlands, and all along Westeros, until the castle was abandoned. Now, it sits alone, stone burned dark from the days when dragons ruled the skies and their riders sat on the old Iron Throne.

Centuries have passed since then, yet Harrenhal remains the same, merely overgrown in its shrubbery and the vines that trail up its walls. The steady rhythm of her heart begins to speed up as she walks through the courtyard, eyes averting away from the blood stained ground, up towards a window at the very top of the castle, where a single light shines. Like a moth to a flame, she gravitates towards it.

Inside, it’s dark, and she finds herself walking through cobwebs, past open windows that let the cold air in, and up a large number of stairs, until finally, the lit room sits at the end of the hallway. Slowly, her footsteps creek along the floor, her spine tingling at the whisper that enters her ears and swells within her head; “Come to me.”

Her fingers reach out to touch the ancient wood of the door, which sits open just a crack, its hinges squeaking as it opens fully beneath her push. The room is lit by what seems to be a hundred candles, scattered around and perched on almost every surface, including the floor. A large window draws her attention, and standing in front of it, a tall figure, as still as a statue.

He towers over her, even from her spot by the door, lean and strong in his posture. A sheath of silver hair gleams down his back, so beautiful and shiny that it looks like silk, and her hands itch to reach out and run their fingers through the long strands. Slowly, he cocks his head to the side, and her breath hitches as his side profile comes into view among the shadows.

“You’ve finally made it,” he muses, all strong nose and smirking lips, stained the color of roses. Suddenly, he turns, facing her stunned figure. He hums, head tilted. “Come now, bride.”

She thinks he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Even with a scar that runs down the left side of his face, a glimmering sapphire within his missing eye’s socket. His other eye is an alluring shade of violet, though when he turns slightly, it looks almost red. He has a strong jaw and chin, skin porcelain and without color. He looks like a god.

He seems amused by her tied tongue, watching patiently as she tries to form a sentence. When she does, it comes out in a whisper. “Who are you?”

Quickly, so much so that her head spins and she stumbles back, he stands before her, close enough that she can touch him if she merely lifts her hand. He hums, his own hand coming up to run a finger down her cheek, the sharpened nail leaving a small streak of red on the flushed skin. His single eye studies her features, thumb resting under her chin as he tilts her head back, her lips agape. He smiles.

“My name…” he pauses, dipping his head lower, his cold breath fanning across her face, “is Aemond, and I have waited a millenia for you, ābrazȳrys.” (Wife).

The strange word echoed around in her head, and she knew it for High Valyrian, the old language of the dragonlords that once ruled over Westeros with fire and blood, hailed from the kingdom of Old Valyria. Her father is a scholar, one with an interest in history, and she had grown up learning about the years before, from before there were even the Seven Kingdoms. Tales of forest children and the First Men, of the Andals and the ice creatures, were all stories she was told at bedtime.

And then there is his name. Aemond. Another Valyrian name, one she had only heard once. Centuries ago, the ruling House Targaryen was torn to shreds when kin began to fight kin, and their dragons danced among a burning sky. There had been a particular prince that had caught her eye, a one-eyed kinslayer who rode the largest dragon in the world. When the war ended, the cruel Targaryen prince had vanished, and rumors swirled in his wake. Most believe he had succumbed to his uncle, a rogue prince who had a fiery vengeance. Some wonder about his paramour, a so-called witch that had lived in the same abandoned castle she was standing in now.

Her mind reeled over the possibilities. Could he be the long lost prince? After all this time? She knows it is not possible, for too much time has passed, yet he stands before her all the same. Cautiously, she reaches her hand out, resting it against his chest, breath catching within her throat at the stillness beneath his ribs.

He isn't breathing. His heart isn’t beating. It is as if he is a statue, carved from stone.

He gazes down at her, curious. Her voice comes out in a stutter. “H-how…? I don’t understand.”

His other hand encircles her own, pressing it tighter against him, eye fluttering closed as he begins to trace it up his chest, bringing it to his nose. He inhales, nose pressed to her wrist, pulse pounding under a web of blue veins. Her own eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed at the feeling of warmth that overcomes her, traveling from her head to the pit of her stomach, where it goes to rest between her quivering thighs.

He presses his lips to the same spot, opening his eye to peer up at her flushed expression. “You smell so sweet, my love.”

Her head spins, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he begins to kiss down the length of her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe lifting to rest in the crook of her elbow. When his lips reach the fabric, he moves to her shoulder, which the robe has fallen down from, leaving the bare skin exposed. At the nape of her neck, his tongue, surprisingly hot, darts out to lick at her pulse.

“Please,” she murmurs, head tilting to the side and her hands reaching out to grab at his tunic, pulling him closer.

“I am never letting you go, dōna riña,” Aemond muses, moving to press his lips against her jaw. “No, you were born to be my bride, and I shall take what belongs to me.” (Sweet girl).

Cold hands ruck up the skirt of her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her thighs, which are covered in goosebumps as they shiver in desire. Some part of her is ringing an alarm bell, for she doesn’t yet know how she got here nor why she is here, or even how it is possible for this man… this being, to be before her. He has no beating heart, no working lungs, and though she knows it’s unfathomable, he is a Targaryen prince. With long silver hair and a single purple eye, she believes this in her heart.

Her thoughts come to a halt as long fingers curl under her soaked garment, touching her in a way no man has. A quiet gasp escapes from between her lips, mind at a stand still as his finger dips down to circle at her slick hole, pressing slightly but not yet entering. Instead, he moves to gather more of her arousal between his digits, thumb going to a spot that makes her jump, heart pounding against her heaving chest.

Aemond shushes her, a sweet coo leaving his smirking lips as he watches her with a hooded eye. His thumb rubs circles against that same spot, and a tight coil begins to turn within her stomach, nipples hardened to sharp peaks as she pants.

He brings his face down, forehead resting against her own. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell, ābrazȳrys?”

When she lets out a whimper, knees buckling from beneath her, he lets out a deep groan. Suddenly, with a force and speed that makes her dizzy, he is laying her down on the large bed that is against the wall, the velvet blankets smooth against her hot skin. Her nightgown is bunched up around her hips, robe long forgotten on the stone floor, along with her slippers. He kneels before her, fingers under the band of her undergarments, which he practically rips off her, tearing them down her legs.

“A-Aemond,” she whines, wanton as she writhes atop a sea of red velvet.

His nose nuzzles between her thatch of curls, tongue darting out to lick up her essence, which coats her entirely. Her back arches, hips wiggling away as a broken moan leaves her lips, but he merely throws an arm over her stomach, pressing down and locking her in place. Another moan is ripped from her throat, hands reaching down to nestle in his long strands, fingers curling around them and tugging. A deep rumble is heard within his chest, vibrating against her cunt, which pulses in return.

His tongue is ravenous as he laps up her arousal, swirling around that sensitive spot that makes her toes curl, before moving down to dip into her clenching hole. She leaks even more there, thighs shaking around his head as he pushes his tongue in deeper, until his face is pressed fully onto her weeping cunt. He groans, thrusting the muscle in and out, before retracting and bringing his fingers up to take its place. When his tongue lays flat against her and his finger eases its way through her tight entrance, she nearly screams as her head seems to explode, body vibrating in pleasure as the tightly wound coil in her stomach snaps.

Another finger joins the first, pumping into her steadily as she comes, feeling as if she is floating above her own body. Aemond starts to speak, but the words don’t process as her head buzzes, dazed in a pleasure she has never felt before. Whatever he says, her body clenches at, moving on its own accord with no way of her stopping it and regaining control. When she finally comes down, he doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at her quivering cunt, fingers beginning to curl upwards inside her, searching for a spot that they find almost immediately.

“My sweet, sweet bride,” he grins, resting his head against her thigh, mouth covered in her slick. “I want to lick this pretty cunt every day now. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

She whimpers and moans, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as another wave of pleasure begins to wash over her. He seems pleased by this, eye wide as it flickers between his fingers that are buried deep inside her and her flushed face. “Sȳz riña.” (Good girl).

He finally removes his fingers after her second peak, digits coated in her juices, which he brings up to her lips. Without a word, she opens her mouth, tongue swirling around them as she sucks, the taste of herself causing her blood to heat.

Aemond seems dazed as he stares down at her, member straining against his leathers. The sight both frightens and arouses her, her own mind still in the clouds and seemingly not coming down anytime soon. Slowly, cautiously, she reaches a hand out towards him. He grabs it, laying a kiss on her wrist once more, before moving to grab at her shift. She doesn’t stop him as he pulls it off her, leaving her naked under him. The drafty air of the old room brushes against her skin, and she shivers, nipples hardened and body covered in goosebumps.

His head bends and he wraps his lips around her right bud, hand grabbing at her left breast and squeezing. He’s heavy against her naked frame, the cold leather of his clothing feeling pleasant pressed along her flushed skin. She feels sticky all over, so unbearably hot that she presses herself closer to his odd coldness. He hushes her softly, lifting his head from her bosom and capturing her lips with his own. It’s messy, a clashing of tongues and teeth, and his rigid member feels like a hot iron against her thigh. Dazedly, she runs the tip of her tongue against his front teeth, gasping when a dull pain throbs throughout the wet muscle.

Aemond pulls back sharply, purple eye now a deep red, matching the crimson blood that stains his plush lips. Two sharp canines protrude from the top of his mouth, glimmering under the candlelight. His eye is focused on her lips, which hide her bleeding tongue from his view, and with a groan, he presses back against her, his own tongue forcing its way into her mouth. He caresses the small cut, licking up the blood that seeps from the wound, hands grabbing ahold of her tightly.

With a sigh that almost sounds like a growl, he pulls away so suddenly, and in a blink of an eye, he stands before her naked. Her eyes trail over his figure, porcelain in color and seemingly carved from stone. The light from the moon and the scattered candles create daunting shadows along his form, and through the fog of her mind, she realizes that she wants nothing more than to touch him. She sits up, reaching her hands out towards him, and he complies with her silent request, leaning down to allow her to explore. He watches with a curious eye, still red in color, as her fingers dance along his shoulders and down his chest, brushing over his pink nipples and his lean muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, bringing her lips to kiss the spot where his heart should rest, holding her breath when no heartbeat is felt.

As if reading her thoughts, he pushes her back down against the bed, and her eyes are immediately drawn to between his thighs. A twinge of fear rushes through her at the sight of his hardened cock, its head flushed pink with thick veins that curl up its side. She has never seen one before, still a maiden, waiting for her father to betroth her to whichever man he deems worthy. But she feels as if Aemond’s is too large.

His lips curl into a smirk at her wide eyed gaze, bringing himself forward to lean over her, his silver hair falling around them like a curtain. His body, still cold and heavy against her, like a stone wall. She tenses as his hand goes between them, grasping his member in his palm and lining himself up against her entrance. Once again, his gaze is dark, brows furrowed and jaw tense as he runs the tip up and down her leaking seam, nudging that special spot that makes her spine jolt.

“You are mine, riñītsos. Mine to claim, mine to fuck,” he hisses as his tip begins to press into her tight hole, arms straining to hold himself above her shaking frame. “Mine to breed. Kesan dōrī ivestragī jā.” (Little one), (I will never let you go).

A broken sob leaves her lips as he pushes forward, a sharp pain settling deep between her legs, which only grows the farther he goes inside her. She begins to shake her head, pushing her palms against his shoulders with a moan. “It’s too big… it won’t fit!”

“Shhh,” he hushes her sweetly, lips coming to kiss along her ruddy cheeks. “Don’t worry, dōna riña. I’ll make it fit. You were made for this… for me.”

Her vision is clouded as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, wrapping herself around him and clinging onto him as the pain slowly ebbs away, turning into something entirely different. When he’s sat completely inside her, a wanton moan leaves her lips at the fullness, her head vibrating as she gasps up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath among the surging pleasure that begins to make its way through every nerve. Her hips begin to cant upwards, the slickness of her arousal helping her to slide against his cock, her fingers gripping tightly to strands of his hair.

“Please…” she whines, nearly sobbing.

He hums, lifting himself up as he begins to move his hips, creating a steady rhythm as his hands grab ahold of her waist. She is tiny below him, so much so that he can see the outline of his cock in her stomach, a sight that makes him groan and speed up, balls tightening in pleasure as her wet heat squeezes him. He eyes her thundering pulse at the base of her neck, his fangs beginning to ache and his throat going dry. His thrusts grow harsher, fingers digging into her flesh as she cries out beneath him.

“Kostagon nyke angogon ao, ābrazȳrys? Kessa ao ivestragī aōha valzȳrys mōzugon hen ao?” (Can I bite you, wife? Will you let your husband drink from you?)

His words come out in a mix between whiny and growling, teeth gritting as he leans down towards her open neck. Though she doesn’t quite understand what he said, only knowing a few words in Valyrian, the neediness in his tone has her back arching, and she greedily pulls him closer. Some submissive part of her wants nothing more than to please him, to give him all he desires and more. She gasps out a small “please.”

He nuzzles his nose under her jaw, rubbing against her pulse as his hips slow down, his thirst growing immensely. He brushes the tips of his fangs against her vein, thrusting his cock deep inside her, before biting down, eye rolling to the back of his head as warm blood spills down into his mouth. He moans, hips stuttering, pulling her as close as he can until they are flushed against each other, listening to her whimpers. She scratches her nails down his back, her cunt pulsing around his heavy cock as her blood flows from her vein, dizzy in her pleasure and loss of blood.

She tastes of the finest ambrosia, rich against his tongue and tingling his tastebuds, and his cock seems to swell in size as he cradles her in his arms, fangs imbedded into her neck. Her vision blurs, the rising wave of her arousal coming to a peak, and she nearly screams out as his hand slides between their stuck bodies, fingers circling at the throbbing bud at the apex of her cunt. His cockhead pounds steadily against a rough patch within in, and he doesn’t let up on his assault as the wave crashes over her, drowning her. She gasps for air, everything silent except for the beating of her heart and the slurping of Aemond’s tongue lapping at her lifesource.

“Sȳz riña,” his own peak begins to wash over him, lips murmuring against her neck and between sips of blood. “Iksā vok. Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys.” (You are perfect. My perfect wife).

With one last groan, he fills her with his seed, taking one last gulp of her before ripping himself away, mouth open against her wound as he pants. His tongue begins to lick at the two points, saliva coating them and slowly healing the marred skin. She is barely awake beneath him, exhausted from her pleasure, yet the sound of his voice and the feeling of his seed hot against her womb makes her throb all over again. She leaves wet kisses along his shoulders and chest, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against her, sweaty in the aftermath of their love making.

Slowly, he pulls out of her, cock only slightly soft, ready for another round. He feels as if he could spend an eternity between her legs, pounding into her tight, wet cunt and breeding her over and over again. For a moment, he has a thought to chain her to this very bed, his obedient little bride. He wants to lap at her sweet blood and lick up the essence of her, until every part of her is claimed. When his seed begins to seep out of her used hole, he brings two fingers to plug into her, refusing to let any of himself leave her. He smiles at her adoring expression.

“Will you marry me now, my lord?”

Aemond brings his coated fingers to her lips for the second time that night, humming in delight when she sucks on them, tongue swirling around and licking up every last drop of their combined arousal.

“Yes, my love. And when the time is right, I will turn you into my eternal bride.”

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letmeloveyouuuu · 2 months

Text

!! female reader; dirty talking; breeding kink; slight overstim play; unrealistic sex x’>

thinking about how simon’s the type to keep saying filth to you when he’s balls deep. how, in the throes of his pleasure, so pussy-drunk, simon begins to wax poetry about the way you make him feel.

he’s got you folded in a mating press, his lips ghosting wet kisses along your trembling legs. “god, baby,” simon murmurs, his voice a drunken slur. “i need t’wife you up, i swear.” he punctuates this with a thrust, before his fingers pinch your clit.

you choke at the feeling, your legs kicking from where they’re slung over simon’s shoulders. your head thrashes against the pillow, not knowing how else to tether yourself from the stinging pleasure, your mouth falling open uselessly as garbled moans spill out.

“oh this,” he says, distracted by your reaction. “cute little thing, isn’t it?” he looks at your pussy almost with a starry-eyed gaze.

jesus-

“shu-ut up, si!” your voice breaks, weakened from the moans, but simon’s already looking too far gone, his eyes blown wide and his face flushed because of his pleasure.

“y’just squeezed me tighter, baby.” simon rips his eyes from your cunt to look at you with a sort of giddy trance. “y’like it when i play with–” he circles his thumb on your clit, making you squeal. “this? yeah? oh, lovie, you’re gushing.”

he pulls out, torturously slow, teasing, then he’s slamming back in. your ears ring at the resounding wet slide, his pelvis meeting your own with a goddamn squelch, and you scream, clawing at his back at the sharp pleasure that razes through you.

“going t’stuff you w’my cum everyday, baby.” simon giggles. “going t’make you so full.”

he nuzzles his nose on the side of your tear-soaked cheek. “y’want that, yeah? want t’feel sore because of how much cum’s stored in you? want t’be fucked until it takes?”

what-

“si! si!” you cry, mushy mind trying to understand what he’s insinuating. “wha- wh-…?”

“oh but you’d be so gorgeous, baby,” simon groans, his hand leaving your oversensitive clit to hike up along your body, dancing past your groin to plant just below your belly button. simon nuzzles close again, tracing the shell of your ear with his lips, then, “you’d be so pretty carrying my kids.”

those words make your body lock up, something in your mind just shifting right, and then you’re cumming, squirting all over simon’s cock and spraying on his legs.

simon outright moans, pulling back just enough to slot his lips against yours. you couldn’t even kiss him back, still so busy cumming, all cross-eyed at the intensity of your orgasm. it doesn’t matter to him, anyway, not when simon begins pistoning harder. faster. rougher.

every drag of his cock back in your pussy pushes more gushing squirt from you, and simon rumbles with a pleased groan, looking so blissed out as he leaves open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. you dig your nails at his back but simon doesn’t even register the prickling pain, too busy chasing his own orgasm through your cunt.

“s’right,” he coos. “nothin’ else could make me cum, baby. nothin’ else but y’r pretty pussy. y’r tight pussy. god, it’s such a delicious pussy, baby, how am i so lucky to have you, huh?” his words mingle with the thwap-thwap-thwap sounds of his body slamming against your own. it makes you dizzy with pleasure, ragged rasps of breath is all that is passing through your parted lips.

simon croons. “how’d i chance luck and end up w’such a delight?” another wet sound from your pussy rings amidst his words. “mmm, hear that baby?”

you nod, you think. or you moan a reply. honestly, you don’t even know, not with how dizzy you are at the peaking pleasure because there’s no way you’re cumming again–

“that’s the sounds that a happy wife makes,” simon purrs, replying to his own question, and the weight of his words washes over you like the pleasure that’s racing across your synapses. “that’s the sound that someone makes when they want to be bred.”

“simo-nnnnn!” you scream, the sound guttural and ragged, and your eyes can no longer see anything, and your ears are ringing, and- and–

simon laughs, the sound curling into something so, so fond. “y’r so pretty when y’cum, baby.” he kisses your wet cheek. “one more? f’r me?”

fuck-

6K notes · View notes

letmeloveyouuuu · 4 months

Text

!! female reader; dirty talking; breeding kink; slight overstim play; unrealistic sex x’>

“oh this,” he says, distracted by your reaction. “cute little thing, isn’t it?” he looks at your pussy almost with a starry-eyed gaze.

jesus-

“shu-ut up, si!” your voice breaks, weakened from the moans, but simon’s already looking too far gone, his eyes blown wide and his face flushed because of his pleasure.

“going t’stuff you w’my cum everyday, baby.” simon giggles. “going t’make you so full.”

he nuzzles his nose on the side of your tear-soaked cheek. “y’want that, yeah? want t’feel sore because of how much cum’s stored in you? want t’be fucked until it takes?”

what-

“si! si!” you cry, mushy mind trying to understand what he’s insinuating. “wha- wh-…?”

those words make your body lock up, something in your mind just shifting right, and then you’re cumming, squirting all over simon’s cock and spraying on his legs.

simon croons. “how’d i chance luck and end up w’such a delight?” another wet sound from your pussy rings amidst his words. “mmm, hear that baby?”

you nod, you think. or you moan a reply. honestly, you don’t even know, not with how dizzy you are at the peaking pleasure because there’s no way you’re cumming again–

“simo-nnnnn!” you scream, the sound guttural and ragged, and your eyes can no longer see anything, and your ears are ringing, and- and–

simon laughs, the sound curling into something so, so fond. “y’r so pretty when y’cum, baby.” he kisses your wet cheek. “one more? f’r me?”

fuck-

6K notes · View notes

letmeloveyouuuu · 4 months

Text

Pearl of The Realm

Aemond x wife!reader | HOTD Big Bang!

Summary: Duty meant a lot of things to Aemond. But he had hoped that it would not mean marriage. And when the day comes for him to confront it, he finds with his new wife, small, naiive and innocent, that there is some pleasure to be found there also.

Word Count: 9,240 (oops) | Warnings below the cut~

A/N: My fic for the HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @solisarium for the artwork! 🥰 Please also support all the other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, and thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organising this event ❤

Warnings: arranged marriage, virginity loss, p in v sex, domination, corruption kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, canon typical sexism, aemond has a breeding kink (obvi), dark!aemond (ish)

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

To the realm. His title. But most of all, his family.

As a Prince of the Realm, he had many duties.

For most of his adult life he had trained relentlessly with the sword, striving to become better than his own teacher.

He had buried his nose in books, absorbing information from them, willing them to stick to the insides of his head to obtain intelligence unmatched by any other member of his family.

And, most of all, he had upheld his faithful relationship with his mother, whom he cherished dearly, and his sister equally.

He'd always felt close to the women in his life. But his mother had a special place in his heart. She had been through such hardships, such sacrifice.

And when she'd exploded that night in Driftmark, as inexcusable as she seemed the behaviour to be, he had felt such utter devotion towards her that she would be so angry on his behalf. At a time when he had felt so vulnerable, and felt that his own voice as well as hers had been ignored by the man in their lives.

A man who had so repeatedly, let them down.

He would never admit it out loud, but a part of him sought pleasure in the fact his father was largely bed-bound these days. Even more so that his own father had lost an eye as a result of his worsening condition.

It felt like the Gods were looking down on him and validating him.

But there was one duty he had yet to perform.

Taking a wife.

Unfortunately for him, that time was upon him, and he had no interest in it whatsoever.

As much as Alicent tried, and she really did try, she could not get her second son interested in courting the ladies at the Keep.

As soon as Aemond clapped an eye on the opposite sex, he would retreat in the opposite direction. Not even bothering to engage in conversation, surmising perhaps that he had little in common with them.

He'd never met a lady before who shared the same interests, why start actively seeking them out now?

Alicent's son was in his prime, rooted in adulthood, and she knew it was time, like it or not, that he was wed.

Aemond stood stock still, hands behind his back curled into fists, biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to show his mother the annoyance on his face. Her words were those of truth. He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.

What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned.

That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.

Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.

He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court.

And mercifully, Aemond sighed with relief that she was not.

Something struck deep within his chest. His mother spoke of her so wonderfully, as if she were a star plucked from the sky, and Aemond pondered if such attributes could be proven correct by simply meeting her once, as Alicent had. What woman, and of what standing, deserved such praise, after only meeting for a short time?

What would she look like? Her mannerisms, her stature, her smile? He found himself haunted by these thoughts without even knowing the woman’s name. Much less, her appearance.

He feared that she might share the same sentiments as the other ladies at court once they were due to meet, chaperoned by her ladies and tainted by their company. Perhaps they had their own opinions that they instilled on her also. She might be afraid of him, he thought. Maybe it is not so bad if she feared him, he allowed himself to think.

Aemond could not find it in his heart to expose himself so willingly to a stranger he was due to wed, and so when word reached the Keep that she had arrived and made her pleasantries, he thought to have mercy on the poor thing, stay clear and not dim her supposed ethereal presence with the darkness that followed at his back since the day he lost his eye.

There was some power in not allowing her to see him until their wedding day.

While a small part of him felt empathetic to the poor girl, that her betrothed chose not to greet her on arrival, another part of him was somewhat self-assured that he had made the right decision. It was the little power he felt he had.

When one thinks of a wedding, they might imagine the Sept beaming with joy, crammed with people all eager to feast their eyes on the new royal couple. But as Aemond stood before the Septon, with the extended feeling of nervousness at the fact she had yet to arrive, he could hear nothing.The Sept was dead silent. The people, the lords and ladies, as well as his family, were in attendance, watching with wide, curious eyes, too terrified to make a sound.

His hands were rigid behind his back, dressed in his finery, feeling the tightness of his clothes against his chest where his heart was hammering underneath.

For duty. For family.

He did not see her at first, as she was on his blind side, but once she’d well and truly stepped beside him, he spared a glance at her and felt his mouth go utterly dry.

Her dress, which he presumed were her house colours, was a light pastel, almost dream-like when combined with the translucent silky fabric graced atop it. He watched with curiosity as she let go of her father’s hand. Her gaze and almost undetectable smile was warm and inviting, as if the space around her was simply alight with her presence. Her father peeled the cloak from her shoulders, and it reminded him that he had the cloak with the Targaryen colours fisted in his grip.

Her hair was pinned up in a series of braids, all varying in size, and he was ashamed to admit that the first thought that came to mind was not that she looked beautiful with them, but that they must be uncomfortable. He was allowed to have his hair loose around his shoulders, whereas this woman, and he supposed others like her, were prodded and poked to look their best to the detriment of their comfort.

Aemond found it impossible to stare ahead and listen to the Septon, and he could’ve let a heavy breath loose when he was asked to cloak her. He swallowed over the lump in his throat that had formed and lifted his gaze to look down at her. Her bright, warm eyes looked up at him, revealing nothing about what she was really thinking, and her lips were full and looked soft, forcing him to think what they would feel like when they would sign their marriage with a kiss later.

He took a breath and placed the cloak on her shoulders, half thinking that such a heavy, large thing would swallow her whole, for her form was smaller than his, and therefore more delicate. Placing his hands on her, but not directly, still felt somewhat intimate, especially in a room of so many people watching. But something stirred deep within when he stepped back and observed that the colours complimented her, like she was meant to be his and belong to him.

They faced each other as the Septon spoke.

Aemond watched every micro-movement. The fluttering of her eyelashes, the deep intakes of breath through her nose and her thumb brushing over her hand, in what he could only assume was nerves, though she was hiding it well on her face.

It was only here that he noticed she wore a dainty pearl necklace, not at all gaudy in size, but small and delicate, like he perceived her to be.

A feeling he didn’t know hummed in his blood. And it showed when both of them were asked to conclude the ceremony with a kiss.

“With this kiss I pledge my love.”

Aemond had to be the one to lean down to meet her in the middle, and he felt his blood thrum when their lips met, excited to find that her lips were as soft as he had imagined. He could not help the lewd thought that passed through his mind, and wondered if the rest of her was as supple and luxurious.

Curse the wedding feast, he wanted to find out right after the ceremony.

He was not overzealous with the kiss, not wanting to frighten her. But he was equally delighted when they parted to the applause of the lords and ladies, to find that her cheeks were faintly bloomed with warmth. His lips pulled into an indistinct smile at the idea that he was the first man that would have made her feel that way, and it pulled a possessive string in Aemond’s body towards her.

He took her hand in his and led her away from the Septon, through the line of people, and relished in the fact that she was now his. Aemond felt somewhat ashamed when his manhood began to harden within his breeches at the mere touch of her hand, and wondered what hers would look like wrapped around it. If her fingers could barely encircle it, and if she would be good and pliant, do as she’s told, and please him.

The wine during the feast surprisingly did nothing to quell the hardness between his legs. He yearned so desperately for her, sat right next to him, posture straight and proper like a good lady wife, with her hands clasped so delicately in her lap. She had yet to say a word to him and he thought she must have been raised very strict, not speaking to her betters without being spoken to first, and now that person was her husband.

It was difficult not to look unimpressed when the various lords and ladies all queued up to provide their congratulations to the intimate little table he and his wife were seated at during the feast.

He watched his mother beam with joy, though he and his wife had not spoken. Aegon had snickered, clearly thinking something inappropriate. And Otto had bowed, offering congratulations as if he had not been involved in the match behind the scenes along with Alicent the entire time. Did he think he was stupid?

Not even his father had managed to pull himself from his bed to offer his congratulations. But, Aemond thought then, he was glad he didn't have to see his face.

At times he could suppress his sheer boredom and impatience, he wanted them all to leave him alone so he could fuck his wife and see what pretty sounds she could make. With the absence of her voice, it only made him more impatient to find out.

Surely, the girl might not have been afraid of him? He thought.

Aemond almost regretted hoping she was afraid of him, but there was some dull excitement in thinking she was, even now, with how beautiful she looked. When he takes her maidenhead, as he was sure she was entirely pure, would her soft eyes look up at him in fear, or in pleasure, or both?

He found his gaze wandering over her for several quiet moments, watching her profile as she scanned the hall, observing everyone else enjoying themselves. Whilst he appeared somewhat indifferent to her to anyone else’s untrained eye, he was otherwise calm and collected. Her lips glistened against the warm amber glow of the candles adorning the table, and he could not hide his delight in seeing how she swallowed nervously. She must have felt his gaze on her, he thought. And as he watched her throat bob, he was drawn to her chest, where the pearls lay, and watched as her breathing pushed her breasts somewhat over the bust of her dress.

He imagined those pearls dancing while he fucked her, her breasts moving with the rhythm of driving his cock into her sweet wetness. Her lips parted with hurried breaths as she struggled to gain it while she appeased him with the sound of her soft moans.

“Are the celebrations to your liking, wife?”

He smirked, testing the title on his tongue.

The insides of him glimmered in excitement when she turned, her posture still perfect and straight. Her wide, innocent eyes met his with curiosity, and also fright that he had spoken to her in such a way. She almost seemed to flinch at the new title he’d referred to her as.

She gave an almost indistinguishable nod, her grip tightening on her hands, “Yes, husband, thank you.” She replied with a wavering voice.

She studied him for a moment, watching as he gave a lopsided smirk, adoring the way she seemed so nervous in his presence, and speaking to her husband. He drank slowly, continuing to watch her squirm under his gaze. Her breathing had hastened, evident by the way she struggled under the tight confines of her boned dress.

Her voice was smooth, like the sweetest honey, and he couldn’t wait to hear how it would translate, echoing throughout their marital chambers, with his flesh pressed against hers.

He never imagined merely envisioning power over something so delicate could be so exhilarating.

Aemond had to hide how elated he was when their leave was announced. He stood, and therefore she did as well, like a delayed little shadow.

She was an obedient little thing, he surmised, as she followed quietly, willfully ignorant to the leering glances and smirks of the lords and ladies who parted a path for them. Every single one of them was curious, as to how such a quiet, soft girl could tame someone so fearsome and chaotic as a dragon prince, who could not be caged in as mere mortal men could.

The chambers seemed too grand, too clunky, to house such a perfect thing as her, he thought. She stood stock still in the middle of his chambers, which he would now share with her, and watched amused as she looked around and took in her surroundings as if she were in some kind of danger. Her pupils flitted about the darkened room, lit only in a warm glow from various candlesticks placed most deliberately.

Her pale dress cast a glow against the grey of the room, as well as her aura, which seemed to lift all the tension from his body and direct it to the place he had needed her the most since he laid his eye on her.

The glass decanter clinked as he poured himself a cup of wine, his back to her.

Aemond turned and extended the decanter only slightly, asking wordlessly if she would like one as well.

But she simply wringed her hands and shook her head, her body wracked with nerves.

Aemond only chuckled, cup of wine in hand and looked upon her, standing so diligently, where he’d left her.

“Wine might dull your nerves, my lady wife.” He mused, watching the way she looked down in embarrassment at being able to see inside her head so clearly.

Every now and then, she would peek over at the well made bed, like it was an inevitability, and not a place where she would share her most intimate and passionate moments with her new husband.

There was a dark red blanket held taught atop the pale sheets.

A warning.

There were never such dark, stark colours atop her bed sheets at home, and she wondered silently why they would choose such a menacing colour to adorn a place where you may lay your head to rest.

A peaceful night’s sleep. A moment’s passion. The birth of a child.

She thought, beds are where we are born, where we sleep, where marriages are made, where women give birth, which is often their last. And where we die. Not necessarily in that order.

Her husband may have thought a bed a peaceful thing.

But to her, many dangerous things may take place in a bed. And she had heard the stories of a dragon’s temper. Of lords, not necessarily of royal standing, taking their wives on their wedding night, whether their wives were willing or not. And this, is what she feared.

“You need not be so afraid.”

He tore her from her thoughts. And she blushed and felt warm all over realising he had caught her staring at the bed, her body betraying how nervous she felt.

When he looked at her, he felt his manhood throb. He wondered if the blood would rush to her cunny the same way it rushed to her cheeks, and how her flesh would cover her delicious curves beneath the softness of her gown.

He felt excited when she opened her mouth, forcing the air into her lungs like it took all her effort.

“May I ask for your assistance with my gown, husband?” She asked sweetly, with her eyes downcast.

Husband.

He felt his cock become impossibly harder.

He poked his cheek with his tongue in amusement, pushing himself off what he was leaning on and made towards her, watching the way she shrunk the closer he got. She turned slowly, showing him her back, where the laces of her dress were tied so tightly, he was surprised she had not asked him sooner.

While he worked on them, loosening the fabric around her middle, his breath hitched when he saw the shift underneath. She moved her hands to her hair, pulling several pins from it where the braids had been twisted together. She visibly shivered under his touch when the laces were undone and he pushed the stiff fabric apart across her back.

Her hair fell to her shoulders, and she used the sharpened tip of the pins to undo the braids into delicate wavy strands, all while unaware how her new husband marvelled at her out of sight.

She walked away from him for a moment to the vanity, never meeting the looking glass with her eyes, but simply placing the pins in a trinket bowl. With the gown loosened around her shoulders, the fabric lifted when she reached up to unclasp the necklace.

“Leave that on.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, questioning. Her cheeks alight with what he was suggesting.

But he didn’t say anything else.

So instead, she cleared her throat quietly, and pulled the heavy dress from her shoulders, folding it lengthways and draping it over an armchair. Her fingers clasped and unclasped, anxious. Aemond merely watched, his doublet feeling tight and hot against his chest. He could make out the silhouette of her form beneath the thin cotton, the candlelight illuminating her, as if her body was the soft and gentle morning sun, peeking over the horizon to set the day alight.

He heard her shuddered breath and allowed himself to think about what it would feel like against his neck while he rutted into her. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him closer to her, to sink deeper into her hot insides.

“I do hope that…I please you…with my appearance.” She murmured, turning with her body to face him from a distance. She sounded embarrassed, and shy.

Aemond furrowed his brows.

“Why do you say such a thing?” He asked, colder than he had meant to sound. And it’s clear that the tone of it made her shudder more, which he didn’t intend.

“I only meant that…I hope I am pleasing to the eye…and that I shall be obedient and supportive, as a good wife should be.”

He fought the urge to smile, not wanting to embarrass her further. His silence towards her had clearly given her the wrong impression. That he didn’t approve of her, and perhaps she thought that she wasn’t suitable for him because of his reaction.

“Come here.”

She did as he asked, albeit slowly, until she stood right in front of him.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Does my appearance scare you, he thought with curiosity, and panic.

Does my ailment make you uneasy, as it does the other ladies?

She shook her head softly, “No.” She answered quietly, “It’s just… my Septa said…that the night of consummation would be…” she trailed off, speaking too quietly for him to hear.

“It is alright. Speak again, without fear.”

She swallowed as she looked at him, having to crane her neck.

“She said…the night of consummation would be painful…and that it must be endured. As wives are to be submissive and obedient to their husbands.”

She spoke as if she were speaking from a line in a book. And Aemond thought she must have had this idea stamped into her brain from a very young age. It both concerned and irritated him to think that a young child, forming into a young woman, would be forced into being so terrified of such intimacy by a caregiver who ultimately knew little about marriage.

“There will be some pain.” He replied simply, watching the way she flinched at his words, “But I do not wish for you to endure it simply because you have been told to.”

His fingers came to the tresses of hair that hung on her shoulders, threading his fingers through them and revelling in their softness. Her eyelashes fluttered and her lips parted, absorbing his words, and he could see behind them that he was challenging everything she had ever been told.

“If there is pain, you must tell me.”

She inhaled slowly, gathering her nerves, and nodded simply.

“Come. Lay on the bed.”

Though he spoke softer, there was still a coldness to the way he gave his demands. But nonetheless, she did as he said, and stared up to the canopy of the bed, feeling her heart going so fast she was sure it would burst from her chest.

All she heard was the rustling of leather, the unlooping of his belt, and the clinking of his silver clasps.

She felt the mattress dip at the end of the bed and saw her new husband, without his doublet, but with his breeches only untied halfway, so she could not see a thing. But even so, the sight of a man naked on his torso had her heart still in her chest, and warmth crawl up to her cheeks. Aemond chuckled slightly, not wishing to embarrass her.

“Have you seen a man bare before, little one?” He asked, laying down beside her. She tried with the utmost effort to not stare at him, fearing that in some way she would anger him. His chest was well-muscled and pale, shimmering in the low light of the chambers and littered with many tiny scars that had silvered with time. His hair ran like milk over his shoulders, so silky it seemed to stick to his smooth skin.

She shook her head, and mouthed ‘no’. His manhood throbbed in his breeches at the thought that she had not even seen a man beneath his clothes before, and that he would be the first.

“It is alright, there is no need to be embarrassed.” He gave her a soft smile, trying his best to appear comforting.

But it could not be ignored that they were strangers, and it was his fault that he had not gone to see her before marriage and get to know her better. And on top of that, she was afraid, not of him, but that he might hurt her and that it would define her expectations for the rest of the marriage.

She flinched noticeably in shock, not out of fear, but at not having been touched so intimately, when his palm ran softly up her leg, taking her shift with it.

“Relax.”

She tried to do as he said.

She was so jumpy and nervous, Aemond wondered for a brief, funny moment, if she had even spoken to a man before today.

So he asked a question which he thought was almost silly to ask.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

His question was answered immediately when she flushed and her face went all warm, and suddenly she was unable to meet his gaze. She shook her head softly. And instead of feeling bad for her, a devilish grin split across his face, all the blood going south.

She was so pious, and so devoted to the Seven, that she had saved any part of her inner desires for her husband to be.

He would be the first to give her pleasure of any kind.

To touch her intimately.

To make her feel as beautiful as he thought she was.

“It is alright. I shall show you.” He added softly, his voice like the purr of a cat.

She dared to look back at him as his hand trailed higher, dipping beneath the hem of her shift to touch her smooth skin beneath, “How will it feel?...”

“It may feel strange at first,” He answered honestly, “But after that, it should be pleasurable.”

She seemed to accept his answer, but her legs were pressed together almost instinctively, like her body was telling her it needed to appear smaller. His sharp nose pressed into her hair, inhaling her pleasant, female scent. His breath against the shell of her ear, hot puffs of air landing against her neck, where he began to place one, and then two open-mouthed kisses.

His eye wandered over her from this angle. Looking down her body, he could see the shadow of what lay beneath her shift in between her breasts as they moved with her breathing, which was slow and calculated. He could see how her hands held the bedsheets below her in her palm, not tightly, but prepared to pull on them if she needed.

She shivered with a shuddered breath when he kissed her, trailing his lips lower to her collarbone, past her string of delicate pearls, and he could see that beneath the cotton, her nipples had reacted to the chill of the room, but he liked to imagine that it was because of the way he was touching her so lovingly.

His hand completely slipped past where her hip met her leg, not touching her womanhood just yet, but close enough to feel its warmth. He felt the gooseflesh on her tummy as he trailed upwards, the shift bunched against his arm when his palm slid over her breast. She gasped softly as he squeezed tenderly, testing the weight of it in his palm and kneading it, and when he looked up to her briefly, she had closed her eyes.

He would tell her to open them later, after he did what he planned.

Her hips moved towards the mattress when his deft fingers dipped between her legs, the tips parting her folds to her entrance first, where Aemond began to feel the slick, as little as there was, gathered around it.

She was beginning to feel aroused even if she didn't know it.

She whimpered, pressing her lips together when she felt his fingers in such a strange, forbidden place. Her eyebrows furrowed in discomfort.

"Shh…" He cooed, the air brushing against her cheek, "Relax, dear wife."

She swallowed thick, and relaxed her thighs so that they weren't pushed together as much. The title he'd given her making her head feel as if it were full of air and nothing else.

A part of her felt bad. For she was supposed to be an obedient, pliant little wife, and he was taking care of her so diligently and she was still afraid.

"I apologise-"

"Do not apologise." He replied quickly, and her eyes opened, glistening with a new expression of understanding, "Only feel."

Her breath quickened.

Feel?

"Feel how I touch you here -"

He drew his fingers from her entrance to her pearl, drawing little soft circles using her arousal for ease. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes glued to him, a near-indistinguishable gasp falling from her lips. She began to feel a sort of ache, deep in her stomach that felt strange. And her hips began to move in micro-movements.

"This is where you feel the most pleasure." He whispered, his fingers moving sometimes directly and then indirectly over her pearl. At others, the anticipation of them being close to it had her hips searching for the touch.

"How does it feel?" He asked.

She struggled to think of a word, having never felt this dull and yet pleasurable rush to her core.

"Strange��pleasantly so."

He continued to move slowly, not making a direct effort to make her peak like this, just allowing her to feel what the touch of a man, the touch of her husband, could feel like.

"I will prepare you like this, so that there will be as little pain as possible."

Maintaining eye contact while he said things like that, while he did things to her like this, felt so intimate and so painfully domestic. As if nobody had bothered to care for her so much in her life. Her eyes curiously flitted between his seeing one and his eyepatch, not in fear, but wondering what he might be hiding beneath it.

It would not be removed this night. Or perhaps many to come.

Aemond's fingers moved over her womanhood with ease, more slick began to pool there and lubricate her puffy folds, swollen with arousal. She was wet, but he thought not prepared enough for his cock just yet.

He shifted his body down, his cheek grazing over her still clothed form, as if he was teasing himself. He could easily have asked her to be naked for him. But there was still trust to be gained.

Her eyes were questioning where he might be going. And she truly had no idea.

Using his knee, he settled between her legs, seeing the gooseflesh still there. His hands rucked up her shift, just pausing at the point where it would reveal her womanhood, all slick and ready for him. Her cheeks bloomed as she looked down at him, but didn't have the courage to question.

"Keep your eyes on me." He whispered lowly, his fingers pushing the fabric up so that he could see her cunt, so close to his face. And he was hit right then with the invigorating scent of her, like the sweetest perfume. He felt ashamed that even the scent of her aroused little cunny made his cock weep with arousal.

She looked more embarrassed than anything to have her new husband's face so close to her intimate area she had been taught to keep hidden. And it was hard for her to keep her legs apart. But she couldn't close them for fear of clamping on his head, and his hands were tenderly keeping them spread, his fingers only slightly indented in her supple flesh.

He looked down upon her, his thumb grazing her pearl again and watching with delight as her hips moved again, accompanied with a breath. It was simply too tempting, the idea of tasting her and the sweet nectar that leaked from within.

Holding her thighs, he leaned forward and flattened his tongue against her womanhood, and something primal was awoken inside when he finally tasted his new, little wife. He moved around her folds, and whenever he had to take a breath he placed an open-mouth kiss to it. He spared a glance up at her, and he hadn’t even heard her hurried breathing or tiny whispers of moans, so engrossed in tasting her for the first time.

Her cheeks were alight, her eyes torn between settling on his gaze and what he was doing to her. He had already told her to keep her eyes on him, and Aemond felt pleased that despite how embarrassed she was, she was obeying him.

Aemond redoubled his efforts, using his tongue to part her folds and nuzzling deeper against her, his nose rubbing gently against her pearl and using his wet muscle to dip against her entrance. It’s here that she gave some semblance of a proper moan, slipping shakily out of her throat, her hands tightening on the bed sheets.

He all but moaned against her cunt, delving into the deepest parts of her and dragging his tongue against the top of her velvety walls, trying to find out why she was the way she was. What made her feel the best. How he could make more of those pretty sounds tumble past her lips. He thought he could have spent all his life between her thighs, lapping at her arousal, and he would die a happy man.

In his grip, her thighs began to shake, and her brows furrowed like she didn’t understand what this feeling coursing through her veins was, this fire ablaze in her blood. Pride flooded his head, and he dragged his tongue from the inside of her to her pearl, where he drew circles over it. She jolted in his hold, as if he’d scared her, but he knew that it was because of the overwhelming feeling that was beginning to crest over her, and the uncertainty of it.

With his attention and efforts on her bud alone and she was suitably wet, he looked up at her when he touched her entrance with the pad of his finger. He heard her gasp when he slowly sank one digit inside her, he himself struggling to keep his composure once he realised just how tight she was around his finger alone. And he could barely think straight thinking about how she would feel wrapped around his cock.

He could forgive for the time being that her eyes were closed and brows furrowed, for the new sensation must have been strange for her. Something akin to a strangled whine rumbled from her chest when he was sank all the way inside, curling upwards. And when he brushed against that spot at the top of her walls, gently caressing the slick ridges, her back arched slightly off the mattress, and he smiled against her womanhood.

It appears his little wife was becoming emboldened in her movements by what he was doing to her.

As he continued to please his wife in two separate ways, almost instinctively, her hand came to his bare shoulder. To pull him close? To push him away? She wasn’t entirely sure herself.

He could tell she was on the precipice of something she was unable to comprehend, and was embarrassed to show herself in such an open way.

“What is it, sweet wife?” he asked, drawing his lips from her, now covered entirely in her arousal when he licked at it.

Through her loud pants, she regained her breath as he continued to tease that deep spot inside of her, “What is…” She breathed, her grip closing around his shoulders. Her nails dug into his flesh, not meaning to, which made him smirk.

“Shh, it’s alright.” He cooed, pulling out slightly to slide a second finger inside, using the girth of his fingers to stretch her cunt around him, “I am just making sure you are ready for me.”

He began to pump his fingers inside her like he would fuck her, curling them up to focus his attention and pressure against the sweet spot at the end of her. She was so tight around him, already trying to suck him further inside and clenching hard. He felt his skin stretch around her grip on his shoulder, like she didn’t realise how hard she was holding him.

“ - Aemond - I’m - ”

Aemond.

The way she called him by his name.

There was no shame now in how hard it made him, and he felt as if he would spill right in his breeches and not inside her if she was going to say things like that.

A breathy whine made its way from her mouth, her eyes tightly shut as her face twisted in pleasure, feeling all the pressure leak into her limbs in bliss while Aemond kept pleasuring her, loving how her body was uncontrollably trembling with the force of her peak. He could feel the rush of slick coat his fingers and hand, so he slowed down the pace of his movements, allowing his sweet wife to savour the feeling she’d experienced here for the first time.

“That was your peak, little one.”

Her eyes opened to focus on him, feeling her body erupt in shivers as he pulled his digits from her and smeared her wetness over her thighs, thinking that as erotic and lewd the action was, that is excited her at the place where her husband had just been caressing with his fingers and tongue.

Her pupils were dilated only a bit larger than before, and Aemond felt pride in being the first to make her feel such things, awakening a part of her that had remained dormant for a long time. And while she had been emboldened by what he’d done to please her, her cheeks still bloomed with a faint embarrassment that he found endearing.

His hands traced her sides, taking her shift with it, and her breath hitched at the idea she would be entirely bare before her new husband, who had just given her the first experience of female pleasure. But alongside the trepidation, there was excitement.

Once he pulled her shift over her head and raked his gaze over every inch of her body.

It was a fucking crime that she’d been hiding herself under that gown all evening, he thought.

He thought she was perfection, with her soft and supple curves, and he hadn’t even realised his calloused hands had been kneading her breast until she let out a breathy sound. But she didn’t protest. She just appeared somewhat uncomfortable, as this was the first time she had shown herself so openly to the opposite sex.

“You are beautiful.”

She seemed to calm at least when he said that, relieved her husband found her attractive.

He saw her eyes flit from his one seeing eye to the eyepatch covered one, curious. But she simply swallowed thickly and didn’t say or ask anything. And he too was relieved that she hadn’t asked him to remove it.

He was not sure if he would be ready for that, for some time.

She still wore the little pearls around her neck, and now with her entirely naked with the exception of that, it felt erotic and arousing.

They were the same.

She wore the necklace, he wore the eyepatch, keeping a tiny piece of themself while they joined in matrimonial bliss.

He unlaced the rest of his breeches, watching her breasts move up and down as she breathed in anticipation of what was going to happen and the irreversible fact that she would never be the same afterwards.

“Remember what I said?” he asked, pulling his breeches over his hips. His achingly hard cock sprang free, standing proud and aroused against his stomach.

She took a moment to reply, trying not to stare too much at his member as he stroked himself slowly, the ruddy tip, weeping with arousal, poked out of his fist with every languid movement. She’d never seen one before. But all she knew was that she wondered how on earth it would fit inside her, he looked so thick and long, slightly curved to one side. Was there empty space inside of her she didn’t know about where he would place himself?

Her eyes met his, all glazed over, and she nodded.

“If there is pain, I must tell you.” She repeated what he’d said earlier. Her skin bloomed, for that moment was here right before them.

She tried to relax her body, numb from the force of her very first peak, as the mattress dipped either side of her where he’d leaned on his forearms, his knee brushing the inside of her legs as he nudged them apart so he could place himself there.

“Yes, you must.” He added tenderly, “It is not my intention to hurt you.”

The affection in his words made her stomach roll.

“You are my wife.”

She confirmed with delight that she was. And she nodded, not knowing what to say in response to his statement, but Aemond could see the subtle glimmer in her eyes.

He saw her glance at his manhood with something akin to a mix of fear and curiosity, and she took a sharp breath in as Aemond leaned forward, not pressing his weight on her, and placed several open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, neck and collarbone, teasing her with his teeth, while his cock kissed her puffy folds.

She felt his breath at her skin, her grip loosening on the sheets as he made her feel a little more relaxed.

When he leant forward, parting her folds easily with the aid of her slick, the first thought she had was that it felt strange, but nothing else in particular. It was only when his cockhead had disappeard inside her and he speared her upon his length that she began to tense up, her stomach tightening somewhat unpleasantly. Her hand came automatically to his chest, to try and push him away and make him stop.

He raised his head from her neck, his eye hooded down in concern. He felt her soft, almost-hummingbird-like touch on his chest and felt something fluttering inside of him at the tenderness of it. She was in some pain, not dramatically so, and yet her touch was so gentle.

Nothing was said, and only the utmost patience was offered. And it was difficult to do so for Aemond, with the way her core was holding him so tightly, to stay still and not move an inch. But for the sake of making her feel safe, he did it.

After a moment, she made an effort to relax her muscles for him. Her hand trailed over his muscled chest, as if taking this small window of opportunity to do so. Her fingers ran over the scars he’d gained on his lithe form, wanting to commit every ridge, every little piece of him to her memory as if it was the last time she’d ever see him.

Her eyes shifted to him once he sheathed himself inside her all the way, bottoming out with a low groan. He felt her walls fluttering around him, stretching her to accommodate this size, having not felt anything like this before. Her lips parted to let a soft pained sound past her lips, but that was all, and she felt the worst was behind her.

It felt only slightly uncomfortable, but she was willing to do it for this marriage. To please him.

It was intimate, looking right at her while he was deep inside her, and she gave the faintest of nods, telling him without words that she was alright. She thought she'd never felt more full in her life, nor more connected to someone as she was right at this moment.

It hurt at first, yes, but he had prepared her, waited for her and cherished her like she was precious. And the pain, the sting of losing her maidenhead, was a small price to pay for how full her heart felt, by giving a piece of her to him.

Closing his eye, as if to concentrate, Aemond moved almost entirely out of her to push back in as she gasped below him, the same feeling the second time had a spark licking at her insides that didn’t stop as he began his slow and careful pace. He wanted to tear his gaze off her, desperately, but couldn’t.

It was just as he imagined. With every soft thrust inside her, the pearls at her neck danced, and her cheeks were flushed, eyes shimmering. It wasn’t as animalistically lustful as he envisioned. Before he imagined an innocent thing like her, bending to his will, corrupting her in any way he saw fit.

But now more than anything as he listened to the gentle moans come out of her, he wanted to protect her, to nurture and watch her flourish. The pearls clicked against each other at her neck, her breasts moved, nipples pebbled with arousal, and she’d raised her legs only slightly to wrap around his waist, blinking slowly up at him.

The whore Aegon had gotten him to fuck on his thirteenth nameday was overzealous, large-breasted and older, perhaps more experienced. She had bounced on top of him, her loud moans bouncing off every surface in the room, her hands planted on his chest as she moved her hips up and down on him with loud slaps. He remembered feeling horrified that this is what intimacy was. That this is what men would desire so relentlessly.

It didn’t feel good. And he remembered feeling sick.

But here, with her, looking so lovingly up at him. No hysterical moaning, no pathetic whines to boost his male ego. Just unapologetically everything she was feeling, she was giving to him.

It felt like a gift. To experience real intimacy. And with the person he was due to spend the remainder of his days with.

As if realising he was daydreaming, his hips still moving against her with wet slaps of skin, her hand cupped his face, on the unmarred side, and her thumb stroked over his cheekbone. She touched him so softly he could have wept.

She had seen some kind of thoughtfulness on his face, and in the throes of consummation, was supporting him.

“Aemond.”

When she said his name with such sincerity and care, he blinked slowly and reached his hand up to hers, encircling his fingers around her small wrist, and turned his face into her palm, to kiss the inside tenderly. One kiss to her palm, and one to her wrist. And it felt more intimate than kissing on the lips, which he only now realised with shame, that he’d not done for her yet.

“I am alright.”

He looked at her when she said that. It was as if she could see all of his inner thoughts, and had been able to all evening.

She saw that he had been holding back.

He had been afraid of frightening her, and yet she was allowing him what he wanted.

Her breath caught in her chest with a kind of excitement as his fingers wrapped around her wrist and forced it down to the bed beside her head, his other hand joining her other to keep her pinned tightly under him to the mattress. Her eyes glimmered as she looked up at him, watching his expression change to something more possessive.

“Put your legs around me.”

She did as he asked and raised her legs around his waist, causing his length to brush that same spot inside her that he’d pleasured just moments before. And with an iron grip on her wrists and easier access to her, he dipped his head into her neck, her scent swirling around him and fucked her as he had wanted to the entire evening.

Skin slapped against one another with the moisture of her slick on his pelvis, his stones hitting against her repeatedly with every rough thrust into her wet cunt.

"Does my innocent little wife like to be properly fucked, hm?" He grunts, watching how she blushes and turns her head away out of embarrassment.

"I think you will continue to surprise me, little pearl."

She felt her insides clench at the name he gave her.

Little pearl.

Aemond smirked, increasing the intensity of his driving into her, constantly spearing her open onto his cock, and watching at the way he disappeared into her.

"I can feel you tightening around my cock. Did you like that? Little pearl?"

Her breath was sucked from her with each devastating thrust, and that same pressure was beginning to build in her belly, from when he'd pleasured her before.

"Answer me.”

"Yes - yes, husband - " She replied, breathlessly and gulping for air, throwing her head back against the bed sheets.

He smirked, leaning back and watching how his cock was being covered in her slick everytime he pulled out of her.

He pulled her hips onto his lap, and the angle had his cockhead bullying her tender and sensitive place deep inside of her. Her eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, feeling utterly at his mercy.

Feeling proud of the reactions he was getting, his hand slipped from her hip to her bud. Her pearl. A grin splitting across his face at the lewd thoughts he was having. He circled her sensitive bud tenderly, applying just enough pressure that she clenched around him again.

If she wasn't careful, he would cum right there and then.

"Does that feel good, little one?" He teased her in a low tone, not ceasing his endless pace, pushing himself as far inside her as he could.

"Do you like it when I touch you here?"

She couldn't deny she liked it. The way her back arched, being pleasures in two ways. It was nearly overwhelming. And it took her voice from her.

"Perhaps we should name you Pearl of the Realm." He smirked, increasing both his pace and pressure, "Prim, proper…a good little obedient wife to her lord and husband."

He leaned over, changing the angle yet again.

"But in here, with me, it is this pearl I shall be paying special attention to, dear wife."

His words made her tighten around him, coupled with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving her. She felt her entire body get hot, the pressure in her belly set to explode at any moment.

His delicate and careful ministrations to her bundle of nerves was almost too much, and her hips began to move forward towards his in rhythm with his cock stretching her open, meeting him halfway.

She didn't imagine such lewd words would have an effect on her.

"Husband - "

"I think I will keep you like this. All night if I have to. Paying special attention to this precious pearl you have been neglecting for so long." He mused, his words were strained, as if set to explode himself.

"I will give you my seed. Over and over. Until I am done with you." He breathed through heavy pants, his eye slipping shut, "I will watch you swell with my child. Would you like that?"

She could only whimper in response, fisting the bed sheets as she had nothing else to hold onto, her mouth dropping open as her climax began to crest.

"I would like that. To see these perfect tits all round and full."

The idea of bearing his children was only a fantasy that appeared right at that moment.

"Gods - you are so tight - such a perfect little cunt - fuck - "

She fell apart around him, her entire body filled with such eternal feeling bliss that she felt as if she were floating, her husband's deft fingers still pleasuring her bud.

Her limbs felt numb, her blood like fire under her skin and her lips dropped apart so that a shattered moan could escape her, the only proof that her peak was decimating every nerve in her body with blinding, white hot pleasure.

She tightened impossibly around him, and the pistoning of his cock into her sex was only stilled when he slammed inside her one last time. His length throbbed within her, his spend warming her core at the end and filling her, completing this sacred, intimate ceremony.

They both gulped down air desperately and when Aemond had caught a moment to himself, he spared a look down at his sweet wife, her delicate skin covered in a soft sheen of sweat, eyes shut, breasts shifting erratically with her breathing.

She must have felt his gaze on her, because she turned her head to look up at him. In her once innocent and naive gaze he once saw fear and trepidation. And now her pupils were blown wide and glimmered with lust and a kind of pride that she'd pleased him, and they'd done this together.

Aemond still had a grip on her hips, noticing the red marks where his fingers had been. Her body was littered with them, where he'd been too tempted to nibble at her, to make sure she bore the marks of his passion for her.

He looked down where they were joined, pulling out of her and watching with a lustful curiosity at his spend that leaked from her entrance. It was instinctual, the way two fingers scooped up what had come out, and he gently plunged it back into her as far as he would go.

Overstimulated and tired, she winced, bucking her hips slightly.

Aemond only smiled down at her.

"I can hardly wait to make you a mother, little one."

She laughed a little, exhausted, "You speak of children. We have only lay together once."

Aemond took her reply and smirked, pulling her thighs close to him again.

"In that case - might we try again? I dare say I have already forgotten the first time."

His little pearl smiled tenderly up at him. A safe smile. One of utter adoration. It was like he was being seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. She had been so good to him in the short time he'd known her, and cared enough to let him see her as well.

He felt fulfilled in a way he never had before. Something exciting ran through his blood, like how he felt whenever he trained. As if a new challenge were upon him.

Challenging the notion that had been placed upon him his entire life, that marriage was about ownership. As a wife should belong entirely to her husband.

And while he felt that sheer possessiveness before he really knew her. Knew her properly.

Now, he questioned if marriage was more about respect than anything else.

The fabric covering his eye now felt so heavy. And one day, he thought, he hoped to be able to show himself so openly to her, as she had done for him.

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

And he would pay his little pearl all the attention she so deserved.

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letmeloveyouuuu · 4 months

Note

something crazy soft but lowkey kinky with ghost and first time where he’s like working the reader through an orgasm

He should change his codename to "Soft but kinky" for real

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, orgasm guidance, praise, gentle sex, soft sex, kink discovery, size difference, gentle!Simon, soft!Simon

A/N: Imagine if someone actually added that as his nickname on the Wiki lmao.

Finds it adorable that you're asking him to guide you through this the first time you have sex. But of course he will, you're his sweetheart now, he'll do anything for you and to give you pleasure. How should he do this he wonders? He's see the videos you sent him of riding all those big dildos but can you handle the real thing? He'll start you off easy, the tip first and see how much you can take before your eyes roll back into your skull.

"Relax for me pretty girl. Can't push my dick in ya when you're this fuckin' tight. I could hurt ya for real if I try to force it before you're ready. Wet enough now yeah? Good girl, open your legs wide, let me in baby. Uh-uh, doing so well for me, I'll give you my dick, don't be greedy."

Somehow he manages to get his entire cock in you. Just when you think you can't take any more of his girth, that you're full and there's no more room he grabs you by the hips and pulls you down a bit more. It takes you several minutes to get used to him. And you thought those toys were a lot to take, they're nothing to Simon. The size feels about the same but his warmth, the pulsing, the fucking throbbing veins that run down his cock and drag along your inner walls with every easy thrust... it almost makes you drool and moan and scream.

"Tell me when ya can handle it harder 'kay? I can keep this up to but I really, really want to see how you look when you're pushed to your limits. Ruin you? Is that what ya want me to do? Fuck ya so good you'll never want any other man? So that every cock ya've ever had pales in comparison to mine? I think I want that too baby, I want to make ya mine."

He still goes slowly but he makes sure you feel every twitch, every drag, every pulse, and so does he. He can't get enough of your cunt pulsing around him. You're slightly scared of hurting him when you dig your nails into his back but his grunt seems to indicate he likes the slight sting. With him towering over you, eclipsing you with his big frame all you can see is Simon, his eyes dark, his lips swollen and parted, his chest heaving and his abs flexing as you both get close.

"Let go. Don't hold back. I'll be here to hold ya when ya go over the edge. I'll be right there with ya baby. Fuck, yes, just like that open your mouth let me hear those broken cries of yours. Let me feel this cunt squeezing my cock. Come for me, fuck, let- let me fuck my cum into ya!"

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letmeloveyouuuu · 5 months

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simon 'ghost' riley x girly!innocent!reader..

when he fucks you you get so overwhelmed, ur body raising with goosebumps, ur nipples pert and sensitive as they brush against his scarred tattooed chest. u cry n whine, making small cute gasps everytime he bottoms out into you, drool leaking from ur mouth as ur mascara makes small streaks down ur face.

he alternates between slow n hard thrusts and fast and hard thrusts, his cock making ur tummy flutter as he manhandles u (sort of accidentally, he kind of forgets how much smaller than him u are), he'll stick his thumb in ur mouth, his other fingers grasping onto the side of ur face as he forces you to look up at him with doe eyes. its a sweaty, slippery mess between the two of u as u sniffle, digging ur light-pink polished manicured nails into his bulky biceps, rutting ur hips upward as u now have no control over what ur lower body does. ur swollen button rubbing gently against the dark curls of his lower region.

everything feels so good, ur eyes crossing n closing as u wrap ur arms around him, his scent intoxicating and surrounding you.

when u cum, ur cunt fluttering around his dick, ur hole stretched so wide u can feel him in ur tummy, ur whole body stiffens, and u havent realized that u have not taken a breath yet until simon shushes you through his grunts then runs his large hand along the side of ur torso as a means of trying to calm u--even though his hips are stuttering and hes pounding into you, using u. "breathe, sweet girl, breathe." his voice is strained as he fucks ur hole, ur cunt tightening around him. ur back arches off the mattress, ur breasts rubbing against his chest, furthering ur intense climax as u gasp for air, small sobs escaping ur throat as simon kisses ur neck then ur lips messily, his cock still driving inside of you. he holds u close to him as he teeters off of the edge, ur hips bucking wildly, ur cum dripping onto the sheets underneath you, ur eyebrows pinched upwards as u hug simon closer to ur body. u have never felt anything like this. not before him, at least.

"i got you, baby..I got you," he whispers gruffly, his accent more prominant as he comes, his seed warming ur pussy as he fucks it into u, choking on a moan as he grips ur body closer to his, ramming into u animalistically-- the act of him using u and his fingers bruising ur hips making another wave of ur orgasm rock through ur body, whines and moans leaving ur throat. "that's it..good girll." he whispers, slowing his hips. "did such a good job, didn't you sweet girl? such a good job. 's okay know it's alot.." u slump onto him as u come down from ur high, whining softly as ur drool gets on his shoulder, his rough hands roaming ur body as he gives u lots of kisses, praising u <333

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letmeloveyouuuu · 6 months

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Pure Ecstasy and Delight

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

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Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

A/B/O dynamics, Alpha!Simon, degradation, mask kink, breeding kink, some spit, marking, biting, dry humping, multiple orgasms/overstimulation, brief oral sex (f receiving), lmk if I missed anything!

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A/N: First ever A/B/O fic goes to the one and only Simon “Ghost” Riley. I'm sooo so new to this, so pls be kind 🥺❤️

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

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It’s not enough, and yet, you don’t do anything to stop it. You’re the one continuing, actually, the one who chose this, the one that shoved him down onto the bed and climbed over him. It was as if you couldn’t think, like you weren’t right in the head. That familiar, hazy cloud was blinding, and Simon loved taking advantage of it.

Watching you move over him like this isn’t anything new, it’s how most of your cycles started, actually. Being as close as physically possible to him, rubbing your body on him, begging for him. And he was cocky as all hell when seeing you like this. Even now, he’s laying there, one arm curled back to support his head. Every now and then, you hear - feel, a deep chuckle rumble through his chest. He likes this, likes being there for you through this.

Your rushed and sloppy movements are dizzying, trying to get as much friction as possible while both of you are still fully clothed. Huffing out an exhausted breath, you fall forward onto him, resting over his chest. But you don’t stop moving. If anything, the heat coiling in your belly only burns brighter, hotter, your hips in constant motion. You’ve already cum once like this, and you’re sure you can do it again. Lazily, Simon’s free hand comes to rest on your hips, moving with your body while you thrust yourself onto him. And it’s only when you begin to whimper, that he finally speaks.

“Look at you…” Ghost grumbles, eyes already half-lidded with want. “My perfect bitch in heat.”

Lifting your head, you rest your cheek against the hard shell of his mask, whining. Opening your mouth, your tongue lays out, licking a small stripe up the side of that alluring mask. The wet muscle roams the curves and divots there, and you end up keeping your mouth open for so long that saliva begins to drip onto him. It’s sloppy, it’s shameful, and he fucking loves it.

One thing Simon absolutely adored about you, was that you didn’t act like the typical Omega. Upon your first meeting, he’d almost believed you were an Alpha, even a Beta, at least. But the smell you exuded when he was in your presence gave everything away. Nevertheless, you’re a feisty little thing, you fight for what you want; and you impressed him. Upon your first few intimate encounters, Ghost discovered that instead of laying down to submit, like any Omega would, you presented yourself to him. You’d lean forward on your knees, shoving your ass into the air and spreading yourself, fluttering and just waiting for him. You were so eager to have him, eager for him to have you. And clearly, nothing has changed.

Simon’s smell saturated every one of your senses, filling your body with pure ecstasy and delight. His body tensed beneath you, trying to restrain himself, trying to let you do this before he shoved you down and fucked you dumb. That was inevitable, of course, and he knows it’s exactly what you want. But he figures he’ll let you get this out of your system, too.

By the time he found you, he’d actually felt bad. You were wandering the base, looking for him. He knew when your heat was due and you were shocked to not see him anywhere near you, which usually meant something important was keeping him busy. And when you finally discovered that he was in a meeting with Price, you marched back to his room to sulk.

Piling up Simon’s dirty clothes, you plopped them onto his bed, nuzzling into them, humping them. You paid no mind to the sound of your own voice, nor how high it was becoming while you whined his name, begging for him to come back. And when he finally did, walking in on you like that… was quite the fucking sight. Sure, you’d made a small nest of his things in the past, but never before has he walked in on you rubbing yourself over them. As soon as Ghost stepped into his room, he could instantly smell the heat on you, and seeing his Omega so needy for him made his pride shine. The decision to walk in and let you do whatever you wanted to him before he laid you down to breed your pliant little body, was both easy and quick.

“Simon,” Gasping against his faux face, you feel Ghost’s free hand slide up to your back, rubbing it kindly.

“I’m here, love.” And for the first time tonight, he finally moves, pushing his hips up against you. “Do what you want,” He encourages sweetly, quietly. Turning his head, he rubs his forehead against your own, inhaling deeply. “Please yourself… let me see.”

Finding the junction of his neck, your teeth come out, digging into his gland. You’ve given each other these bites before, marking the other as your mate. But every time you connect, you can’t help but do it again, claiming the other so physically, so carnally. Simon tilts his head back when you do it, too, displaying his throat for you. And all you do is bite, bite into his skin and suck on it until it’s purple and red, inhaling his scent, wanting to forever wear it.

“Mouth,” Comes your sudden, soft cry. “I want your mouth.”

Simon grins. “Then find it.”

As soon as he gives you permission, your hands are scrambling up his chest and to his neck, finding the edge of his covering and lifting it. He allows you to remove it completely, smiling at you in the dimness of his room. But you barely have time to admire his beauty before laying your palms on his face and diving down. In an instant, your lips are on his, mouths opening and swapping spit. Ghost lifts his chin then, meeting your movements. Your kisses were always sloppy, always hungry; and Simon loved it. The feeling of his mouth on your own after not seeing him for so long while you’ve needed him so bad, it sets your skin alight, fire burning beneath your outer layer and shooting right to your very soul. This is your partner, your mate, the one you’re bonded to.

Simon’s groans echo into your mouth as you slowly devour him, shoving your tongue past his lips while breathing heavily against him. It aroused you both, the way he allowed this, allowed you to act out these aggressive bursts of arousal before he took control again.

A chuckle rumbles from his throat when you suck his tongue past your lips, pulsing your own around the wet muscle. Your lover grins, voice deep as he says, “You like sucking on my tongue?”

“Yes, baby.” It’s the crack in your voice, the slight whimper that it is… that so easily displays your submissiveness.

At that moment, Ghost’s hands slide beneath your shirt, touching the skin along your hips. And the sensation forces a shiver through your center, immediately leaning in to shove your face into his neck.

“When’re you gonna let me take you, huh?” He asks lowly into your ear. “When’re you finally gonna stop with these horny little actions?”

“Now,” Instantly, you’re wanting to please him. “W-Whenever you want.”

With a harsh grunt, Simon is forcing you back and off of him, turning to toss you down onto his bed. Standing, he stares down at you, calming his own breaths while removing his shirt. He’s all too eager for this. And with a single nod and you’re undressing yourself, too, following his movements. You mirror him, doing as he does, removing each piece in the same fashion.

“Like a lost puppy,” Simon grins, shaking his head. “Doing whatever I do, whatever I want you to do.”

All your response consists of is a slow nod, alongside those sweet, charming, doe-like eyes. And that drives him wild inside.

Staring up at Simon, at the broad, strong man that he is, all you can feel is an overwhelming sensation of gratefulness. You feel insanely, incredibly, undeniably lucky. Simon is an amazing Alpha - he’s everything you could ever want. Strong, tall and broad, high-ranking and respected. Simon commanded any room he walked into, and it made you nearly fall to your knees the first time you met him. Thank god it didn’t take long for him to catch on to your likeness. But aside from all that, he cared for you, he provided for you. With him, you never had to want for anything. With him, you were safe.

Tossing his items down on the bed, he makes sure to scatter them, laying them out in your nest. He knows the best smell will come from the most recent clothes he’s worn. His shirt, his pants, even his socks and boxers, all slightly damp from sweat and he knows the scent is sure to drive you mad.

“God,” Inhaling a sharp breath, Ghost dives down, hovering over you and grabbing onto your jaw. Dark eyes rake over your features, over your naked body. “I fucking love you.” It’s the last thing he says before crushing his mouth to yours, spare hand sliding up to your chest.

Beneath his fingertips, the ones wrapped around your jaw, he can feel your heartbeat. Oh, how rapid it becomes for him. And he can feel his own picking up speed, as well. The blood beneath his skin runs hot throughout his body, rushing wildly in his ears. The constant, powerful thump in his chest, the thrum of arousal flooding his crotch, it consumes him.

“Baby, ple-please.” With how ravenous his mouth has become, you can barely get a word out, let alone a proper breath. It’s all spit and tongue, your teeth clashing every now and then. He just wants to ravage you, break you apart so he can put you back together again. His passion is also evident in the way that he grabs you, fisting your breast in his hand.

Before ripping himself away from you, Simon’s mouth slides down to your neck, lips dragging over the delicate skin before he reaches the junction of your shoulder. As soon as he’s there, he’s biting into you, teeth digging into your gland while inhaling the beautiful aroma you exude. The pain fades when your hips cant upwards, just barely able to rub against him.

“Turn over,” Simon finally decides, forcing himself away from your neck. With heavy breaths, he backs away, giving you the room to move. “Present for me.” Simon always liked having you bent over on your knees.

Quickly, you scramble to satisfy him, turning over with a wild grin crossing your face. The way you arch your back has him groaning, one hand lifting to lazily swat at your ass. And even that light of a hit shows you how much strength his body possesses. You’re more than aware of that, of how powerful Simon’s body is, and still, you choose to be at his mercy. You want to be. Laid out for him to admire, for him to take. This powerful killer, holding everything that you are in the palm of his hand, it’s exhilarating.

Reaching forward, Simon finds one of your hands, pulling it back until it’s on your ass. His silent gesture is clear as day to you, your fingertips digging into the plump skin to spread yourself open for him.

“Thaaaaaat’s it,” Shuffling behind you, his breaths are audible, arousal flooding his body once again. “Just like that, wide open for me.”

Grabbing himself, you can hear just how slick he’s become, the squelch of his prespend beneath his moving fist. You’d give anything to see him right now, the redness of his head, veins throbbing throughout his shaft. But you don’t have time for that, not when you’re so visibly in heat.

Ghost’s tip spreads your lips from behind, his eyes trained on where you’re due to connect. Unlike his normal antics, Simon doesn’t make you wait, he doesn’t tease you or tell you to beg. Right now, his Omega needs him. And so, he slides right in.

“Simon,” Your one hand grasps for the sheets, feeling how heavy he is inside. Turning your head, your cheek rests against his pillow, forcing an overload of Ghost’s scent through your system. It’s now that you smell his dampened clothes, his shirt and boxers laying just beside your face. Eyes closing, an incredibly wanton moan floats from your mouth, simply from experiencing it.

“Oh… Christ.” Bottoming out, Simon grunts quietly, throbbing against your walls. You’ve taken him so many times that it’s an easy transition, feeling him fill you. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t an incredible stretch, the pleasure burning through your system from it.

The sigh you exude is one of absolute pleasure and relaxation, your need finally being sated - for now. But at the moment, you’re just focusing on him, how he feels, how he holds you, those broad hands grabbing onto your hips. Forcing his pelvis forward, Simon grinds into you, his own jaw dropping. Almost as if he can’t help himself, he’s falling over you, firm chest pressing into your back. He holds his weight above your own, keeping you safe and surrounding you in his scent.

“Baby,” Reaching back, you find his hair, fingers tangling into the golden locks sweetly. “My Alpha…”

And that ignites something inside him. Tilting his head downward, he drags his nose up your spine, lips landing on your shoulder blade. His breath tickles your skin, his barely-there stubble. One, strong pulse then resonates through him, feeling your walls hold him tight.

“I’m yours,” Ghost promises in that deep, baritone of a voice. “I am… and you’re mine.”

He continues to move, tilting his chin upward so he can kiss the back of your neck, breathing against you while wrapping his arms around your midsection.

“Please,” You’d been doing your best to be well behaved for him, to not outwardly beg too much, but you need this. “Please, Simon. You’re here, you’re inside me… I need you.”

A small snarl spills from his lips as he pulls out about halfway before shoving himself back in. And from the start, his pace is brutal, skin hot to the touch as it rubs along your own. His breaths are ragged and deep, eyes watching the way your backside bounces against him. Already, he can hear your panting, slithering a hand down to your clit so he can hear you whine.

“That easy, huh?” He goads, feeling your body shake after only a few circles around the sensitive bud. “Perfect little slag.” Leaning in, Simon plants a sloppy kiss onto your cheek, urging you on. “Cum on me, love. Feels so good when you do.”

“S-Simon,” It’s all you need to unravel, your thighs shaking from the pleasure and his brute force. He’s already punching himself against that pleasurable spot deep inside your walls, his fingers pressing harder against your clit.

He can feel the way you spasm around him, can feel the slickness of your arousal coating his shaft. But he doesn’t stop, he rides you through it, fucking himself into you again and again.

“Good little Omega,” Ghost purrs against your cheek, lowering his head to bite into your neck.

Your eyes have rolled back into your head, pleasure reaching every one of your nerve endings. It washes over your body, through your hips, your limbs, up through your chest. It feels explosive, and satisfying, a start to fully satiating the primal need growing in your belly.

With your body going relatively limp, Simon lifts himself from you, one hand staying on your hips to hoist you further into the air. And then his other is grabbing the back of your neck and forcing your face into the mattress, into the wet clothes he’d added to your nest. The motion is surprisingly rough, igniting a new spark already licking up your spine.

“Smell it.” Simon demands, pushing your face into the fabric. “Smell me - scent yourself with it.”

He can barely hear your moans, every beautiful sound and deep inhale muffled by the fabric. This is all you want, to be covered in it, in him. There hasn’t been a single day where you haven’t been elated to wear to his scent, to show the world you’re taken. And not just by anyone, but by him.

“Listen to you,” He’s panting out every breath, pumping himself into your welcoming walls. “So fucking wet. How many times have you cum, love? Two, maybe three?” And then he finds himself overcome with the urge to taste, to lick up the arousal spilling between your legs.

“Baby,” Your whine is high and shrill, feeling empty without him.

“Hush,” Ghost returns firmly, pulling out and bending down.

Little time goes by before your questions disappear, feeling Simon’s mouth connect with your pink lips.

“Oh…” Slumping down, you sigh, relaxing into his touch.

Holding your hips, Simon presses his face into you, licking into your hole. He can taste the remnants of your orgasm, can smell your combined scent. The sloppy squelch of his insistent mouth against your sex can be heard throughout the room, forcing a delicious smirk across your lips. But the knot building at the base of his shaft forces him back up, diving between your legs once again.

“G-Ghost, Simon!” With the combination of his mouth and cock, you’re near overstimulation.

“It’s so goddamn easy,” Shaking his head, he laughs. “You cum so easy like this.” And when you’re in heat, how can you not?

“M-More,” Your arms are trembling, feeling absolutely conquered by your mate. But still, you’re hungry, wanting.

“What? Has my sweet Omega not had enough?”

“I need more.” Groaning, you toss your head back, feeling Simon’s chest return.

“I’ll give you more.” Simon snarls against your ear, biting into it. And then he’s returning to the marks he’s already made, teeth imprinting into your skin, blossoming bruises just beneath the surface. There’s one bite in particular that draws blood and has you shrieking, Simon’s tongue lapping at it shortly after.

“I can f-feel it.”

“Yeah? You feel it growing?”

“I want it.”

“I know you do, and I’m gonna give it to you. Fill you, fuck you full and plug you with it.” His promises are spoken through quiet gasps, his own high nearing. “Christ, I need this. Always will… gorgeous, wet fucking hole. I’ll always need you.”

Listening to him say he needs you, that he needs this connection with you, makes your entire head spin. Tears form near the lashes along your eyes, feeling safe and secure with him, wanted by him.

“Simon, please. Give it to me.” Every vein, every heavy pulse, are all felt along your velvety walls.

All Simon can smell is you, your sweet aroma. He salivates at the sensation of it, wanting nothing more than to claim it for himself. And he’s glad to do so, over and over again. It’s addictive - you draw him in like some seductive siren, appearing so charming and innocent. And to an extent, you are, until that filthy side comes out.

“Fuck,” Your lover grunts, voice slightly higher as he breathes out the word.

The knot growing at his base is slowly but surely catching on the thin rim of your lips, the feeling painful but worth it. The heat radiating from your body spills over to him, warming him, telling Simon’s body that it’s safe to release.

Hard and sharp thrusts burst from his pelvis, forcing his flushed cock into your slick entrance. It’s delicious, the euphoria coursing through him, his jaw dropping, eyes drooping. Now that he’s fulfilled your need, his duty to you during this time, he becomes selfish. Pressing himself flush against your plush backside, Simon stills, body trembling. His base swells, knot plugging your entrance while he floods your insides. Strong hips rock against your own, pumping his spend into you, feeling it rush from his tip.

“Alpha,” It’s the only thing spilling from your lips, your sex throbbing fiercely around him.

“G-Give it to you, I’ll give it to you. Keep you full, breed this cunt.”

“Simon,” Crying out softly for him, you feel his body begin to fully relax, breaths puffing out of his chest. It feels warm, your insides coated in a thick layer of his arousal.

“Mine, always mine. Always, love.”

“I know,” Nodding, you sigh out, feeling his lips kiss along your back. “Always.”

At this point, you expect to rest, feeling his weight crush you comfortably until the swelling at his base subsides. But to your surprise, he pulls you back, maneuvering the two of you down onto the bed. Simon keeps your back against his chest, holding you from behind and finally allowing you to relax.

Ghost knows you’ll need more, and he’ll give it to you when he can. But for now, he holds you, face dipping down to find the marks he’s left on your skin. With long, slow movements, he licks them, showing the slightest bit of remorse.

“Was I too hard on you?”

“No, no, not at all.” A bright smile forms on your lips, admiring his gentler side. “You know I love it, Si.”

“Mm,” Humming quietly, Ghost closes his eyes, keeping himself between your legs while mending the indentations he’s left in your skin.

If anyone were to walk into the room right now, it’d wreak of arousal and sweat, of adoration and commitment. But neither of you have to worry about that, few people on base would dare to interrupt this. One of your most intimate moments, shared just between the two of you. Once again, you feel lucky, covered completely by your Alpha and his scent, filled with everything he has to give.

“I’ll be here when you wake,” Ghost promises, kissing your neck, your cheek. “I’ll take care of you.”

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letmeloveyouuuu · 6 months

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ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups.

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you.

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now.

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly.

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway.

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy.

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it.

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head.

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock.

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you.

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly.

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling.

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying.

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving.

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented.

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria.

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve.

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife.

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off.

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you.

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again.

Well. Okay, then.

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk.

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go.

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things.

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?”

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words.

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice.

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused.

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee.

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry.

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure.

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch.

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing.

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged.

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs.

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return.

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming.

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else.

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily –

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face.

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him.

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs.

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy.

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious.

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering.

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy.

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static.

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent.

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside.

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is.

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you.

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him.

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in.

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much.

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today.

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach.

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness.

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest.

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him.

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies.

“Thank you.” You mumble.

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

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letmeloveyouuuu · 7 months

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ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!

🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, virgin!reader, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, some mild second-hand embarrassment perhaps, sex toys, edging, failed masturbation attempts, ghost takes your virginity and also maybe ruins you for literally anybody else ever again

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

The ceiling over your head is drab grey and water-stained, the old paint peeling away in strips. It’s an ugly sight, but you barely see it; you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

The sheets beneath you are uncomfortably damp with your sweat, but you don’t have the energy to roll over just yet. You feel hot and itchy with frustration, and you scowl up at the ceiling above you as your fingers curl into fists. But even though you feel like laying in your now grubby-bedding for the rest of the evening, you can’t let yourself wallow. There’s going to be a knock on your door any minute, and this is not a position you want to be found in.

With an irritable groan, you haul yourself off the bed and to your feet. Your muscles ache and you feel too warm, but you reach for your clothes anyway. The worn cotton of your shirt feels scratchy against your skin, but maybe that’s just because you’re still over-sensitive and irritable.

You can never quite bear to look at the aftermath of what you’d been doing, so you avert your eyes as you gather up the bright silicone and plastic devices littering your mattress. It’s embarrassing now that the adrenaline has worn off and disappointment is beginning to set in, so you end up gathering them all up more roughly than necessary.

The term ‘toy’ seems incongruous to you. It sounds too childish, too immature. It makes you sound like a stupid kid, as though you aren’t a young adult past twenty fumbling your way through sexual self-exploration. It’s embarrassing, and much more frustrating than you ever would have predicted – despite all of your clumsy, desperate attempts at pleasuring yourself, you’ve never quite managed to reach that peak of pleasure you’ve heard other people talking about.

You grumble quietly to yourself as you try to wipe away the sticky lube that’s still coating your thighs. Your muscles are a little achy from all the tensing you’d been doing trying to come with that stupid vibrator, not even accompanied by the satisfaction you had been hoping for.

It’s not as though you’ve never gotten the opportunity to experiment with others; you’re not unforgivably ugly, you don’t think you have a bad personality, and for the past few years you’ve been surrounded by military men that certainly aren’t known for being picky. And it certainly isn’t like you haven’t received your fair share of offers.

It just never seemed right. You’re not overly concerned about ‘saving’ your virginity or anything like that; it’s just that putting yourself into such a vulnerable position is scary. You’re aware of the irony, of course, that you’d trust many of these people with saving your ass from catching a bullet in the field, but allowing someone to see you so intimately feels like a step too far.

You’re still sweaty and flustered and naked when a knock sounds from your door, and you freeze. The doorknob turns, but doesn’t open; in that moment, you’re deliriously grateful that you had turned the lock – it’s something that you’ve forgotten to do on far too many occasions.

“Lass, you in there?” Oh god, it’s Soap.

Cursing quietly to yourself, you jolt into action. Your pants are crumpled at the bottom of your bed where you had shed them, and you hurriedly gather them up and struggle your way back into them.

“Gimme a minute!” You yell, praying he doesn’t notice the somewhat frantic edge to your voice.

You stagger slightly as you worm your way into your pants, and then lunge to grab the stupid dildo you’d just been trying to use. You feel your skin prickle with humiliation as you try to force the stupidly large silicone cock into your already full underwear drawer, jamming it shut roughly to hide it from sight. You don’t want to even imagine what Soap might have to say if he were to see what you had been doing; you think you might have to go full deserter mode and abscond into the wilderness.

“Did ye forget about drinks?” Soap’s drawl carries through the thickness of the door. He doesn’t sound even slightly put out – if anything, he sounds a little amused.

You pause, close your eyes, sigh. Fuck. You had not, in fact, forgotten about drinks, you just thought you had more time.

“No, I– just a minute!” You yell back, shoving your shoes on and trying to fix your hair.

You had completely lost track of time, and now you don’t even have time to rinse your sweat-damp skin off – you’re going to have to sit through drinks with the squad all grimy, like a physical reminder of what you had been up to for the last two hours.

When you finally unlock the door and wrench it open, Soap is standing on the other side tapping a staccato rhythm on his thighs with his open palms. He’s dressed casually in just blue jeans and a black muscle shirt, and he gives you a look of semi-disbelief.

“What the hell were you—”

“Gym.” You interrupt, landing on the only explanation you can think of for your sweaty skin and messy hair.

Soap blinks, but apparently decides it’s not worth the effort to continue that line of conversation. He just shrugs, then turns and starts making his way down the hall, slowing his pace for you to catch up.

You exhale; Soap can be like a bloodhound when he suspects there’s gossip to be had, and you’re relieved to have dodged a round of his relentless questioning. You suppose he can be surprisingly tactful sometimes, and he knows you well enough not to press you. Or, perhaps it’s because you come across as such a non-sexual being that it doesn’t even occur to him that there may be another explanation.

There’s an unofficial tradition that when the squad is on base, everyone gathers in the sparsely decorated recreation room for drinks and card games on Thursday evenings. It usually makes for an enjoyable night; Gaz and Soap can always be trusted to supply whatever bottles of alcohol they’ve managed to get their grubby little hands on, and it’s always amusing to watch Captain Price get increasingly more irate as Soap pretends not to understand the rules of whatever card game they’re playing. The whole illicitness of having contraband on base only makes the whole thing more exciting; the CO’s on base often turn a blind eye to the activity, so long as it’s kept under control.

But tonight, you’re distracted.

The others had offered a bit of good-natured ribbing when you and Soap had turned up late, but before long you’re all settled in a loose circle on the poorly-stuffed couches in the corner of the room. Gaz has already unstoppered a bottle of bourbon, and is attempting to convince a visibly unimpressed Price to play a game of Kings with them. You curl up on one of the worn-out couches opposite them, watching with a small if slightly stiff smile.

The atmosphere is relaxed and pleasant, almost enough to make you forget about the irritating buzz of unfulfilled arousal under your skin. You shift, trying to keep your movements small, subtle, to avoid the notice of your team. Your denim jeans are nowhere near as comfortable as usual, and you wonder briefly if you should have simply worn your cargo pants just to avoid the harsh friction of the denim.

You sit there feeling… unmoored. You fidget, drink your smooth bourbon in sips in an attempt to avoid wincing, and try not to look as obviously out of place as you feel. It’s been like this, recently. Joining the task force has been an accomplishment for you, a source of immense pride – you’re the youngest member (just narrowly beating Gaz for the title) and a woman to boot, and though the squad has never treated you any differently it’s hard to kick the belief that you have something to prove.

You engage in conversations the best you can, but you’re distracted and you know it must be obvious. Your preoccupation gets you a couple of furrowed brows and glances, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to give you some space.

You don’t even realise the extent of your distraction until a big body settles down on the loveseat next to you, and you jolt. True to his name, Ghost had appeared near silently, escaping your notice until he lowers himself down to sit next to you.

And damn, you forget how big he is sometimes. It’s an average sized loveseat, but the lieutenant takes up over half of it. He’s obviously being mindful not to consciously crush you, but he’s not being overly cautious when it comes to avoiding touching you. He’s dressed unusually casually, and his thick, muscled thigh is wrapped in blue denim as it presses carelessly against yours.

“You alright?” He asks, his voice low and smooth as he nudges your knee with one of his big knuckles.

You haven’t been a member of the task force for long, but you would know Simon Riley by his hands alone, by the earthy salt-spice in your nose as he leans a little closer to peer at your face. You tilt your head up, unable to stop the small reflexive smile that breaks over your face at the sight of him.

“Yeah.” You breathe, hurriedly straightening up where you’re sitting. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

His sudden proximity isn’t doing your current state any favours, and you take a quick sip of your drink in an effort to collect yourself. It’s taking a herculean effort not to stare at the way his biceps are bulging against the straining material of his black cotton t-shirt.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ghost asks as he stretches out his legs with a tired groan. The sound is gruff and gravelly, and you feel blood rush uncomfortably to your cheeks.

“Nothing.” You say quickly.

He doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious, but Ghost never pushes and he rarely speaks more than he has to. He just gives you a glance, brief and knowing and far more penetrating than it should be, before turning his head back so he can watch the boys playing their card game. He��s holding a crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquid, but he hasn’t yet pulled his mask up to drink from it.

Your eyes drop to the thick, pale scars that mar the backs of his hands. You trace the path of the scar tissue, eyes lingering around the thick knuckles and broad palms, the way that he holds the glass so casually confidently. He’s got nice hands, probably made all the more attractive by the fact that you hardly ever get to see them. Seeing Ghost without his usual long sleeves and gloves makes you feel like a Victorian pervert snatching stolen glances at a passing lady’s ankles.

A quiet snicker causes your eyes to dart back to his face, and you’re mortified to find that he’s caught you staring.

“What’s got you in such a mood?” He asks. Even through the mask you can tell that he’s smirking, though it doesn’t feel as though he’s making fun of you.

“Just one of those days, I guess.” You say without meeting his eyes.

It’s an evasion at best, but Ghost nods ponderously as though he’s giving this great thought. His stare is penetrating, those big brown eyes watching you as though he can see right through you. Maybe he can. You try not to get too caught up staring at his pale eyelashes, darkened by smears of eyeblack.

“Did something happen?” He asks. The question is casual enough, asked as he lazily swirls his whiskey around in his glass, but his gaze is sharp and assessing.

“No.” You sigh, finally looking properly at him.

It’s a little frustrating, but the squad has been like this with you from the start – protective. Your whole military career has consisted of you veritably clawing your way up through the ranks, and you’ve been surrounded by coarse, gruff men that have underestimated you all your life. 141 is different – they don’t baby you, but the way they treat you is unmistakably softer than how they typically treat each other. The concern can be touching, if a little tiring sometimes.

And maybe it’s because he’s your lieutenant, but Ghost’s attention has always been just this side of overwhelming. It feels like you’re pinned beneath his dark eyes, his gaze somehow sharpened as he watches you from beneath his more casual balaclava, the skull pattern printed on his jaw adding another layer of intimidation. But his shoulders are relaxed as he sits next to you on the small couch, settling the weight of his attention over you like a blanket.

You’ve always respected him, admired him. How could you not? He’s practically a living legend, his reputation larger than life, and he’s scary as fuck. But he’s also softer than you had expected, gentle when he needs to be. He still rides you hard in training, pushing you to your limits and taking no quarter, but you can’t begrudge that. Not when you know he’s working to keep you alive. Perhaps that’s how the attraction had first bloomed; once it started, it was hard to stifle.

Ghost hooks one finger into his balaclava and pulls it up just high enough to expose his mouth, and he presses his glass to his lips to take a sip of his drink. You struggle not to stare like a moron, but he makes it so difficult. His lips are full and pink, and there’s a rugged scar bisecting his top lip. His stubble is dark blond and short, and it doesn’t hide the various scars and marks that decorate his strong jawline.

You almost jolt when he pulls the mask back down, hurriedly averting your eyes and forcing yourself to look out across the room. It’s not just the 141 that’s decided to take up in the rec room this evening; there are soldiers from other units littered all around the room, laughing and joking, playing lazy games of pool on the table in the corner and smoking. The smoke alarm has been jimmied off the ceiling and the window is open, and even Price is turning a temporary blind eye to the blatant disregard for regulations in favour of puffing on one of his cigars.

Ghost shifts on the worn-out fabric of the couch, and lays an arm over the back of the headrest behind you. It’s a casual, thoughtless movement, but it ends up pushing his body slightly closer to you in a way that makes you feel as though you’re about to catch fire.

You cross your legs, but the seam of your jeans presses into your pussy in a way that sends a frisson of heat up your spine. You hurriedly uncross your legs, and attempt to school your expression into casual neutrality as you force yourself to tune back into the conversation.

“–ach, c’mon, Captain,” Soap is saying in a wheedling tone that he probably thinks is endearing. “One round of strip poker won’t kill ya–”

“No.” Price says in a voice like thunder, brooking no argument as thick cigar smoke pours from his nose. It gives the impression of an enraged bull.

Soap either is ignorant to the warning, or is choosing to wilfully ignore it. Judging by the sly gleam in his eyes, you can guess which. He turns to you then, and waggles his eyebrows.

“C’mon, lassie, you’ll play, won’t ya?” He asks with a grin that promises trouble. “I guarantee you’ll be a sight better than any o’ these louts.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gaz pipes up, already grinning. “I was looking forward to seeing the Captain in his jocks–”

Price promptly knocks his drink back, before pushing himself up to his feet with a grim groan. “Right. That’s enough of you lot for one night.”

Gaz and Soap break into peals of laughter, settling back into their seats as they watch their captain march away.

“Offer’s still open, love,” Soap says, still snickering when he looks over to you. “Wanna play?”

Ghost shifts, his wide thigh knocking into yours as his arm stretches behind your shoulders. He lets out a short exhale through his nose, but when you glance up at him you find him as stoic and hard to read as always.

You just roll your eyes. It’s not the first time that they’ve tried to rope you into strip poker, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You can always trust Soap to start stripping his clothes off when he’s three drinks in, whether he’s playing a game or not, so it’s not surprising that he tries to involve other people in his bad decision making.

And it’s not a big deal, really. There’s been countless missions and operations that have ended up with all of you staying in uncomfortably close quarters with each other. You’ve seen them naked countless times, and the same with them for you. It’s never meant anything, and you know that Soap’s teasing is exactly that – you don’t think they’ve ever once looked at you through any sexual lens at all.

But even still, the joke flusters you more than it should.

“Think I’ll be joining Cap in going to bed, actually.” You say, clearing your throat and setting your glass down on the low table in front of the couch.

The playful booing from Soap doesn’t do much to change your mind, and you stick out your tongue at him and Gaz as you push yourself up from the couch. You try to ignore the loss of heat at your side when you move away from Ghost, though you can’t help but glance back at the lieutenant. He’s not looking at you, his gaze directed into his glass. You try not to feel disappointed about that.

You say your goodnights, and retreat from the rec room.

By the time you make it back to your dorm however, you’re already playing the conversation back over in your head and wondering if you had made the wrong decision.

Perhaps you should have just played the damn game. Despite your inexperience with all things sexual, you’re not actually all that shy about your body. On missions, you and the squad are often forced into tight quarters, and they've all seen you in various stages of undress before. It's hard to be self-conscious around a group of people that have seen you at your worst, whether that’s soaked in blood, unshowered, sleep-deprived, or injured.

But you were so keyed up from your earlier failed attempts at masturbation that the thought of being so physically exposed in front of your squad is mortifying. It feels as though your unresolved arousal is still simmering through your veins, turning your thoughts slow and soupy and stupid.

It’s not so surprising. Your preferred method of dealing with stress is coming back to your private bunk and messing around with your vibrator until you’ve forgotten all of your problems. The problem is, you’ve never quite been able to reach that climax you’ve heard so many talk about.

It’s not for lack of trying, and it’s not as though you haven’t come close to that toe-curling finish you crave so much. But it’s like there’s some sort of block, something that always holds you back before you can go plummeting over that edge. Something that makes the buzzing pleasure dissipate before your eyes like smoke, leaving you worked up and so frustrated. It’s probably inevitable that all those ruined finishes have built up like sludge in your veins, leaving you slow and distracted and irritable.

You eye your underwear drawer thoughtfully as you perch on your bed, before reaching inside and drawing out the same dildo you had been using earlier. You wonder if it would be too much to try again tonight – the muscles in your calves still feel a little bit over-worked from training all day, and you have a feeling that straining in an attempt to reach an orgasm you’ll likely never attain will only make it worse.

But the thought of Ghost in that stupid tight cotton shirt stays firmly stuck in your mind, and that really makes the decision for you. Before you can think too much about it, you’re sliding your jeans off and climbing atop your mattress. The sheets are dirty anyway, after all. May as well have some fun before you change them.

You slide your panties off next, then kick them to the side. It’s difficult not to feel a little pathetic, but you push those feelings aside. So what if you have an embarrassing little crush on a superior officer? It’s not like that’s unusual within the military, and you’re quite certain that dealing with all that unresolved attraction like this is the most sensible thing you can do.

You fish out the bottle of lube you had been using earlier, and drizzle it liberally along the dildo’s length before setting it aside on the blanket. While you’ve used your dildo plenty of times, you still struggle to grow accustomed to the stretch of it. It’s a good dildo – a vibrating one in the rabbit style, designed to stimulate your g-spot and clit at the same time. It was damn expensive too, but it’s one luxury you’re willing to indulge in.

You close your eyes, slide it between your legs, and hit the power button. A low bzzz emanates from between your thighs; you jerk at the immediate barrage of pleasure, your abs tightening and your legs twitching apart, creating more room between them.

Your body is quick to react, sweat prickling under your armpits and your heart thudding quickly in your chest. You can feel electric pleasure coursing through you as you press it against your clit, your toes curling into your sheets.

You bring the vibrator lower, your clit throbbing a little at its sudden absence before you press it inside, sighing. It slips inside much too easily – you’re almost embarrassed by the easy slide. You’re so wet, both from your failed attempt at masturbation earlier and from sitting beside Simon fucking Riley all evening. It’s a deeper, subtler pleasure now, and you clench around it with a quiet moan.

You cycle through the vibrator’s different settings, making it buzz at odd intervals or lower intensities in your usual attempt to build up an orgasm. You wish, with sudden and mortifying clarity, that it could be replaced with a person. More specifically, a person with big hands and firm muscles that still have some soft give to them, and a toe-curlingly gravelly voice.

You squirm, shifting your hips to change the angle of the vibrator inside you. Without meaning to, you imagine Ghost. It’s hard not to, considering your close proximity to him all evening. Your cheeks heat as you imagine Ghost actually being here, watching you all still and silent with that penetrating dark-eyed stare of his.

You huff out a breath, arching off your bed. This is always the best part. You have to ensure that you relish the build up, before it all fizzles out from between your fingers. You whimper, soft and quiet, clenching around the stiff silicone as it buzzes away inside of you.

Right as you press the soft little vibrating bunny ears to your clit, there’s a knock on the door. Then, horrifically, like a scene from your fucking nightmares, your door opens.

“Kid, you–”

Ghost is already half-way through the door when he lays eyes on you, and then he goes completely still in your doorway.

“Fuck.” You hiss, scrambling to knock the stupid thing off.

You fumble for it, panicking. The end is slippery and you can barely manage to grip it. When you finally do, it’s difficult to pull out, your body still attempting to hold it inside. It’s another agonising few seconds to turn it off, the vibrator unfortunately featuring one of those awfully thought-out designs that makes you have to cycle through every single one of the settings rather than hit an off-switch.

And then, finally, silence.

Ghost is living up to his name right now; he’s as stock still and silent as a dead man, stiff as a board as he stares unblinkingly at you. You’re not even sure that he’s breathing, but you can see the whites of his eyes as he gapes at you, frozen.

You stare back at him blankly, hoping that your bed comes to life and swallows you whole just to put an end to your mortification.

At last, Ghost blinks, then finishes his sentence. “You left your phone.”

He lifts his arm. In his large, thick fist, is your stupid goddamn phone. You must have left it on the couch when you had gotten up to leave. You might have wondered at the lieutenant voluntarily bringing it to your dorm for you, but you’re hit with a wave of humiliation so strong that it wipes your brain completely blank.

“Ah.” You say, and your voice cracks. “Thanks.”

There’s a moment of mortifying silence, and then Ghost steps into your room. Your heart jolts right up into the base of your throat as he closes your door behind him. The click of the door is as loud as a gunshot in the silence that’s settled over the room.

Ghost still hasn’t blinked. He’s watching you with eyes that look almost black in the dim light of your room, intense as a predator.

“I–” You attempt to speak, and your throat clicks dryly. “I didn’t–”

Far too late, you realise that your legs are still splayed open. You snap them shut, inhaling a choked breath through your nose.

“I thought I locked the door.” You finish lamely.

Ghost apparently decides to simply disregard that, which you’re honestly a little grateful for. Instead he steps towards you – the enormous bulk of him feels as though he’s completely filling every bit of space in the room, sucking out all the damn oxygen.

“...‘S this why you were so distracted this evening, hm?” He says as he approaches the bed. “You were in a mood ‘cause you wanted to get back to playing with yourself?”

It’s not a question, exactly. At least, it’s not phrased like one. Ghost’s tone is knowing, with an undertone of gruff amusement. You’re certain that you’re not imagining the rough, breathless quality to his voice either, though the thought sends nerves fizzing through your bloodstream.

“No.” You deny uselessy; it’s plainly obvious what you were doing, after all. “No, I just–”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish. His eyes are still glued to you, even though your thighs are now pressed together. Before you can stop him, he reaches down and takes a hold of your hot pink vibrator where you had been trying to hide it beneath your thigh.

“Cute little thing.” He comments, tilting his head to look at the dildo hanging between his thick fingers.

Mortification burns through you. A panicked sort of screech escapes you and you yank it back out of Ghost’s stupid big hand, shoving it under the blankets.

Perhaps if it had been anyone else, your humiliation wouldn’t be burning quite so intensely. But this is Ghost – your lieutenant, the gruff man that you’ve looked up to ever since you joined the task force. He’s not a man famed for his patience, nor for his eloquence, which is making this situation all the more unbearable.

“Lt,” You wheeze, scrambling to sit up and cover your pussy with your hands as you squeeze your legs closed. “I swear I didn’t– I’m sorry–”

But Ghost doesn’t seem interested in your apologies. He’s still watching you as though he can see right through the damn blanket, as though he’s measuring you up and trying to come to a decision about something. In that moment, you hate your reaction to him – no matter how humiliating this situation is, you want him to approve of you, even now.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He grunts, and then he sits down on your bed.

You gape at him. It feels as though your brain has stalled; you’re pretty sure you’re not reacting correctly right now. You probably should have screamed when the lieutenant walked right into your room without knocking. That surely would have sent him straight back out again. And even now, you should probably be ordering him out, telling him to leave.

But you don’t.

“I was.. um.. finished anyway.” You manage to croak out. You sound so pathetic that you nearly make yourself cringe.

Ghost doesn’t answer immediately. He just watches you, his eyes as dark as ever beneath the mask. For a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all.

But then he says, “Didn’t look like you finished to me.”

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that it makes you light-headed as you catch his meaning. Oh, what the fuck. This is just adding salt to the wound now.

“I wasn’t trying to–” You start, then cut yourself off. “That’s not why I was– I was just trying to relax.”

In the ensuing silence, you realise how silly you sound. At the very least, Ghost doesn’t laugh; he just tilts his head to the side, consideringly.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– sir–”

“Let me see, sergeant.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Ghost’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You have room to refuse. You could tell him to get out of your dorm right now, and he’d do it. Knowing the lieutenant, he’d never bring it up again, either.

You drop your knees apart, spreading your thighs in an unpracticed, self-conscious sort of motion.

Under the lieutenant’s sharp gaze, your skin prickles and your nerves strain. Even sitting down on your bed, he’s a veritable behemoth of broad shoulders and thick corded muscle. His hulking form towers over you even now, and you feel so damn small as you lay there propped up against your pillows in nothing but a t-shirt.

Ghost has seen you naked before, obviously. You can’t afford to be prudish in the military, where you never know when you’ll next have true privacy, and you’ve changed out and showered with the squad countless times. It’s never meant anything, and the men in 141 have never made you feel anything less than comfortable with them.

This, however, is different. This isn’t just a case of catching a quick glimpse of your nude form as you shower in the group shower rooms when you’re out on missions – your whole damn pussy is out on display for him, still glistening wet and sticky from your ministrations and the lube you’d used.

Ghost’s inhale is as loud as a thunderclap. You’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable in another person’s presence. You feel a little ridiculous laying like this as he watches you, but another part of you feels so humiliatingly desperate for some kind of approval from your lieutenant.

At first, that approval is nowhere to be found. Ghost is notoriously difficult to read, and you’re beginning to sweat as you lay there waiting for a response – any response.

At last, he makes a noise. It’s part grunt, part hum, and part groan.

“You’re still wet, sergeant.”

Are you imagining it, or is his voice an octave deeper than usual?

Your eyes trace his face, trying to imagine what he looks like beneath the mask. You can see the suggestion of his nose, the square curve of his jaw. His darkened eyes are watching you so carefully that you feel as though you’re physically being pinned in place.

You swallow. “It’s just– I–”

“You didn’t get to finish.” Ghost interrupts, with the air of completing your sentence for you.

You try to speak, but nothing more than a strangled sort of murmur escapes. You swallow hastily, then try again.

“I wasn’t going to. Sir.” You tack on the title at the end as an afterthought, but this whole situation is so far beyond professional that you probably needn’t have bothered. “Finish, I mean. I… I never do.”

You’ve admitted it before you can really think about it, and then you regret it wildly. You can’t help but wonder if you’ve overstepped a boundary, but then again the boundaries are currently so blurred that they’re virtually impossible to discern.

“You never finish.” Ghost repeats it. Slowly, staring right at your face, as though he’s confirming what you’ve just said.

It sounds so much worse in his deep, gravelly voice.

Embarrassment blooms, thick and sickly in your stomach. Your legs start to twitch closed, too embarrassed to be having this conversation with your cunt bared like this, but then Ghost’s big paw of a hand reaches out to settle over your knee, keeping you open and exposed. It’s so rare to see his hands ungloved, and the bare skin of his callous-roughened hand feels almost scorching hot against your inner knee.

“I don’t– I’ve tried,” You say, and you can’t help but feel as though you’re just digging yourself further into a hole, here. “But I don’t– I’m not able to. I mean, I’ve come close, I’m just not able to… you know.”

You trail off lamely, feeling like the biggest fucking loser ever. Why are you telling him this? Why the fuck haven’t you reacted properly, and kicked him the hell out of your room?

Deep down, a shameful little part of you already knows the answer to that. You’re feeling awfully, sickeningly hopeful. Having Lieutenant Riley in your dorm, sitting on your bed and staring so hungrily at the wet, swollen parts between your legs feels like something out of your wildest wet dreams.

His eyes flick towards your pink silicone rabbit dildo, half-hidden under your blanket, and he grunts consideringly before reaching out and taking it into his hands again. It’s standard-size, but it looks small in his big hands.

“You ain’t doin’ it right, then.” He says, so bluntly that you just blink at him. “Show me how you use it.”

For a brief, wild moment, you wonder if you’re experiencing visual and auditory hallucinations right now. Surely you can’t really be experiencing this right now – and yet the lieutenant is still watching you, and you’ve never disobeyed a direct order before.

He hands you the vibrator, then waits expectantly.

And… well. All you ever try to do is impress him.

You shuffle your legs open a little wider, ignoring the flustered heat that scalds your cheeks. You’ve never been all exposed like this in front of another person, and the weight of Ghost’s eyes on you is reminiscent of being under a spotlight.

You swear his eyes darken even further when you press the stiff silicone rabbit dildo to your cunt, if it’s even possible for that gaze to get darker beneath the thick balaclava and eyeblack smeared over the narrow strip of skin that’s visible.

The dildo sinks in so easily that it’s almost embarrassing, and your breath catches both from the stretch and the way Ghost leans in a little closer to see. Far from turning you off, you feel your body throb in response to his proximity, and your cunt flutters pathetically around the plastic toy. You shift, attempting to get a little more comfortable, but you can’t dispel the nerves fizzing in your blood as you attempt to push the dildo a little deeper under Ghost’s sharp gaze.

His big, hulking body is so perfectly still as he watches you that it’s making you a little nervous. The only reaction that you get from him is a small, considering hum, but even then you can’t figure out what it means. Your movements are a little clumsy, so hyper-conscious that he’s watching every single thing you do that you end up fumbling a little. He’s looking at you in the same way he assesses threats, his intense dark eyes examining every movement and reaction you make. It makes you feel small and jittery, especially when you realise that he’s judging you by what you’re doing.

“You gonna turn it on?” He asks, and oh god his voice has definitely dropped lower and huskier. You know you’re not imagining it.

You can’t even bring yourself to respond with words. You just make a strangled sort of sound of agreement, then clumsily hit the on button. The toy buzzes to life once more, and your toes curl absent-mindedly into the sheets as the soft silicone bunny ears pulse against your clit.

It feels nice, but you can’t manage to concentrate on the feeling. Hyper-aware of Ghost’s attention, you let out a quiet moan as you shift the vibrator inside you. It’s a little exaggerated, but you can’t help it – you feel like you should be putting on some kind of a show.

You glance back at Ghost’s face, trying to guess what he’s thinking; even through the mask, you can tell that he’s frowning. You feel your stomach clench anxiously. Have you done something wrong?

“This how you usually do it?” He asks.

You swallow thickly, feeling a bit stupid. “Um.. yeah.”

Ghost grunts. He doesn’t sound impressed.

“No wonder you can’t come.” He says wryly.

You go still, eyes widening. In the silence, the bzzzzt! of your stupid vibrator is louder than ever. A sudden wave of shame washes over you, and you start to close your legs again in an effort to block the sight of the toy stuffed into your pussy.

“Oh,” You snap sourly, your embarrassment making you irritable. “So you’re the pussy expert now?”

That startles a loud bark of a laugh out of the lieutenant, a sound so rare that you find yourself desperately trying to commit it to memory.

“Think I might know a bit more than you, sweetheart.” He says. He’s relaxed now, his wide shoulders rolling back. He’s always so effortlessly confident, always so assured in himself and his abilities in a way that makes you feel like a silly little girl.

Judging by the way the corners of his eyes are just slightly wrinkled beneath the mask, Ghost is smirking at you. He finds this funny.

“What about when you’re with other people, hm?” He asks, and his eyes drop back down to try and get a look at you again. When he realises that your legs are clamped tight together, he reaches out to guide your thighs apart again. “No one’s ever impressed you?”

His hands are big and rough and hot, and your willpower crumbles like wet paper as you allow him to open your legs all over again. The vibrator is still buzzing sadly inside you, mostly forgotten about; the stimulation is nice, but it’s never been enough for you.

You huff a weak laugh. You should have known that this would come up, and now you find yourself floundering a little.

“No one’s ever tried.” The confession comes out like a whisper, like a secret.

You can see the moment Ghost understands; realisation settles heavy over him like a physical weight, and the whites of his eyes flash as they widen just slightly. For a moment, he says nothing at all. He doesn’t move – it doesn’t even look like he breathes.

“No?” He says, except it doesn’t really sound like a question. It sounds rough, and you can feel the almost convulsive motion of his fingers tightening around your knee.

You shake your head wordlessly, beyond embarrassed now.

Ghost’s wispy blond eyelashes flutter softly as his eyes dart down to your pussy, still humiliatingly stuffed with your stupid little vibrator. He takes a moment to stare, then looks back up to your face. He’s so frustratingly confident about everything he does, not an ounce of shame in his posture even as you wilt beneath him.

“Never messed around with anybody?”

“No.” You say, and it comes out on a wheeze. He holds your gaze without faltering, and you realise that he’s expecting you to elaborate. “No, I– it just never happened. I was never… um, I was just always too busy, I guess.”

“Too fussy, more like.” He mutters, quiet enough that it seems like it’s a comment meant just for himself. You don’t know how to take that, so you chew your lip and stay quiet.

His eyes drop down to the vibrating dildo again, and you recognise something that looks like a flash of hunger. It feels like there’s pressure building up beneath your skin, tight and hot, and your thighs fall open a little further. You feel raw and so, so exposed, but you don’t even care when Ghost is looking at you like that.

“Let me try.” He says, the words falling out sharp and harsh as though he they’ve burst out of his mouth before he can stop them. It’s not like Ghost to speak without thinking it through, perfectly calculated, and your breath catches a little at the offer.

How could you ever say no to that? You don’t really think that he’s going to succeed in making you come – at this point you’re pretty sure your body is a little bit broken and you’re just not capable of orgasming at all, and that’s whatever – but the chance to get fucked by Ghost? To lose the lingering vestiges of your viriginity to your ridiculously hot, mysterious, massive lieutenant? It’s like something out of a dream.

“Okay.” You choke out, nodding stupidly. “Yeah.”

You want to be touched. You don’t think you’ve ever actually felt the yearning for physical contact this strongly in your life; you’re practically holding your breath as you wait for Ghost to make a move.

Finally, he reaches out. His first move is to pull the stupid little dildo out of you, still vibrating, and you feel yourself clench convulsively around nothing as he leaves you empty and wanting. He spares it a brief, evaluating glance, and you feel yourself burn as you realise he’s examining how you’ve soaked the toy.

He tosses it to the side, barely even taking the time to switch it off first, then turns his attention back to you. He’s got that same kind of laser-focus he usually only gets out on the field, and you take a moment to feel incredibly grateful that you’re never going to be on the receiving end of that terrifying scrutiny on the battlefield.

It feels like your skin is too tight for your body, every nerve and synapse strained and primed as you wait for him to touch you. But he’s slow about it, as though he just wants to torture you a little bit.

When he finally reaches out to lay his hands on you, he doesn’t touch where you want him to.

His callous-roughened hands land on your hips, and pull you down the bed towards him. In the same move, he half-climbs up on the mattress, his huge form practically dwarfing you. Your head and shoulders are still cushioned by your pillows, but your legs are splayed open around Ghost where he kneels on your bed.

You glance down, unable to help yourself, unable to resist trying to catch a look at the outline of his erection pressing against his trousers, and oh. Fuck. He’s big. You knew he’d be big, of course, he’s big all over, but Jesus Christ, maybe you’re a little out of your own depth here–

His thick fingers tangle in the hem of your t-shirt, stretching the fabric out. “Take this off.”

You scramble to do as he says, grabbing at your top and pulling it up clumsily. You realise a moment too late that you’re not wearing a bra, but you suppose at this point it hardly matters. You drop your shirt to the side, and try not to feel too horrifically self-conscious beneath the burning hot gaze of the lieutenant.

Though you can’t see Ghost’s face, you can hear the soft exhale he blows out through his nose, just faintly muffled by the fabric of his mask. His eyes are trained on your chest, darting between each of your tits as though he can’t decide which one to settle on. After a long moment, he reaches forward and cups your left tit with one of his enormous hands, thumbing absently at one of your nipples.

It’s silly; Ghost has touched you before. Lots of times. A nudge of the elbow accompanied by a conspiratorial eye roll, a clap to the shoulder, rough hands pulling you to your feet after training or applying white-hot painful pressure to injuries. But this – you’ve never been touched like this before, not by Ghost, not by anyone.

The shaky breath you let out as his big, rough thumb rolls over your firm nipple comes out as a strangled sort of moan that honestly startles you a little. The noise catches his attention, and he snorts.

“Can’t be that sensitive.” He mutters, but then he reaches to thumb at your other nipple as though trying to be sure.

It’s because you’ve never been touched like this by another person before, you tell yourself. Truthfully, you’ve never even touched yourself like this before. You’ve never bothered to play with your own tits; you’ve always just gone straight to breaking out your vibrators. Now, with every brush of Ghost’s scarred fingers over the tight bud of your nipples, you think you must have been crazy to skip over this part of yourself. But then again, there’s no way that your own hands on yourself would elicit the same sharp jolt that shoots from your breasts down your spine.

“Sir–” You breathe, struggling not to squirm where you’re laying. You wonder, somewhat deliriously, if it might be rude to demand your lieutenant stuff his thick fingers into your pussy. You can already tell that they’re going to feel so much better than your own.

Ghost glances up at you, his eyes unreadable as he watches you bite at your lip. God, his little wispy eyelashes are so blond—

“What?” He says, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Say it.”

“Want to try your fingers.” You breathe before you can second-guess yourself.

The laugh that rumbles out of Ghost’s chest is low and smoky. It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, so big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. You’ve witnessed those hands crack bones and snap necks and break down doors, and yet you can’t help but wonder desperately what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

He adjusts himself on the bed; he’s a big man, hulking and huge as he kneels on your mattress, his weight causing it to dip. His palms wrap around your ankles with ease, and he hauls you into place with a grim efficiency that goes straight to your pussy.

“Big brute.” You say, a little breathlessly.

He ignores you, using his arms to hold your legs open and wide for him. And all you can do is just lie there as he stares, because goddamn it’s like he’s been carved from steel and you can’t break out of his grip. Not that you want to break out of his grip anyway, but you’d really appreciate it if he actually got moving instead of just staring.

“Fuck,” He grunts after a moment, with the air of talking to himself. “Been hiding this all this time, huh?”

“Jesus.” You breathe in response, subconsciously letting your legs drop open even more.

He makes a low noise of appreciation, and finally reaches out to touch you properly. One thick thumb swipes through the seam of your cunt, and you feel the way he’s smearing the clear sticky wetness that’s been leaking steadily out of you. With his now slick thumb, he drags up towards your clit and circles it with agonisingly light pressure.

You let out an embarrassing choked whine, your toes curling at the sensation. Somewhat ironically, Ghost is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your attempts, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow.

“D’you always get this wet?”

You can’t even tell if he’s asking you mockingly or if he’s being genuinely curious; it feels like every inch of your focus has narrowed down to the feel of his big thumb rolling those tight little circles around your clit, his touch scorching against you.

It’s not exactly surprising that Ghost is good with his hands. You’ve seen the way he handles weaponry, locking and loading and aiming to fire with the kind of swiftness that comes from muscle memory, working with unwavering speed and precision. He’s the same in hand-to-hand combat, moving with aggressive fluidity that overwhelms his opponents. You’ve caught hits from him before in training, and you know from experience that a punch from those big hands feels like getting hit by a cinder block.

But even knowing how deft and skilled his hands are, it knocks the breath out of you when he slides his middle and ring fingers inside of you, still rubbing steadily at the swollen bump of your clit.

When you exhale, it accidentally comes out as a moan. Your cheeks burn, but there’s really no space in your brain right now for embarrassment to sink in. Two of Ghost’s fingers are the equivalent of at least three and a half of yours, and you feel yourself break out into an overwhelmed sweat when they twist and rub against the sensitive squishy spot in the front wall of your cunt.

You’re so damn worked up, your arousal coiled like a knot in your lower belly from your failed attempts to get yourself off all day. Your back curves, humping yourself near mindlessly back up into his hand as he plays you like a goddamn instrument.

You barely even have time to consider how unfair it is that Ghost is so good at playing with you like this when he doesn’t even have a pussy himself, because then he pulls his fingers out of you.

“Oh, no, don’t stop–” You start to protest breathlessly, your chest still heaving, but the quick glance the lieutenant sends you has you falling silent.

Ghost glances down at his fingers. They’re all glossy from fingering you, and he takes a moment to eye up the way they glisten in the dim light of your bunk. You might have felt self-conscious about it, if you couldn’t see the unmistakable gleam of hungry interest in Ghost’s dark brown eyes.

He wipes his hand on the crease of your hip, but you don’t even get the chance to protest before he reaches up to hook his fingers into his mask. You go still, holding your breath in surprise as he pulls the material up until it bunches up around the bridge of his nose.

And that’s– well. You’ve seen his jaw before, and his mouth (Jesus, you had seen it earlier that evening, when he had been sipping on his smooth whiskey of choice), but the sight of his strong jawline and blond stubble and corded scars on his pale skin always manages to knock the breath out of you. And this time, he’s rolled his mask up even further than before, revealing a nose that’s clearly been broken at least once before.

You probably shouldn’t stare so blatantly, especially knowing that Ghost always takes such pains to keep his face covered. You’re not even sure if the other guys on the team have seen his uncovered face, except for Price, and you know that they’ve developed a habit of averting their eyes when he pulls his mask up for whatever reason. It’s a habit that you never quite managed to develop yourself; you’re never able to stop yourself from gaping at him like a moron, drinking in all of the minutest details. He’s never said a thing about your penchant for staring, so you can only hope that he’s chosen to ignore it.

You’re so busy staring that it takes you by surprise when he grips your jaw with one massive hand and pulls you into a rough kiss.

The sound you make is small and startled, but it’s swallowed by Ghost’s demanding mouth. His lips are dry and a little chapped, but they feel scorching hot against yours. You reach up to grab at his arms – mostly just to ground yourself – but you find yourself almost immediately distracted by the firm bulge of his biceps beneath your hands.

Listen, you’ve kissed people before, plenty times. You’re in your early twenties, and just because you’re inexperienced sexually it doesn’t mean that you’re inexperienced full stop. But this, right now, kissing with Ghost, makes you feel as though you’ve been doing nothing but fumbling your way through all of those encounters, like you’ve been kissing wrong all this time.

It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body until you find your fingers grasping desperately at the short cotton sleeves of Ghost’s t-shirt where it’s stretched over his thickly muscled arm.

Ghost doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, either. It’s like a full-body experience with him; he puts his hands, his whole damn body into the kiss. He clutches you to him, holding you close even as the force of his kiss bends you backwards into the pillows beneath you. At the same time, it’s all you can do to concentrate and respond to the kiss itself, your attention stretched and strained by the feeling of Ghost’s hands running over you, stroking you sides and squeezing at your breasts and groping at the soft flesh of your hips and ass.

“Hah,” You gasp out when Ghost’s lips slide sideways to find the corner of your jaw. His mouth is hot against your skin, bruising, and you feel yourself grow embarrassingly wetter, just from a little kissing.

“You good?” Ghost grunts into your throat as he nips at the base of your jaw.

“Uh huh.” You manage to get out, still clutching at his meaty arms like they’re a lifeline. “So good.”

His breath is hot on your throat when he rumbles out a deep chuckle, and then his tongue flicks out against your earlobe. It makes you forget how to breathe for a second, and you’re distracted when Ghost’s hand changes course, easing beneath your legs so he can press his fingers against your clit again.

Then he pauses, and his fingers slide lower, lazily hooking back and inside you. You tremble, horny and humiliated as you realise that your arousal is glistening all over your damn thighs, impossible to miss.

“Fuck,” Ghost mutters. “All this for me, sweetheart?”

“Hnng,” You whimper like an idiot as his fingers return to your clit, now slick and slippery. “I’m just–”

He doesn’t wait for you to explain. Instead, he pulls his fingers out of you again and kisses you hard. The soft breathy noises you make are muffled into his mouth, and you wrap your legs around his waist automatically. He’s built like a damn mountain, your thighs stretched wide to accommodate the bulk of him as he settles against the core of you.

He likes that – he presses in close, and you can feel the hard line of his cock pressing up against you through the roughness of his jeans. You’re so sensitive that the coarseness of the fabric is almost unbearable, but you’re able to ignore it because you’re so distracted by the sensation of his erection because holy fucking shit that can’t really be how big he is.

You gasp, the sound high and breathy, and you try to grind against Ghost, but it’s impossible because he’s so fucking heavy and he’s pinning you down on the mattress beneath him. Instead, all you can do is squeeze your legs and pull Ghost in even tighter, increasing the pressure between the two of you.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” Ghost whispers, and it sounds like a promise. He drags his lips up your throat, then talks against the corner of your mouth. “You won’t be able to touch yourself again without wishing it was me.”

The wave of desire that rocks through you almost pulls you under, and you swear you might have actually gotten so horny that you blacked out for a second, because from one second to the next Ghost has somehow managed to muscle his way back down between your thighs so that he’s eye-level with your cunt.

“What are you–” You start to say, but then he loops his forearms under your knees to tug your legs wider, and you realise just how close his face is to your pussy. You swear you’re actually pulsing with arousal, and you wonder a little wildly if he can see that.

“Oh, fuck, yes — please,” You blurt out, before Ghost has even gotten his mouth on you. He chuckles, low and amused. His grin looks predatory, but in this moment you really don’t mind being the prey — not if it means you’ll be devoured by that mouth.

Then Ghost’s mouth is against you, wet and burning hot. You cry out, barely noticing as Ghost throws one of your legs over his shoulders, spreading you open.

It’s just the right side of overwhelming. Ghost’s mouth feels like it’s going to swallow you whole – his tongue is huge and flat and firm as he licks over your clit, making your thighs quake on either side of his head. It’s entirely unlike any of the fumbling masturbatory attempts you’ve ever made – you always enjoy messing around with your various little sex toys, but you’re swiftly beginning to realise that it could never compare to real human contact. Or at least, contact with Ghost.

His hands move from your waist to your asscheeks, his big palms squeezing the plump flesh there before using his grip to pull your body closer so that he can bury his whole face between your legs. The rougher material of his mask presses harshly into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but you hardly even notice it.

Your pussy has never been this wet before; it feels like you’ve sprung a goddamn leak. You might have felt embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the way Ghost groans against you, his wide tongue laving flat and rough against the seam of your cunt as he practically gulps down all the sticky arousal you have to give him.

“Oh god– fuck! Sir…” You sigh, spreading your knees farther apart so that Ghost can wedge his head further between your thighs.

Your ears burn as your room is filled with sounds of him tonguing at your cunt, the lewd wet squish of him working you over until you’re keening, your hips twitching clumsily until his hands tighten where he’s gripping the plump flesh of your ass to keep you still. Then all you can do is twitch as he licks over your clit in repetitive lapping motions, working in circles and then dipping down to shove his searingly hot tongue inside you. You can feel his teeth press against your labia even as he sucks at your clit, and the sensation sends hot bolts of pleasure rocketing down your spine.

Though you don’t mean to, you’re pretty sure that you make his job harder. You can’t stop wriggling, tossing your head back against your pillows and squirming on Ghost’s tongue in a wild overstimulated dance, like a fish caught in a net.

Finally, Ghost seems to have enough of your unco-ordinated flailing attempts to grind against his face. He reaches around your thigh with one arm to reach your clit so he can keep it stimulated as he gulps at the sticky sweetness of your cunt like a man possessed – the action also works to keep your hips pinned down and still. You stop your frantic moving, but your spasms and sounds increase tenfold.

You can hardly believe it, but you feel something coming. A sweet, torturous build up starts in your belly, and you sweat and gasp as he licks and suckles at you relentlessly. You’ve never found yourself in this state so quickly before, with your legs trembling and your breathing heavy and shaky.

“Oh.. oh…” You breathe, beginning to arch your back.

You know this feeling – this is where that sweet climax builds and builds, only to dissipate at the last agonisingly close moment. But this time, with Ghost’s big head between your thighs as his mouth moves against you, sucking, tasting, eating up everything you have to offer, the breath-taking pleasure doesn’t show any sign of slipping out of reach. It feels like for once you might actually reach that peak.

But then, right as you’re certain that you’re about to tip over that long-awaited coveted release, the bastard pulls away.

“No!” You practically shriek, attempting to sit up. “No, I was so close–!”

“Lie back.” Ghost orders, his voice like the crack of a whip.

You drop back obediently before you can even register that you’re moving, so conditioned to react instantly to that tone of voice coming from Ghost’s deep rumbling baritone. Your eyes are wide and betrayed as you stare at him, admittedly a little baleful.

God, but it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s staring up at you from between your legs like that. His eyes are dark and hungry beneath the mask, and since it’s all pushed up and rumpled around his nose you get a toe-curlingly good look at his lower face. His chin is wet and smeared with your slick, and his lips are plump and pink and swollen from all the kissing and suckling he’s done to you. In a moment of near-delirium, you think that you understand now why he covers his face – his mouth is pretty in a way that shocks you, in a way that needs to be hidden for decency’s sake.

“You’re gettin’ greedy,” He grunts, turning his head and sinking his teeth into the crease of your thigh just to make you yelp. “Wait for it, love. It’ll be worth the wait.”

You don’t think you have much of a choice, so all you can do is lay back and hold on for the ride. He presses his mouth to you again, and you whimper softly as he tongues at your clit.

“No one’s ever eaten you out like this?” He asks, the words muffled into the damp curve of your thigh. It’s stupid, because you know he knows the answer to that is a resounding no, but it seems like he just wants to hear you say it out loud.

“No.” You say, your breaths sawing their way out of your chest.

“Hnn.” He makes some kind of grunting sound against you, his tongue flicking out to taste you again. “That’s why you’ve been so tense, huh? So fuckin’ desperate for someone to touch you?”

“That’s not– ‘m not tense,” You manage to get out, your breasts heaving as your thighs tense up where they’re thrown over his shoulders. “Maybe.. Maybe you’re too relaxed.”

Ghost huffs a hot little laugh at your hip because you both know that couldn’t be further from the truth. You doubt anyone has ever accused Ghost of being too relaxed before, but you don’t have time to feel stupid for it – not when Ghost is devoting the full force of his attention on you, deep breaths huffing against the wet skin of your pussy and making you shudder.

“That’s it,” He croons, his voice uncharacteristically soft and lilting. The rumble of it ripples through your limbs like lapping waves, his battle-roughened palm stroking and smoothing down your ass and thigh as he hauls you closer. “Relax, sweetheart. Fuck, such a pretty pussy. Fuckin’ criminal of you to keep this hidden away all to yourself.” And then, quieter, “Fuckin’ Christ, you’re wet.”

You’re not even sure that he’s talking to you. It seems more as though he’s talking to himself, and it just happens to be you he’s talking about. Your cheeks burn as the feeling of vulnerability sets in, but you keep your legs spread wide as he kisses your clit with his swollen pink lips. You want so badly to be good, for him to be pleased with you, that you push past your embarrassment as best you can.

There’s a budding anxiety in your belly that Ghost is wasting his time here. As much as you crave his touch and the build up, you worry that he’s going to get frustrated with you and your inability to actually orgasm.

But Ghost doesn’t seem to be in a rush. He seems perfectly fucking happy between your legs, and even with his mask all clumsily rucked up around his nose he presses his face into your pussy with his eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. Even when you shift a little in an effort to get him to go a little harder or faster, he just pins you still and continues at his own leisurely pace.

When he reintroduces his fingers, pressing inside and stretching you out with a light sting, you hiss and try to lift your hips again. His rough calloused knuckles brush against the inside of your soft inner thighs, making them quiver as he goes three fingers deep.

“Shhh, atta girl.” He mumbles into you, his words coming out wetly muffled since he doesn’t even both pulling his face back. “Fuckin’– shit, so good.”

The praise shoots liquid and molten through you, and you have to bite back a pathetic keen as you pulse around his fingers. You’re sure he must feel it, because he lets out an answering rumble and laps against your clit, then closes his lips and sucks.

“Oh god–”

“Shhh.” Ghost scoots forward so your knee can hoist over his shoulder. Then he angles his chin to kiss the skin on the inside curve of your knee as he pumps into you with slow, slippery fingers and ungodly squelching noises that only sparks you hotter. You can’t even tell if it’s sweat or tears dotting your face anymore.

Though Ghost’s eyes are heavy-lidded and a little fogged over, he hasn’t looked away from you once. The focused intensity of his gaze spears you through, because you’ve never been looked at like that. No one has ever seen you like this, no one has ever put effort into you like this, no one has ever been so determined to please you before. You don’t know how you’re ever going to recover from this; you have a terrifyingly distinct impression that he’s going to live up to his promise to ruin you for anyone else.

It feels as though your blood is boiling beneath your skin, and you nearly sob when Ghost pulls back. You’ve never been so close, and you want to scream when he takes his gorgeous fucking mouth away from your clit.

“Fuck.” You wet your lips, realising you were panting like a dog and your mouth is bone dry. “Fuck, Ghost, just—”

“Quiet, lovie.” His reply is hoarse and firm, his throat working hard to swallow as he peered down between you, his clever thumb delving slick circles over the taut bump of your clit, his other three fingers fucking with easy rhythm and purpose. It’s maddening, it’s infuriating, it makes you feel as though you’re about to break apart.

His fingers are pulled out, and then you feel firm pressure pressing into you yet again. Your head lolls as you attempt to sit up, your eyelids fluttering as you realise that he’s pressing your stupid dildo into you again.

“Oh, you bastard–” You start to complain, but Ghost doesn’t give you the opportunity to speak properly.

The dildo slides into you so easily, your sticky slick mixing with his spit making the slide almost effortless. You sigh, a build-up of pressure making your whole body feel as though you’ve been stretched out and pulled tight.

Now that you’ve been pushed to the edge, you linger by it. Ghost keeps you on that edge for what feels like hours, until your breaths are burning in your chest and the ligaments in your calves are screaming from all the straining you’ve been doing. Every roll of Ghost’s thumb over your clit sends sparks racing through your nerves, and your breathing is harsh and uneven as Ghost starts fucking you with the stupid vibrating dildo. The rhythm he sets is firm and unrelenting, pushing the silicone toy in and out and visibly relishing the wet squish of your cunt as it takes it deep.

Ghost huffs against the wet skin of your inner thigh, making you shudder. It seems like he’s enjoying this as much as you are, judging by the subtle roll of his hips against your mattress as he absorbs himself in fucking you with the dildo.

He experiments with the angle, adjusting the dildo until you cry out, jerking against the bedding, and whining “There!”. You needn’t bother telling him, though; Ghost has a sharp eye, and he’s so goddamn attentive. He’s already repeating the stroke, pushing the dildo in and bumping it against the same sensitive spot he had hit before.

It feels good, but it’s not enough. Now that you’ve felt the firm hot pressure of his fingers spreading you wide and the wet hunger of his mouth devouring you, you don’t think anything else will do.

He shifts, you catch the rolls of his hips against your mattress again, and you feel as though you’ve caught fire. You think of the glimpse you had caught of his hard cock, pressing against his jeans and making the fabric stretch taut, and you find yourself speaking without thinking.

Ghost pushes the dildo in once more, and you reach down to grab at his wrist as you ask breathlessly, “Can I try yours?”

He pauses; goes so still that it’s honestly uncanny, his eyes practically boring holes into you as he stares at your face. You grow flustered, your own eyes widening in response to your own words. Just because he’s deigning to touch you with his fingers and his mouth, doesn’t mean he’s actually planning to fuck you. Jesus, he’s your fucking superior officer. What were you thinking?

“I’m sorry,” You squeak. “That wasn’t appropriate. Fuck, forget I said that–”

Even beneath the mask, you can see the bob of Ghost’s Adam's apple as he swallows thickly.

“You sure?” He interrupts your rambling before you can get started. “I don’t... ‘m not good with virgins.”

There’s… there’s so much you could say in response to that. Namely, he certainly doesn’t seem like he’s bad with virgins, as evidenced by the throb of arousal still pulsing through your soaked cunt. He’s just had you sobbing at the mercy of his fingers and mouth, and all he has to say when you ask for more is that he’s not good with virgins?

Instead, what you say is a rather lame, “I’m not technically a virgin.”

Which is true. Sort of. Based on a technicality – you had bullied your damn vibrator through your stupid hymen years ago, and you’ve always thought the idea of virginity was a stupid one, anyway.

“Plastic cocks don’t count, darlin’.”

Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel light-headed as humiliation burns through you. Jesus, okay. That’s just mortifying.

“Oh, you think your cock is special, then?” You scoff, attempting nonchalance.

Ghost shifts, letting your legs drop from his shoulders, and kneels up on the mattress so that he’s looming over you. Fuck, every time you get a visceral reminder of how big he is, you feel a little faint. It’s like having a veritable wall of muscle caging you into your bed. Your thighs are spread wide to accommodate the size of him, and you find yourself absolutely captivated by the sight of him with his muscles straining against that stupid tight t-shirt, still panting lightly from his greedy gorging on your cunt.

He reaches out and drags a hand slowly from your cunt up over your belly, between your breasts, up over your sternum, to rest over your collarbones. It’s gentle – he doesn’t put an iota of pressure against your throat – but all you can fucking see is the swell of his bicep and the dark ink of his tattoo and the prominent veins running down the chiselled muscle of his forearm.

Good fucking lord.

“You’ll find out.” He says.

And oh. Okay then. Yeah, you sure fucking will.

He reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, and you can’t help but strain to try and watch. He pushes them down carelessly around his thighs, but doesn’t make any move to strip them off any further. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’re laying on the bed completely nude and exposed, while Ghost has only pushed his jeans down far enough to pull his cock out, but you don’t have any time to feel self-conscious about it.

His cock curves up against his belly, red and twitching. He’s fucking rock hard, and bigger than you had been expecting, bigger than any of your stupid little toys. Your mouth goes dry, and your eyes widen comically. Fuck. No wonder he’s confident. He’s not lacking in any way.

“D’you’ve a johnny?” He asks, one big paw of a hand taking his cock and stroking lazily at it until a bead of pearly precum oozes from the angry red head.

You’re distracted for a moment, staring at the way he fists his cock, before you blink back to yourself. “What?”

“A condom.” He enunciates slowly, as though speaking to someone he thinks is a bit thick.

“I know what you meant,” You snap, embarrassed. “But– no. Why would I? I’ve never…”

You can see the way his eyes crease and realise that he’s frowning beneath the mask, and you’re hit with a sudden bolt of panic – is he going to change his mind now? You can see the hesitation in the lines of his shoulders, but you think if he changes his mind about fucking you, you might just die.

“It doesn’t matter,” You blurt, “You don’t need one. I’m on the pill. I’m clean.”

Ghost cocks his head, but remains still. It’s almost unnerving, and you feel your toes curl into the bedsheets as you wait for an answer. He looks fucking predatory, hulking over you like a fucking behemoth as he watches you assessingly. You try your best to look confident, but you have a feeling that you just look desperately hungry.

He reaches up and hooks his fingers into the fabric of his mask and pulls it back down to cover his still slick-shiny mouth and jaw, and you’re gripped with sudden overwhelming panic and dismay that he’s changed his mind, that he’s about to leave you here wet and empty and wanting. In that moment, you throw your dignity into the wind.

“Please,” You beg pathetically, wriggling a little bit against your sweat-damp bedding in an effort to grind yourself against him. “Please, please, it’s fine, I swear, you don’t need one–”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost grinds out, his voice rough and a little hoarse. “How can a virgin be such a fuckin’ slut?”

Some part of you wonders if you should be offended by that, but instead a frisson of heat runs down your spine. You know you’re not a slut – you’ve never searched for any sexual attention, and you’ve never even experienced someone else’s touch – but goddamn you want to be a slut for your lieutenant right now.

Despite his harsh words, when Ghost hooks your legs over his hips and aligns himself with you, he’s gentle. He’s acting like you’re something fragile; he’s so big that your legs are spread wide around his waist, his shoulders so broad that he’s blocking out the dim light from your lamp, and yet his touch is light against you as though he’s afraid to break you.

He’s still gripping his cock hard, and he slides the tip of it against your slick heat. You have a brief moment of alarm; even through the haze of arousal, you can recognise that this is going to be a tight fit. You breathe deeply, then begin to wiggle your hips in an effort to take him inside you.

He hisses, then one of his big hands grabs at your hip. “Fuck, stay still.”

“Put it in.” You beg, your voice coming out thick and stupid-sounding. “Fuck, please, c’mon, c’mon–”

“Kid,” Ghost bites out through clenched teeth, his voice low and gritty. “Need you to shut the fuck up for me.”

You manage to bite down on your lip, but you can’t stop yourself from pouting mopily at him with wide, wet eyes. You don’t understand why he’s making you wait – can’t he see how mean he’s being? You’re so fucking wet, so empty as you clench down on nothing, and your clit is so desperate for any kind of stimulation that it’s throbbing needily. The head of his cock catches at your opening, dipping in for a second before resuming its maddening slide up and down.

Ghost is still watching you closely, his brown eyes flickering from where the head of his cock drags through your sodden folds up to your pleading pouting expression. You can only imagine what kind of a sight you make, because his chest growls with a choked sort of groan.

“I know,” He murmurs, almost mockingly soft with you. “I know, you want it. Gotta give it to you slowly.”

You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to give it to you slowly, that he can go as fast and hard as he wants to, but some sense of self-preservation shuts you up. Instead, you nod clumsily as he rubs his cock over the slick folds of your cunt, lubing himself up with your own arousal. The feeling of his cock dragging over you, iron hard and velvety soft, so close to where you want it, is enough to have your head spinning dizzily.

You want to beg again, but you’re still trying to follow his order to be silent. You shift restlessly, biting back a whimper when he taps his cock thoughtfully against your clit.

Finally, he decides to put you out of your misery.

The thick crown of his cock pushes against the tight ring of muscle at the entrance of your cunt, and the gasp you let out is positively punched out of you. He goes slow, just like he promised, but you can still hardly believe it. He goes in and in and in, and yet he’s somehow not even halfway inside.

“Fuck,” You wheeze, punctuated by a strange little yowl. “Oh god, wait–”

You feel stuffed just from the first few inches, drunk already on the quiet little grunts he’s making. The stretch and the sting and the pressure inside you is glorious, so tight that you can barely even flex around him and you can’t even decide if it’s good or if it’s too much. Your eyes are hot and wet as overwhelmed tears begin to overflow, and you find yourself arching in a weak attempt to flex away from him and the devastating stretch.

God, he’s massive. You knew he would be, of course, but his size seems so much more significant when you’re being impaled on the end of his cock. Fuck, you can feel your vision go blurry as your eyes fill with overwhelmed tears. You’re mortified when a sob is ripped from your chest, harsh and thick.

“Shh, shh.” Ghost coos, his deep voice syrupy thick as he leans over you, the enormous bulk of him caging you into the mattress until your whole world consists only of him. “Just a little bit more.”

“Fuck,” You choke out, trying to arch away again but failing because he’s so big that there’s nowhere to go. “It’s not gonna fit!”

“Shh, lovie,” He rumbles, ducking his face down so that the rough cotton of his mask is pressed against the sweaty skin of your neck. “Relax’n let me in.”

“I– ‘m trying–” You whine, clutching at his biceps. “Jesus–”

You blink your eyes open, vision blurry from the tears clumping your lashes together, only to be met with the sight of Ghost’s deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath the black mask. He’s looming above you, his gaze made all the more intense by the fact that it’s the only part of his face you can really see.

“All that messin’ around with those plastic cocks, but you’re still this tight for me,” He says, his voice so deep that you feel it reverberate into your bones. “Deep breath.”

The breath you inhale at his instruction is rough and ragged, and he snorts a low breathless laugh in response.

When he finally drives his cock all the way in with one smooth stroke, all the breath is driven from your lungs. It feels as though his cock has been pressed all the way up into your chest, and the noise you make when you squirm on it is utterly pathetic.

Ghost’s hands are like steel clamps when they close around the plump flesh of your thighs, holding them up and pressing them back until they’re pressed against your belly. He looms over you, still almost entirely clothed as sweat beads over his thickly muscled neck. It’s like getting pinned down by a mountain, and you whimper as you’re speared open and prone by the weight of Ghost pressing down upon you.

He hasn’t even started to move yet, but you still feel overfull and raw.

“Too big,” You mumble, struggling to catch your breath. You choke on a sob and feel your eyes burn with unshed tears as your back arches. “Ghost–!”

“Shh.” He grunts. “Call me Simon when I fuck you.”

That… that does something to you. Molten heat rockets up your spine and pools in your belly, and you swear your pussy floods. It’s stupid, how being granted permission to call your lieutenant by his first name is somehow so much hotter than anything else he’s done so far.

“Simon,” You try it out. It comes out a little shaky, your voice little more than a weak whisper, but you swear you can see his eyes sharpen.

Apparently having come to the decision that you’ve adjusted enough, Ghost pulls his hips back only to drive back in.

“Oh!” You yelp, hips jumping, but there’s nowhere to go.

All you can do is lie there as he slides out, out, out, slow and careful and long, and then his hips snap forward and he impales you, pressing all the way into him. He does it again, and again, and you try to bite down on your tongue, try to not sound so pathetically wrecked, but you can’t. It’s like Ghost is puncturing your lungs and every time he fucks into you, you let out the most pathetic little mewling ah ah ah sounds.

You’re not quite prepared for how different this feels; it’s nothing like your stupid plastic dildo. Ghost’s cock is bigger, but it’s also hotter and with more give than you expected, and you’ve never been able to fuck yourself like this. Your plastic toys could never compare to the sensation of being pinned by your giant of a lieutenant as he ruts into you.

Ghost reaches up and roughly pushes his mask up so his mouth is exposed again before he leans in deeper, almost folding you cleanly in half, stretching in to claim your mouth in a kiss that’s not quite a kiss, but rather a fierce mash of lips and tongue as his rhythm picks up, riding you down into the mattress until you realised the screaming noise isn’t coming from either one of you, but the cheap standard issue bed frame.

All you can do is gasp with each deep, raw fuck. There are tears tracking lazily down your cheeks, having overflowed from your burning eyes, and you honestly think your lungs might collapse. You’re bent like a fucking pretzel, in a way that’s making the muscles in your thighs scream, as Ghost pounds into you.

He’s fucking relentless, but also shockingly aware of you beneath him. He doesn’t put too much pressure on you when he holds you, he never goes hard enough to hurt, and he knows just the right amount of weight to pin you down without being too much.

Your pussy is sloppy around him, wet squishing noises getting louder and louder as he finds more rhythm against your tight walls. Your whole world of awareness has been narrowed down to Ghost and Ghost only; his fingers digging into your thighs, your name in his mouth, his sweltering body pressing against yours.

He’s holding back, you can tell by the way his voice is caught in his throat. He’s keeping all his dangerous muscles at bay as he pulls out and presses in again. Rough, fast, but not enough to break you, just enough to make you scream until you bury your face to the side and try to cover your mouth with your arm.

“Yeah, you needed this,” Ghost grunts, his uncovered mouth nipping at the hinge of your jaw. “This’s why you were so fuckin’ distracted earlier, hm? You thinkin’ about how much you needed to cream around a real cock?”

“Uh huh, yeah,” You slur out, not even sure what you’re agreeing with. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth, every nerve in your body raw and sparking. You must sound so pathetic, but Ghost seems to like it.

“Ain’t gonna be distracted anymore, are ya?” He rumbles, laving his tongue over your jaw in a way that feels filthy. “Just needed your little pussy filled, that’s all.”

You cry out for him because you can’t help it, delight bubbling in your throat every time he plunges into you. He keeps his pace for a bit, all rushed and blazing, transfixed on watching you suck him in, leaving slick trails along his shaft. But gradually he gets bolder, more desperate, big hands squeezing from your thighs to your hips.

You get lost in the feeling of him in your belly, searing and harsh, fat tip rolling against the spongy spot inside of you until you feel like you might snap. You feel him in your ears, your head pounding with every snap of his hips. You swear you even feel him in your toes, lightning zaps of pleasure down your nerves.

Then he leans back, lifting his weight off of you so you can breathe properly. He leaves his hand on your collarbones like a placeholder, his palm spread over the base of your throat like a reminder, a way to keep your attention on him.

“Fuck,” He grits out, “That’s it, doll.”

You’re vaguely aware of the fact that Ghost’s gaze has shifted, no longer focused on your face but now instead fixed firmly between your legs as he watches the thick shaft of his cock sink into you. He obviously likes how you feel inside; you can hear him cursing and grunting quietly as his free hand grips your hip for leverage.

With his mask rumpled up around his nose, you’re gifted with an incredible view of the way his teeth are sunk into his lower lip. Each time he sinks his cock into you again, he makes a raspy little groan, eyes fluttering briefly shut. It’s so painfully endearing that your heart quivers in your chest.

Your legs burn from being spread around his thick waist — any attempt for you to lock them around his back is useless, your legs slipping everytime his ass flexes with his thrusts. Every hasty drive of his hips has the ridge of his cock sliding against the spongy spread of your walls, making you feel more stuffed every time he ruts into you. With every sudden movement you feel the entirety of his fat cock; the veins are throbbing, skin heated and silken within you. Part of you marvels how you’re even able to fit him inside you.

“Never seen you look like this,” he grunts. “All fucked-out and perfect.”

Ghost leans in again, grips your legs so he can rearrange them over his shoulders, and you think you might die. The angle is different and somehow, impossibly, Ghost is fucking into you even deeper. You think you might actually be crying. There’s no question as to whether you’re drooling.

Your hands move to his arms, nails sinking into the hard muscles of his triceps as you cling on for dear life. He doesn’t even seem to notice the sting of your nails scratching him; or perhaps it only urges him on, because his movements take on an edge of desperation.

“Gorgeous girl,” He grits out, jaw clenched. “Squeezin’ so tight. Fuck. Gonna make you cream.”

You had forgotten about his promise to make you come, too lost in the hazy pleasure of his cock. But now it seems as though he’s been seized by the compulsion to fuck you to the edge; he reaches a hand down so that his thumb can join the fray, and it startles you into moaning breathlessly aloud.

His thumb is merciless against your clit. You’re vulnerable to his touch, clit spread and on display from the stretch of his thick cock inside of you, and he takes full advantage. His fingers are thick and blistering hot as he rubs at you, and you choke as your toes curl.

“Simon–” You manage to eke out before you lose the weak thread of your thoughts, scattering into nothing as he stimulates the stiff bead of your clit.

He grunts to show that he’s heard you, but he doesn’t seem any more capable of words than you are as he rocks into the cradle of your hips. You’re practically blinded by your wet eyes, blinking frantically to try and clear your vision as you reach out clumsily to throw your arms around Ghost’s blisteringly hot neck.

It feels as though your skin is stretched too tight over your body, hot and prickly and too much. You’re trembling, your breaths coming in shaky gasps as agonising pressure builds in your lower belly.

“Fuck, love.” Ghost says, his voice little more than a snarl. “You gonna come?”

No, You think hazily. No, you never come. But even as you think it, part of you recognises that it’s never felt like this before. Your stomach tightens, toes curling, your lungs burning, your eyes rolling. You hardly even know what’s happening.

You recognise that something is building, but it almost seems secondary to the way that Ghost is rutting into you like a man possessed, hitting that spongey spot in the back of your pussy that you’ve never managed to reach yourself and making your legs spasm every time even as his thick thumb rubs frantic circles around the bump of your clit.

“Fuck, fuck–” You wheeze, bucking your hips against him.

It doesn’t grow and dissipate in the way you’re used to. Rather, it creeps up on you almost without you noticing, until you’re whimpering and clinging to Ghost like he’s a lifeline. Your bottom lip trembles as you sob weakly, practically on the brink of diving into an oncoming tidal wave of desire. Then that coil in your stomach snaps like a rubber band, sudden and sharp as a slap to the face.

Your back arches, your vision whites out, and you cum so hard that the world stops, your ears ring, your body goes limp. Your cunts sucks tight around him, pulsing, feeling every inch of him. It feels so sweet, that white-hot buzzing pleasure rushing over you and wiping your brain completely clean.

You’re a little delirious from being stuffed with such a fat cock; every thrust just prolongs your pleasure, like his penetration keeps you from squeezing your very first orgasm out right away. It’s mindless ecstasy, your nails burrowing into the skin of his biceps as you desperately clutch at him for some kind of leverage. Ghost doesn’t falter, his hips continuing to work into you, wringing your orgasm out until you feel as though your brain is melting.

You sob – an actual, genuine, wet-sounding sob as your chest heaves for air and your eyes burn with overwhelmed, rapturous tears. Your head is spinning even as your climax subsides, leaving you limp-limbed and weak as Ghost continues rocking into you.

“Look so lovely when you come, sweetheart,” Ghost grunts into your ear, his bulky chest weighing you down as you clutch feebly at his shoulders. “God, that’s a sight. All for me, yeah?”

His praise only makes it worse, makes your eyes sting until there’s tears down your cheeks and stars behind your eyelids. He sounds so smug, but you can’t deny that he has reason to be. He’s the first man to ever touch you, first man to ever fuck you, the first person to ever tip you over the edge and wring an orgasm out of you. Fuck, you think your brain might have been reduced to mush permanently; you wonder wildly if you’ll ever be the same after this.

Despite the sting of Ghost’s punishing thrusts into your already oversensitive cunt, your body sings for him. The rhythm of his hips is getting gradually sloppier, as though he doesn’t care as much for precision now that he’s succeeded in making you come. Soft, guttural little grunts fall from his mouth, and his arms wrap around your waist to reposition you so that he can fuck quick and shallow. It’s almost tender, as though he’s aware of your growing sensitivity as you mewl under him.

There’s a profound, instinctual pleasure in seeing Ghost lose himself in your embrace. His dark eyes are heavy-lidded and his mask is still all rucked up, revealing the way his mouth is lolled softly open as he pants. You find yourself wishing feverishly that he had taken off his clothes too, because you think you would give anything to watch the roiling muscles of his chest and shoulders as he ruts into you.

Then just when you think you’re beginning to recover from the shattering, mind-numbing oversensitivity, Ghost comes inside of you.

He stops rutting to ride out his orgasm, his cock throbbing, pulsing, spurting inside you until you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt. And he comes a lot.

You’re stuffed so tightly with his cock that his cum has nowhere to go, and ends up leaking thickly from where your cunt grips around him, messy and hot and spilling over your thighs and his. The sound he makes is breathless, all open-mouth and head lolled back as he groans, blissed out as he finds release in your cunt.

The minutes afterwards are a blur.

You close your eyes for what feels like only a second, but the next time you blink your eyes open you find yourself feeling miserably, uncomfortably empty and sticky as all that oozy cum leaks out of you. You somehow missed Ghost pulling out of you, and your thoughts are muzzy and embarrassingly slow.

For a moment, you think you’re alone. You’re becoming more aware of yourself, and you realise that you’re shivering weakly alone in your sweat-damp sheets. Where did Ghost go? Part of you, still a little hazy, wonders if he had left you alone as soon as he had come, and you feel your lower lip tremble at the thought.

God, you feel pathetic. You shift feebly on the sheets, and suck in a sharp breath when you feel the ache inside you, proof that you’re going to feel the shadow of Ghost’s cock for days. You feel drunk off the afterglow, yet you’re swiftly becoming more and more aware of yourself and all the aches and pains that are coming to the fore now.

It feels like you’re too big for your body, and you’re clumsy when you try to sit up. Pushing yourself up makes a whole new set of aches light up, and you let out a quiet keening grumble.

You’re so caught up with trying to ground yourself that you jolt in surprise when big, paw-like hands land on you, pushing you back down onto the bed. “Shh, hey, lay down.” Ghost says, the rough edges of his accent softened. To your bewilderment, he has a damp cloth in his hand; he went to the bathroom, you realise hazily.

Maybe it’s just because you feel raw after your experience with him, pulsing like an open nerve, but you sniffle and blink and then suddenly there are tears dripping down your face.

“Thought you left.” You mumble, trying not to sound like a needy little idiot.

Ghost glances up at you, unblinkingly. His mask is fixed firmly back in place, and he looks annoyingly put-together; it’s an embarrassingly stark contrast to the way you’re still nude and shivery and teary-eyed.

“No.” He says simply.

The damp cloth is warm when it makes contact with your skin, and you relax as he drags it along your sweaty back and over your legs. He’s a little rough about it, but you don’t think it’s on purpose. Gentleness doesn’t come naturally to Simon Riley, and yet you can feel that he’s trying and that makes a warm glow settle in your stomach, replacing the cold anxiety that had settled in when you thought that he had left you alone.

When the cloth reaches the tender skin of your pussy, you hiss and try to pull away. It all feels too sensitive, and you feel your face crumple up as he wipes away the mess of slick and cum between your thighs. He gentles his touch as much as he can, but you still mewl at the electric zaps of oversensitivity that jolt up your spine.

When Ghost pauses and pulls the cloth away from you, you blink your eyes awake. Your vision is still all wet and blurry from tears, but you can still see the shape of Ghost as he stares down at you. You can imagine you look nothing short of ruined right now, even after having been cleaned up, and Ghost’s stare is burning.

You wonder if he’s about to leave now – you can recognise this whole thing had gotten out of hand, and you just about manage to stifle the panic at the creeping realisation that you’ve just fucked your superior officer. Ghost must have realised at this point that the two of you had just ripped through all those fraternisation rules, though it’s always been difficult to tell what he’s thinking. But you trust him – you have to, in your line of work. You have to trust that he’ll handle things.

Ghost tosses aside the cloth, and his big overbearing body climbs back into bed beside you. It’s a standard-issue bunk, and yet it feels comically tiny when Ghost has been added to the mix. He’s surprisingly agile, even despite his big size, and you barely have time to realise that he’s joining you in bed before he’s wrapped a thick arm around your middle, hauling you closer.

You’d love to act chill and cool about the fact that he’s now essentially cuddling you, but you miss the mark by a long mile. You take a breath, and allow yourself to relax into his big burly chest. He’s still fully clothed, and the rough texture of his jeans against your tender bare skin makes you shiver lightly from oversensitivity.

Your hips are sore from being stretched so wide, your joints weak and watery, and you’re perfectly content to close your eyes and forcibly ignore all your concerns about fraternisation or how you’re going to face Ghost in training. It’s a problem for another time.

“You still alive?” Ghost grunts, and his palm coasts down over your back to settle at your ass, his fingers squeezing absent-mindedly into the soft flesh there.

He sounds amused, which makes you grumble in irritation. He takes up so much space, his big body filling up all the free space on the bed and making you feel so fucking small as he holds you so that your back is pressed against his stomach.

“I dunno,” You mumble, words a little garbled. “Think… think you might have fucked me stupid, Lt.”

Lying like this, with his front pressed against your back, you can feel his laugh rumble into you. He’s touchy too in a way that surprises you; his hands are constantly moving, swiping over your sides and groping at any part of you that’s squishy-soft.

“Think I might have,” He agrees, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even if you can’t see it. “But I think you needed it, sweetheart. You were practically cryin’ out for it all day.”

You feel your face heat at the insinuation that he had noticed the arousal you thought you had hidden so well. But you still feel so fuzzy inside, and you can’t manage to drum up any genuine reaction.

Ghost’s roaming hand slips down between your legs, and you hold your breath as he reaches your swollen, tender pussy. His fingers are so big, but he’s aware of his strength and keeps his touch light, cupping rather than groping, his calloused palm catching on your puffy clit.

“Told you a real cock would be better,” He rumbles, and you feel the soft material of his mask rubbing against the back of your sweaty neck. “You’ve got a fussy little cunt – ‘s only gonna be satisfied by the real thing.”

You’d love to jab back at him, but the feeling of him rough palm against your oversensitive clit has your thoughts fizzing out into nothingness. All you can do is let out a quiet little whimper, and rock your hips into his touch. To your utter bewilderment, you feel your arousal, which you had previously considered entirely sated, pulse back to life.

As if Ghost can feel your cunt throb beneath his hand, he snickers. “Yeah. Fussy and greedy.”

He leans down, and you feel his lips brush against the back of your neck through the cotton of his balaclava. You quiver, and part your legs without conscious thought to give his thick fingers more room to work. Despite your exhaustion, and your soreness, and your sensitivity, you find yourself wanting. You wonder, with an edge of hysteria, if your body has somehow managed to rewire itself to only accept pleasure from your commanding officer’s hand.

“Ghost– Simon–” You breathe, your hips jumping as you grind into his palm.

“Yeah,” He says again, as though he knows exactly what you need and want. “One little orgasm wasn’t enough, was it?”

“No.” You choke out, throwing your head back so that it’s resting against Ghost’s broad chest. “No, ‘t wasn’t.”

You can hardly believe that your body is winding up for more, but Ghost’s touch is searing hot against your tender skin, and you can already taste the pleasure he’s going to bring you. This time, without the edge of urgency, you think you might even enjoy it more.

“Gimme five minutes,” He drawls, his voice low and muffled in your ear. “And I’ll give you your second.”

19K notes · View notes

letmeloveyouuuu · 10 months

Text

In The Space Between

Pairing: modern!Aemond x female!Reader

Summary: You we’re happy your friend Floris got to marry her longtime boyfriend Aegon… if it wasn't for the sake of you being the plus one of her groom’s brother and also your ex boyfriend, Aemond.

Warnings: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; exes to lovers, p in v, balcony sex, kinda voyeurism, fluff, angst, smoking

Words: 4.6 K

Notes: with the famous one bed trope. Smut below the cut.

The more or less dreaded day of your friend Floris’ wedding came as quickly as never.

You were happy she finally got to marry her longtime boyfriend Aegon, more so because they were celebrating on Koj, one of the Summer Islands you always dreamt of visiting… if it wasn't for the sake of you being the plus one of her groom’s brother and also your ex boyfriend, Aemond.

You had been together for roughly three years and only had broken up shortly after you had booked everything for the wedding for reasons you couldn’t quite recall anymore.

For the longest of time, or rather for the time you drowned in sorrow and self pity, you had forgotten about the upcoming wedding and the fact you had to share a room with Aemond, if the two of you wouldn’t cancel the reservation.

The flight wasn’t the problem, because you could easily switch seats with someone else, but the hotel was. Apparently, they were so far booked out that there was not a single room available–of course it wasn’t–besides the one you had already booked, and on top of that, you and Aemond would lose your deposits if you would cancel the booking.

Being the good friend you were, you couldn’t just skip the wedding, so that was how you ended up exactly where you were right now: standing in front of the reception desk in the pristine hotel lobby, the handle of your suitcase tightly clutched in one hand with a tensed Aemond standing right on the other side.

Up until then, everything went according to plan. You were able to switch seats on the plane with an older man that wanted an aisle seat instead of sitting at the window, and you were quick to give him just that. The ride to the hotel was quiet, too, because Floris was attentive enough to send two separate cars to pick you both up.

So, you and Aemond hadn’t spoken a word beside a polite “hello” when you first met at your aisle in the plane, and even then it didn’t last long, because that man was already waiting for you to clear his new seat.

It wasn’t that you did not want to talk to him–you just didn’t know how well you were able to handle any contact with him, considering you didn’t break up due to bad blood.

“You don’t happen to have a second room available? Could be a Single, a Suite… whatever,” Aemond asked without so much sparing you a glance, just as desperate as you to get some space between the pair of you.

The receptionist, a tall man with black hair and almost equally dark eyes, shook his head. “Only one room,” he replied, the Common Tongue slipping past his lips with an amber, liquid accent and broken syllables. “Room 351 for you and… wife.” Both your eyes widened in surprise at the man’s statement, but neither of you made any effort to correct him, either not really caring because it didn’t help with the overall situation or just too tired from the damn long trip.

The key cards–at least you didn’t have to approach him whenever you wanted to get back to the room–were slid over the marble of the counter without another word, a small card that held the WI-FI password and general information next to it.

Aemond’s sigh was barely audible, and maybe it was the sheer annoyance you held or your silent despair to have him speak to you about whatever topic he wanted, but you heard it, and couldn’t stop rolling your eyes.

“Does it at least have two separate beds?”

It was very brief, but the man’s eyes flickered over to you, before darting back to meet Aemond’s mismatched ones, the sapphire blue of the prosthetic one not really matching the lilac of his other. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the receptionist flashed him an apologetic gaze with the way his lips pressed into a thin line, followed by another shaking of his head. “Only one bed.”

Aemond set his jaw, and you really thought if he hadn’t at least once thought about the possibility of you two having to sleep in one and the same bed. You had booked the room as a couple, so, of course it only had a single bed.

You must have side eyed him a bit too obvious, because when he turned to hand you your key card, he just shrugged his shoulders and brushed past you.

Aemond had reached the room first, the door left slightly ajar to make it easier for you to get in, and sat at the edge of the King size bed.

With the realization slowly settling in that you indeed had to share a bed with him, you came to the conclusion that it somehow seemed too small nevertheless, especially beneath his tall frame.

Anxiety spread throughout your body and you already cursed your sleepy self should she decide to snuggle up against him at night, no matter if it was on purpose or not.

Being in the same room as him felt suffocating enough already, hence you were quick to grab your fanny pack and head towards the door again once you stored your suitcase next to your side of the bed. “I’ll… I’ll take a walk, looking for the black beaches and the venue,” you announced.

If it wasn’t for you all but darting out of the room, you would’ve caught the somewhat hurt expression that flickered over Aemond’s features with his mouth silently opening and closing without any words leaving it at your sudden departure.

Much to your surprise, you had found the wedding venue and the black beaches rather quickly with both being at the same spot right in front of your hotel. You stood on an elevation with a wooden railing in front of you embraced by several branches of the local trees. The wedding took place in the North of Koj, and if you squint your eyes just tight enough, you were able to make out the island Walano, or more so Lotus Point, one of its cities.

With the sun slowly setting, the volume of the tropical birds’ chirping, making the whole surroundings all the more beautiful… and romantic.

You barely heard the zipper of your fanny pack as you opened it, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and the lighter Aemond had gifted you back when you started dating. It was black and red, their family sigil engraved into it. The pad of your thumb absentmindedly brushed over it, feeling the small ridges, before you brought it up to light the cig.

Even before you could exhale the first puff of smoke, the quietness and peace of your solitude was broken.

“I thought you quit,” your stomach dropped as you heard the voice. His voice.

The beautiful scenery of Koj was left behind you as you turned to look at him, shrugging your shoulders. “Started again when I had trouble falling asleep after… you know,” was all you said in return, pressing your lips into a thin line as you inhaled yet another cloud of smoke. You half-expected him to lecture you about it, saying how he was disappointed you had returned to smoking after successfully quitting for two years, but it did not happen.

Instead, Aemond stepped closer to you, still keeping a fair distance though, and merely held out his hand. “May I?” He asked, which caused you to cock an eyebrow at him in suspicion. Your body acted on its own when you handed him the cigarette, and the familiar heat that felt like home filled your body as your fingers brushed, your heart fluttering.

Being quite taller than you, he had no trouble looking over your head to admire the beauty of Koj’s nature, all while taking a deep drag of your cigarette. It was almost melancholic. Aemond was looking at the nature, and you were looking at him, dwelling in the past and many unsaid things.

“I feel like we have some catching up to do before we can celebrate the wedding without any problems,” he finally admitted, and only when he met your eyes, you figured you had shamelessly stared at him for a tad too long.

Your body tensed at his words, and you shifted your weight from one leg to the other. “What is there to catch up on?” You asked, eyes darting to the ground as you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Aemond pinched the back of his nose, exhaling a deep breath that was accompanied by some faint smoke from his last inhale. “Listen…,” he started, seemingly fighting for the right words to say. “The fight we had was so stupid and irrational, fuck, I… I don’t even know why we were arguing.”

It was visible in the way his jaw clenched and unclenched, and his fingers quivered, that Aemond was far from being comfortable having this conversation, and you were so close to just reaching out and taking his hand into yours to soothe the nervousness. It was an anchored instinct you had even after being separated for seven months.

One of his hands ran through his silver-blonde hair, a lot shorter than the last time you’d seen him, pushing the strands out of his face. It had taken you a long time to get over him, at least you thought you were, but now, seeing him in the dim light of the lanterns with the reddish light of the sun illuminating his features as he looked at you with the soft gaze you had grown so fond of, everything was flooding back.

Aemond had always had trouble speaking about his emotions. It was one of the things that came with his fucked-up childhood, growing up with a father that didn’t love him and such, so you really appreciated him at least trying to reconcile.

“It was the right thing at the time,” you said in a reassuring manner, flashing him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “We… I wasn’t ready for it.” He exhaled sharply through his nose at your words, not quite a snort and not really a laugh. “We is quite right,” he replied.

While you had been talking, you hadn’t noticed how close you both had gravitated towards each other. Your heart started to beat at a rapid pace, almost bursting through your ribcage you were sure.

But before you–or him–could do anything stupid, your voice of reason pushed itself into the front of your mind, reminding you that you were still sharing a room with him if he wouldn't accept your advances.

Aemond seemed to sense your restraint and held your cigarette out for you. He rubbed the back of his neck, eye flickering between yours, the ground and the distance. “So…,” the awkwardness of the moment was unmatchable. Aemond felt it, too, because his face was covered in crimson that also ran down his neck already. “We arrived quite late today and I still want to grab something from the late night buffet… see you later, I guess?”

You nodded your head with a forced smile on your lips, muttering a “see you later” and finished the cig. While he left, you pressed the butt against the reiling to extinguish it and looked around for the next closest ashtray.

Your evening wasn’t ruined, but there was no way you could focus on the beauty of Koj’s nature with Aemond lingering in the back of your mind.

———

You stared at the ceiling in your hotel room for hours before you finally gave up. There was no point in continuing to lay there, tossing and turning, getting absolutely no rest.

Maybe it was the obsessive worrying of you scooting a tad too close towards Aemond in your sleep or the unresolved words that hung between you after your more or less reconciling at the beach.

Exiting the bed as quietly as possible to not wake up Aemond, you slipped into a thin caftan and tied the belt around your waist, keeping you warm on your way to the small balcony since you only wore a silk top with matching shorts.

You slowly pushed the sliding door open, looking at his sleeping frame from over your shoulder to make sure he was still asleep, and stepped outside. It was unusual for him to not stirr awake with you leaving the bed, considering he always was a light sleeper, but you figured you weren’t the only one whose habits had changed after the break-up.

From the balcony, you could spot a few people still setting up some things for the wedding venue at the beach, and you were certain you could also hear the baritone of Aegon’s deep voice, followed by the voice of Floris.

But even then, it brought you more peace than lying in bed with Aemond could ever bring you, despite the air being somewhat chilly with a light breeze blowing through the knotted fabric of your caftan.

It was completely dark, safe for the few lanterns that lit up the distant beach for the people to continue their work. The hotel had dimmed most of the lights surrounding their resort, granting everyone the sleep they needed.

“Do you think we are now?” The raspy voice of Aemond drawled, thick with sleep and startling you. Your confusion must have been evident on your face as you turned around, because he repeated his question slower and a bit louder while he sleepily rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you… Do you think we would be ready now?”

You had thought about it ever since you came back to your room, pondering over how you had changed the past seven months, and if things between you could finally work out. And a part of you was certain you could, while the other part was anxious, afraid it would end the same way it had ended before.

The pregnant pause between you two was not at all comfortable, practically urging you to say something… anything. Yet Aemond beat you to it–not by speaking, but by acting, and when you noticed what exactly he did, you figured you were a goner. Everything suddenly flooded back, and you needed him. You still loved him. You were still in love with him.

Something in your body language or facial expression had to give away how you felt, even if it only was for just the slightest of seconds, but it still had to be enough for Aemond to grasp how you felt.

He silently held out his hand, but this time for you to take it, and you took it without hesitation, interlocking your cold fingers with his warm ones, allowing him to pull you into his embrace. It was when your face was buried in his chest with his all too familiar scent flooding your nostrils, that a sudden wash of exhaustion overcame your body, his proximity bringing your body the peace and comfort it had always longed for the past seven months.

“Y–Yes… absolutely,” though your voice was somewhat muffled by his firm chest, you knew he had heard you well enough by the way his arms tightened around you, hugging you as if he was afraid to let go, fearing you’d leave him again.

Your face was buried in his chest, but you could feel his nose nuzzling along the crown of your head, taking in your scent before it were his lips pressing a tender kiss to it. The hug was full of emotions and soothed all your worries, erasing the memories of loneliness you went through after your break-up. It was just like in the past, when he would comfort you on sleepless nights.

As you tilted your head back, you were met with his face dangerously close to yours, despite the high difference you shared. The natural attraction of his lips made it difficult for you to look at his eyes, yours always straying back to his lips. And it was obvious it was the same to him, not knowing if he should look at your lips or eyes.

No one of you said anything as your heads bowed towards each other like magnets, irresistibly drawn together, until eventually your lips met and your bodies melted together. Even though you hadn’t seen each other in seven months, the kiss was shy of restraint and gentleness. It was fierce, passionate even, begging to make up for all the months you hadn’t spent alongside each other.

The heat of your kiss ran down your spine to your legs, hells, it even reached the soles of your feet, leaving a fire everywhere it touched. Aemond was a Dragon, liquid heat, molten fire, seeping into your bones and consuming your very being. You melted in the hold of slender fingers sliding down your body, caressing every inch they could grasp, and the warmth of his embrace.

You ached with need–your body crying out for more. It was soft under Aemond’s hands, so fragile, even if your kiss was so desperate, and yet he greedily took whatever was offered, devouring you like you were the sweetest Arbor wine.

His hand lazily drifted over the curve of your hips, fingers curling into your flesh. The soft gasp you released was drowned by his lips, drinking it down as though it was meant to spur him on even more.

You were distracted enough to not notice his other hand slipping beneath the elastic waistband of your silk shorts to cup your ass, squeezing the flesh with the same ferocity he had used to grope your hip. You gasped yet again, but not without breaking the kiss to hiss a warning “Aemond”, slightly shoving at his chest though it was not hard enough to seriously push him away.

“‘M sorry,” he replied with a scoff, but the smirk on his lips told you he wasn't–he was enjoying it. The roll of your eyes at his poor apology didn’t receive a teasing comment, too eager to capture your lips again and continuing where you had stopped.

The hand on your ass gave it just one more squeeze, before his deft fingers pulled the lace of your thong aside to drag through your swollen folds from the front to the back, collecting some of your arousal.

Your reactions couldn’t be more opposite.

You whined against his lips, while Aemond just growled like an animal, the last threats of his patience snapping as one digit eased into your hole. You clenched around him, but he didn’t move his finger–it just stayed inside of you with barely more than the tip buried.

“Fuck – You’re soaked for me, Y/N,” he pulled back to catch his breath, voice raspy, strained. “All for me, or were you this wet for the other guys you had after me, too?”

His words were lewd, and if you weren’t already embarrassed by your body’s reaction to him, you sure as hell were now. It was bad enough that you weren’t even able to form any coherent sentence as a reply, stuttering out the words with a whiny voice. “N-No other guys… only for you.” Upon realizing, you just pressed your eyes shut and silently cursed yourself for falling victim to him… again.

You anticipated him scoffing, and he did, but you didn’t anticipate him grabbing your hand to guide it towards his crotch to where his hard cock was bulging against the fabric of his boxers. You were looking at him with wide eyes, almost as if you couldn’t believe it, but when another wave of arousal gushed out of your core, you certainly knew it was real.

“Good,” Aemond purred. “Because I haven’t been with anyone else, too. And you have no fucking clue what that does to a man.”

You were just able to whimper in return, kiss-swollen lips slightly agape, and squeezed his hard cock lightly before he proceeded to turn you around, seizing your body between his and the railing.

“Aem, what–”

The words inevitably caught in your throat at the feeling of his lips on your neck, nibbling and sucking your skin. “‘M gonna have you right here, Y/N,” he rasped, making you shudder in his embrace. “Can’t waste anymore time getting you back in bed.”

As he drew your earlobe between his teeth, you melted into him right then and there, not even once worrying about anyone hearing or even seeing you two doing inappropriate things in an even more inappropriate place.

“Oh,” you only whimpered in return, bowing your head back against his shoulder as his hand tugged on your shorts to pull them down to your knees. His body was pressed so tightly against yours, you felt the outline of his length snugly wedged between your ass cheeks, twitching every time you whined and whimpered.

While your hands clasped around the railing in front of you, his were busy with your body. The fingers of one hand hooked underneath the string of your thong, playfully pulling it back to allow it to whip back against your skin, causing you to take in a sharp breath, whilst the other snaked around your body to push the fabric aside, exposing your soaked pussy to the chill air.

“I have dreamt of fucking you ever since I’ve seen you in that damn plane,” Aemond confessed, but you were so lightheaded, barely mumbling a “yes” and “please fuck me” in return. And when his knee nudged your legs apart, you knew your prayer finally came true.

Knowing you were wet enough and eager to take him, Aemond waited not one second longer to free his cock out of its painfully tight confines, sighing in relief as he proceeded to fist himself.

He cursed himself for only having two hands with one of them being occupied by himself, because otherwise he would have bent you forwards and grabbed your thighs at the same time. But now it was a firm hand applying pressure between your shoulder blades to level your body, before it then lowered enough to splay across the outside of your thigh.

A shuddered breath escaped your throat when you felt his tip prodding at your aching entrance, and the memories of the delicious stretch his length used to bring you clouded your mind–only to be revived a split second later with him slowly but surely pushing in.

Every ridge and vein of his cock was palpable with how slow he eased into you, claiming you inch for inch and causing you both to moan out in unison.

Now it was him breathing shakily, almost as if he could not believe his luck. “Fuck,” he grunted under his breath. “I’ve forgotten how tight you are.”

He was buried inside of you to the hilt and didn’t move, though you weren't the one that needed time to adjust. “I’m not gonna last long… fuck,” it was audible in his voice how much restraint it took for him to not cum right then and there, more so because it meant he had to restrain himself from pounding into you if it meant he could fuck you just a few minutes more.

“It’s… It’s okay,” you panted, reaching behind you to cup his face with one hand, pressing it tighter against yours. “I’m not going to last any longer than you.”

One of his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you steady, while the other moved to cup your chin, keeping your head bowed back against his shoulder. Your earlobe was back between his teeth when he started to thrust his hips into you, each snap slow but deep enough to hiccup your breathing.

At one particularly harsh thrust, the moan you made was a tad too loud for his liking and you quickly figured why he kept his hand on your head–because it made it easier for him to press it over your mouth to silence you.

“We don’t want to wake someone up, do we?” Aemond teased, his amusement perfectly audible. Another harsh thrust was served, resulting in you biting back a loud moan that got lost into the palm of his hand, and it was clear he had done that on purpose to test your obedience. “Be quiet,” he warned, his lips against your ear.

You mewled in return and each time you had to moan, you would sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stifle it–Aemond did the same, though his teeth were sinking into your earlobe, making the grunts and groans he released only audible for you, which drove you insane.

Maybe it was the possibility of being caught, or reconciling with Aemond, but your orgasm approached you at a laser-speed, especially as he adjusted his hips to make his cock reach an angle that had you gasping, whining and clenching around him ever so tightly.

It was easy for him to lose himself in you, almost too easy. Despite the chill of the air around you, he couldn’t stop entering you over and over again as you bit back on every strangled sound of bliss his thrusts issued forth from your lips. The hand from around your waist was braced on the railing to allow him to thrust harder into you, each thrust forcing you against it, though you didn’t seem to mind.

To you, it felt as if you weren’t even unclenching around him, body so tensed and overwhelmed that every fiber felt as if it was on fire, and he seemed to sense just that.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” Aemond commanded softly, tilting his head forwards slightly to lick from the curve where your neck met your shoulder up to the sensitive spot behind your ear, before sinking his teeth back into your flesh.

And you did just that as the pace of his thrusts increased, your orgasm washing over you with soaring pleasure. Your toes curled and you were glad his hand was still over your mouth, because otherwise everyone would’ve heard your moans, the volume not lowering once.

“Mh, that’s it,” he cooed, coaxing you through your orgasm. “Making a mess all over my cock–just how I like it.”

With how tightly you were clenching around him, it was only a matter of time until Aemond followed behind, keeping his ministrations despite the aftershocks already trembling your whole body, knowing it would make you sore.

One final thrust sent Aemond over the edge into oblivion, his orgasm shaking deep within his bones. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t move any further, hips stilling as his twitching length spilled his load deep inside of your quivering walls.

Collapsing against your frame, he released your mouth to support his body with both hands on the railing, gripping it as if his life depended on it. Both your pants were loud, but not nearly as loud as your grunts and groans before.

Now you were the one cupping his chin, gently turning his head to force him to look at you, while he was just blinking hazily at you in the dark. “I’ve missed you,” you confessed, a slight tint covering your cheeks.

He rested his forehead against yours, meekly nodding, “I’ve missed you, too.”

A content smile spread over your lips at that, but as he pulled out of you to turn your around, it dropped into a pout he all too happily kissed away.

“Let’s get you back in bed now… I have seven months to make up for.”

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letmeloveyouuuu · 10 months

Text

Faking It ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: You and Aemond decide to fake date in order to make your exes jealous.

word count: 4.8k

note: a request fulfilled for the lovely @oneeyedvisenya! Rae, I remember you were one of the first blogs I admired and I remember squealing with joy when you interacted and followed me and now we're bestie ilysm I'll cry rn. I hope you enjoy 🩷

rating: Explicit (see more descriptive warnings under the cut)

warnings: p in v, fingering, titty sucking, choking, degradation, slight praise

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Aegon asks, frowning as you take your shot.

You glare at him before signaling to the bartender you’d like another. You’re going to need a lot of tequila to get through tonight. You’d come to your favorite club after another horrible week. The world just seemed to be against you.

“Don’t say panties to me, you sound like a pervert,” you tell him, causing Aegon to chuckle.

“Your undergarments then,” Aegon decides, bumping his shoulder against yours, “your lingerie.”

“That’s even worse,” you tell him, sucking the juice from your lime.

“It can’t be Qyle again, please,” Aegon says groaning.

You bite your lip. You hadn’t expected to see your ex-boyfriend out, he always used to tell you he hated going to bars or clubs. Yet, here he was with his mates for a night on the town, effectively ruining yours.

“You need to get laid, I’m saying that as your friend,” Aegon tells you, clasping a hand on your shoulder.

“Very funny,” you tell him.

“I’m serious. I’m always down if you need a body, just as friends,” he teases.

You’ve hooked up with Aegon before. A long time ago in the grand scheme of things. You’ve always been better as best friends. You’d been nearly inseparable since your days at university.

“You’re too kind,” you tell him, scrunching your nose at the offer.

“You’re a great shag,” he continues.

Aegon furrows his brow suddenly, placing a hand under his chin as though he’s lost in thought.

“I still don’t know how you get your leg-”

“Aegon!” you say, putting your hand over his mouth to stop him from continuing.

Aemond saddles up on the other side of Aegon, trying to get the bartender’s attention. He barely pays him any mind as he places another shot in front of you before moving to the other side of the bar to attend to other patrons. Aemond sighs, a low growl releasing from deep within his chest.

Aegon’s frown deepens at his brother’s appearance.

“What’s your problem?” he asks his brother.

The bartender returns for Aemond’s order before dashing away to retrieve your shot.

“Nothing,” Aemond says, though his sulking says otherwise.

As the bartender returns with Aemond’s drink and your shot, you dash some salt on the back of your hand, licking it up before downing the tequila. Aegon glances between you and Aemond, as Aemond sips his old-fashioned and you squeeze the juice from your second lime onto your tongue, trying to get rid of the burn of cheap tequila spreading down your throat.

“Well, as much fun as you grumps are, I’m going to go see Jace,” Aegon says, clasping a hand on your back before moving to leave.

You sigh running a hand through your hair before awkwardly glancing at Aemond. You’ve never really interacted with him much before. Sure, he was your best friend’s brother, but you’re in totally different social circles. Aemond meets your eye, glancing at you sideways. You both stay silent for a moment, unsure of what to do now that Aegon has left.

“So,” you both say simultaneously.

You give him an awkward, nervous giggle. Aemond smiles tightly, nodding for you to continue.

“So…what’s up?” you ask, nodding your head to the beat of the music that blares from the speakers.

“Not much,” Aemond says, leaning against the bar, “What’s got you upset?”

“I’m not upset,” you answer a bit too quickly, a bit too defensively.

Aemond raises an eyebrow at you, turning so his whole profile faces you. You try not to stare at the scar that runs down his face; through his eyebrow, split only by the sapphire blue prosthetic that sparkles in the low lights. You swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat.

“Sorry, yeah I’m a bit upset I guess,” you tell him, “My ex is here. We literally just broke up a couple of weeks ago and yet here he is, drowning in a sea of horny women.”

You click your tongue in annoyance at your confession. For some reason, you feel compelled to continue speaking.

“I guess I shouldn’t be upset though, right? I mean we are broken up but it’s like, the principle of it I guess? We were together a while, you don’t see me just jumping onto someone-”

“Why not?” Aemond interrupts your rambling.

Your lips part slightly, brows knitting together at his rude interruption.

“Why not what?”

“Why not get with someone?” Aemond asks, sipping his drink.

“Did you miss the part where I just got out of a relationship?” you ask him, tilting your head to the side.

“Well that certainly doesn’t seem to matter to him,” Aemond tells you.

You frown, crossing your arms.

“Gee, thanks for that,” you tell him, before moving to leave the bar.

You’ve got to find Aegon, tell him what a shitdick his brother is. Aemond follows close behind as you begin to walk into the crowd.

“Hey! Shit, wait, I’m sorry,” Aemond says to you.

You barely look back, before he tugs on your arm and you turn to face him. You roll your eyes as you do so.

“See, look over there,” Aemond says, jutting his chin to the left.

You follow where he motioned, eyes landing on a beautiful dark-haired girl clad in a black bodycon dress, seated on the lap of some golden-haired guy.

“That’s Floris, my ex-girlfriend,” Aemond tells you, leaning down so he can speak directly in your ear, “We just broke up a couple of months ago. I get it.”

You watch Floris laugh and twirl a strand of hair around a delicate finger. You wonder if Aemond feels the same pain you do when you’re watching Qyle with someone else. A glance at his expression answers your question.

“It’s rough,” you tell him, nodding.

“The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” Aemond muses.

You snort, shaking your head.

“You sound like Aegon,” you playfully accuse.

“Yeah, I’m quoting him,” he admits, causing you to laugh.

You continue giggling, a mixture of alcohol and the ridiculousness of your ex causing you to feel like your sanity is slowly slipping away from you. You groan loudly and Aemond tears his gaze from Floris, to look down at you.

“Fuck I don’t know how to do this anymore,” you groan, “I just wish there was a way to make him regret it, without actually having to begin tragically scouting dating apps again.”

You shake your head but an idea suddenly pops into Aemond’s head.

“Maybe there is a way,” he says suddenly.

“Don’t tempt me,” you tell him but he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” he tells you, “What if you and I pretend to date.”

“What?”

“C’mon, think about it,” Aemond says, leaning closer, “You and me, together. It’ll drive Floris up the wall, I know it. And Qyle too I bet.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. You give him a once over, eyes scanning past the planes of his chest, down his dark jeans. Aemond’s always dressed in black when you see him. His black t-shit hugs the lean muscles of his chest and arms, you can see the ripple of his biceps flexing. His silver chain catches the light as you drag your gaze back up to his face.

“How do you know that?” you ask.

Aemond wets his lips, running a hand through his long silver hair. He shrugs, smugly pursing his lips.

“She was always threatened by you,” he admits.

“Me?!” you ask, eyes widening, nearly popping out of your skull.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Aemond scolds, and you feel your cheeks blooming with blush.

How on Earth were you a threat to Floris Baratheon?

“She didn’t like that you were always around,” Aemond begins, “You’re Aegon’s best friend, you’re gorgeous-”

“Am I?” you ask, a sharp laugh escaping your lips, a smile playing on your face.

Aemond hums, downing the dregs of his drink. His violet eye flickers to your face and you hope he can’t see how flushed his comment made you in the low lights of the club. It’s not every day Aemond Targaryen dishes out compliments, especially to his brother’s best friend.

“Of course you are,” he tells you, “Which is why it's perfect.”

You glance around the club, unconsciously looking for Qyle’s dark curls. You shake your head. You’re not sure what compels you to keep indulging Aemond. Maybe it’s the tequila.

It’s cause he called you gorgeous, your inner thoughts tease.

He’s simply stating facts, you tell yourself. You are gorgeous. And you would love to see Qyle squirm a bit. Even if you’re pretending.

“Okay,” you tell him, “I’m in.”

Your plan goes swimmingly.

It’s not hard to run into Floris and Qyle, you and Aemond make sure to stop by all of your favorite haunts. Aemond takes you to the bookstore downtown, with an adjoining cafe where you run into Floris and her sister Maris, who glares daggers at you the entire time you enjoy your brunch.

You take Aemond to the Water Garden museum, which Qyle told you was one of his favorite places. Sure enough, you have an awkward encounter with your former beau as he’s sketching some lilies that float by on a lapis-colored reflection pool.

Qyle’s smile falters when Aemond laces his fingers through yours, demanding you show him your favorite parts of the museum. You hate to admit it but you like the feeling of his hand in yours, how Aemond actually listens when you explain which exhibits are your favorite. He’s surprisingly easy to make conversation with and a great listener. You never felt like Qyle listened.

Your scheming pays off, both you and Aemond receive heated texts from your exes which you examine weeks later while hosting a party with the gang. The gang being Aegon, Jace, Sara, and Baela. Baela and you have been roomies since university, now sharing an apartment together. You cheers Aemond as he hands you your drink, knocking your red solo cup against his.

“You and I make a fabulous pair, if I do say so myself,” you tell Aemond, taking a sip.

“Yeah, you’re alright I suppose,” he teases and you nudge him in the ribs with your elbow.

The doorbell rings and Baela rises from the couch eagerly. You frown at her.

“You invited more people?” you ask.

Baela nods while heading toward the door.

“Just a few! Alyn from boxing and one of his friends!” she calls to you.

You roll your eyes at her. Baela loves a good party and she makes a good host. You find a seat on the couch, Aemond sitting next to you, watching as Aegon versus Sara in beer pong. When Baela reenters she’s joined by Alyn and another guy.

“Guys, this is Alyn, and his friend Cregan,” Baela introduces.

You smile politely, and all introduce yourselves. Cregan is cute. Like, really cute. Ruggedly handsome, built like a total beefcake. When his brown eyes meet yours you glance away shyly.

“Get wrecked, Sara!” Aegon cheers, successfully winning the game of pong.

“Whatever,” Sara says rolling her eyes.

“Okay let’s do doubles now, Jacey boy be my second,” Aegon says, clapping his hands on Jace’s shoulders.

Jace laughs but begins to reset the cups.

“Y/N, come on be Sara’s partner,” Aegon says, waving you over.

“Fuck you Egg, you’re a cheat I’m not playing again,” Sara says, huffing as she walks away.

She’s historically a sore loser, and she doesn’t budge even when Jace pouts and begs her to play. You stand in front of the table hands on your hips.

“It’s fine, I can take you both,” you tell them, causing Aegon to raise an eyebrow.

“Kinky bestie,” he teases and you throw the ball at his head.

He ducks, dissolving into laughter as Jace blushes.

“I’ll play,” Alyn's friend says suddenly, walking to stand next to you.

You glance at him, smiling softly which he returns with a smile of his own.

“You should know, I’m pretty shit at this game,” he admits, and you giggle softly.

“No worries, I’ll carry us,” you tease, “But beware, that one is a cheater.”

You point at Aegon, and he opens his mouth dramatically, placing a hand on his heart.

“That’s a pretty harsh accusation coming from the master of distraction,” he accuses.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, blinking innocently.

“Don’t let her fool you, Cregan,” Aegon says shaking his head and bouncing the ball against the table, “This one is known for flashing her tits if it means she can win.”

“Aegon!” you hiss, blushing furiously, “He’s lying.”

“Mhmm, we’ll see,” Aegon teases and the game begins.

While Aemond enjoys watching you play, he decides rather quickly he does not like Alyn’s friend Cregan. Specifically, the way he stands so closely next to you, and the way he seems to be so hilarious. Every laugh he steals from your lips sends Aemond’s heart racing, his blood boiling in his veins.

He stays seated on the couch for the entire game, eye never leaving you. Baela plops down next to him at one point, her gaze following his and landing on you. Aemond notices he’s being observed a second too late, tearing his gaze away and nonchalantly taking a sip of his drink.

“Mhmm,” Baela says, fighting a smile.

“Shut up,” he snaps at his cousin.

The shenanigans continue late into the night, with Sara and Jace leaving first. You raise your eyebrows at Sara. They’re not technically together, but the sparks are there. You know Jace will have to make a move soon, he just needs to get a little braver. Aegon is picked up by Rhaenyra next, he’s too drunk to drive. He places a sloppy kiss on your cheek as you help Rhaenyra lift him into her red Cadillac.

“I love you so much, you’re my best friend,” Aegon slurs.

“I love you too, Egg,” you tell him, laughing at his ridiculousness.

He sits up in the backseat looking around.

“Is this Nyra’s car? Is Nyra here??” he asks loudly, eyes wide.

“Yes you idiot, you called me!” Nyra says getting into the front seat.

“I’m so glad you’re here, my big sister!!” Aegon says, pressing his face against the leather seats, “Can we get McDonald's?”

For some reason, Aemond lingers behind as the party dies down, it's only you, Baela, Alyn, and Cregan left. As the hours get later, Alyn and Cregan finally decide to leave, but not before Cregan insists you take his number.

You’ve started picking up cups and plates, not one to find sleep easily after a rager. Baela turned in for the night, you can hear her noise machine blaring even though her room’s on the second floor. You roomed with her in college, she can’t sleep in silence. Noise machine, fan on, and she’s out like a light.

“You really got his number?” Aemond asks, from the couch across the room.

You glance at Aemond as he sits, legs splayed out, arms draped over the back of the couch. One of his large hands holds a now empty red solo cup. He taps a long finger against it.

“Who?”

“Alyn’s friend,” Aemond says, not taking his eye off you.

“Oh...Craig?” you tell him.

Shit, that is totally not that guy's name.

You frown, standing straight, a red solo cup dangling from your fingers. You put his name into your phone as an emoji of a wolf. It seemed funny at the time though you can’t remember why.

“Or Connor? Something with a C I think,” you tell him, shrugging.

“What about us?” he asks.

“What about us?” you ask, placing a hand on your hip, “Aemond, we’re not really dating.”

You move closer to him, holding your hand out to take his empty cup. Your hand nearly wraps around it when Aemond pulls it out of your reach. You narrow your eyes playfully at him, reaching once more. Aemond’s free hand wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer.

A blush creeps up your neck, heat floods your face as Aemond lets the cup fall, bringing his other hand to pull you completely onto his lap. Suddenly straddling him a gasp falls from your lips before Aemond swallows the noise by placing his lips against yours.

Holy fuck.

Aemond Targaryen is a good kisser. You admit, you thought he must be with that perfect pout on his handsome face. As you whimper against him, Aemond slides his tongue into your mouth, hands gripping your waist as you roll your hips against him.

You slide your hands around his neck, running your hands through the silky strands of his hair and letting your nails drag across the nape of his neck. He shivers against you and you do it again. Aemond’s hands slide underneath your shirt, dancing up your ribs leaving a trail of goosebumps behind at his surprisingly gentle touch.

“What were you saying?” Aemond murmurs against your mouth.

“We…” your voice trails off as Aemond moves his lips from your mouth, ghosting them across your jawbone, down the column of your neck.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, the vibrations tingling against your throat.

Aemond nips at the skin of your neck before pressing hot, wet kisses along your throat. Gods you are so wet already, squirming anxiously in his lap as one of his large hands squeeze the swell of your ass, the other continuing its exploration under your shirt, over your breasts.

“Aem-” you whimper as he palms your breast in his hand.

Gods he feels good, just squeezing and kissing you, showering you with affection.

“You like that?” he murmurs, teeth scraping against your collarbone.

“Yes,” you breathe, rolling your hips against the growing hardness you feel between his legs.

He’s packing, you can tell by the way he’s pressed against you; hard and demanding. Though you suspected as much with how tall and lean he is, by the size of his hands. You’d been thinking about Aemond a lot actually.

“What do you like?” Aemond asks between kisses, “Tell me.”

“Aemond please,” you moan, “Please keep touching me.”

“Where, baby?” he asks, pinching your nipple between his fingers.

“Please touch my pussy,” you beg.

Aemond grins wolfishly, bringing his hand to the hem of your shirt. You release your grip on his neck as he pulls your shirt over your head. You assist him, eager to keep going as you unclasp your bra and fling it across the room.

Aemond’s eyes fall on your heaving breasts before he leans forward burying his face between them. Your head falls back with pleasure as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly on the sensitive peak. He alternates his attention between both mounds, being shamelessly lewd with the wet sounds his mouth makes. You’re desperate at this point, breasts covered in red marks, nearly soaked from his mouth.

“Aemond please,” you beg once more and he lets his hand trail up your thigh and under your skirt.

His long fingers easily slip under your lace underwear, spreading your slick folds and swirling around your clit.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Aemond murmurs, mouth still buried in your tits.

Your head is spinning, ears ringing from pleasure as he sinks two fingers easily into your clenching center. You inhale a sharp breath as he crooks his fingers into the perfect ‘come hither’ position, determined to find your sweet spot. Which he does, with impressive speed as your eyes squeeze tightly shut, jaw slack with pleasure.

“Eyes on me,” he demands, “Don’t be rude, look at who’s making you cum.”

You force your eyes open, staring at him as fingers you relentlessly, rubbing your inner walls while his thumb rolls even circles around your clit. Pleasure blooms in your abdomen, it tingles up your spine. Your imminent orgasm sends warmth spreading through your limbs, your pussy clenching around Aemond’s fingers, a vice-like grip.

As you’re nearing the edge, breaths becoming desperate pants, Aemond slows his movements, swallowing your disappointed whine with a kiss.

“I know,” he sing-songs, so smugly, so condescendingly, “but you haven’t learned your lesson yet.”

He slowly removes his fingers from your dripping cunt and wraps his hands around your thighs pushing you off of him. You stand in front of him on shaky legs, and Aemond takes in the sight of you standing in your heels and skirt, topless and marked by him.

“Take off your panties,” he softly commands.

There’s no need for him to ask you twice, you move to the buttons of your skirt, but he stops you.

“Leave that on,” he tells you.

Your hands move underneath your skirt, pulling your lace panties down slowly. Aemond moves his hands toward his belt buckle, releasing his cock as you do so. Your eyes widen, at the sight of him; fully erect, pink tip leaking with precum as he slowly runs his hand along his shaft. You can see every vein that runs along his pale cock, and you were right about him being well-endowed. He’s thick and long and your mouth nearly waters at the sight.

Aemond’s mouth quirks into a smile at your staring, before he reaches out to pull you back onto his lap. He reaches for his wallet, but it's your turn to stop him.

“I’m on birth control,” you tell him, “And I was recently tested.”

“Me too,” Aemond says, “The tested, not the birth control.”

You giggle at his joke, and he grins.

“I want to feel you,” you tell him, a rosy blush blooming across your cheeks.

Aemond pulls you into another bruising kiss, as you lift your hips. You can feel the fat head of his cock kissing your slick folds, and you shiver before lower your hips onto him, engulfing him fully in your tight, wet heat. Aemond lets out a shuddering moan as he bottoms out.

Your pussy clenches around him, and you can feel him pulsating inside you like a second heartbeat as you gingerly roll your hips against him. Aemond’s jaw slacks, his violet eye blown black with lust as you begin to ride him.

He lets you for a moment, before he wraps his hands around your waist, pressing you into the couch on your back. Aemond snaps his hips against you, pulling nearly all the way out until you can just feel the head of his cock, before slamming into you once more.

Whimpers and moans fill the living room, along with skin slapping against the skin as he fucks you into the couch.

“I want you to call him,” Aemond growls in your ear, “Tell him you’re seeing someone.”

“I will,” you promise him, as he delivers another punishing thrust.

“Now.”

Your breathing stops, your heart pounding erratically in your chest.

“Aemond, no,” you whimper, as his hand wraps around your throat.

“Yes,” he tells you, kissing you sloppily eliciting another moan from you.

Thighs trembling, your pussy spasms around his thick cock and he slows his punishing pace suddenly.

“If you want to cum tonight, you’ll call him now,” Aemond tells you.

You weigh your options for a moment.

“My phone,” you choke out, motioning to the side table.

Aemond smirks, moving his hand to the back of your neck, reaching for your phone with his free hand. He hands it to you and you take it with a shaky hand.

You scroll through your contacts to find wolf boy and press the call button as Aemond lets his hand run down your chest, between the valley of your breasts and lower to play with your clit. Your pussy clenches around his still cock, desperate for him to move.

Please don’t pick up.

The phone keeps ringing, your orgasm building with each ring, each swirl of his dexterous fingers.

Please don’t pick up.

Aemond kisses your neck, your collarbone. Mumbles filthy words against your skin like a prayer.

“You like warming my cock, baby?”

Please don’t pick up.

He takes your nipple in his mouth, tugging on it with his lips, his teeth. Oh god you’re going to-

The sharp cut to wolf boy’s voicemailbox brings you back to reality. Aemond removes his fingers from your clit and you whimper with disappointment before the beep of the answering machine.

“He-hey! Hello there,” you try to sound casual, “this is um this is Y/N from the party and I just-”

Aemond sinks his teeth into the junction where your shoulder meets your neck and your jaw drops.

“I just wanted to tell you, I’m actually, um I’m-” your voice trails off, eyes fluttering shut as Aemond sucks harshly on your neck.

Aemond pulls away, a wolfish grin on his face before he plucks your phone from your hand, pressing it to his ear.

“She’s seeing someone, and she’s busy right now,” he says roughly, “Delete this number.”

Aemond hangs up, tossing your phone to the other end of the couch. Your eyes are wide as he spreads your legs wide, pressing them back into the cushions of the couch as he begins to pound into you.

The sound of wet slaps fills the room and you’re thanking every deity you can think of that Baela is a heavy sleeper.

“You liked that didn’t you?” Aemond taunts, “Calling him with my cock inside you?”

Whimpers and moans leave you with every snap of Aemond’s hips.

“Yes,” you admit, feeling a rush roll through you at his possessiveness.

“Naughty girl, you are,” he chastises, “I don’t think naughty girls deserve to cum.”

You let out a desperate whine and Aemond chuckles darkly at your disappointed reaction. You bite your lip, the delicious sting of your hamstrings paired with Aemond’s precise thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please, Aemond,” you beg, eyes glassy with want, “Please make me cum, I want you to.”

“I bet you do,” Aemond tells you, bringing a hand to rest against your throat once more, “Needy sluts, always want to cum.”

“Aem, please,” you continue to beg, voice hoarse, “I’ll be so good.”

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Will you now? That’s what I like to hear,” Aemond praises, “How?”

“I’ll be all yours, only yours,” you tell him, toes curling with the building pressure in your abdomen, “Fuck, I’m yours.”

“Hmmm that’s better,” Aemond tells you, “It’s you and me, baby.”

“You and me,” you repeat, nearly dumb with pleasure, “you and me.”

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond praises, releasing your throat and bringing his hand to play with your clit, “Cum for me, cum all over my cock.”

Your belly tightens and with a strangled cry, you’re clenching and coating Aemond’s cock and lower stomach with your release. Aemond continues to fuck your sensitive walls through your orgasm, as you run your nails down his back, holding him closer. He lets go of your legs and you wrap them around his waist.

“Cum inside me, please,” you whimper.

Aemond kisses you harshly, his thrusts becoming frantic as you feel him release deep inside of you. You whimper with pleasure, sinking your nails into his shoulder and keeping him inside you. Aemond kisses you again, more gently this time, and brushes some hair from your face.

“Holy shit,” you manage to say, and Aemond smirks.

“I didn’t plan on that,” he tells you, “but seeing you with Cregan-”

“Cregan! That was his name,” you interrupt.

Aemond furrows his brow.

“I fuck you that good?” he teases.

“I forgot his name before you fucked me,” you tell him.

“I can always try again,” he tells you.

“Maybe we can move it to my room this time?” you ask, “It is, three feet away after all.”

And that’s exactly what you do, leading Aemond into your room where he fucks you with his fingers, his cock, and his tongue until his name is the only one you can remember at all.

“Y/N?” Baela calls from the living room the following morning.

You open your eyes and turn, greeted by a sleeping Aemond Targaryen. You put on his shirt and open the door to your room, peeking your head out.

Baela stands, arms crossed, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Have fun last night?” she asks.

“Yeah…” you answer slowly.

Baela’s eyes flicker across the room and you follow her gaze. Your eyes land on your monstera plant that rests in the corner of the room, and your cheeks begin to burn as you see your bra strung over the leaves.

“Tell Aemond good morning,” Baela teases as you back into your room, and close the door.

You pad back over to your bed, sinking down onto the mattress. Aemond groans before his hand wraps around your waist pulling you closer.

“Good morning,” you whisper, bumping your nose against his.

note: HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT ILYSM

1K notes · View notes

letmeloveyouuuu · 11 months

Text

Wicked Game E.M.

Warnings: 18+, minors don't interact! angst, slightly mean!Eddie, enemies to lovers, smut, Eddie calls reader names, choking, Eddie spits in reader's mouth, masturbation, unprotected sex, jealous Eddie, jealous reader, Eddie calling himself freak, hurt/comfort, Eddie calls reader ‘bee’, it’s a nickname he gave her

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Your best friend Steve and his new friend bring someone into your life that you just can't stand, Eddie Munson. He teases you, he says mean things to you and as foolish as you are, you still desire him- just like he desires you.

Word count: 12.5k+

Note: @take-everything-you-can , thank you for this amazing request. I hope you're gonna like this one, I loved writing it!

stranger things masterlist

Tagging some people who might be interested 🥰 @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @corrodedcorpses @mysticmunson @aftermidnightwriting @bimbobaggins69

You and your best friend come as a package deal, wherever one goes, the other follows. There is not a single day you spend without each other, you do lunch breaks together, he comes over to hang out even when you’re busy studying or doing homework, you help him get ready for dates and he helps you pick out outfits for parties, when he’s sick, you take care of him and vice versa. You adore him. You are pretty sure that you will move in together if neither of you find a partner till then.

You grew up together and always stuck to each other’s side.

When your best friend found a second best friend, you were scared that you would lose him but luckily, that wasn’t the case, he didn’t leave, he didn’t abandon you like others would do after making new friends. You would always be his number one and he made that very clear and she became your best friend as well. Robin is amazing, you adore her just as much as you adore Steve. She is funny and sweet and you love spending time with her but you can’t stand her ‘forever’ best friend, Eddie Munson.

That man had it out for you ever since he laid eyes on you, you don’t know what it is about you that makes him so mad but he never fails to make you feel irritated and angry. Eddie is not malicious in any way, he is no bully. He just makes his dislike for you very known. He teases you, makes sly and snarky comments, glares at you before you even turn to look at him.

That was before your best friend became his best friend.

Now it’s so much worse because not only do you have to tolerate him at school, you also have to tolerate him in your free time.

While Robin is always sweet and supportive of you.

Eddie is grumpy, mean and annoyed with you.

You don’t know where it had all started, you can’t even remember if you ever even talked to him before he chose to hate you, all you remember is the cold shoulder he only ever gave you.

You do wonder why he dislikes you so much, is it because you come from the popular crowd? Maybe. But Steve used to be the most popular guy in school and Eddie still gets along with him and likes him. Is it because you have wealthy parents? Because you live in a big house, wear fancy clothes and have a nice car? Possible. But Steve has it all too and he never gets shit from Eddie. Or are you just an unlikable person to him? Now, that would make you sad because that would mean that he would just hate you for the person you are, he would hate you for your personality, for being you.

But then things take a small turn after a party at Steve’s place. You see a little deeper into his mind.

“What’s with the scowl on your face, bee?” Eddie asks as he gets so close to your face that you can smell the disgusting beer and cigarettes.

“Ew, get off,” you scowl as you push him away, “and stop calling me that, nerd.”

Eddie hasn’t strayed away from that nickname ever since you had been stung by one when you were all out at the lake, you kept swatting away the bee that continuously made it’s way back to you, you called it annoying and hissed in pain when it had stung you. Eddie laughed at your demise, ‘you’re a bee too, annoying and ready to attack’.

He smirks, flicking your hair, he moves back and plops down on the bench beside you, he follows your gaze, he can’t even help but scoff when he sees what you’re looking at.

Steve is talking to the girl that stood him up a week ago, calling off the date because of her upset stomach but then you and Robin ran into her at the store, she was with a different guy, he hugged her from behind and kissed her neck while she was picking out snacks, not looking sick at all.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “jealous huh?”

You scrunch your face up, tearing your eyes away from Steve, you turn to look at Eddie, “why would I be jealous?”

He shrugs, leaning back, he blows smoke into your face and smirks when you begin to cough.

“Because you’re in love with Steve.”

A loud laugh falls from your lips, earning a few looks from the other partygoers who spend the night out in the garden rather than the crowded house.

“I’m not in love with Steve,” you snort, shaking your head as your eyes flicker with amusement.

It’s not the first time that someone assumed that you are in love with him or that he is in love with you. You get mistaken for a couple, all the time, sometimes you play along just for the fun of it but you and Steve are not into each other, at all. It has always been purely platonic between you two, there’s no feelings on his part and neither on yours. You are best friends, platonic soulmates.

“Yes, you are,” Eddie says.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, “what makes you say that?”

“Because you’re super close and you are fiercely protective of him, like in a way where you can just tell that you’re in love with him.”

“That’s such nonsense,” you scoff, “I’m protective, yes.”

He nods, shrugging.

“Because he is my best friend! One who got hurt by a girl he used to love, he got his heart broken, twice! I don’t want it to happen again, he deserves better.”

Eddie thinks about your words, searching for something in your eyes, for a moment, you think that he believes you but then he shakes his head.

“Yeah, you’re still in love with him.”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, you lean back, “okay well, then you’re in love with Robin.”

Eddie laughs loudly, throwing his head back. You glare at him, growing irritated by his presence.

“You’re funny, bee.”

“Why am I funny? I mean, you’re just as close as Steve and I are,” you shrug.

His brown eyes twinkle with amusement, he leans in closer. You ignore the way his cologne makes your head spin or the way his eyes flicker down to your lips or the way he– ‘Stop!’ you tell yourself.

“Robin doesn’t swing that way, remember?”

A breathy laugh leaves your lips and you smirk at him, “yeah but you do, right?” You ask, raising your eyebrows, “just because she isn’t into you or into men in general, doesn’t mean that you can’t have feelings for her. Unrequited love is a thing, you know that right?”

His eyes darken, smirk falling from his lips, his expression hardens, he eyes your face slowly, nodding after a moment of silence, “yeah, it’s a thing. I know that,” he mumbles under his breath, bitterly. He clenches his jaw and looks away.

You furrow your brows as you stare at his side profile. There’s something deeper behind his words, you know that but you choose to ignore it.

“So, you are in love with her, huh?” You ask, smirking in satisfaction when you realize that you have successfully used his own teasing against him.

He scoffs, putting his cigarette between his lips, he stretches his arm out behind you and looks up at the sky, “no, I’m not in love with her.”

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you nod, shrugging, “well, then you gotta believe me that I’m not in love with Steve.”

He snorts at you, “right, okay.”

Placing your palms on the bench, you take a moment to look at him. It’s a hot summer night, the heat forced him to leave his beloved leather jacket at home or probably in the van. He wears a muscle shirt, some band logo you don’t recognize on the front. You let your eyes roam, eying his belt, you wonder if he had bought it that way or if he added the cuffs himself– wherever he got them from, either way, it looks good. He plays with the loose strings on his dark jeans, you notice a new ring on his middle finger, you look up, your eyes land on his pale neck. Squeezing your thighs together, you lick your lips and blink, pulling yourself out of your thoughts, your eyes meet his– he caught you staring.

A smirk pulls at his lips, he eyes your flustered face, whether you realize it or not, you’re biting your bottom lip and squeezing your thighs together– oh, it seems like he found something new to tease you about.

“Are you checking me out?”

For the first time, you have nothing to say, nothing to fight back with, no snarky remarks or comments left for you to give. Instead of saying something, you scoff and roll your eyes at him before you jump up and walk away, leaving a satisfied Eddie behind.

The next time Eddie sees you, you barely even look at him or acknowledge his presence and it pisses him off. It’s no secret that you don’t like him, you let him know any chance you get. You roll your eyes at him, you snap at him and refuse to sit next to him, even when it’s the only free seat left. Eddie takes it as a rejection, he thinks you are repulsed by him and by anything he does.

A part of him assumes that you think he is gross, after all, that’s what the girls at school say about him. They assume that he is unhygienic, that he doesn’t look after himself, that he doesn’t shower or washes his clothes and that’s why you refuse to sit next to him.

Eddie was always an observer, a very good one, except when it comes to you. You refuse to sit next to him because his cologne makes you dizzy, in a way it shouldn’t because Eddie hates you, you shouldn’t like anything about him, you shouldn't have any positive feelings for him.

Eddie thinks you laugh and giggle at the jokes people make about him, not knowing that you always defend him even when he still hates you.

“Eddie,” Robin hisses, nudging his shoulder.

“What?” He grumbles, still staring– glaring at you and your stupid smile as you look through the polaroid pictures you have taken with Robin earlier when you went out to a big flower field to take pretty pictures.

“Stop looking at her like you’re trying to make her disappear.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m trying to do,” Eddie shrugs as he reaches for the bag of M&M’s, opening the bag and putting the candy into the bowl that Steve had put out on the counter.

Robin rolls her eyes, groaning in annoyance, “you know, if you just tried to get along with her, things could be so much easier.”

Eddie hates the way his heart skips a beat when you throw your head back in laughter after Steve had whispered something in your ear. Jealousy rushes through him when Steve comes up behind you and lays his chin on your shoulder, looking at the pictures with you.

Robin knows her best friend very well. She knows that he doesn’t hate you or dislike you in any way, he is intimidated by you, by the feelings he could have if he just let them in. Eddie had crushes before but they were all lighthearted ones, he, himself didn’t even take them seriously, he just admired that person and then moved on a few days later but you? He always had a thing for you, even before Robin befriended Steve, and you and Eddie were forced into each other’s lives. He always looked at you differently but compared to his other crushes, he never let you become one or at least, that’s what he made himself believe. You are more than just a crush.

“Why me? She’s the one who’s being a bitch.”

Robin scoffs, laughing at her best friend, “you’re not serious right now, are you?”

Eddie’s brown eyes flash with annoyance, “I am serious.”

Robin runs her fingers through her short hair, “you’re such an idiot, Munson.”

He scrunches his face up, tearing his eyes away from you and Steve, he turns towards his best friend, “why am I an idiot?”

“Because you’re the one who’s always being mean towards her for no reason, you act like a damn child who can’t deal with the crush he has on that one girl,” she says in a hushed whisper, glancing at you to see if you or Steve are looking, “you’re my best friend and I love you dude but grow up, you’re 20 for fucks sake!”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at her, he’s not even hurt, just amused and surprised.

“Oh and if you haven’t realized it yet, the thing you’re feeling whenever you look at her and Steve, it’s called jealousy,” she smirks as she grabs a few of the snacks they have prepared, “Steve is truly just a best friend, they’re purely platonic, with a capital P, like you and I,” she says, pointing between them, “but when she actually starts dating someone, imagine how you’ll feel then. So, you better get that stick out of your ass and start treating her the way you actually want to treat her.”

She leaves him standing in the kitchen, smirking to herself when she notices the flustered look on his face. She knows that he likes you, just like Steve knows that you like Eddie. You’re both too stubborn to realize it.

“Are we ready for movie night, or what?” Robin asks as she places the snacks on the table.

“Yes!” You say, clapping your hands together, you start collecting the polaroid pictures.

“What are we starting with?” Steve asks as he gets up to put the tape in, “the shining or the evil dead?”

“Both are gross,” you shudder.

“Aw, does the princess need protection?” Eddie asks as he walks into the living room.

Steve chuckles, smirking at Eddie while you roll your eyes. You get up and walk past him with the pictures in your hand, you put them back in your little backpack, not noticing that you have left one on the floor. Eddie’s eyes fall on the picture, putting the bowl of M&M’s on the table, he bends down to pick it up, it’s a picture of you, it’s a little blurry but still sharp enough for him to see all your beauty. Your smile is bright, your eyes are squinted, the sun is shining down on you, making your skin glow. You’re wearing the same little sundress you’re wearing right now, flowers are tucked into your hair. Eddie can’t even help but smile, his heart beats a little faster.

You are so beautiful.

“Alright, let’s watch the movie!” Steve says, startling Eddie, who quickly puts the picture into the backpocket of his jeans, looking around to see if anyone has noticed anything but no one did. Steve settles on the couch, Robin plops down next to him, giving him a knowing smirk. Steve nudges her shoulder as he reaches for the bowl of popcorn.

Eddie shakes his head, sighing. They are plotting something, he knows, they are.

Sitting down on the other end of the couch, he leaves the spot next to Robin for you, already expecting you to complain about sitting next to him. To his surprise, you sit down next to him without a single complaint.

Eddie is a little surprised.

“Do you want cuddles, bee?” Eddie smirks.

You roll your eyes as you look at him, “from you? No thanks.”

He chuckles, “aw, come on, I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m not even scared.”

Lies.

As much as you love horror movies, some of them just scare you. You flinch at every jump scare, hide your face behind your hands and use every possible excuse to leave the room, whether it is to get snacks or having to use the bathroom and as though the darkness in Steve’s big house isn’t bad enough, it also starts storming outside. The winds are heavy and the thunder is loud, it begins to rain harder and harder.

Your knees are pulled to your chest and you opt to look out the window instead of the TV screen, just as one of the characters starts screaming, Eddie pokes your waist, startling you.

“Eddie!” You shriek, slapping his arm, you glare at him as he starts laughing at your reaction.

“Eddie!” He mimics, pouting at you.

You roll your eyes, clenching your jaw.

“Leave her alone, Munson,” Steve chuckles as he throws some popcorn at him, some of it landing in your hair as well and your cleavage.

Eddie snorts, looking down at his chest, he picks up some of the popcorn and pops it in his mouth, “thanks, I was just about to get some popcorn.”

You shake your head when Steve throws more at him, ducking out of the way, you pick out the ones in your hair. Eddie snatches them out of your hand, “give them to me.”

You furrow your brows, watching him eat them.

“You want this one too?” You joke as you reach for the one that got stuck in your cleavage.

His eyes widen, a smirk tugging at his lips, he looks into your eyes and you can already see the mischief, the kind of smile that tells that he is up to no good. He leans closer, instead of taking it with his fingers, he opens his mouth, waiting for you to place it on his tongue.

You swallow nervously, your hand moves out of instinct, placing the sweet treat on his tongue, you gasp a little when he wraps his lips around your finger.

What the fuck?

Your eyes widen, heat rushes to your cheeks and once again, Eddie forces you to squeeze your thighs together. His lips feel hot against your skin and he looks into your eyes as he licks your finger, you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to feel his lips on other parts of your body, to feel his tongue on your clit and his ringed fingers inside of you as he looks up at you the way he does right now.

Eddie smirks, he knows what he has done to you. He pulls away, feeling satisfied enough, for now. He leans back against the soft cushions and places his hand on his chest, looking back at the screen, he acts like nothing even happened, while you are left a blushing mess.

You blink and stare at him in disbelief, goosebumps litter your skin and your heart beats fastly in your chest. As you come back to reality, you suddenly grow incredibly embarrassed, knowing that Steve and Robin most likely watched it all happen but when you turn to glance at them, you notice that Robin is fast asleep and Steve’s eyes are glued to the TV, though the smirk on his face tells you that he saw it all.

For the rest of the night, you sit there with a flustered look on your face, waiting for it to be over.

The following weeks, Eddie continues to act the same way, mostly.

He is still mean, snappy and annoying but on top of that, he added his teasing. You know it’s only to humiliate you, knowing that he can make you blush, that he can make you feel something other than anger towards him, he can see the way you react to his subtle touches and suggestive comments. A part of you thought that he would be less rude after realizing that he can get a different kind of rise out of you but you thought wrong, if anything, he becomes meaner and meaner and it all takes an unexpected turn at Tina’s annual Halloween Party.

Eddie only came reluctantly, he never liked parties and only ever came to make money or to accompany his friends. Steve and Robin are on the dance floor, throwing back drinks, laughing at their own jokes and dancing with a group of drunk and giggling girls.

Eddie rolls his eyes as he looks around, recognizing some jocks from school with their cheerleader girlfriends who give him nasty looks. He clutches the can of beer tightly against his chest, he tries to entertain himself by looking at all the different costumes but not even that will distract him from the awful music, the annoying people or you.

You are wearing a fairy costume, a really exposing one. Clad in a short sage green dress, a tight corset, wings that are littered with rhinestones and glitter, heeled boots and a tiara, you look more beautiful than ever, magical.

Eddie’s heart fluttered in his chest when he saw you as him and Robin waited for you and Steve. He was actually frozen in place and awestruck and so was the guy, you are heavily flirting with right now.

Your back is pressed against the wall, you’re giggling and smiling at the guy in front of you, his hand is placed against the wall next to your head, he ducks down a little, leaning closer to you so he can hear you better over the loud music.

Eddie clenches his jaw, anger flooding through his veins the longer he watches you flirt with the jock he can’t remember the name of.

He puts his other hand on your waist and leans in to whisper something into your ear, you bite your lip and nod causing more anger to rush through Eddie. He can’t stand this, the sight of some asshole touching you, playing with your hair and making you giggle.

Eddie grips his drink tighter, enough to almost crush it. He watches you with darkened eyes.

The guy takes your hand and begins to pull you away, the blush on your face is deep and you fight the smile off your face, you don’t even acknowledge Eddie’s presence as you walk past him, hand in hand with the other man who leads you towards the stairs.

Eddie feels incredibly angry.

It’s the kind of anger he had never felt before.

He knows exactly what will happen once the jock has you all to himself and Eddie can’t stand the thought of it. The fire inside of him becomes unbearable, he can’t let it happen. He slams the can of beer on a nearby table and follows you, stomping after you angrily. He pushes some drunk guy out of his way who stumbles back, slurring some curse word at Eddie who doesn’t even bother to look at him. Before you can even take a step further, Eddie reaches for your hand and pulls you back. Your hand slips from the other’s man’s grip and you stumble back into Eddie’s chest, yelping.

Your confused face meets his, your lips part when you see the anger in his eyes.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, sounding like a man, possessed.

You furrow your brows, “w-what?”

Your new friend turns around, looking between you and Eddie.

“Get lost,” Eddie snaps at him, glaring at the jock, not bothering to look back, he just pulls you along with him, rolling his eyes at your protests.

“Eddie!” You slap his arm, “let me go!”

He only shakes his head, walking towards the entrance with a determined look on his face, he opens the door and pulls you out with him. Shutting it behind you and standing it front it so you won’t be able to get back in.

“What the hell is your problem!”

“What were you doing with that guy?” He asks, completely ignoring your question or the angry look on your face.

He irritates you in the worst ways possible.

“That’s none of your business, Munson!” You yell, “why do you even care?”

Eddie avoids eye contact, he looks down at the ground instead and sighs.

“You do know that he just wants to fuck you, right?” He mumbles.

“Yeah, you do know that maybe I wanted just that?” You retort, throwing your hands up, “if you haven’t noticed, I don’t really have a boyfriend, oh and might I add that it’s probably your fault?”

To hear that you wanted to hook up with some random guy, some jock, makes him feel sick but to hear you saying that you don’t have a boyfriend because of him makes him smirk, he can’t even fight it off, not even when he looks up at you and feigns annoyance, “why me?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, you can’t even feel the breeze on your exposed skin, you are too angry to notice anything.

“Every time a guy even looks my way, you’re there, scaring them away! And god forbid someone even comes close to me or touches me in any way!”

You are fed up with him and his stupid actions.

You know why he is doing it, he wants to see you miserable and you are miserable, he knows that. He can see the longing looks in your eyes whenever you see a cute couple out on the streets, the sad smiles that pull at your lips whenever you see a guy getting his girlfriend flowers, taking her out on dates or even something as simple as opening the door for her and placing his hand on the small of her back.

You crave intimacy, you crave having someone to call your own, being someone's favorite person. Yeah, you might be Steve’s favorite person, his girl but you won’t be forever, someday he is gonna meet that one girl that he will drop anyone and anything for, even you and when that happens, you won’t have anyone.

You aren’t lucky in the dating department, at all. If it isn’t Eddie scaring the guys away, then it’s you, doing it for him.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” You ask, “I know you hate me but god, when I hate someone, I stay away from them, why can’t you do the same for me?”

Eddie frowns at your words, his eyes flash with guilt when he sees the tears in your eyes, you aren’t just angry this time, you’re also hurt.

“Maybe I was just protecting you,” he shrugs.

You scoff at his words, shaking your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes for a moment, “protect me,” you mumble, “right, am I supposed to believe that?” You ask as you look back into his eyes. You struggle to read him. Eddie’s walls are so high up, you can’t even sneak a peek.

He nods, “yes, the guy is a jock, bee.”

“So?”

“He would just hurt you!” He says angrily, taking a step forward, “he would get his dick wet and leave you with nothing, then he would brag about it to his friends and I can assure you, that guy doesn’t even know how to make a girl cum, I did you a favor.”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head, “do you?”

He blinks.

“What?”

“Do you know how to make a girl cum?”

He blushes at your words, drawing back a little, he straightens up and chuckles, “of course.”

You lick your lips, looking him up and down. Eddie must be one of the only ones without a costume, you wonder why he isn’t wearing one, that guy is in love with his fantasy game, there is no way that he is no fan of Halloween and costumes.

“Right,” you snort.

“You don’t believe me?” He asks as he steps even closer to you.

You shrug, “nope, I don’t believe you.”

One moment, he was standing feets away from you and suddenly, he is right in front of you. Dangerously close. You have to tilt your head to meet his eyes and when you do, your heart skips a beat. His eyes are dark, pupils blown as he sneaks a look at your lips.

You can smell his cologne, his aftershave, him. You would never tell him that but he drives you crazy, he makes your stomach flutter, he stays on your mind for too long, sneaking his way into your thoughts when you touch yourself at night.

Eddie reaches his hand out to touch your face, he cups your cheek and lets his thumb rest on your bottom lip. Just like the night at Steve’s place, your breath hitches in your throat and you grow incredibly flustered.

“Do you want me to show you?” He whispers.

Your eyes widen, a small gasp falls from your lips.

What?

No way, did he just ask you that?

He is playing with you, isn’t he?

By now he knows the effect he has on you. He knows that you blush when he is around, he knows that you feel something when he touches you, he knows that you can’t get him off your mind. He knows it all and he decides to use it against you, he knows that he can humiliate you, he knows that he can hurt you and it brings him enjoyment.

The smirk on his face and the amusement in his eyes tells you all that. Internally, he is making fun of you, he is satisfied that he ruined your night and as though that isn’t enough, he now uses your attraction towards him as a weapon, to laugh about you later on and make fun of you with his band buddies.

You slap his hand away, your brows draw together and your nervous stare turns into an angry frown, “don’t touch me, asshole.”

Though he is a little surprised, he still chuckles.

You shake your head and step away from him, turning around, you don’t even bother going back inside to let your friends know that you’re leaving or to get your jacket, you just want to be away from him.

It’s late and it’s cold, you are scared to walk through the empty streets alone but you are too stubborn to back around.

“Hey!”

You roll your eyes at him and continue to walk.

“Where are you going?”

You don’t bother to answer, you hug yourself tighter to shield yourself from the cold, blinking away the angry tears. The streets are empty, aside from the many cars on the side of the streets, you walk past Steve’s car, suddenly regretting the decision to walk away and choosing to walk home alone, on Halloween night.

You hear his footsteps though and as much as you hate to admit it, you do feel at ease knowing that he comes after you.

Eddie rolls his eyes at your silence but he admires the view in front of him. Your dress is a thin and flowy one, it swats from one side to the other with each step that you take, the wind causes it to lift up a bit, exposing your naked skin. Eddie almost growls at the side of it.

“Bee!”

“Stop calling me that, you dick!”

Eddie snorts at you, your insults never hurt him, if anything, they amuse him. When you look at him with anger in your eyes and snap back at him, you look cuter than ever. He picks up the pace and just as you pass his van, he grabs your arm and pulls you back, smirking at your little yelp, he slams you against his van and steps in front of you, caging you against it.

It’s dark and yet he can see the nervous and shy look in your eyes, he can see the way you tense up and press yourself against the van as though it will make you feel him any less against you.

“Will you stop running away from me?”

He places his hands on your waist, touching you in such a gentle way that it makes your knees buckle, almost. You look into his dark eyes, growing more and more irritated. Why can’t he just let you go? Why can’t he just stay out of your goddamn way? Why does he have to make things so hard for you?

You hate him.

“Will you stop sticking your nose into my business?” You ask angrily as you place your hand on his chest to push him away, as though you will find the strength to, “will you stop following me around just to piss me off? Seriously, what do you get out of this, huh?”

Eddie shrugs, the smirk remains on his lips, he eyes the scowl on your face, the flash with irritation in your eyes, he looks down at your chest, watching the way it rises up and down heavily.

“It’s fun to see you like this.”

You clench your jaw and scoff.

“It’s fun to ruin my life?”

Now it’s his turn to scoff, he rolls his eyes at your words, “you’re so dramatic.”

"Oh, am I?" You mumble.

He nods, his grip tightens on your waist, butterflies flutter in your stomach and you despise it. You despise the emotions he causes you to feel.

“Yeah, I ruined your life because you didn’t get to fuck that jock?” He snorts, narrowing his eyes at you, “you are dramatic, bee.”

You close your eyes and lower your head, shaking it as you take deep breaths.

“You are so annoying.”

“Hmm, what was that?” Eddie whispers, placing his finger under your chin, he tilts your head up, “say that again.”

You swallow nervously, not opening your eyes just yet, you lick your lips, “you are annoying.”

“Why?”

“Why?” You laugh in disbelief as you open your eyes to look at him. He is staring at you with curiosity on his face, tilting his head as he waits for your explanation.

“You gotta be kidding me,” you scoff, pulling your hand away from his chest, you wrap it around his wrist instead and force his hand away from your face, “is that actually a serious question?”

He purses his lips and nods, “yep.”

“You’re an asshole, Eddie!”

He rolls his eyes, “yeah, you said that before.”

“Yeah and you don’t believe me! You treat me like shit–”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do, Eddie!” You exclaim, “you say mean shit all the time, you make dumb comments and tease me and then act like nothing ever happened!”

“Tease you how?” He smirks, completely ignoring the rest of your words.

You squint your eyes, huffing angrily. Is he actually clueless or does he just want to see you so angry and embarrassed? Either way, he always gets what he wants.

“You sucked on my finger and then you acted like nothing happened!”

Your angry pout makes his heart soar.

“That’s what you’re so upset about?” He chuckles.

His smirk causes the outburst of anger, you finally push him away from you. There is absolutely nothing amusing about this situation, at least not to you.

“Wipe that smirk off your goddamn face, Munson! I can’t stand when you do that!”

“Did you want me to do more than that?” He asks.

“You wish,” you scoff, “you think I want you?”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say that hurt flashed in his eyes but that can’t be, right? Why would he be hurt by anything you say?

He chuckles bitterly and nods to himself.

“No,” he mumbles, “I know you don’t want me. A fancy little princess like you wants someone like that jock, you want someone who will buy you shit, someone who will spoil you, take you on dates to Enzo’s or whatever, someone you can take home to your rich parents, someone you won’t feel embarrassed to be with, someone you can be seen with, someone you will have that ‘perfect’ future with.”

Confused, you stare at him with a frown on your face.

Eddie’s anger comes out of nowhere the way it always does.

“But sweetheart, none of them can give you what you need.”

“W-What do I need?” You ask, waiting for him to continue. He watches the way your eyes flicker down to his lips before they meet his eyes again.

“They can’t touch you like you crave to be touched, they can’t kiss you like you wanna be kissed, they can’t fuck you like you wanna be fucked, they can’t treat you like you deserve to be treated.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your lips part in surprise, your heart begins to pound against your ribcage.

Eddie somehow made his way into your personal space again. He is close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin.

“You need someone to put you in your place, you need someone to be rough with you, someone who can treat you like the little slut that you are,” he says, gripping your face in his large hand, “I see the way you look at me when you think that I’m not paying attention, I can see the way you squeeze your thighs together when you look at my hands, I bet you wonder what it would feel like if I touched you, huh? I bet you touch yourself and think about me, about my hands, about my fingers in your tight little pussy.”

Your eyes widen, heat rushes to your cheeks, you are too overwhelmed to keep your eyes locked with his, so you look down.

Eddie smirks but it’s a dark smirk, a bitter one.

“Bet you are disgusted by yourself, huh?” He spits as he grips you tighter, “thinking about fucking the dirty town freak, I bet you hate yourself for wanting to ride my dick, that’s why you’re always such a bitch to me, right?” He asks angrily, “you take your anger out on me because you can’t stand yourself for wanting to fuck me?”

You shake your head. He is wrong, so wrong. He is no dirty freak in your eyes and you are not disgusted by him, you are disgusted by yourself for wanting someone who hates your guts so much, not for who he is. Eddie is amazing to his friends but unfortunately, you aren’t one of them.

You never hated Eddie, at least not until he forced you to hate him.

“No.”

“No?” He murmurs as he leans even closer to you, “you don’t think about me?”

You shift, looking up at him with a shy expression, you don’t bother answering, your silence gives it away.

You do think about him. He knows it.

You hate the way he looks so sure of his words, the way he thinks that he has you all figured out, the way he thinks he knows everything about you.

“Get away from me, Eddie,” you say with a shaky voice and an unsure voice, you both know that you don’t want it, you don’t want him to get away.

He licks his lips as he stares down at you. The look in his eyes makes you cower back a little, it makes you feel nervous but also flustered. Eddie raises his hand up to your face, he tucks your hair behind your ear and leans down, surprising you by pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

Your lips part and you hold your breath.

“Why?” He whispers as he kisses you again, higher this time, “scared that you will fall for the town freak?” His fingers play with the thin material of your dress, pushing it a little aside so he has more access to your shoulder, he presses his plump lips back against your shoulder, kissing you again and again, “scared that you will hate yourself for it?”

You can’t even utter a single word, too many emotions rush through you. You are confused about this, you are angry about his words but you are also aroused and yes, you do hate yourself for it but not for the reason he thinks.

His hand grips your waist, he pulls you flush against him and you gasp when you feel his bulge pressing against your stomach. Eddie attaches his lips to your neck, “scared that no one else will wanna touch you after the freak fucked you? What would they think if they already knew that you are fantasizing about it? I bet they would think you’re disgusting–”

“God, shut the fuck up!”

You push him away from you with force, your breathing is heavy, just like his. Eddie looks a little surprised by your sudden outburst, rejection crosses his features, his brows drag together and he opens his mouth to speak, probably to say something hurtful after you just pushed him away like that, he wants the upper hand but you won’t let him have it, not this time.

“Just shut up,” you repeat.

He presses his lips together in a straight line, he is tense, his eyes hold a combination of hurt and anger. The tension between the two of you is thick. Nothing else but you both exist in this moment. You don’t hear the faint music from the ongoing party, you don’t feel the cold wind on your exposed skin, you don’t hear the rustling of the leaves but you hear his heavy breathing, you hear the pounding of your heart, you feel the pull towards him.

Eddie waits for you to say something, to do something. A part of him expects you to slap him for kissing you without permission, the other part expects you to hurt him with cruel words but neither of those things happen.

You stare at him for what feels like forever. Your eyes flicker to his lips and back to his eyes, your stomach flutters and your knees feel weak, you’re angry but you also long for him.

Fuck it.

You take a step forward and look into his awaiting eyes.

Fuck it, y/n.

You grab his face and pull him down, you close your eyes and slam your lips against his. Eddie’s eyes widen, he stares at you in shock and confusion. You are kissing him. You are kissing him! And your lips feel as soft as he always imagined them to feel like. His heart begins to race.

Kiss her, idiot! He tells himself. He cups your cheeks and pulls you closer, closing his eyes, he finally kisses you back and if this isn’t the best feeling in the world then he doesn’t know what is.

You slide your hands down to his neck, holding him tightly as you deepen the kiss. Eddie parts his lips, allowing you to slip your tongue past his lips. He moans at the feeling, his skin and his lips tingle, he already feels addicted to your touch.

The kiss is nothing but passionate, it’s soft and gentle but you want more, you want to feel him closer and closer, you slide your hand down his stomach and wrap your arm around his waist, pressing him tighter against you. He moans at the feeling, his heart flutters.

Eddie walks you back and slams you against his van, earning a whimper from you. You kiss each other until you are both short of oxygen and gasping for air but even as he pulls away, his lips keep touching yours. You breathe into each other’s mouths, keeping each other close as your eyes lock again.

He wants you, you can see it in his eyes.

This time it’s him who initiates the kiss, he slams his lips roughly against yours causing you to let out a loud and needy whimper, you can feel him smirking against your lips.

This kiss is rough and angry. Your lips smack loudly against each other, your teeth clash but neither of you care, you pull his hair and make him growl. He digs his ringed fingers into your waist as he pushes his knee in between your thighs.

“Eddie,” you gasp as he starts kissing his way down to your neck.

“Yes?”

“I know you hate me,” you whisper as you close your eyes and put your hand in his hair, holding onto his curl as he begins to suck on your sweet spot.

No, he doesn’t hate you. How could he? Instead of telling you this, he keeps quiet, choosing to continue kissing you.

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Show me how much you hate me,” you whisper, “please.”

Eddie opens his eyes and he pulls away from your neck to look at you. He can see the look in your eyes, the intrigued and needy one.

You want him just like he wants you.

“Are you sure?”

For a split second, you see a different side of him, a soft one, a caring one.

You nod.

He grabs your jaw, tilting your head up so you are forced to look at him, “I need words, sweetheart.”

You nod again, “yes, I’m sure.”

Without wasting another second, Eddie unlocks his van and pushes you into the back, closing the door behind him. He fumbles around in the dark for a moment until he finds the switch that turns on the little light.

Looking around, you raise your brows, feeling a little impressed by the lack of the mess you expected. A few pillows are laying around, blankets, even a few comics. You know that he and Robin used to go to the drive-in movie theaters a lot but you can’t help but wonder if he ever brings other girls in here. If he brought the pillows and blankets here just for them so they can feel comfortable. You wonder how he treats them, does he tease them like he teases you? Does he kiss them like he just kissed you? Is he mean to them? Or is he sweet to them? Does he treat them better than he treats you?

Suddenly, you feel yourself frowning and growing insecure and unsure. Do you really want to fuck the guy that hates you with a passion?

But you never answer your own question. Eddie grabs your face and pulls you back in for a heated kiss. You kiss back without a moment of hesitation.

His scent, his taste, his touch, you are addicted already and you feel the hatred for yourself growing. You don't know that he feels the same about you, that he loves the way you taste, that he loves the way you smell so sweet, you don't know that he just loves you.

You push his jacket off his shoulders while he fumbles with the wings on your costume, surprising you by taking them off carefully so he doesn’t break them. Something about the way he parts from the kiss, to put the wings down gently, makes your heart flutter.

You blink, forcing yourself to look away from him. You take the tiara off your head and place it on the ground as well, reaching for the zipper on your dress– “stop, let me.” Eddie mumbles as he reaches around you to undo it. You stare at him, admiring the way his brown eyes shine so beautifully beneath the dim light. He pushes your dress down to your stomach, his eyes flickering with something you cannot read.

“Fuck,” he mumbles as he eyes your lacy bra, your boobs, your soft skin, “you’re so sexy,” he breathes, forgetting about the hate he is supposed to show to you, “so beautiful, shit..”

Eddie doesn’t notice the emotions in your eyes, the lingering sadness and the insecurity. You distract yourself by kissing him again and again, reaching for the hem of his shirt, you take it off of him. He throws it behind him on the floor.

You place your hands on his pale chest, taking in the sight of his tattoos, you feel the urge to kiss every single one of them.

Eddie admires the way you look at him, the way your lips part and your eyes flash with emotions. He touches your cheeks, moving your hair out of your face. You look up at him with big eyes, “touch me.”

He smirks, “don’t have to ask me twice.”

He pushes you down carefully, making sure that you lie your head on the pillows, your back meets the soft cushions and you sigh as you feel his cold hands on your stomach, you’re almost too shy to look up at him but when you do, your heart stops.

Eddie stares down at you in awe, he bunches your dress up on your waist and eyes you up and down, from your pretty face to your chest, your stomach and your clothed pussy. He pushes your legs apart and settles in between them, putting your legs over his, he spreads you open and stares at the wet spot on your pink panties.

“Fuck,” he growls, all his blood rushes to his dick, as though he wasn’t hard already, he feels himself growing harder, “I’m gonna ruin your pussy, baby.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing, you take in a sharp breath as his eyes meet yours, “take your bra off,” he orders.

You bite your lip, pushing yourself up on your elbows, you do as he said, pushing the straps of your bra down first, you watch the way his eyes darken when you reach behind you to unclasp it. You blush, feeling yourself getting shy under his gaze.

“Show me your tits, pretty girl.”

You hate him, you hate him so much.

You throw your bra to the side and lie back against the pillows.

He grips your thighs tightly, eyes flashing with hunger, “perfect fucking tits,” he murmurs as he slides one hand up to touch your boobs.

“Eddie,” you whimper.

He adjusts your legs, wrapping them around his waist, his clothed dick brushes against your pussy, making you both moan in pleasure. He leans down to kiss your chest, taking one nipple in his mouth, he begins to suck on it.

“Oh.. Eddie,” you moan as you throw your hand in his hair, “i-is that how you treat people you hate?”

He chuckles against you, pulling away from you, he gives you a suggestive look as he sits back up, he shakes his head at you, “just you, baby,” he says.

“Touch yourself.”

You blink.

“What?”

He looks down, bringing his hand to your aching pussy, he touches you over your panties, rubbing your clit teasingly, smirking at your little whine.

“Touch yourself or I won’t fuck you.”

Perv.

You swallow nervously, slipping your hand down your stomach, you close your eyes and touch yourself over your panties, spreading your legs wider, you start rubbing your clit.

“Open your eyes,” he demands, catching you off guard by smacking your ass. You gasp and open your eyes, seeing the dark look in his eyes makes you even wetter, “look at me when you touch yourself.”

You nod.

“Show me how you touch yourself when you’re all alone, baby. Tell me what you think about.”

A shiver runs down your spine. You always thought about this, about him. It’s hot to see him so rough and dominating but a part of you hates that he gets to have all the control. You push yourself up a little and bring your hand up to his lips, looking into his curious eyes, you smirk, “spit on them.”

He raises his brows, eyes flashing with surprise. He does it without questioning you. Spitting onto your fingers.

“Thanks,” you mumble. You push your panties to the side and touch yourself with your spit covered fingers, letting out a loud moan as you run your fingers through your wet folds before you begin to rub your aching clit.

Eddie’s dick twitches in his pants as he watches you.

“Such a pretty pussy, fuck,” he grunts, fighting the urge to bury his face in your cunt.

“You wanna know what I think about when I touch myself?”

“Yes.. fuck, yes. I wanna know.”

You smirk at him. You won’t give him what he wants, you won’t let him hear what he wants to hear. Why should you? He is gonna treat you even worse when this is over, why should you give him the truth?

“I-I think about Steve,” you moan as you push a finger inside of you, “I think about my best friend fucking me with his big fat cock.” Lies. You think about him fucking you, you think about him splitting you open, you think about him eating you out, fingering you with his rings on, making you his slut.

Eddie’s smirk falls from his face, his eyes darken.

You add a second finger and push it in and out of your wet pussy, moaning at the feeling, “I think about him making me cry as he takes me from behind, as he– fuck.. as he slaps my ass and does whatever he wants.”

You are lying, he knows you’re lying. The look on your face tells him that but he still grows angry and jealous.

You fuck yourself on your fingers, throwing your head back in pleasure as you move them in and out, “I think about riding his dick, about how he would cum inside of me and fill me up until I’m–”

“Shut the fuck up, you little whore,” Eddie growls, grabbing your wrist, he slams it against the floor and replaces your fingers with his, pushing his long and thick fingers into your hole.

You gasp loudly, squeezing your eyes shut as you finally feel his fingers inside you, finally getting to feel what you always dreamed about.

His other hand grabs your cheeks, squishing them together roughly, “I told you to look at me!”

Your stomach clenches as does your cunt, your mouth waters at the feeling of him spreading you open.

“Open your eyes, brat.”

You open your eyes to look at his angry ones. You have never seen him this angry before. You should be scared, you know that. But instead you feel yourself getting more needy, more wet, more aroused. You moan even louder than before and grind back against his fingers.

“Now tell me the truth,” he says through gritted teeth as he starts to fuck you with his fingers, “who do you think about?”

You push yourself up on your elbows to watch him, to see how they move in and out of you.

“S-Steve.”

He slaps your cheek lightly causing you to whimper.

“Liar,” he grunts, he leans over you, wrapping his hand around your neck, he slams you back down and looks into your needy eyes as he continues to slam his fingers in and out of you.

“Eddie,” you whimper.

“That’s right,” he grunts, “say my name.”

He adds a third finger, thrusting them in and out of you. His fingers reach deeper than yours, they reach the spot that you can’t, his rings and the coldness of them just bring more pleasure to your body. You lose yourself in the feeling, you close your eyes despite him telling you not to, your lips part and you chant his name like a prayer. You arch your back in pleasure, tears well up in your eyes.

Eddie stares at you, he watches the way your chest rises up and down, the way you flinch a little when his hand leaves your neck to touch your boob, to play with your nipple. Your stomach tenses up, your pussy clenches around his fingers, you are so wet, he can feel your juices dripping down his fingers, the squelching noises and your moans just make it all even more erotic.

You whimper his name so beautifully.

“Eddie, please.”

“Please what?”

“I wanna cum,” you please, “please let me cum.”

A devilish smirk appears on his face, “oh, you’re gonna cum, baby.”

His words should intimidate you, they should leave you feeling nervous but instead they make you crave him even more.

Eddie leans down and as you feel him shifting, you open your eyes to look at him. He picks up the pace, fucking you harder and faster on his fingers as he presses his tongue against your sensitive clit.

“Oh fuck! Eddie!”

“Mhmm,” he hums against you, looking up at you as he licks your clit, “taste so sweet.”

You spread your legs wider for him and push your hand in his hair, tugging at his dark curls.

“I can feel you clenching around my fingers, baby,” he murmurs against you, “you wanna cum for me? Do it.”

It doesn’t take long for you to reach your high, you cum around his fingers just as he tells you too, you moan loudly, gasping for air but Eddie doesn’t stop there, he pulls his fingers out. He throws your legs over his shoulders and before you can even react, he buries his face in your pussy, slipping his tongue into you, he moans loudly.

“Eddie,” you whine as you watch him through blurry eyes, his rough hands dig into your thighs as he holds them wide open, his eyes are closed as he eats you out, “oh my god.”

Eddie loves the way you taste, the way you sound, the way you feel, the way you beg for him.

“Feels so good…”

He loves knowing that he is the one making you feel so good.

He opens his eyes to look at you, you’re staring at him already, barely able to keep your eyes open, you hold onto his hair so tightly. A single tear slips down your hot cheek.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he breathes, smirking at you when he spits on your clit before he places his thumb against it.

Your eyes roll back and you throw your head against the pillows, you try closing your legs but Eddie is stronger than you.

“P-Please..” You sob, pulling at his hair even harder causing him to growl in response. He flicks his tongue inside of you and presses harder against your clit and before you know it, you cum again.

Tears run down your cheeks, you are so sensitive already.

“No more,” you whimper as he continues to lick your pussy, “please.. I just want your cock.”

Eddie smirks at you, pulling away, he sits back up.

Your heart flutters as you look at him. His cheeks are flushed, his curls are messy, his chin is glistening from your juices, saliva dripping down his chest.

You look so fucked out already, sweat coats your forehead, your breathing is heavy and you push your thighs together as you look up at him. Eddie unbuckles his belt, pushing his jeans and boxers down just below his ass, his dick slaps against his stomach.

You push yourself up on your elbows, biting your lip as you stare at him, “do you want me to suck your dick?” You ask as you reach your hand out to wrap your fingers around his thick cock, you lick your lips, pre cum is rolling down his length and it takes everything in you not to take him into your mouth.

Eddie hisses at your touch, his eyelashes flutter.

“Do you want to fuck my face?” You ask, innocently.

He growls, eyes darkening, he shakes his head, “next time, baby. I need to be inside of you,” he says.

“Condom?” You ask.

He closes his eyes, cursing at himself, “I don’t have any.”

You raise your brows, “what do you mean, you don’t have any?”

“It means I don’t have any!” He snaps at you.

“Don’t you use condoms when you fuck?”

A loud laugh falls from his lips, he opens his eyes, shaking his head, “when I fuck? Sweetheart, I don’t get laid very often. I have a whole unopened box of condoms at home,” he snorts.

“You don’t fuck girls in your van?”

“Y/n, the last time I fucked someone, I stole a condom from Jeff and no, I don’t fuck girls in my van.”

Relief floods through you, here you thought that he was fucking girls in his van and getting laid every weekend.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him down against you, catching him by surprise. He presses his hands against the floor and looks down at you.

“And I’m not really into fucking random girls,” he adds.

Your eyes widen a little, “am I not a random girl?”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

You could never be a random girl.

“No, you’re my enemy,” he says before he slams his lips against yours.

You whine against him and kiss him roughly, digging your feet into his ass, you pull him even closer until you feel his cock rubbing against your pussy. He moans in pleasure, gripping your hips tightly.

“Fuck me, please. I don’t care about the condom, just fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, holding his neck tightly, “please.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, eying your expression, slowly.

You nod, “very sure.”

Eddie pecks your lip softly. For someone who wanted to fuck you, he sure is a little soft with you.

He leans back, staring down at you in awe, he grabs your waist, licking his lips. You watch him, looking at the way he wraps his ringed fingers around his cock, he slides it through your wet folds, teasing your clit with the tip.

“Shit,” he shudders, “you’re so wet. All for me, right?”

You bite your lip, furrowing your brows as you gulp, nodding.

“Say it’s all for me,” he demands.

“It’s for you,” you whine, “all for you, asshole!”

He chuckles darkly, shaking his head at you. You open your mouth again but before you can say anything, Eddie grabs you tighter and in one motion, he thrusts into you, earning a loud gasp from you.

He whimpers at the feeling of your tight walls, leaning down, he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck…” You whimper, wrapping your arms around him, “Eddie.” You clench around his cock and hold him tightly.

“You’re so tight and wet,” he grunts against your shoulder, “‘m not gonna last long if you keep clenching around me like this.”

“I told you to show me how much you hate me, Eddie,” you breathe, digging your nails into his back, “so far you’re not doing a good job.”

Something inside of him snaps, he pulls back, placing one hand around your neck, he puts the other one on the pillow next to you. He glares at you.

“You’re a brat, you know that, right?” He growls as he begins to thrust into you.

You gasp at the feeling, taking a deep breath.

“Always getting on my goddamn nerves,” he grunts as he tightens his hold on your neck, he pulls out and pushes back inside of you, roughly. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to do this.” He thrusts deeper, rougher, faster. “How many times I wanted to fuck your needy little pussy and watch you cry for more.”

You look down, watching the way he fucks you roughly on his cock. He moves his hands down to grab your hips with both hands.

“Look at me, baby,” he moans as he starts to pound your pussy, “look at the way you’re taking my cock.. Your pussy was made for me, you were made for me.”

The knot in your stomach tightens, the fire inside of you burns. You feel him in your stomach. You wrap your legs tighter around him and throw your hand back to wrap it around his wrist, “fuck me harder!” You beg, despite the overwhelming sensation in your bones.

“Harder?” He chuckles, “I’ll give you harder, you little brat.”

He enjoys the way you squirm under his body, the way you struggle to take his big cock and yet ask for more. For a moment, he just watches you, he watches the way his cock disappears in your body, the way your juices drip down on the blanket beneath you, the way you throw your head back in pleasure and cry for him, the way your boobs bounce as he ruts into you. You are struggling, your moans are getting high pitched, tears are streaming down your face as you move your head to the side.

“Feels so good, Eddie,” you whimper.

His mouth waters, his stomach clenches as your pussy flutters around his dick. He moans desperately, closing his eyes for a second as he feels himself getting closer. He leans down, grabbing your face, “look at me,” he whispers, “open your eyes and look at me.”

You grip his wrist tighter and open your eyes to look at him, your breathing stutters as you see the way he looks at you, there is something in his eyes you haven’t seen before but you decide to ignore it.

“Open your mouth and stick your tongue out.”

Your eyes widen but you do as he says, opening it, you stick it out for him and maintain eye contact.

He grabs your chin, smirking at you before he spits in your mouth.

Now, if anyone else had done that to you, you would spit it right out and slap them across the face but something about him doing it to you makes you clench even harder around him, the moans you get from him make you shiver.

“Fuck, you like that huh?” He mumbles as you swallow it, he pats your cheek, “you filthy little slut.”

“Mhmm, I like it,” you smirk and pull him down for a kiss.

You can feel his dick twitching inside of you, his thrusts are getting sloppier and his moans are getting louder and more desperate. You kiss each other roughly and hold each other tight. His chest is pressed against yours, he pulls his wrist out of your grip to hold your hand instead.

You jolt as you feel his fingertips on your clit.

“Cum for me,” he mumbles against your lips, “cum on my dick.”

You moan loudly as you cum around him, you scratch his back as you dig your nails into his skin causing him to groan loudly. You clench hard around him and pull him even closer.

“Baby.. fuck.. fuck,” he whimpers against you, “I’m gonna cum,” he warns, unsure of where you want him.

“Cum inside me… ‘wanna feel you, Eddie.”

His heart flutters and his eyes widen as he looks down at you, “you sure?”

“Mhmm, please…”

“Fuck… okay.. shit, baby,” he whimpers as he picks up the pace again, “you want me to breed you, huh? You want me to fill you up with my cum, shit.. I will. I’m gonna leave you dripping for days.. I’m gonna make you mine.”

Mine.

“No one’s ever touching you again,” he moans, “gonna– oh fuck…” He grunts as he places his fingers back against your clit.

“Eddie!” You sob, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel an even stronger sensation in your lower belly. He drills in and out of you in such a rough way, you can’t even feel your legs anymore or the tears that stream down your cheeks all you feel is him.

“I know you got one more in you, baby,” he grunts, kissing your lips, “cum with me.. one more time.”

“I can’t!” You sob.

“Yes, you can, I can feel it, you’re getting tighter around me, just let go for me.”

You can’t even help it, you bite his shoulder and cage him in against you with your legs. He grunts in pain and whimpers in pleasure, he thrusts into you once, twice– “cum with me!”

You let go and cum around him as he releases inside of you, filling you up with his seed.

He whimpers into your neck, holding you tightly as he moans at the feeling. His hips stutter and he finally falls against you. You’re drooling on his shoulder, whimpering at the feeling of his twitching cock inside your pussy. Eddie breathes heavily, not pulling out just yet, he slumps against you and presses lazy kisses on your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he sighs with a grin on his face that you can’t see.

You’re barely able to keep your eyes open, letting go of him, you drop your arms to your sides and close your eyes.

“I can’t feel my legs,” you whisper.

Eddie smirks, “guess I fucked you good, huh?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, “guess so…”

“What do you mean ‘guess so’?” He scoffs as he pulls himself up a little to look at you, “you came four times, you brat.”

“Should’ve made that five times,” you shrug.

Eddie shakes his head at you, though he can’t help but smirk, you’re a mess. Your hair is disheveled, your cheeks are wet from the tears, your body is hot and shaking from all the orgasms he just pulled out of you.

Grabbing your cheeks, he turns your face towards him, “does that mean I get to make you cum again?” He smirks.

You lick your lips, staring at the spot on his shoulder that you dug your teeth in, you reach out to touch it, “if you want to,” you shrug, acting like it means nothing to you.

“If I want to?” He asks, “what about you, do you want to?”

You are too scared to show him that you do but right now, he isn’t scared to show you how vulnerable he can be. His eyes that usually only ever hold anger for you, hold nothing but hope, it confuses you a little.

You furrow your brows, “I-I don’t know,” you whisper, unable to look into his eyes any longer, you push him back, “get off, please.”

He shakes his head and cups your cheeks, “no, look at me,” he demands, softly.

You blink, swallowing nervously as you look back into his eyes, “you got what you wanted, Eddie.”

“What do you mean?” He frowns.

“You fucked me, put me in my place or whatever, now you can move on to someone else.”

He scoffs, “is that what you think of me?”

You shrug, looking at him with uncertainty in your eyes, “can you blame me?” You whisper, “you treat me like shit.”

His eyes flash with guilt, he nods to himself. Without another word, he pulls away from you, pulling out with a hiss, he puts your panties back in place and puts his boxers and jeans back on.

He fucked up, he knows it. Eddie always struggled with the feelings he had for you. Robin was right when she called him immature for treating you like this– the girl that he secretly loves. He hoped that this would change something but he thought wrong, if anything, he had made things worse for himself, knowing that he got to have you this once and probably never again, breaks his heart.

Eddie hates himself at this moment.

You glance at him as you put your dress back on, not bothering with your bra. Eddie’s hair is a mess, his cheeks are still red, his shoulder and neck littered with bite marks from you. He blinks fastly, as though he tries to blink tears away, it makes your heart clench in your chest. You want to pull him back into your arms and kiss him. Is it a good idea though? Probably not.

You fix your hair and smooth out your dress. Eddie puts his shirt back on, sniffling quietly.

Tears well up in your eyes as you remember all the times that he made you feel bad, all the times he pissed you off and made you angry, all the times he made you feel insecure, yet nothing, absolutely nothing made you feel worse than this.

You leave. You get out of the van on shaky legs, placing your feet on the concrete floor, you blink the tears away as you step away from the van and from him. Now you feel the cold wind and the lonely feeling inside of you. You don’t wanna go, not after you had a taste of what it could be like if he just loved you.

You halt in your tracks, closing your eyes, you take a deep breath.

You can’t walk away, not from him.

You turn back around and just as you take a step forward, Eddie suddenly jumps out of the van with a panicked look on his face and tears in his eyes. Surprised by your presence in front of him, he stares at you for a moment before he reaches out to grab your waist, you let him pull you closer, “please don’t go,” he whispers, “give me a chance, sweetheart. I'll fix things between us, I will, I promise, I will."

He pleads with his eyes and holds you tightly against him, afraid that you will disappear any moment.

Your heart stutters and your knees almost buckle.

“I-I know I fucked up but please–”

You kiss him for the hundredth time tonight and wrap your arms around him. He responds instantly, kissing you back softly and pressing your back against his van just like before, only this time, the kiss is sweet and filled with longing.

“I’m crazy about you too,” you admit.

“You are?” He asks. A smile tugs at his lips, happiness crosses his features.

“Yeah,” you whisper. Placing your palms against his chest, you peck his lips again, “and I never think about Steve,” you mumble, cringing at the words that you have given him before, “he is my best friend and I never ever wanted him and he doesn’t want me either, Eddie.”

He believes you.

“I always just wanted you,” you whisper.

His heart soars at your words, his gaze softens, he could melt right there and then, “do you still want me?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “do you want me?”

You look shy and uncertain of your words, you’re about to look down and break eye contact but he stops you from doing so, tilting your head up, he kisses your lips, “more than anything, sweetheart.”

“Shit.”

Robin smirks at Steve who holds your jacket in his hand.

“I think you owe me 50 bucks.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he watches you and Eddie making out against his van, “no, I don’t. We don’t know who made the first move.”

Robin laughs, crossing her arms over her chest, “I’m saying she did, so..”

Steve shakes his head, “no, Eddie was the one who made moves on her all this time, it was definitely him.”

“You know what?” Robin tears his eyes away from you and Eddie and looks back at Steve, “I bet they’re gonna keep this a secret.”

Steve smirks, shaking his head when he sees Eddie picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, taking you back to his van.

“Yeah and they’re definitely gonna slip up in the next two weeks.”

Robin shakes her head, “no, y/n can keep a secret, I’m giving them three.”

“Let’s bet on that then.”

“Okay,” Robin nods, “let’s make it 100 bucks.”

Steve sighs, “alright then, say goodbye to your money, Buckley.”

“You wish.”

3K notes · View notes

letmeloveyouuuu · 11 months

Text

Little Dragon

In a the aftermath of a fight sparked by the feud between him and her brother, Lucerys, Aemond and his wife are now trying to fix things between them. (or judas part three)

10k (18+)

Warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, knife play, choking, spitting in mouth, strong language, yandere (so basically canon) aemond, and some of the language used to describe past sex acts could be interpreted as dub-con, but everything is consensual.

Married life is not what she thought it would be.

Everyone told her their days would be spent in honeymoon-induced bliss that seems as though it will never end for the first year or so of marriage, but that wasn't their experience at all. When they weren't fucking, which was about all they did together, Aemond and Y/N were typically fighting for the first four months of being wed to one another. There were good moments, though. They bonded over shared interests that appeared the longer they lived in close proximity, and he began to open himself up to her little by little. It wasn't nearly as much as she wanted, but he still offered her more than he did most other people.

It was evident in the little things, such as how he would feel comfortable enough to take off his eyepatch at certain times when alone in her presence or how he would always, no matter how far apart they were when they fell asleep in his spacious bed, end up with an arm around her by the time they woke. But, then, there were the times when the wall between them would come down again and she was left wondering if her husband would ever speak freely in her presence.

As of late, it seems they are leaning more on the side of fighting rather than fucking.

Her temper has been running hotter than usual, so when she heard of an incident in the training yard between Aemond and Lucerys, who is visiting alongside Rhaenyra after a close call with Viserys' health that thankfully ended without complication, she was out for blood.

"Have you no shame, husband?" she asked as she walked after him, chasing and herding him in the direction of their shared chambers after having to watch her brother be tended to by the maesters. "I asked you to not harm him, and you ignored me at the first opportunity presented to you!"

This led to a screaming match that ended in him storming off to fly on Vhagar for the better half of the night before coming back to their chambers—soaking wet from the rain—ripping the sheets off of her, hiking her shift up around her waist, and fucking her until she was babbling and incoherent for him. It was a vicious fight masked by the actions of lust and passion. Her nails broke skin open on his pale back while his hand squeezed down around her delicate throat, providing her a heady little head rush that made the pleasure of his cock gliding in and out of her intensify.

The rainwater dripped off of him and onto her, turning the mattress damp beneath their writhing bodies. Not that either of them minded. By the time they finished, she was on the verge of passing out again and didn't do much other than sigh as he lifted her into his arms to move her around before setting her back down on the bed. Come morning, she found herself alone, but the bed was not cold or damp. Her side of the mattress was covered with a warm fur hide that had been draped atop the divan, and she couldn't help but smile to herself at that before she remembered their argument.

Aemond was never a cruel husband. If anything, he was the opposite. Their arguments did not mean he mistreated his lady. Yes, they would fight and fuck like animals, but, at the end of the day, she was his. In a world where he was granted nothing, not even a dragon's egg in the cradle as his siblings were, the Maiden had blessed him with her. Every other girl or woman balked in his presence, but not Y/N. She and Vhagar were the only things he ever had to himself, and he would never mistreat either of his dragons.

Hence, the fur hide.

As angry with each other as they were and, he knew, would continue to be on the morrow, his face softened when he came back from the bathing room to find her curled up in fetal position and shivering in her sleep from the wet sheets. She hardly stirred as he lifted her up, one arm under her bent knees and the other holding firm around her naked back, and walked over to the divan to fetch the warm fur hide. It took little effort for him to hold her as he picked it up and spread it out atop the bed, then set her down. It took him searching the room to find another blanket to cover her with, but, once he did, he sighed to himself at the sight of her and tried to resist the urge to reach down to brush her hair out of her face. What had she done to him?

He had little trouble falling asleep on the damp sheets and left early before she woke to avoid the consequences of the things they said to each other the previous night.

Since this morning, they haven't crossed paths much at all. For she was spending what little time she had left of their visit with her mother and brother, trying to conceal the turmoil within her caused by her marriage and, well...

"Are you certain, mother?" Y/N asked. "It is so soon, and I have only missed one of my courses thus far. It was just last month's, I am certain it will come again soon. I always feel sick to my stomach before my blood comes, and I have felt that way for days."

What she didn't want to tell her mother was that she already knew. Deep down, she knew the answer, yet she was too stubborn in their ongoing argument to want to admit to herself. Or him.

Rhaenyra smiled softly at her from where she braided her hair for her, something she would continue to insist on doing for her only daughter no matter how old she grew, and said, "Feeling sick to your stomach is an indication that you may be with child as well. Considering that you told me you missed one of your courses and you winced when Lucerys hugged you too hard upon our arrival"—It was true. When Luc threw his arms around her in a tight embrace, she couldn't help but grimace at the tenderness she felt in her breasts upon impact against him. And, the previous night, with Aemond, her nipples were uncharacteristically sensitive whenever he made contact with them, though she did not say that to her mother—"I do not think it out of the realm of possibility, my love...You should tell Aemond what you suspect."

Having told the handmaidens to leave them to their own devices, they did not have to bother with concealing their conversation from eavesdroppers by speaking in Valyrian. They simply sat together and spoke openly, and honestly, and Y/N was glad for it. It was the type of open communication she found difficult with Aemond due to his closed-off nature. It wasn't for lack of trying, either. She knew he tried as much as she did, but they both have too sensitive of tempers to get very far with civil discussion. Once they misunderstand one another's intentions, they lose control and allow emotion to guide them, not logic. Then, the truly hurtful things are said in the heat of the moment that neither of them means.

Since leaving her mother's rooms, she has wandered around the keep aimlessly to avoid the argument that will reignite once she sees Aemond again. So, she goes to the one place she knew she could flee to to clear her head. The Weirwood tree she once had a tendency to read under.

Yet when she finally sits down and settles into place with her back against the thick trunk, all she can think of is her husband. Although infuriated with him for the training yard incident in which he injured Lucerys, she cannot help but imagine what it would be like. She pictures him with a tiny, newly-born babe in his arms and feels her knees weaken at the thought. Then, her mind conjures images of their child a few years down the line, resting their head on his shoulder with their silver hair falling down his back to blend in with his. He may be perceived as an unfeeling man by most, but she knows he will be a decent father. A better one than her grandsire was to him, she's sure.

As fond as she is of him in the safety of her mind, hearing his voice out of the silence causes her to turn still.

"I thought I might find you here."

There's a brief moment of hesitation before she lifts her gaze to find his eye fixed on her quite intensely. After last night, she cannot blame him. They were two seconds from brawling one another in their chambers before he walked away to blow off steam by flying Vhagar late into the night, and what happened after he returned wasn't much less aggressive than the argument they engaged in hours prior. It did little to solve anything other than stifle their remaining anger.

"You were not there when I woke," she says without greeting him.

The unforgiving tone she takes with him tells him everything he needs to know. Despite their passionate, near-feral fucking last night, she has yet to forgive him for "accidentally" injuring Lucerys. Perhaps he made a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn't have taunted the younger man as they practiced in the training yard together, nor should he have let his retort turn him blind with anger, but it's too late to change that now. All he can do is try to navigate the rough tides of her temper in the aftermath, still shocked that he even cares. Never once would he have thought that he'd be so willing to bend himself to the will of his lady wife when he first spoke of betrothals with his mother years ago.

He doesn't dare to step any closer to her, though. Instead, he holds his hands behind his back and tilts his head as he looks down upon her face in the buttery daylight, fighting the admiration felt in the center of his chest at the sight of her silver hair glowing in the sun. Although he's trying to get back in her good graces, he still refrains from surrendering all of himself to her in order to do so. Sometimes it scares him; the urge he has to allow her to render him pathetic and subservient.

It confused him this morning when he fled to find his mother and sister breaking their fast together. Luckily for him, Helaena was leaving at the very moment he entered, leaving him alone with his mother in the privacy of her secluded rooms.

He paced back and forth in front of where she sat at the table, too distracted by his neurotic movements and ranting to indulge in her poached egg.

"You did not prepare me for this, mother," he said, not with any malice or anger, but honesty. When it came to his mother, he could never find it in himself to be anything but gentle with her. "She is driving me to madness."

A frown crossed Queen Alicent's face at this.

"You know I wanted to betroth you to one of the Baratheon daughters. Y/N may not be a good match for you, but it's far too late for a change of—"

He didn't even need to say a word. No, she was silenced by the look cast in her direction. His features hardened into a mask of impenetrable force and threat as if daring her, his own mother, to finish that sentence before he remembered himself and averted his gaze to the ground. Still, it was too late. She saw everything he fought to keep hidden beneath the surface every time he was in public in the presence of his wife.

"Oh," she said softly.

This wasn't something she thought she had to prepare him for, but he was right. She hadn't properly prepared him for it. Considering her own experiences with marriage, as well as most other royals and aristocrats who wed people for power or alliance, the thought never crossed her mind. But based on the look on his face and the embarrassment that now shows in his flushed cheeks, it should have.

"Aemond," Alicent said, her voice a quiet push of air before speaking up a bit more clearly to ask him, "Do you mean to tell me that you truly love her? Is that what this is about?"

The lack of response and refusal to make eye contact with her spoke every word he refused to say aloud. He simply stared off at the ground as if in amazement, wondering to himself how he ended up there. Although part of it felt wrong, wrong in the sense that he swore to never let his guard down around anyone, least of all the sister of the bastard that maimed him, there was so much of it that felt right. Though he would never have spoken of such crass things in the presence of his mother, he kept thinking back to the previous night—to how every touch, every thrust, every kiss felt so inherently right that he couldn't imagine himself wanting to galavant the Street of Silk as his older brother had. No, he wanted her. He wanted her in a way that consumed him, in a way that scared him, and it crept up on him slowly but surely in the months following the wedding ceremonies.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "We do nothing but argue and...perform our marital duties to produce an heir...yet I find"—The words eluded him at first. Never having spoken about his emotions out loud to many people in his life, he found it difficult to articulate, but to get the advice he sought, he had to—"I cannot bear the thought of her being angry with me."

Those were the types of thoughts that chased him on his aimless stroll, ignoring every member of court who attempted to greet the sullen prince with a wary smile or pleasant few words. They chased him all the way here, to where he walked unconsciously and found the object of his incessant infatuation sitting beneath the tree.

Snapping himself out of the haze of his memories, Aemond straightens his shoulders and offers as explanation, "I left because I did not wish to fight with you again. I needed time to think." He shrugs. "I took a walk."

This silences her for a moment. But it's just that, a moment, before she's summoning the nerve to retort back at him with a snarky tone, "And what did this time to think do for you? Have you realized how much shame you've brought me as a result of your actions yesterday?" Her face then softens, as does her voice. "Everyone saw. It's all that the servants are talking about. Everyone either pities me or thinks I am weak for marrying someone who hurts my own kin."

Although his raging temper and unrelenting pride urge him to say something equally as aggressive back, he wills himself to remain silent and mindful of every word that may leave his mouth. The self-control it takes to restrain himself is immeasurable, but all he hears when he closes his eyes are the words of advice his mother gave earlier.

"I don't blame you for holding a grudge against Lucerys," she said, "but, she is your wife. If she asked you not to harm her brother, the honorable thing to do would be to listen."

His body stiffened at this. At the thought of letting anyone or anything tell him what he can and cannot do, but when he voiced such concerns, he was shut down.

"A wife is meant to obey her husband, yes, but if what you've come here to tell me is true, you must treat your marriage differently." Her eyes never once left him, nor did the intensity in them recede. "In order to receive obedience and respect, you must be willing to give it. Love is a fickle thing, Aemond. If you do not nurture it, it will become resentment."

There's a beat of silence between him and Y/N, then—

"I came here to tell you it will not happen again. I swear this to you."

That was the last thing she expected to hear. Not technically an apology, but, she supposes it's the closest she's ever gotten to one from him. Most of their fights end in them making up after sex or from the healing touch of time gone by. This is a first for them. They're both typically too stubborn to admit defeat, yet here he is.

Her brows furrow at him as if in confusion.

"You will not make any attempts to harm my brother again? Either of my brothers, for that matter."

He nods. Just once.

"Unless he makes the first move, I will not touch him," Aemond says slowly, hating every second of it but forcing himself to proceed for the sake of following his mother's advice. More importantly, for the sake of preventing any resentment from growing between them. "Or Jacaerys. You have my word."

And even though it's the outcome she longed for the whole time, she can't help but feel infuriated with him. How dare he be so...kind. How dare he give her a reason to genuinely admire him in favor of using their near-constant disagreements as reason to keep him at a comfortable distance? She never wanted to account for the fact that he may be more to her than a tolerated presence. She never wanted him to hold such power over her, and still...

Y/N takes in a deep breath, the low-cut neckline of her dress accentuating the rise and fall of her breasts, and looks up at him. What she finds in his gaze is pure honesty.

"Well, good." She chews at the inside of her lip for a second, unsure of how to proceed in light of these unforeseen circumstances. "Thank you for your understanding. I won't forget this kindness."

With that, he turns to leave, assuming she'd like to be left alone after everything they said and did to one another last night. He takes all of three steps before he's halted by the sound of her voice.

"Where are you going?"

He slowly turns back around to face her again and takes note of the hopeful glint in her eyes that he's never seen before. Strange...

"Do you not wish me to leave?"

No, she thinks, I do not wish you to leave. I wish to spend all day and night with you. If I could live beneath your skin, I would.

The obsessive nature of her thoughts startles her a little, but she tries not to judge herself too harshly. After all, she just got confirmation from the maesters after breakfast that she is, in fact, with child as Rhaenyra suspected, and the fluctuation of hormones tends to cause heightened emotions, so it makes sense. Not to mention, there's an added layer of intimacy that makes her feel closer to him now that she knows. A part of him lives within her. It's not something she takes lightly despite her initial trepidation surrounding the idea of childbirth in the weeks after their wedding ceremonies.

Y/N takes her time in responding, allowing herself the opportunity to stand from where she rested on the thick root of the Weirwood tree. Her palms flatten against the back of her dress to dust the dirt off, and it isn't until she's done so that she looks up at him again.

"I did not say that," she says matter of factly. "I was curious what you're doing today because I want to spend time with you. That is unless you have prior commitments to attend to..."

The speed with which he utters, "I don't," verges on the type of embarrassment severe enough to make him flee and hide, but he doesn't. He instead focuses on the fact that she actually wants to be around him after the fight they had, far too preoccupied to think about how pathetic it is that all he has to do today is mope around the Red Keep over her. Although they've had passion and fondness for one another in the months that have passed since they married, this is the first time he's ever felt truly wanted by her in a way other than that of carnal desire.

He prays the overwhelming relief hasn't reached his face by the time he elaborates, "I was only going to see Vhagar. She gets quite restless when she hasn't seen me, so I make a point to visit her every day even if we do not fly." There's a dip of silence. His face softens. "Come see her with me, then. I realize you two haven't been properly introduced."

The only times she got relatively close to Vhagar were when flying beneath her on Vermithor and when she and Aemond arrived at the keep at the same time those months ago before their betrothal. Unfortunately, she hadn't been lucky enough to know Vhagar's last rider, Laena Velaryon. Her father was wed to her, yes, but she never once met Daemon until her funeral at Driftmark, and that very night was when Aemond claimed the ancient war dragon for himself. So, in her eyes, Vhagar has always been intrinsically entwined with her husband.

She smiles at him, saying softly, "Okay."

The journey to the place outside the palace walls where Vhagar rests, too big for being kept inside the dragon pit as the other dragons are, is not too strenuous. Aemond made sure to show her the quicker route to the unoccupied land where they once held Queen Aemma's funeral rather than taking her through the streets of King's Landing, preventing her from being exposed to the indecent things that occur in plain daylight. Not that she hasn't done such things with him before, but for the people of the city to see their future queen anywhere near that type of behavior is not ideal.

The earth is soft beneath her feet as she hikes up the rolling hills with her hand grasped in Aemond's. His hold on her is strong, never allowing a chance for her to trip and fall or slip out of his clutches now that he so clearly has her full attention. A gentle wind blows strands of hair back from her face to cool her amidst the typically sweltering summer air. Back in the city, it's hotter due to the palace walls and droves of people, but, here, it's open and free. It's no wonder that Vhagar prefers to reside out where she can roam as opposed to the confined field outside the Dragonpit where she can hardly fit.

She hears her before she sees her, but once they come up over the crest of the hill, it isn't long before she sees the great beast lounging on the grass in the valley between the rolling hills. A Dragonpit of her own making, Y/N supposes. The closer they get to her, the more enchanted she becomes with the creature. Out of the corner of his remaining eye, Aemond notes the look of awe on her face as they come to a stop roughly ten feet away.

"Nyke maghatan ñuha ābrazȳrys kesīr naejot rhaenagon ao," he says loudly to be heard by her over the sounds of the wind and sea not far off from where they stand. I brought my wife here to meet you. "Sagon sȳz naejot zirȳla." Be kind to her.

The elderly dragon huffs out a sharp breath that Y/N can feel the warmth of reaching her face despite the decent space between them. Apparently, that's her cue, because Aemond is now looking at her expectantly and egging her on, daring her to do what no one else would. No one but them. It's part of what thrills him about their marriage. This is why Targaryen weds Targaryen, he thinks to himself. How else would they share this simple pleasure if she weren't also the blood of the dragon? Vhagar would tolerate her presence, sure, but not in the way she does with those of her own kind.

Having tamed the Bronze Fury herself and knowing her husband's dragon will obey his commands to be kind to her, she takes a few steps forward until she's close enough to reach her hand out and allow her to smell it. The scaled creature's nostrils flare out to inhale and catalog her rider's wife for the first time, but she's surprised at what she finds lingering in the scent. There's a bit of him in there. To her, his scent is the most alluring, the most comfortable since she's been claimed by him, so when she notices his scent clinging to Y/N's, her head tilts a little to get closer.

She sees a certain understanding in the beast's eyes despite the fact that they've never been properly introduced until now. Vhagar looks upon her with a reverence no one but Aemond and her previous riders have received. Your womb shelters a little dragon. You carry him inside of you.

Vhagar dips her head down and nudges her nose against the princess's belly, which, as of right now, is not showing any obvious sign of her delicate condition. This action doesn't seem to stick out to Aemond—thank the Gods—it seems to surprise him. To see his two dragons coexisting and displaying affection for one another is a magical thing, and it's something he will never forget. Not even when he's old and frail and can no longer patrol the skies on her.

The sweet gesture brings a chuckle out of Y/N's throat.

"Iksā sepār iā dōna riña, issi ao daor?" she says, reaching up to rub along the massive bridge of her nose. You are just a sweet girl, are you not? "Issa sȳz naejot rhaenagon ao, Vhagar. Ñuha valzȳrys ēza ivestretan nyke sīr olvie nūmāzma ao." It is good to meet you, Vhagar. My husband has told me so much about you.

Though Y/N cannot see it, Aemond smiles slightly behind her. He tries to fight it, but it's impossible. His lips curl up into a grin against his will at the sight of his wife and his dragon cozying up together much like a mother and child. And though Vhagar is old enough to be a grandmother many times over, she, for reasons Y/N has yet to reveal to him, decides to play the role of the child in this instance.

Before he can wipe the smile from his face, she turns to look at him with her eyes widened in wonder.

"She's beautiful." She then turns back to face her. "Iksā gevie, dōna riña." You are beautiful, sweet girl.

"Are you ready to ride with us? You must climb up first. I will sit behind you."

This time, when she turns around to look at him, her gaze does not stray.

"Are you jesting?"

He just shakes his head, smug at the sign of her hesitation after trying to present herself as bravely as possible to his beloved beast. Silver hair cascades over her shoulders and shimmers, even under a cloudy sky, enough so that he has a hard time finding words in the wake of his longing for her.

"I do not jest about dragons," he says with a sadistic look in his eye. If he were being honest, he'd admit that he hardly jests about anything, least of all Vhagar. "But if you are craven, then I do not mind escorting you back to the keep."

That shocked expression of hers shifts into one of amusement.

"I claimed Vermithor when I was two and ten years old, the same year you claimed her, when he was a wild dragon living in the mountain caverns on Dragonstone. Does that sound like the actions of someone who is craven?"

He inclines his head in the direction of Vhagar as though to say, "Prove it."

It takes no less than five seconds for her to spin around and march right up to the side of the dragon, grabbing the rungs of the rope ladder slung over her back to allow small beings like them to scale the massive creature. The skirt of her dress blows in the wind enough to expose her legs to him but not to expose her entirely as she climbs, thanking the Gods that she opted for a pair of riding boots instead of the heels she wore with her dress originally. Once she has reached the saddle, she feels the rope ladder jolt with movement far below and swings her leg over to straddle the dragon. And when she looks down, she sees Aemond climbing up after her.

The feeling of his hard, lean body settling into place behind her stirs a sudden pulse of arousal in the pit of her abdomen. This is very new to her—marriage, sex, intimacy. To feel her husband's hands grip her hips to tug her into him, her ass pressing against his crotch without an inch of space to spare, is a welcomed but scandalous thing. Still, it pleases her. Even though she was taught to guard her heart and body fiercely from men growing up, she feels safe with him. Riding on any dragon other than Vermithor or Caraxes would be stressful, hence her hesitation when he asked her to ride with him, but now that she's up here, she is at ease. For nothing can frighten her with Aemond at her side.

His lips brush her ear as he reaches around her waist to put his hands over hers on the handles of the saddle and asks, "Are you ready, my lady?"

She turns to look at him and nods.

"Yes."

The grip of his hands over hers tightens, and he shouts, "Sōvēs!" Fly.

Beneath them, the creature they sit on begins to move, a deep rumble purring in the back of her throat as she moves from her lounging position upon the grass and gets a running start to take off. The flapping of her wings is loud enough to stifle the crashing of the waves against the land, isolating them from everything that surrounds them until all she can hear is her husband's voice giving Vhagar commands in Valyrian. The strength of the arms wrapped around her brings her mind back to memories of last night—his biceps flexing as he pinned her hands above her head and rutted into her, groaning at the feeling of tight cunt clamping down around him.

With another flap of her wings and push off the ground from her sturdy legs, they take off. Wind blows cold against her face where it comes in from the shore they swiftly fly over, and Vhagar swoops down to dip her clawed feet into the ocean water, sending up a spray of water that mists over them. The temperature draws a sharp gasp from Y/N's throat. Water soaks her intricately braided hair and the fabric of her dress, both of which things she spent time picking out only to have them tarnished. But, she thinks as she feels Aemond's body jolting from his laughter behind her, she does not truly care.

She laughs with him after a few seconds of processing the surprise, allowing her head to tip back onto his shoulder with the wind plastering her damp hair to her skin. Aemond's hands have since left hers to use the reins to steer Vhagar, but his arms remain tucked around her waist even as he does so. They turn around to fly back in the direction of the city and soar far higher above the ground than they had the sea. Although he does not usually push Vhagar to fly this way for a quick rush of adrenaline due to his care for the old girl, he does today. He knows better than anyone that a person only gets to have their first ride upon Visenya's dragon once in their lives, so he figures it might as well be as exciting for her as it was for him.

He remembers that moment like it was yesterday. The warmth of the fire curling in the back of her throat when he tried to mount her at first and got off with a warning, the stinging abrasion from gripping the reins and saddle for dear life to keep from falling to his death, and the joy of that freshly made bond between him and Vhagar. It isn't too different from what he feels with Y/N now at the beginning of their marriage. A visceral connection that takes hold deep in his soul and refuses to untether from it.

The view from above King's Landing is beautiful to her. With the waves crashing against the cliffs alongside the Red Keep and the clouds converging not far above their heads, she thinks to herself that it would make a fine painting someday and makes sure to save the image in the back of her mind for it.

It isn't until they feel the first drops of rainfall, accompanied by a booming roll of thunder, that Aemond commands Vhagar to return to the hills where she previously rested. The ground itself trembles with her landing, dirt kicking up from beneath the grass where her clawed feet dig into the earth. Although they are damp from the ocean water that sprayed up on them, the rain that is coming down now is fierce. It could chill them to the bone if they remained up in the sky, and while Aemond does not mind, he surely will not subject his lady to such a thing. It matters not that she rides her own dragon, sometimes in the teeth-chattering cold of rainy skies. She is his wife and shall be treated accordingly.

The two of them are quick to climb down the rope ladder as droplets of rain come down harder and harder as the seconds pass, and the moment her feet hit the ground, they both hurry beneath one of Vhagar's outstretched, membranous wings to take shelter from the storm until they can walk back to the city.

Her hand is grabbing onto Aemond's arm for support, allowing him to swing her around under the shade provided by his dragon's wing, and she smiles so brightly, he's shocked it has yet to blind his other eye. Their bodies collide with a soft thump—his arms around her waist, her hands bracing against them—that leaves them both a little breathless. Her chest rises when his falls in a push and pull like that of the tides they flew over in the long span of seconds that pass while they stare at one another.

It's the internal aftermath of this heated stare that sends them rushing forward into a kiss.

His hands hold her face with a sense of ownership too confident to deny, and she allows his tongue to invade her mouth when she feels him lick at her closed lips as if in request. And the moment is quite easy for her to become lost in. Between him kissing her like that and the adrenaline pumping through her from the ride on dragonback, she almost misses how they move together, feet stumbling to lead them further beneath the cover of Vhagar's massive wing so as to not be seen should anyone venture out here. The implication of this action turns her blood hot with desire.

He doesn't want to be seen—he bites down on her lower lip and takes a breath before coming back for more—he wants me—one of his hands slides around the back of her neck to keep her locked into the messy kiss while the other slides down the front of her dress—he has me. Gods, he has me.

The hand descending the front of her body undoes the clasps of her coat with a deft touch so few men ever accomplish until it comes loose around her torso, leaving her to shimmy it down from her shoulders while he tugs at the sleeves to get them off. His other hand drops to catch it, never missing a beat, and tosses it down on the ground presumably for her to lay upon. As if she cares about a little dirt or rain.

Aemond breaks the kiss by a fraction of an inch to whisper the question into her mouth between panting breaths, "Will you have me?" and it's by far the most restraint he has shown in initiating physical intimacy with her. Last night he had stormed in and fucked her like it was a challenge, like she was something to be conquered and broken and willed into submission. This, however, is a far cry from that. It's almost...gentle. That is if anything he does can be considered gentle.

The unspoken continuation of that question is, Will you have me after last night? After everything? And in answer, she kisses him harder and reaches for the buckle of his belt. It is weighed down by the weight of the fine sword and knife he carries in two sheaths attached on either side, but once she gets him free of it, it troubles her no longer. It simply clatters to the ground beside her discarded coat without another thought given to it.

What happens from here on is hazy to her in the way most distant memories are, but the difference is that she finds it hazy as she experiences it, not due to the passing of time. It's likely a combination of everything she's endured for the past forty-eight hours, the knowledge of her pregnancy weighing down upon her shoulders, and the feral lust felt for Aemond deep within her, but there's something about it that addles her brain similarly to when she drinks a cup of wine.

Somehow, they end up on the ground together with him slotted between the legs she opened so willingly for him and her pinned beneath the weight of his body. Her dress is not cut in half as it was on her wedding night seeing that they have to return to the Red Keep on foot. The skirts are pulled up though, and his lips leave kisses along her cleavage as he ruts his clothed cock against her. Feeling how hard he is, feeling what she alone does to him, brings pulsations of need to her already aching cunt.

That was another thing that surprised her about marriage. How little time it takes for him to arouse her beyond reason. Whenever she pleased herself, she had to work to get herself wet enough to lubricate the movement of her fingers, but he gets it done in a matter of seconds. All he has done is kiss her and shed her coat from her body and here she is.

It takes him a despicable amount of time to undo his trousers and shove them down his legs, so much so that she cannot help but move her hips up against nothing and whine, "Kostilus, valzȳrys." Please, husband.

And, fuck, if he claims that sight isn't what it takes to urge him on quicker through the act of undressing, he's a fool and a liar.

Aemond balances his weight on the forearms pressing onto the ground on either side of her when he finally nudges at her entrance with his tip and, once he feels it slip inside of her, presses his hips forward until they are flush with the back of her thighs. At the same time that he groans, she gasps. The blunt edges of her fingernails dig into his shoulders enough that he can feel it through his clothing. Her jaw goes slack at the indescribable feeling of his cock filling her, buried deep enough that she thinks she can feel him in her belly, and she allows her head to tilt back onto her coat as she looks up into his eyes.

He can hardly keep control of himself when she looks at him like that. There's a part of him that wants to pin her arms above her head and take her the way he had last night, but the softness in her gaze gives him pause. It soothes him. Seeing her look upon his face like that makes him take it slower with her, drawing back and thrusting back in at a relaxed pace that is more of a sensuous grinding than it is outright fucking. It's tender, caring, and much different than any time they've done this in the past. While he isn't always rough with her, he also isn't as sensual and sweet as he is now. No, this is new. Wholly new.

He leans down the rest of the way to kiss her, allowing half the weight of his body to keep her in place now that there's no space left between them. The only time he halts their exploration of each other's mouths is to whisper in a hushed slur of strung together words, "Mmm, taking it so well—"

The praise is punctuated with a hard returning thrust. He felt her walls squeezing around his cock from the sound of his voice alone, and there was little he could do to prevent himself from succumbing to what his cunt-struck excuse for a brain wanted him to do. He is, in every other situation, a man who takes pride in his intelligence and well-nurtured education as a member of the royal family, but all of that is scattered to the winds when he's inside of her. Aegon would tease him mercilessly if he were to ever discover that his brother's sole weakness is, despite Aemond's refusal to discuss the topic with him, his wife's pretty cunt.

Y/N wraps her arms around his shoulders and keeps him trapped in the little prison of her own making as she is being ravished by him. The familiar sensation of pleasure building in the pit of her stomach draws a moan out of her, and he can't help but make it harder and faster. But through the haze of this intense gratification, she sees his face above hers and is reminded of the previous night. When they'd taken their anger out on each other as a result of their fight. As a result of what he did to her sweet brother.

Her features harden at the thought, the soft smile vanishing as she takes thrust after thrust with little gasps that escape without her permission, and she can almost sense the fiery spirit that lives within her—the sleeping dragon—rising from its slumber in response to the anger. Suddenly, she remembers who she is. She is the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon. She is not so easily placated.

The leg that is wrapped around his hip is used to help her flip him onto his back along with the force of her hips pressing up against his and the hands she placed on his shoulders. Her hands remain there for the first moment she spends perched on top of him like this, gripping hard to give her leverage while she begins to ride him. The surprise is evident in his remaining eye, but he does not stop her or make any discomfort known. If anything, he likes it a little too much. To see her like this...

She takes him even deeper than before with this new change in position. Every time her hips come down on his, the broad tip of his cock brushes the sweet spot inside of her and sparks a kind of pleasure far more overwhelming than the kind she gets when he rubs the overly sensitive nub at the top of her folds. He reaches for her hips reflexively once he realizes why she moved him so suddenly, but she shakes her head and pins his arms down by the wrists above his.

In response to this, there's a strange war that is waged in his mind.

Part of him isn't sure what to think, another part wants to take back control and gain the upper hand as any good fighter would, and the other...Well, the other part is the one currently in control. It's the part of him that cannot think about anything save for the sight and feeling of her fucking him, trembling and moaning like a wanton whore. It isn't long before this haze wears off and he begins to come to his senses though. The wrists pinned against the ground push back against the hands holding them captive as though to test her strength, readying to break free in order for him to pull out and flip her over onto her hands and knees.

He can already feel the words on the tip of his tongue, "If you want to behave like a whore, I will treat you like one."

But he doesn't get to say them. Apparently, his wife is already one step ahead of him, and when she witnessed the muscles in his arms flexing in preparation to take back control, she made her move. All he heard was the sound of steel sliding against steel, the knife that he hadn't thought twice of allowing to fall to the ground being ripped from its scabbard, before the sharp tip of the blade is pointed at his throat. One of her hands keeps holding his wrists down even though they both know he could break free if he pleases while the other is wrapped around the hilt of the blade.

He would open his mouth to speak, but he knows he'll get cut if he does, so he just stares up at her with an incredulous expression.

"Swear on your life," she says, moaning before speaking again from the feeling of cock sliding into her. Her breaths are shallow, her chest heaving, as she cants her hips and rides him harder. "Swear you won't hurt them again. If you don't, I shall let this pierce your throat, and we can be finished with this feud."

Her body leans down enough that her chest brushes his with every exchange of air exhaled and inhaled in the limited space between their mouths.

She croons, "Is it not enough they gave me to you? If you are owed a debt"—another moan—"is it not now paid? It is not an eye for an eye but believe me when I say the idea of you defiling me is worse to my dear brother than being maimed."

The stirring sensation within him begins to crescendo as a result of her brutal pace and everything she says. At this point, his brain is no longer in control of him. The ecstasy he feels is too great for him to string together a coherent thought outside of variations of, "She is utterly divine, she is perfect, she is—"

Once again, he finds himself thinking that this is why it had to be her. This is why it had to be someone as wild as him. All it takes to frighten most other women from noble birth is a sharply edged sentence or harsh glare, but she is the type of person to hold a blade to his throat while performing the most intimate act of devotion that exists, and if being driven to that degree of madness by your feelings for a person isn't love, then he doesn't know what love is.

"Did you never think about it?" Based on the look in his eye, he hadn't considered what she just said to him, and it makes her smirk. "Your distaste for him must not run as deep as you claim if you have never taken pleasure in being the one to claim his sister." She laughs quietly. "They all thought you would be cruel, that you'd be a selfish husband who'd use me to warm your bed and nothing else"—his cock twitches in her—"Little do they know, you are the one they should be worried for. No one is near to witness what I may do to you, and here you are. Trapped beneath me with your own knife to your throat and your cock inside me."

Gods help him. Every word she says is fuel to the fire. What a filthy mouth.

At last, she pulls the tip of the knife back an inch or so to allow him to speak without cutting himself, and he never breaks eye contact with her throughout the process. Not once. All it takes is her raising a brow to spur him into speaking the words she wants to hear. And once the words leave his mouth, she knows they are binding. Unlike his older brother, she knows Aemond to be a man of his word, and if he swears something to her, she can trust him.

"I swear," Aemond says, breathless, although his features are set with a harsh rage to counteract the softness in his voice. "I will not hurt them."

They're both interrupted by their own need to suck down breaths of air to compensate for the exertions of their bodies, but he still refuses to look away. He refuses to surrender and let her think she has frightened him despite his willingness to abide by the promise she requested and allow her to think she's the one in control. And now that he's sworn this to her, she taunts him for the fun of it.

"What do you think Sir Criston would say if he saw his best swordsman in such a vulnerable position?" She makes a tsk sound. "I think he would be quite disappointed to see how you let your—"

In a movement strong and swift enough that she cannot process it until it is done, Aemond twists the knife out of her grasp and has her on her back in a matter of seconds. The blade is pressed to her neck, not quite cutting but pressing in just enough for her to feel the threat of it there, and her throat bobs against the sharp side of the blade when he forces her mouth open with his fingers pressing on her soft cheeks.

He says, only warning her once, "Never say another man's name when I am fucking you," and does not hesitate before spitting in her mouth.

The same fingers that pressed on her cheeks to force her mouth open force it shut again, clamping down over her kiss-swollen lips to make her swallow his spit, and once he sees her do so, he tosses the knife aside and devotes his full attention to worshipping her. His lips smear against hers in a sloppy kiss to match the haphazard, pounding strokes he makes into her now that he can feel himself getting close. With every sharp thrust, she cries out and holds tighter onto him to keep him close.

Aemond continually hits that perfect spot within her and never lets up, groaning and trying his hardest not to come before she does. She is close. He can feel it in how her cunt spasms around him, clenching and unclenching in the way it always does before she is sent over the edge. All she needs is a few more thrusts, so he brings his arms down to rest on either side of her head and cages her in so all she can see is him and him alone, forced to look upon his face as she finds her peak.

"Ossēninna mirre vala qilōni māzigon rȳ īlva. Mirre vala ao qogralbar tolie than nyke morghūlilza. Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke," he says in the language of their ancestors because he does not know if he can be so honest in the common tongue. Valyrian provides an added privacy that is a comfort to them both. His voice is a low hum that runs along her skin like a tender caress, and that is all it takes for her to come undone, hearing what he said over and over in her mind. I will kill any man who comes between us. If you fuck anyone else, they will die. You belong to me.

Y/N's jaw falls open in a gape as it hits her, harsh and unforgiving in its brutality but plentiful in its euphoria. The rush is unlike any other climax she has had with him in the past likely due to everything that preceded it. Although she has thoroughly enjoyed every time she's been with him before, this is on a different dimensional scale. Hearing him say that she belongs to him, that he's willing to kill any man who poses a threat to their marriage...to think that she has brought the great Aemond Targaryen to his knees is intoxicating.

The feeling of her cunt clamping down around his cock like a vice brings him to his end much quicker than he anticipated, and he groans as he spills into her.

All he can think to himself is that he is lucky. He is lucky to have a wife that he formed a connection with, lucky to have a wife that makes him feel things he didn't know he could feel. It's difficult to imagine being bound by blood to anyone but her. Whenever he passes by noble married couples, he can't help but feel pity for them. They do not know what it is to love a person with every part of their soul, even the part that hates them.

Aemond and Y/N are panting for air with their foreheads pressed together once they've begun to come down from their respective climaxes, and she cannot do anything but hold onto him as her heart rate begins to slow down again. She can see in the way he looks at her that it was different for him this time too, that he could feel what she felt between them, and to think that it doesn't scare him off...

He collapses onto her chest with a tired sigh and allows her to cradle his head against her, her hand stroking his hair in a soothing pattern that lulls him into a state of peace.

The flames burning in the fireplace crackle and surge when the servant tending to them for the night adds another log, then bows her head toward where Aemond sits before exiting their rooms. From the room over, he can hear Y/N humming to herself as she prepares herself for a night of rest. They were both so thoroughly worn out from their prior exertions that they slept together beneath the cover of Vhagar's wing for the better part of an hour before heading back to the Red Keep.

Shockingly, neither of them felt the need to talk about what they experienced this afternoon. There was no overly-emotional profession of feelings or official conversation about what shifted between them, but they both recognized it to themselves. By the time they returned, Queen Alicent had already been looking for them for an hour, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head at the sight of them walking through the halls together with stifled laughter and rain-soaked clothes.

It was when they reached the staircase she was walking down that Aemond met her gaze and gave her a slight nod. That was all the confirmation she received on the state of her youngest child's marriage before they disappeared to clean off and ready themselves for dinner, which they managed to drag themselves out to share with Alicent and Helaena as per the former's request. And when the queen watched them interact at dinner, she couldn't help but smile to herself as she sipped her wine.

Now, it's late at night, and Y/N is brushing out the long strands of silver hair that cascade down her shoulders. The only item of clothing covering her is a thin chemise, and as she sets the brush down on the table beside her, her eyes are drawn to her stomach. A tentative hand slides down the front of it, keeping the white fabric flat against her body, and rubs the imperceptibly small bump residing there that she blamed on natural weight gain or bloating.

Deep down, she supposes she already knew. She can already pinpoint the time she thinks did it—when he woke her up with his head between her thighs before fucking her right there. It was early in the morning before any servants would come knocking, and she was still half-asleep when he spent his seed in her. As she fell back to sleep with his release dripping from her sensitive cunt, she recalls feeling the large palm of his hand settling over her belly to keep her back pressed to his chest. It was almost as if he knew too.

This morning, she couldn't imagine telling him what the maesters confirmed, but now...

She walks out past the bed to the main area of the room where they spend their time either reading, drinking, or talking before it is time to sleep. Her footfalls are quieter than usual, yet he can still hear her approaching from behind, and when she leans down with her arms wrapping around his shoulders to kiss his cheek, he does not flinch in alarm. All he does is offer a hum of approval, eye fluttering shut in appreciation of his wife's gentle touch.

There's a short pause during which she stands and wrings her hands in front of her where he cannot see, then moves around to the front of the chair and sits on his lap. Her legs are bent over the arm of the chair with her side pressed to his chest and her arm draped over his shoulders.

"Aemond?"

He turns his attention from where it had been fixed on the fire onto her. No verbal response is granted to her, but she knows from months of living alongside him that this is his way of telling her to say whatever it is that's on her mind.

Her next exhale trembles a little.

"Um," she stammers, unsure of how to break the news other than coming right out and saying it. "I went to see the maesters this morning..." Her bottom lip is drawn between her teeth as she tries to summon the courage to say it. "Iksan lēda riña." I am with child.

The typically harsh stare set on her face softens with these few words. Just like that, her nerves dissolve into nothing, and she is left to wonder how she had been so scared to tell him this morning. Of course, his reaction would be a pleasant one. He is nothing if not a duty-driven man. Providing his family with more potential heirs is a cause for celebration, even as a second son. Another way to fulfill his duty with his lawful wife, unlike Aegon who has fathered bastards with common whores and neglected his wife. And now that he has discovered a new side to his relationship with her, the idea of her bearing his children is sentimental in a way he hadn't expected it to be in the past.

Aemond's lips curl into a slight smile, his face leaning forward through the space between them to brush her nose with his. The hand not placed against her back comes down to rest upon the barely-there swell of her belly that serves as the only physical evidence of this good news.

"I know."

Her body still atop his. Seconds later, she tries to move to stand up only to be stopped by his strong arms holding her in place.

"You know?" she asks, face flushed with heat.

The emotion present on her face, he notices, is embarrassment. Whatever for, he does not know, but he's quick to settle her down once he notices. His fingers tuck her hair behind her ear, combing through it the same way hers had done with his when he collapsed onto her after their passionate coupling. A wry chuckle escapes him at her shock.

He says, "Did you think I had not noticed when you missed your blood? We share a bed, ñuha jorrāelagon"—My love. Her heart may have skipped a beat—"I would be stupid if I had not known."

Her mind is sent reeling from this.

She missed her blood at the beginning of the last moon, and she would be due for her next bleeding any day now if she were not with child, so...has he known this whole time? Wait, no. More importantly, he cares enough to make note of things like that? He may have said it as though it was obvious, as though every husband would notice, but he is far different from most of the men in this city. She is willing to bet an absurd sum of coin that her grandsire Viserys never paid such attention to the queen, nor does Aegon to Helaena.

He and his brother have vastly different marriages. For one, Aegon and Helaena live separately. She and Aemond do not. They have only consummated their marriage out of necessity for the sake of continuing the bloodline, meanwhile, she has not needed to take Aemond to bed every night. She simply wanted to. And that is the difference. That is the thing she had yet to realize in her denial of his feelings for her. They were wed for the sake of unifying their families, yes, but it is not a marriage that subsists solely on duty. At least, not anymore.

Y/N looks at him like she does not believe he is real.

"You"—she shakes her head as if to dispel her disorganized thoughts and allow her to speak with clarity—"I did not know you paid attention to me that closely."

He is countering back in a matter of seconds, running the tips of his fingers up and down the length of her back, "Nyke daor dohaeragon nykēla." I cannot help myself.

The crackling of the flames not far from where she is perched atop his lap fills the gaps of silence left between them. It allows her to consider the past day or so with the care she was not capable of in the midst of her anger. It was difficult to navigate, and she feels terrible for her brother, but she thinks it may have been a necessary hardship for them to overcome as husband and wife. The issue of their families would not have been settled with them ignoring it as they used to and pushing aside their feelings for the sake of the marriage. It had to be faced at some point, and now that it has, she feels lighter. The weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

Her hand then drops to rest atop the one he has placed over her belly, and she looks down at their entwined fingers with a tender smile blooming on her face.

"Nyke pendagon se rūs iksis riña," she says. I think the babe is a girl. "Skoros gaomagon ao pendagon, valzȳrys?" What do you think, husband?

A/N: let me know what you think :) thanks for reading

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravena, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, and @shintax-error.

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letmeloveyouuuu · 1 year

Text

curiosity | modern!aemond x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Aemond Targaryen is an enigma you need to solve.

Inspired by an amazing request from @darckxlady for a modern mysterious Aemond based on Avril Lavigne’s “Hot” that’s haunted me ever since it arrived in my inbox. Thank you for letting me loose on your lovely idea Dess, I hope I’ve done it some kind of justice!

WORDS: 5.4k (I know, it got out of hand)

WARNINGS: balls to the wall smut, v fingering, squirting, daddy kink, affirmation kink, praise, serious degrading, p in v sex, slight dubcon if you squint, Aemond being a dom asshole, language, fuckboy Aegon, very much unedited/not proofread, a tiny Easter egg for fans of the Greek alphabet, reader has a name for a plot point

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

My requests are open! 🖤

You know what they say about curiosity.

The conundrum of Aemond Targaryen, the silently contemplative mystery man in your History class, was a red flag to a bull. You had exhausted your average detective skills to learn more about him, inactive Facebook account, unused Twitter and even an old Tumblr account included. There was nothing out there to learn about the silver-haired Adonis that his nonchalant countenance hadn’t already exposed. Either that, or he’s already worked out how to wipe his digital footprint clean off the web.

The less you uncovered, the more entranced you became. Every enquiry’s door slammed in your face drove you further down the corridor. The Targaryen wasn’t going to get the better of you. Was he a lover, a fighter, a good kisser, bad kisser, or worse — a frat boy?

The end of class bell rang you out of your imaginative daze, not realising you’d been staring at Aemond across the classroom for an indeterminable amount of time. He gathered his things in an orderly fashion as normal, so it was safe to assume you hadn’t been caught red-handed. Hurriedly grappling your belongings in turn, you were the last to leave class. As usual.

With the prospect of another gruelling hour in High Valyrian before home time, you idly pored through the remaining avenues of investigation in your mind while trudging the hallway before your ears pricked up to a salacious conversation.

“I had her up against the wall,” Aemond’s voice sliced through the hum of the busy corridor like a gleaming dagger, his skewed tone suggesting his lips were curled viciously as he described his forceful action. Stopping right in the middle of the hall, your gaze frantically searched through the crowds for a sight of the mysterious Targaryen. Finding the platinum curls of his brother Aegon, you scanned beside him to find Aemond making an example of his words, a demonstrative hand aloft in a clutching stance up against the locker beside them, knuckles white as he gripped nothing at all. “She wanted me, she was dripping for me,” he continued, confirming your worst fear — he was indeed a frat boy. On the other hand, Aegon’s sarcastic expression beside him spoke louder than any words, both eyebrows knitted together as if he didn’t believe a word his brother was saying.

“Sure you did,” Aegon scoffed, arms folded tightly across his chest. “Which wet dream are you talking about this time, brother? It’s a wonder we’re even related, I’m not even entirely sure you’d know where to put your cock.”

Aemond’s gaze darted to the floor along with his hands, anxiously drawing his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Seriously bro, did you even watch that gangbang I linked you last night?” Aegon prattled on, completely oblivious to his brother’s indifference. Aegon’s extroverted approach was the polar opposite to his brother’s, he was the popular picked-first-in-gym guy in movies that you just want to sucker punch. “Don’t tell me, your notifications aren’t working again. No worries, I’ll send you ten more in a minute. You like chicks with a pulse, right? Don’t wanna narrow your chances down too much, you’ll get it wet someday.”

Suddenly, Aemond looked up from the ground and stared straight into your eyes across the hall. His gaze was menacing, predatory even, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together as he practically devoured you from afar. If it weren’t for the bustling school around you, you’d be mistaken for thinking he’d gladly slit your throat then and there for witnessing him being roasted by his brother. Despite the imminent threat of figurative murder in the hallway, you couldn’t help drawing further into his intrigue. In that moment, he became even more fascinating to you. But here you were, mindlessly staring at him for the second time in 10 minutes.

Quickly looking away to any other distraction, you found a particularly interesting flyer pinned to a locker. Saccharine neon colours and graffiti-style text framing its main intention — frat party alert. Tonight. Kappa Nu Tau’s semester-saving opportunity to let your hair down, listen to the same tired songs from the radio and wake up regretting who you just slept with.

Maybe a house party would distract you from the droll of trying to find intel on the man who doesn’t want to be found, or maybe it’d be the perfect opportunity to find such intel.

You turned back to see if Aemond was still staring at you only to find both brothers gone, vanished into the class-bound commotion.

“Are you coming?” A sprightly female voice burst through the crowd accompanied by an arm entwining with yours. Baela, the kindest soul to walk Westeros High that always mistook frat parties for respectable gatherings of upstanding, hard-working students who shared her academic fervour and always bailed an hour and 15 indecent propositions in.

“Uh… sure,” you caved tentatively, knowing full well being best friends with Baela meant the night never outstayed its welcome. “Not sure I’ve got anything to wear though.”

“Sure you do, you can go through my wardrobe!” She cheered in her usual bubbly tone, practically hopping on the balls of her feet with excitement. “I’ve got this really hot red Shein bodycon I haven’t worn yet, I don’t think it’s my colour but it’s definitely yours!”

Dragging you by your linked arms off to your next class, you made another intrigued turn to find Aemond, but he was gone. Once again, the mystery eluded you.

—

The moment the booming party speakers assaulted your ears and snapped you out of your intense detective mindset, you bitterly regretted showing up. Swallowing thickly as you and Baela linked arms and stepped intrepidly into House Kappa Nu Tau, you pasted on your best game face, brushed down Baela’s loaned dress and focused on the matter at hand — find out more about Aemond Targaryen, at all costs.

“The Targaryens are here already,” Baela half-shouted into your ear to be heard over the commotion. “The Snapchat group is going wild for it.”

You furrowed a brow, wondering why your friend would bring them up at the exact moment you were thinking about them, or more specifically one of the three criminally handsome blonde siblings. Aegon the fuckboy may have been the eldest in age, but their sister Helaena was by far the wisest, which left the baby Aemond to cut a name for himself in between. A name which you had yet to work out.

“Dude, would I care what the Targaryens are up to?” You chuckled dismissively, stepping through to the kitchen and grabbing a red solo cup to cling to like your life depended on it. Whether you were aware of it or not, your slight lean against the kitchen island came accompanied by a nervous check of the faces in the room to ensure none had signature platinum blonde hair.

“Oh come on Kat, you can’t stop staring at him!” Baela leaned up against you, planting her head on your shoulder. “Not that I blame you, he’s a certified babe and even I catch myself ogling that violet eye. Do you seriously not notice the way you look at him?”

“Baela, I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Laughing off her comments, you took a sip of your cup for a good few seconds before noticing your cup was still empty. A silence fell between you as you hoped she hadn’t noticed. “… Oh.”

“You’re down bad bad.” Baela dramatically swooned into you, inching closer to watch your every reaction through a suspicious squint. “Admit it, the thought of tangling your fingers in that beautiful blonde mane makes you all hot.”

“I’m not!” you dismissed vehemently. “Look, I hardly even know the guy. He’s a walking fucking mystery, I’ve tried everything: FB stalking him, searching up old yearbooks, he doesn’t even post stories on IG. His brother hacking his Twitter once in 2016 is the only interesting thing about him!”

Unbeknownst to you, a wave of poker-straight silver locks just mingled its way into the kitchen behind you, hearing every word with interest.

“Then you’re looking in all the wrong places,” Baela sighed. “Have you even tried Tinder? Grindr? AO3?”

Aemond’s low chuckle to himself was fortuitously quiet enough to slip under your radar.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Velaryon, I’ve tried everything. Even VampireFreaks!”

Another splutter went unheard.

“Damn, he really is untraceable,” Baela tutted, curling her lips into a pout. “I can always ask Helaena? I have Biology with her on Tuesdays, I can always bribe my way to sit by her. I heard Cregan Stark was struggling last week, he wouldn’t say no if I offer to do his homework this week.”

“No way, that’s too obvious,” you refused immediately. “I can’t let him know I’m interested. You’ve seen him, he keeps himself to himself unless his siblings are around. I have to face it, he’s a locked door and I need to find out where he threw the key.”

Another blonde approached Aemond from behind.

“If I’d have known I’d be bringing you to this party for you to sulk in the kitchen all night, I’d have brought cookies,” Helaena muttered to her brother, offering a solo cup which he reluctantly took. “Can you at least try and let your face know you want to be here? Lying comes naturally to you, can you give it a shot now?”

“Sure, sis.” Aemond forced a pained grin across his cheeks for a split second before dropping into his usual resting bitch face. His violet eye looked over his sister’s shoulder at a rising commotion in the next room. “Hey, isn’t that Aegon dancing topless on a pool table?”

“Not again,” Helaena snarked, storming into the distance and disappearing into the crowd, lost to Aemond’s vision but not to his ears when she screamed at the top of her lungs: “Aegon, this is the third time this week!”

Aemond returned his attention to your conversation.

“Well tonight’s your chance to jump him,” Baela shamelessly encouraged you. “Want me to find him and put in a good word for you?”

“Hell nah,” you protested. “He probably doesn’t even know who I am, we’re only in the same History class.”

“Well in that dress, he’s bound to notice you,” she revelled in the way her dress fitted you like a glove, falling into your curves like it was made for you. “Come on, let’s get you some Dutch courage to go get your mysterious man!”

Before you both turned to pour drinks, Aemond made his escape through the crowd.

—

An hour had passed and you still hadn’t spotted the violet-eyed puzzle of a man. Aegon, on the other hand, had already tried his luck with Baela and received a spectacular shut-down she delivered in front of a baying audience. Not that it phased him for long, he was already doing body shots off a cheerleader over the couch.

“Back in a minute,” you leaned into Baela announcing your departure for the bathroom.

“Okay but don’t leave me for long, okay? The Targaryen brother’s got ten minutes before he forgets the last time and tries it with me again, he’s a rotation fuckboy.”

Tentatively navigating the staircase over scattered groups of teenagers making out and filming regrettable drunken TikToks, your eyes fell upon the bathroom door and lunged for the handle, only for your hand to clasp on someone else’s. A pale, elegant hand with long, slender digits that seemed all too familiar. Looking up at your obstruction, you discovered you were, in fact, holding Aemond’s hand. His features were stern as usual, but significantly less murderous than your last contact.

“Oh shoot,” you flustered, yanking away and stepping back. A quick glance down his figure clocked his plain black skin-tight T-shirt and even tighter black skinny jeans. Mysterious as ever. “Sorry, um… frat boys first!”

Aemond clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“I may be many things but I’m not a frat boy,” he insisted, syllables dripping off his tongue like honey. He released the door handle and waved a demonstrative hand to usher you forward. “Anyway, the rule is ladies first.”

“Incredibly chivalrous for a frat boy,” you goaded with a cheeky grin, the only sarcasm you could muster once you clocked his violet eye, gleaming in the dim light like a precious gemstone. Taking his offer, you scurried toward the door and swung it open, before a hand pressed into the small of your back, pushed you in the bathroom and closed the door behind you.

“Hey, what are you—.”

A click of a key in a lock suggested the door was locked, provoking an instinctive hard swallow as you turned to face him, his back pressed against the portal and blocking your way out. The moonlight glowing outside the small window was the only light in the room yet he seemed to radiate illumination in the dark, his features so clear as if it were daylight. A pale hand holding a key raised into the darkness, clicking his fingers together and sending the key firing off into the pitch black void with a distant chink.

“We need to talk, don’t you think?” He half-purred, gazing down at you like his prey, cornered and panicked.

“What about, Targaryen?” You stuttered, cursing yourself for acting so nervous as if you hadn’t pictured doing the same thing to him countless times over. But this was real life, not a daydream in History class. “Don’t you have some girls to shove against walls or something?”

“What, like this?” His hand fired to grasp your throat, thrusting you against the cool wall, causing you to hiss sharply and clench your eyes shut in fear of slamming into the edge of the basin beside you. Once the shock of the impact settled in your spine, you looked up to see his violet gaze boring down on you once more as he settled his thumb into the hollow of your throat and pressed his fingers into your neck, applying just enough pressure to cut off your blood supply but not enough to make you choke. A wave of excitement spread through you, coming to the clarity that he knew exactly how to choke someone without hurting them — that’s already one factoid you couldn’t glean from his digital footprint.

BookTok was right all along: this really was a turn-on.

Aemond chuckled deep in his throat as he watched your struggles with glee, gazing down at your legs beneath him as they buckled gently, knees squeezing together to resist your core betraying your hardened exterior with jolt after jolt of anticipation.

“Are you quite finished?” He scoffed and quirked a brow, gesturing south in case you weren’t aware you were visibly hot under the collar being slammed against a wall. “Do you notice any similarities in that tall tale to what’s happening right now?”

You swallowed hard against his pressing fingers, realisation hitting you like a freight train.

“I had her up against the wall,” you recalled Aemond confessing earlier. “She wanted me, she was dripping for me.”

“So even if you’re not the best internet stalker, you can still follow simple instructions,” Aemond sneered through a crooked smile. Without warning, his free hand grazed your thigh, brushing the hem of your dress further and further northwards at a slow, agonising pace. If you didn’t stop him there, he would realise he was right about one thing — you really were dripping for him.

“Aemond, please,” you protested weakly, wriggling against his grasp, both hands clutching at his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Please what, huh?” He taunted, snaking his hand higher up your thigh until he reached your hip only to discover your thin lace panties blocking his path. “Say the word and your wish is my command. Go on, what happens next is entirely up to you.”

“I don’t understand—.”

“Sure you do,” he grinned, toying with the flimsy lace as if he could twist his hand and rip the fabric clean off you in a heartbeat. You struggled to slide yourself away, determined to prove him wrong and resist his advances. “You know what they say about curiosity, don’t you Kat?”

With that, your protestations ceased immediately. Taking advantage of your surprise, he gripped your panties and yanked them straight down your legs in one swipe.

“You… you know my name?”

Reinstating his hand on your legs Aemond trailed his index finger between your clenched thighs and parted them effortlessly, finding no objection from you whatsoever.

“I know everything about you. Whilst mine is scarcely visible, your digital footprint may as well be a fucking landmark. So tell me, why is it you’re so interested in the ‘mysterious Targaryen’? What one remarkable thing have I done to deserve your undivided, not to mention pathetic, attention?”

His lips curled into a half-snarl as he dominated you.

“Seeing as you know everything about me, why don’t you tell me, Aemond?” Your sarcastic flair returned to the conversation in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from his finger’s intrepid yet glacial trail toward your soaking core. “What have you done to deserve my attention?”

In thinking up a witty comeback, you hadn’t noticed his adventurous finger had left your thigh altogether.

“How about this?” In a blink of an eye, his free hand gripped your thigh, spread it to one side and propped your foot up on the faucet beside you. Somehow refusing to release the pressure on your windpipe at the same time, Aemond trailed that same curious digit back up your thigh and finally met your throbbing folds, the contact alone causing you to buck your hips into him.

“Easy tiger,” he commanded by delivering a swift slap to your cunt, earning a gasp in response. “Now I’ve answered your question, you owe me a reply to mine and in return, I’ll be kind enough to have mercy on your pretty little throat. What do you want the mysterious Targaryen to do to you?”

He trailed the very tip of his finger over the borders of your folds, circling delicately and inducing goosebumps on your every limb. Your eyes roved to the ceiling, spine flexing wildly and crashing against the wall in a feverish attempt to quell your body’s natural instincts. Aemond closed the gap between you, hovering his lips an inch from yours as his calm breaths fanned your face.

“Use your words, curious Kat,” he taunted, adding another finger to his agonising journey around your now-dripping entrance. “Tell me what you want from me.”

No matter the compromising position he held you in, Aemond was putting you in control. You could turn him down before he fucked you with his fingers, you could slap him across the face and he would obey. The big game he played was all a front, what he really craved was validation. Proof that you also wanted what he wanted to do to you in that moment.

Gulping loudly, you waited patiently until his fingers danced over your clit before bucking your hips forward so far, his digits slipped neatly inside you.

“I want you to fuck my brains out, Aemond Targaryen,” you declared, revelling in his deep groan as his fingers met your spongy walls, instinctively stroking and caressing at an already feverish pace.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised you eagerly, tearing his grip from your throat and planting his free hand against the wall by your head. “I’m glad to see you know what you want at last.”

Clenching around his fingers as he worked your core like a master sculptor, you threw your head back against the wall, squeezing your eyes shut to focus on the searing waves of ecstasy flooding through you.

“No you fucking don’t,” he snapped, curling his hand around the back of your head and forcing your gaze down to see his fingers disappear in your cunt. “Watch me ruin you until the only comprehensible thought in that pretty little head of yours will be my name.”

His breakneck pace plunging his fingers inside you was only increasing, the pressure on your head forcing you down acting as a counterweight for his other hand’s machine-like thrusts. The white heat igniting inside your core began coursing through your veins, Aemond’s brutal speed racing you to the brink of your climax far too soon.

“I’m going to… I need to…,” you begged pathetically through staccato breaths. “Please, Aemond.”

“Wanna try that name again, sweetheart?” He pressed, withdrawing his fingers and slamming back knuckle-deep inside you.

“Oh gods fuck… uh… sir?” His relentless pace stealing every strangled gasp you could muster.

“Nice try,” Aemond chuckled, pressing on your neck harder and working you even faster. “Venture another.”

“Fuck, please, ah…,” you cried out in desperation, pleading for an end to your torment and the simple permission to allow your orgasm to wash over you. “M… master?”

“Now now little girl, this isn’t Fifty Shades Of Grey, this is real life,” he pressed, raising his voice to be heard over the explicit sounds of your slick coating his pummelling fingers. “One last try.”

“Oh gods please, I can’t hold back much…,” you strained to see Aemond’s determined grin beyond the glittering stars appearing in the corners of your vision. “F… fuck… please daddy—.”

“That’s it, baby girl,” he praised before slamming his fingers deep inside you, flattening his palm against your clit and pulling and pushing his digits within you from your back walls to the front. His combined friction against your bundle of nerves and his fingers pressed fervently into your walls built an unusual sensation within you at an alarming pace, searing hot tears tumbling down your cheeks until you couldn’t take the sheer pressure anymore.

“Now squirt all over my fingers like a good little whore,” Aemond purred, his permission sending you careering over the precipice with a strangled scream, releasing the pressure inside until a tidal wave of your juices gushed from your cunt and sprayed his fingers, lewd splashes filling the room as you shamelessly soaked the bathroom floor, your own feet and Aemond’s skinny jeans.

“Good girl,” he encouraged, his words drawling from his tongue as he devoured the sight of you coming undone on just his fingers, continuing his assault on your walls to ride you through your entire orgasm. “I knew you could obey orders eventually, you’re not as dumb as you seem.”

“F… fuck you Aemond,” you stuttered, already regretting the words as they tumbled from your mouth and his gaze met yours.

In the afterglow of the most intense orgasm you were ever likely to experience, you had just committed a war crime. The silence that fell in the bathroom was practically pulsing between you, waiting to explode at any moment.

“As you wish, curiosity killed the Kat,” he snarled like a wild animal, tearing his fingers from your cunt as you clenched around nothing, before gripping your hips and spinning you on the spot, bending you over the faucet and pressing your face into the countertop with one hand quickly balled into your hair, the other wrestling with his skinny jeans and shuffling the denim to his ankles. Your inability to see his next move both excited and terrified you, hearing only frantic shuffling as he presumably freed his length from its cotton confines. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you after that little stunt.”

Delivering a swift kick to your ankle to spread your legs for him, Aemond released your hair and ghosted a delicate trail down your spine toward parting your cheeks before him. A subtle squelching sound suggested he was palming at his cock, and within moments his tip was nudging at your waiting entrance.

“Tell me what you want,” Aemond demanded, his hand returning to fist into your hair and pulling your head back to face him, while holding his cock just at the precipice of sinking into your depths. “Right now.”

Once again, he was handing you the reins. The control over his next move was in your hands, completely and utterly. You strained back to take in his wild, lust-blown gaze down at you. He was just as far gone as you, if not further. His legs gently quaked as his anticipation peaked, desperate to plunge inside you once and for all.

“I want you…,” you hesitated as your legs nearly caved beneath you with want, need, desperation. “I want you to fuck me unconscious, daddy.”

A filthy moan erupted in his throat as he allowed his hips to rock forward, sheathing himself inside you to the hilt and journeying both hands to grasp your hips, guiding you down onto his thick cock. Your eyes widened as your walls eagerly consumed him, his girth stretching you open so much that from that moment on, you would only be filled by him.

“After I let you squirt all over me like a dirty little whore, that’s how you repay me?” Aemond hissed through gritted teeth, setting a relentless pace plunging his throbbing cock into the deepest points of your core. “Not even a ‘thank you daddy for finger fucking me so hard I can’t see straight.’”

“Thank you… thank you daddy,” you repeated mindlessly, overwhelmed by the pressure of his tip pounding your walls so deep you could swear he was hitting your cervix. “Thank you daddy!”

“You’re getting there, baby girl,” he cooed, flexing his hips to bottom out inside you at different angles with each devastating thrust. “All you can think about is my cock, hmm? How good it feels being filled up by me? How good it feels being used as my own personal cocksleeve?”

You nodded furiously, gripping the edge of the countertop and arching your back into his thrusts. Groaning pornographically, Aemond pressed a palm into the small of your back and caressed each peak and trough.

“That‘s my brainless little girl,” he hummed contentedly, drinking in your every effort to please him and ramping up his keen thrusts deep into your soaking cunt. “All you want is me, all you need is me. You belong to me.”

It was all too much. His unrelenting pace blurred your vision of the room around you, the pressure building inside your rippling cunt robbed you of oxygen, the precipice of your second climax coming to view without any strength remaining to withstand it. Your stabilising foot slipped in the puddle of your juices from earlier pooling on the bathroom tiles beneath you, losing grip on the basin. Aemond’s vice-like grip caught you without missing a beat of his relentless piston hips, hoisting your legs back to a straightened position before quickly returning to his gut-wrenching pace, your hip bones grazing the edge of the counter with every pound into you.

“Easy, easy, I’ve got you,” he reassured, curling a particularly devastating plunge inside you that made you wail out into the void, the edges of your vision blurring like a vignette. “I need you to stay awake just a bit longer, okay my little zombie?”

You could no longer respond, allowing your incoherent ragged grunts as he pummelled you to speak for you.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled in satisfaction, rearing his hips for the deepest thrust yet which sent you gasping for air that was simply out of your reach. “Daddy’s going to fill you up now, okay? Be a good zombie and take everything I give you, yeah?”

His nails were digging crescent dips into the flesh of your hips as he impaled you relentlessly, each determined thrust splitting you open so delicately before him like a daisy shedding its precious petals. You were putty in his hands, deliciously malleable and utterly defenseless while he used you to chase his own peak. Your powerless careering toward your own climax tightened a coil within you, mindlessly held back from pushing yourself over the edge until you heard his permission.

“Oh gods, fuck, I’m…,” he stuttered, leaning down to press his chest against your back and purred in your ear. “Cum with me, baby girl.”

The tidal wave of ecstasy hit you both at the exact same moment, his faltering thrusts spilling hot inside you just as your juices gushed around him, your mixed fluids bursting the banks of your aching folds and joining the explicit pool of your previous climax. Your conjoined moans sang in harmony as you rode out your peaks through ever-so-gently rocking hips, not willing to withdraw from each other and accept that the rollercoaster had come to an end.

Aemond’s arms suddenly snaked around your hips, only this time their presence was gentle, tender, considerate. Raising you to a standing position, he turned you to lean up against the counter, propping you up safely as you both slowly regained composure together. His instinctive lean for a hand towel to clean you of his cum leaking from your folds took you by surprise, even dipping a corner under the faucet and taking great care wiping your aching entrance for you.

“Are you…?” He muttered under his breath, carefully scanning your body for any bruising or injuries. His violet eye fell upon each side of your pelvis in turn, your hip bones had grazed against the countertop so furiously that your flesh was red raw, blotching with tiny beads of crimson and the smallest shreds of skin standing upright from your otherwise smooth frame.

Aemond swallowed hard, casting the towel aside and pressing a palm to each damaged hip and surveying the price of his own recklessness.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” he stumbled over his words for the first time. “I never meant to…”

“It doesn’t hurt, Aemond,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand in the limited space between you. “Forget about it.”

“How can I forget about it?” His tone was concerned. “How can I just overlook the fact I hurt the girl I’ve been head over heels—.”

He cut himself off by slapping his hand over his lips, but not soon enough. You quirked a corner of your own into a suspicious pout, brows knitted together.

“What was that again, daddy?” Your sarcastic tone an exact mirror of his typical domineering approach, the adrenaline rush of discovering your newfound power over him going right to your head. “Spit it out like a good little boy.”

Aemond’s violet eye gazed into yours, his signature satisfied smirk creeping back. “It seems I taught you well, baby girl.”

As his smile beamed back at you, you couldn’t seem to tear your vision away from his lips, from his prominent cupid’s bow to the dimples forming in his cheeks as he grinned. Of course, Aemond noticed you were deep in observation and leaned in to press his nose against yours, his breaths fanning your face.

“Tell me what you want right now, rūs riña.” Baby girl.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you responded.

“I want you to kiss me, Aemond Targaryen.”

As soon as the last syllable left your tongue, he crashed his lips into yours, nudging his nose into your cheek to ensure every atom of his lips embraced yours. The combined after-effects of the mind-blowing fuck and your eyes being closed while passionately making out with Aemond made a heady mix, leaving you lightheaded and as if your legs could cave beneath you all over again.

Reluctantly pulling away to catch a breath, Aemond whimpered as you left and wrapped his arms around your waist to hold you close, refusing to let you go and willing you to stay in the moment with him just a little longer.

“You know, curiosity didn’t kill me in the end,” you smiled. “But I still wanna know what that mouth can do, daddy.”

Aemond beamed as brightly as his violet eye glistening with the excitement of a party worth showing up for, making a mental note to thank his sister for dragging him along after all.

With the riddle of Aemond Targaryen finally solved, you were right about one thing — he was no frat boy. Because frat boys don’t fuck like that.

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