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tender-rosiey · 4 months

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What would happen if gojo has 2 babies? And they both start crying at the same time and poor gojo has to find a solution in this situation 🥲 his younger baby that is only months old starts crying which makes the older sibling that's 2 years older wake up and starts crying 😭

little voice — gojo satoru x f!reader

you’re on a girls’ vacation. it’s okay. it’s cool.

but it isn’t.

throughout his entire life of fighting curses, emotional trauma, technique training, and unending migraines, he has never felt so much stress like he does right now.

his two kids are truly angels: full of kindness, compassion and—as expected of a child of gojo satoru—full of mischief.

they also share the same amount of love he has for you and, of course, even more. so separate two kids who adore their mother and you get chaos.

satoru just found out that the one who keeps the balance in the house is you, and thinking back about it, it should’ve been obvious because everyone in this house listens to you.

for example, one time when you were out on a simple visit to nanami to take some of the sweet bread he has, you had strictly told satoru to put the two kids to sleep at 8:30 exactly.

he thought it’s too early, but then you explained to him that s/n sleeping gave him time and freedom to look after your baby daughter who was, admittedly, a handful that would not sleep unless she was carried.

so satoru obediently listened, or at least he tried to.

a shameful failed trial at that.

in his defense, what was he supposed to do when s/n gave him puppy eyes asked for a mere 10 minutes more, say no? of course not!

so, like the great father he is, he gave him a couple more minutes, and nothing will make satoru regret his decision since to him his son’s smile is worth the world.

…except maybe the chandelier that is now on the floor and his precious baby daughter who just took one the biggest poops he has known of and his son who is panicking about how to clean this mess before you come home.

and come home you did and to all this mess.

swiftly, you picked up your daughter and changed her diaper, even making her giggle and squeal in between.

then you hugged your son and cleaned up the shattered glass together and disposed of the chandelier. lastly, you stood in front of your husband with a big frown after you’ve put the kids to sleep.

satoru could swear that he couldn’t fall more in love with you. hell, he could even twirl you around and kiss you breathless, but he feels like that would just lead him to the couch.

so he works to butter you up first before trying anything, “hey my sweet cute honeypie—“

you simply quirk an eyebrow.

and he falls to his knees, “I am sorry! I just couldn’t resist his puppy eyes! you should’ve seen them; he looked so cute!”

“I saw them a million times before he was even born, ‘toru.”

your husband gasps, “how!?”

“our son is an exact copy of you, sweetie.”

so yeah that was one of too many times, and if it isn’t apparent that you are the mediator then satoru wants to let the world know that even his students listen to you.

like that one time at school when the first years were caught up fighting with each other, the second years were trying to pull them apart, and satoru was too busy cackling at them while holding d/n that no one noticed panda’s little tail being—god knows why—on fire, not even panda himself.

that was until your precious son tugged at your husband’s shirt and pointed at panda, saying a simple sentence (phrase), “papa, panda fire.”

satoru’s eyes zero on panda then they widen, before he gapes, “oh shit, you’re right!”

“bad word!”

“sorry!”

however, despite satoru almost bolting to put out the fire, panda was finally able to smell it and hummed, “something’s being cooked.” then he looked at his tail, “oh it’s me.”

hit the panic button.

“I am being cooked!” he screams and starts running around, “panda meat doesn’t taste good; I promise!”

the rest start running after him with the intention to help, but panda could only translate it into one thing as he screamed, “don’t eat me!!”

“no one is gonna eat you, dumbass!!” maki yelled but to no avail as no one could get to the panicked panda.

your husband is running as well, half taking photos and videos and half ensuring that d/n does not fall from his hands—considering how she keeps giggling, squealing, and wriggling her entire body.

ijichi took matters into his own hands and called the only person he knows will be able to solve this.

“hello?”

“panda is on fire, the kids are running after him, and gojo is just recording!” he wails, eyes frantically following said people then straying to a particularly small person, “also s/n is trying to eat the grass.”

“what?!”

and like lightning, you’re on the field. you lightly scold s/n and tell him to cover his ears.

you turn to the walking fire hazard and scream, “everyone stop! and panda get over here!”

“yes ma’am!”

he stands still in front of you, almost ignoring his ‘fiery’ tail. you effectively put it out and ruffle his fur until he calms down. the others take turns in greeting you and getting their daily dose of motherly hugs.

your son sprints to you and holds onto your leg, refusing to let go.

and they all make way for the star of the show: the all-mighty gojo satoru.

he beams, “wifey, yet again you save the day!”

he easily picks up s/n and pulls the four of you into one big hug. he rubs his cheek against yours, “have I told you how much I love you?”

“I was gone for 3 minutes.”

“I haven’t?!” he gasps, completely ignoring you, “I am a terrible husband!”

he sobs and starts slowly melting to the ground where he believes a ‘disrespectful, good-for-nothing husband who doesn’t tell his wife just how much he loves her’.

anyway, back to the present. the kids have been miraculously put to sleep—a process that satoru does not have the time nor the energy to describe.

when he stops ‘reminiscing ‘, he starts paling at the fact that all of these were mere examples of things going wrong without you, and you were in the freaking area.

now, you’re not 10 steps away, and satoru is feeling very threatened.

he is sprawled out on the couch, eye bags ever so prominent. he sighs and lets his head fall back, grateful for the silence that fills the house, but he hates it at the same time.

satoru was never fond of silence—the type that feels so heavy on the heart—even when he was a teenager. it gives space and time to think about all the things he is desperate to avoid.

he did eventually come to love silence but only the silence that accompanies the times he spends with you, but that’s a story for another time though.

opening his eyes, he looks around and his gaze lands on your recent family photo. his smile is almost instantaneous.

if there’s anything he will rub in suguru’s face when they meet is that he managed to score himself such a lovely wife and an adoring family, a real family. he mentally writes a plus one on the score chart between him and suguru then relaxes.

he would like to scurry to the bed where your scent still lingers, but his fatigue has simply chained him to the couch—he is overreacting you’re only gone for three days.

so, he decides, it’s time to rest and hope for a dream where he gets to hold you and live with his longing until he can feel your lips against his skin again.

the great gojo satoru closes his eyes and welcomes his slumber.

that is until, his little sweetheart decides to breakout into a wail, effectively causing her dad’s eyes to snap open.

he jumps to his feet and sprints to her room, “d/n, what’s wrong, honey?”

he softly cradles her in his—gigantic—arms and starts rocking her slowly. “it’s okay; papa’s here,” he murmurs in hopes of calming down, but his daughter doesn’t register his voice yet.

she can, however, feel his all too familiar chest against her cheek, so she grips at it tightly and continues crying.

satoru’s expression is full of distress, and his heart contracts painfully at how his daughter’s cries. then it’s almost like the entire world is against him right now because he also starts to hear small little sniffles from the door of the room.

your husband looks back to find his son dragging his teddy bear with him in one hand and in another, trying to wipe his tears as much as possible.

your husband quickly shifts d/n into one arm and leads s/n into him with the other. your son nuzzles into his dad’s chest and murmurs, “I want mama.”

almost like she understands the mention of you, she calms down a tiny bit and her hands start reaching for the air—reaching for you.

satoru slides down to the ground and pulls them both into his chest, and he starts rubbing s/n’s shoulder and kisses the top of his head and sighs, “me too, s/n, but, hey, we are strong and capable, so we have to hold on until she comes home, right?”

a little sniffle escapes s/n as he nods before saying a soft, “yeah.”

satoru smiles and ruffles his hair, “that’s my champ.”

s/n lets out a little smile and snuggles into his dad’s embrace.

so satoru shifts his attention to the sniffling baby in his arm, he frowns, “now what are we going to do with you, little missy?”

your son purses his lips for a moment, before placing the teddy bear in his hands into his little sister’s tiny arms. curiosity takes over for a moment, and she starts exploring the new item.

then s/n presses on the teddy bear’s chest and it plays a little voice message from you:

“hey sweetie! mama loves you, so don’t worry about those nightmares! I am always here.”

your daughter’s eyes shine and she hugs the teddy as much as possible and utters a small, “ma!”

satoru blinks owlishly then looks at s/n with smile, “so you had that all along?”

s/n nods slowly and holds into his father tighter, obviously getting tired and getting ready to sleep. satoru would love to say the same about his other angel but—oh she fell asleep.

looks like all it took was a little listen to your voice.

he will probably make you record a thousand voice messages when you come back and make you get him his own special build-a-bear as well cause what the hell? what about your husband?

he shakes the thought away, realizing that he can finally fall asleep, albeit on the floor.

with no blanket.

no pillow.

not even his favorite cushion.

but he wasn’t raised to be ungrateful, so he will take what he can get. he will simply make up for lost sleep when you’re back. it will feel better that way in any case.

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dilemmaontwolegs · 7 months

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Not A Verstappen: A New World {6}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Last race before summer break begins. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, team friction, bad language, fluff WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

Belgium Grand Prix Doctor Turner didn’t know where to look. She had started off looking at you but once Charles started to speak her attention was turned and then Lando chimed in too. Her poor neck was straining with flitting back and forth between the three of you sitting across from her desk.

“I think it is the stress,” Lando said as he squeezed your hand.

“I think it is the medication,” Charles countered, a familiar argument brewing. “Things started to change after she started taking it.”

Dr Turner hummed as she made her notes and prompted him for more as he fell silent. “Changes such as?”

You zoned out of the conversation. The whole appointment was a result of the family meeting they had called and the information was nothing new to you. You were moody, you were tired, you were hungry. Charles had been the one to suggest it was the hormones from the contraception. He had even gone so far as to unfold the very, very large sheet of side effect information hidden in the box.

“-and her weight.”

“Thanks, Charles. Love you too,” you muttered.

“Not like that, chérie,” he said as he turned to face you, cupping your cheek gently. “You are beautiful and I love your body, but you are training a lot harder with Kristian to maintain your race weight and you didn’t have to do that before.”

That much was true. The team had even stopped putting sandbags in the car for testing since the car was no longer underweight. You had thought your fireproofs had shrunk in the wash when you pulled them on in Hungary last weekend and the sleeves had cut into your wrists. There’s skintight and then there’s skintight.

”Those were all possibilities we discussed at the time,” Dr Turner said with a nod. “They are quite common with hormonal contraceptives so you likely wouldn’t find any change with the alternative options like the injection or the rods.”

“See, told you this was pointless. I just have to deal with it.”

“Or you could stop taking them,” Lando suggested.

“Given the choice��you want to go back to condoms?”

“As much as we enjoy the benefits, it’s not worth it if this is the cost,” Charles answered for the both of them. “Just stop taking the pills for a while and see how you feel.”

You sighed with defeat but you accepted the plan with a nod. “At least I’m stressed enough that there’ll still be no periods. Yay for me.”

Lando snorted a laugh at your sarcasm but Charles didn’t find the humour as he shook his head and thanked Dr Turner for fitting us into her busy schedule. It wasn’t as busy as yours since you needed to get to Côte d'Azur Airport to catch a ride with Max to Belgium, you and half the grid apparently.

“Well that was a waste of time, and now we need to go shopping for condoms,” you muttered as you left her office and got in your car. “Do you think Costco sells them in bulk boxes?”

“I am not buying cheap Kirkland branded condoms,” Lando said with a cringe. “Fuck that.”

“You also said you would never do dry July but here we are,” you pointed out.

“Except for that one night after Silverstone,” Charles added as he started the car.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not risking anything less than Durex. I’d rather trust myself to pull out.”

You looked at Charles in the rearview mirror before you both broke out in a fit of laughter as you shook your heads at the idea.

Lando was offended.

“Hey,” he called as he turned in his seat to look at you. “I could pull out if I wanted to.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you can’t lie to save your life.”

“We both know how it is when you hit that sweet spot, mon cher,” Charles said as he reached across the gearbox and rested his hand on Lando’s thigh. “It’s too good to resist staying buried in her.”

“I said I could if I wanted to, not that I would or want to.”

By the time you arrived at the airport, and hustled your way through security, you found Max, Daniel and Pierre already seated on the plane and pointed to other empty seats. “Are you expecting the rest of the grid or what?”

“At the rate you're collecting them, maybe,” Max joked.

You laughed and dropped into the seat opposite your brother, kicking your feet up on his armrest. “You can’t say shit like that in front of Pierre, he gets far too excited. He might even wet your carpet.”

Pierre looked up from his phone and you could tell from the smile on his face that he had been busy texting Kika before he realised what you had said and his lips pouted. “You make me sound like a puppy.”

“Nawww, I wish you had that level of obedience, Gasly.” Your feet were roughly shoved off the seat and you narrowed your eyes at the culprit as the plane began to taxi to the runway.

“Safety first, zusje, haven’t you read the pamphlet?”

“Why would I do that?” you scoffed as you buckled the belt in. Charles was doing the same where he sat across from Pierre and Lando was next to Daniel. “If something happens at 36,000 feet, bracing isn’t going to save me. Now, are there any stroopwafels on board this thing or do I have to wait another two hours? I'm starving.”

“The last two races have seen a big drop in performance for both you and Lance, and only a few points added to the tally, and now - failing to finish the sprint with that crash. Is this something the team is looking into?”

You wanted to ask if the Sky Sports reporter had a brain cell but took a steadying breath instead and nodded. “Mhmm.”

“So what is Aston Martin doing to get back up where you were competing earlier in the season and what are your hopes for the race tomorrow starting 9th on the grid?”

“We are doing what is always done: look at the data, continue the upgrades, and keep pushing. Same goes for the race, I’ll try my hardest to make up some places and avoid the gravel. I’m usually good at getting off the start line, the car is great for short acceleration so if I see a gap I’ll be going for it. Plus, you know how turn one goes - that might make my job easier if the boys up ahead get greedy.”

“Speaking of boys, this time last year you were heading into the summer break looking for love. What’s the plan this year?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll take Max’s advice and adopt a couple of cats this time.” You laughed as Lando and Charles turned to you from their spots in the media pen. “Is that a yes…no…maybe? Oh, that’s their ‘we will talk about this later’ face. I’m going to go now before I get into trouble.”

The smile you had been holding onto fell away as you stepped into the Aston Martin hospitality building and you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before you navigated your way to your room. You almost made it there with no interactions, until your fellow driver caught up and clipped your shoulder as he passed by to his room.

Still annoyed at the reporter, you dropped your hand from the doorknob and turned to him. “What’s your problem?”

“You almost had points and you threw them away. That’s what.”

“I spun out, Lance,” you sighed, already exhausted with where the conversation was heading. “It’s wet and it’s Spa, it's easy to have an accident. It’s not like I saw you up there earning any of them.”

“It’s not my seat that’s on the line though,” he stated.

“Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s just the truth.” His lips curved into the pretentious smile you hadn’t noticed when you joined the team, but it had become irksome to see grow over time. “My seat is secure.”

“If that were true you wouldn’t be wasting your time hassling me over whatever issue you’ve made up in your head.” You enjoyed watching that smile fade.

“I don’t have an issue with you.”

“Then you feel threatened by me,” you said with a casual shrug. “It’s basic biology, animals attack when they feel in danger.”

“You should do something about that big ego of yours.”

“It’s big like my dick,” you said as you turned the door handle and shoved it open, “so choke on it.”

“Bitch.”

You gasped theatrically as you paused in the doorway. “Lance Strulovitch, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Did I offend you?”

Your laugh started as a tickle in your throat before your lips peeled back and bared your teeth at him. “Sticks and stones, baby, I kind of like it.”

Realising he wasn't going to get the reaction he wanted from you, he shook his head and stepped away. “You’re all kinds of messed up.”

“Thanks for the assessment, Freud.” You slammed the door shut before he could give a response and screamed as you threw your bottle at the body that suddenly appeared. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Nope, just me,” Max chuckled as he rose from the chair that had been hidden by the door. “Nice to see you get along with your team mate too.”

“Oh that, that was just a friendly sparring match. Nothing to worry about.”

“I did warn you, zusje.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love to say I told you so,” you drawled as you grabbed your drink bottle from the floor and cracked it open. “Anyway, what are you doing, hiding in here acting like the godfather?”

“Our mothers have been conspiring again,” he said with a fond smile. “Family dinner tomorrow night after the race.”

“Won’t you have a winner’s after party planned?”

“I don’t think my liver could handle another one so soon.”

“Serves you right,” you snickered as he opened the door. “Wait, can Pascale, Adam and Cisca come too?”

“I said family dinner, didn’t I? They’re pretty much your in-laws.” He pointed to your table and you followed his finger to see a box overflowing with stroopwafels. “Is that enough or should I get some more for the flight home?”

You grinned as you grabbed one and tore through the packaging, talking with a mouthful. “I thought I was walking?”

“With those manners, you should be.” He started to close the door but changed his mind and stepped back in to pull you into a hug. “I’m glad you didn’t hit the barriers, zusje. Drive safe tomorrow.”

You nodded against his shoulder as you hugged him back.

It was only two days earlier that you ran the track with Pierre in memory of his friend, Anthione, and only five weeks before that another driver had lost his life on the track too. You hadn’t been thinking about that when you spun out, it wasn’t like it was anything close to what Lando did two years ago.

But your brother would always worry about you.

“You too, Maxy.”

Fifth was the best you could do in the end but for once you weren’t weighed down by the result.

You sat beside Max, sipping from a glass of lemonade that should have been a gin and tonic, and smiled at the story he animatedly recalled from the race. On your other side was Charles, his dimples deepening as Max praised him for the perfect overtake he had made on Lewis to clench third place. Beside him, Lando was grinning proudly and draped his arm over Charles’ shoulder, his fingertips teasing your collarbone.

Your parents lined the other side of the table and you scanned their faces while they were engrossed with the story, not as accustomed to Maxsplaining as you and the other drivers were. No one would have ever thought that the parents of a Red Bull, a McLaren, a Ferrari and an Aston Martin driver would all come together and support them all equally. But there they were. One big happy family.

Click here for the next part.

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ponderingmoonlight · 10 months

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Should have told her

Pairing: Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Synopsis: While being secretely in love with you since joining Jujutsu High, Nanami never admitted his feelings to you. Only after you nearly die in a fight and are on the brink of death, he begins to realize how much you really mean to him

Warnings: injury, death, language

This is not fair. You are such a talented jujutsu sorcerer, your abilities even surpass his own. But apparently, not even your skills were enough to save you from getting severely injured.

They said it would be a grade 1, a curse you could eat for breakfast. Maybe a few hours and you’d be back. Yes, absolutely no problem for a grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer like yourself, Nanami knew that all too well and trusted you when you smiled with nothing but determination and confidence at him before leaving.

But it wasn’t a grade 1. A special grade curse appeared. You fought back with all your abilities, ready to die on the battlefield in order to exorcise it and safe over a hundred people from certain death. But that was too much for you. Satoru came just in time before you got punctured and ultimately killed. Yes, he saved your usually so efficient ass from certain death. And now you’re laying here, unconscious since exactly 7 days, 3 hours and 18 seconds. Unconscious and severely injured, on the brink of death.

“You need some sleep, Nanami. (y/n) won’t be helped if you collapse next to her bed”, Shoko suggests, her very own tired eyes filled with concern when looking at your lifeless frame.

She thought you’ll die the second she laid eyes on the severe wounds that almost pierced your abdomen in half. You were lucky that Satoru brought you here so fast. One minute more and you’d be dead by now. God, the look on Nanami’s face when he caught a glimpse of you, covered in your own blood and hanging from Satoru’s arms like you already took your last breath. It broke her heart seeing him like this, completely shattered by sighting the woman who everyone knows he secretly loves since joining Jujutsu High like that.

“It was a special curse. How is that possible, Shoko?”, he groans, head hanging in his nape.

“I should have just gone with her.”

“No one but Satoru would have been able to help her out. You know that”, Shoko reminds him.

“It’s like back then. I can only watch and stare in awe”, he mutters through the towel that covers his face.

Shoko’s heart skips a beat. She knows exactly what he’s referring to. They always knew the incident from a few years ago still haunts him. How devastating it must be for him to go through all of this again, to see you in the same situation, not sure if you’ll make it.

“Unlike then, we can save (y/n) now. I’ll do anything to make her survive.”

Back then, Nanami had no chance to protect Haibara from certain death. You were so devastated when you found out your classmate didn’t make it, the two of you were like siblings. Always confident, constantly optimistic and cheerful. And even though Nanami would never admit it, he constantly admired both of you for the ability to stay positive in a world this cruel and unforgiving. Fuck, he should have told you how he felt, that your smile makes his world stand still and that he adores the way you embrace his left arm when walking next to him, the touch sending shivers down his spine since more than 10 years. He should have told you way earlier that he can’t get you out of his head, not even after he ran away in an office job to escape his feelings. You are the light in his life, one of the striking reasons why he returned to be a jujutsu sorcerer. But right now, this light seems to slowly fade away, without him telling you a single word about his true feelings towards you.

“I should have told her!”, he cries out, jumps out of his chair and throws it across the room.

Maybe it’s too late now. Even when you wake up, you may not be able to recognize him. Or maybe you don’t want to see him anymore.

“Let’s eat some cookies when I return, yeah?”

“(y/n), I certainly won’t waste my day eating cookies with you.”

“Too bad, but more for me. See ya!”

Oh, how badly he wants to eat cookies by your side right now. Nanami would give everything to sit with you on an abandoned bench away from the hustle and bustle of Jujutsu High, hold you in his arms and watch you eat, a satisfied grin plastered on your face. And you loved sunsets, the ones that paint the sky blood-colored.

“Looks like apocalypse”, you always commented, completely mesmerized by the play of colors above your head.

What he would give to hear your voice calling his name once again, nobody pronounces it like you do.

“Nanami, there you are!”

Woah, Nanami, that suit makes you look like a snack!”

“Ohh, don’t look at me with those eyes Nanami, I know you are thrilled to see me!”

If you only knew how thrilled he was. If you only knew how your words make his knees go weak and the tips of his ears heat up in an instant. If you only knew how your sight alone makes his day better, your warm smile following him into his dreams and chasing away his nightmares.

“I bet she already knew for a long time. And that she feels the same”, Shoko rudely interrupts the train of thoughts that rolled over him.

Impossible. How would you know? After all, he did his best to push you away in order to hide his feelings so well that it seemed like he has none. Surely she only says that because she wants to comfort him. Pathetic. Nothing could comfort him expect that you finally open your eyes again.

“She even looks cute when she’s unconscious.”

Satoru’s appearance in the doorframe catches Nanami off guard. What the hell is he doing here? Oh right, he saved you. And you two know each other as long as Nanami knows Gojo himself. Apparently even Satoru cares enough about you to check on you.

“How’s she doin’?”

“Not much changed. Her heartbeat is stable and her wounds are taken care of. It is up to her if and when she wakes up again”, Shoko briefly explains.

“If? Don’t be ridiculous, it’s (y/n) were talking about! She’s always been a pain in the ass with her determination and unshakable confidence!”

“How are you able to joke around when she’s laying right there, fighting for her life? Don’t you care about her at all?”, Nanami snaps at him.

Pure anger crawls up his veins. How can he? How can he come here and tear stupid sayings when you possibly won’t make it? Even Satoru should be sad about what happened. After all, he knows you since more than 10 years, the two of you were always joking around.

“I know (y/n) well enough to be aware of the fact that she won’t let herself die from something like that and you should too, Nanami. Trust her with this one.”

“I already trusted her with this fucking mission and that’s how it turned out”, Nanami barks back.

Gojo positions himself next to the puny figure of Nanami, a small smile creeping up his face. Kento must have thought he hid his feelings from the world when in reality, everyone at Jujutsu High knows that he adores you. Even if this incident was tragic, there is perhaps something good about it. Maybe he’s finally realizing how much he cares about you.

“(y/n) would never die without bugging you one last time. After all, she loves you too much for that.”

Nanami’s eyes widen at the sound of Gojo’s words in his ears. You? Loving him? You have always been the sweetest woman around Jujutsu High, the students of the past years constantly falling for your charm, beauty and brain. Fuck, sure you could even have Satoru if you wanted. So, why him?

“Stop making fun of me and get your ass out, Satoru.”

“Grr, so rude! But okay, I’ll leave you alone with your sweetheart. Tell me when she’s awake. See ya!”

And with that, Satoru disappears behind the door as fast as he came, alongside Shoko. Nanami signs and slaps the rag on his face away without heeding it. His gaze falls upon your peaceful face, chest rising and falling at steady pace. Gojo is right, you really do look cute. Like you’re sleeping and throwing your tired eyes at him any moment, revealing your most striking smile when realizing that it’s him even though he doesn’t deserve it. But you won’t wake up. And probably your pain is too much to smirk over it.

He can’t help but rest his head on the soft mattress beside your body and grab your cold hand. You simply can’t die on him. Not now, not when he didn’t tell you about his true feelings yet. God, he is so dumb for gatekeeping this shit since 10 whole years. Why did he always shut himself up when his happiness was right under his nose? Maybe because he firmly believes that you don’t feel the same way. How could you, though? He is the complete opposite of you, quiet when you are loud, serious when you are goofy, negative when you are positive. Yes, the two of you are the definition of contraries. And apart from that, a simple man like him doesn’t deserve a striking woman like you.

His grip around your hand tightens, tears start to pool his eyes. Why did all of this happen? You promised everything would be fine, he even bought you a pack of your favorite double chocolate chip cookies. And now you’re laying here, holding onto for dear life. Nanami is no man of tears or sadness, but when it comes to you…You truly hold the most special place in his soul. If you leave, a part of his heart will die too. Maybe he should quit being a jujutsu sorcerer. Working in an office might suck, but at least he won’t have to go through pain like this.

“Where are my cookies?”

He is immediately pulled back to earth, heart beating out of his chest while gazing at you wide-eyed. You are awake. You just said something. Your beautiful but tired orbs are directed towards him, a small grin creeping up your face.

It’s like Nanami forgets how to breathe for a moment when reality kicks in.

“(y/n)?”, he breathes out.

“I told you you’d eat cookies with me. Knew you couldn’t resist a date night with me”, you mumble with unusual weak voice.

There it is. His name out of your sweet mouth, just like usual. As if nothing ever happened.

He can no longer hold back. Before his head tells him to back up, his hands cup your face and his lips crush into yours. Fuck his thoughts, fuck the others. He will never forgive himself if he never did that, never got to taste the sweetness of your mouth, never held your face like that. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering shut while sparks fly around you. God, how often you whished he did that. For years you loved him in silence, accepted the fact that he might not be interested in you romantically. But even though pain seems to eat you alive and your weak senses are still trying to process that you are awake, you are probably the happiest woman on earth right now.

“Don’t ever do something like that to me again”, he hisses into your lips.

“Not planning to.”

“But if it makes you do this…maybe it’s worth another shot.”

God, your breathtaking smile. Nanami can’t remember a single moment in his life that made him happier than this one, tears rolling down his face carelessly. You are awake. You didn’t forget him. You’ll survive. And you want him too. A striking woman like you really wants a man like Nanami.

“Wish you did this sooner. Or maybe when I don’t feel like dying, y’know?”

“Could have done a move yourself”, he mutters into your neck, arms embracing you gently.

“Oh no, I’m way too shy.”

You melt into his touch. It feels so good to finally feel his arms around you and his body against you apart from rough training sessions. Even though you have no idea why exactly your frame feels like it’s on fire or how you’ve ended up in Shoko’s hospital room in the first place, you aren’t able to question it at the moment. You loved Nanami since meeting him all these years ago, attracted by his abilities, brain, sense of humor and looks.

“How are you feeling? The pain must be really bad”, he comments, eyes scanning your body like a professional.

“Can’t say I ever felt worse. My tummy feels like it’s falling apart”, you reply, a hiss escaping your mouth when he pulls the blanket that covers your body down a little.

“Well, it literally almost fell apart. You were sent to a mission, should have been a grade 1. It was a special, though. Satoru came just in time to safe you. If he had come just a minute later, then…”

A closer look at his face reveals that he hasn’t slept for days. Your heart sinks into your chest. He shouldn’t feel this bad because of you.

“Hey, look at me.”

You lift your weak fingers to caress his face gently, tired eyes gazing over you.

“I feel like shit but I’m fine.”

“I thought you’d die. I-I thought that I’ll…never get to tell you that I love you.”

“I would never die without telling you that I love you too. And without another kiss.”

Nanami can’t help but smile down at you. Down to the woman he loves, the woman who never loses her optimism, to the woman who is so fucking strong that she seems to survive anything. He admires and adores you more than his heart can take. And the fact that you love him too…Is this real? Is he dreaming again? He just has to lean down, lips only inches apart from yours. He needs to taste you again, to make sure that this is real.

“You cryin’, Nanami?”

Both pairs of eyes dart up immediately, your eyes light up when realizing Satoru is standing in the doorframe.

“I’ll kill you, Gojo”, Nanami hisses threatening, cheeks redder than ever.

“Hey shawty”, you greet him, completely mesmerized by the pack of cookies he carries under his arm.

“Please tell me those are for me.”

“Shoko actually forbid me to feed this to you. Something about a hole in your stomach or so. Why are you so irritated, Nanami? Did I steal you the show? He’s your boyfriend now, (y/n)? It really took you 10 years to finally kiss the girl you love, Nanami?”

“He’s my husband”, you explain proudly.

“Get your ass out Satoru”, Nanami moans.

You grab his hand and press it mildly, gazing at the man above you with stars in your eyes. Yes, he is yours now. And you’ll do the devil to let him go again.

#jjk #nanami x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #kento x reader #kento nanami #kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #kento x you

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flowerandblood · 11 months

Text

The Impossible Choice (7)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, physical violence, sexual tension ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm's End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

He returned to his chamber furious and shaken, in one, sudden movement threwing down all the objects lying on the wooden table in front of him, causing a lot of noise and commotion.

His servant stepped inside uncertainly, wanting to see what had happened, but one look from him was enough for her to retreat and close the door behind her.

He was furious with himself.

He didn't know what was happening to him.

When he saw with what confidence and lightness her brother approached her, how shamelessly he cupped her cheeks in his hands, kissed her skin, he felt himself boil with anger.

Her gaze fixed only on him, warm, sweet, loving.

He was a Targaryen, close relationships with his siblings, including those in bed, were no surprise to him. However, he had never dared to touch Helaena in the way that this brazen man had touched his wife in front of his eyes. He pressed his lips together at the thought, furious.

This intimate touch was reserved only for him.

Her husband.

He didn't want her attention to be drawn to any other men.

Her thoughts, her worries, her despair and desire were to be aimed only at him.

When he saw him in her chamber, sitting so close to her, holding her hand, he thought that if he did not leave he would fucking kill him.

He knew that this was an exaggeration, that outside his family incest was not considered normal and only marriages between cousins were allowed. He, however, having watched the marriage of his half-sister and her uncle, his brother and his sister, could not help but see in these gestures something more than innocent tenderness.

He didn't know where the weakness came for him to touch her the way he did. To see how she would react to it, what it would feel like to touch someone and be touched in this way.

He wanted her to look at him as tenderly as she looked at her brother.

When she told him to kiss her, he completely lost his temper, because she said exactly what he wanted to hear.

He tried to tell himself that she had done it to manipulate him, had taken advantage of a moment of his weakness, to deceive him, but he couldn't stop replaying in his mind that moment when her lips had innocently brushed his, when her hand had touched his cheek, tightened on his hair.

When her tongue licked his.

Never before had any woman dared to touch him like that, him, the prince.

His physical space was inviolable and he never wanted anyone to violate it. On the contrary, when any woman tried to grab him, to touch him, to stroke his body, to pull his clothes off him, he became even more enraged and violent towards them, taking only as much as he wanted, leaving them with nothing.

He felt uncomfortable with what had happened, humiliated by his own weakness, his childish naivety.

He poured himself a full cup of wine, feeling that he needed to desensitise himself, to forget and thought that tonight he would not summon her to his chamber.

That he would not summon her for weeks to come.

Perhaps she was already bearing his child, so there was no need to bring her near until it became apparent that she was bleeding again.

This thought calmed him as he sat in his large, wooden, ornate chair, facing the fireplace, gazing into the flames in tense silence.

He carried on like this for quite a while, night had already fallen outside the keep and he persisted in his reverie, his hand clenching steadily into a fist, only to relax a moment later, lying loosely on the armrest.

He shuddered when he heard a quiet knock on his chamber door and looked in that direction anxiously, the alcohol humming in his head.

He felt his manhood swell a little in his breeches at the thought that it was her.

"Come in." He said dryly, feeling the cold sweat running down his neck, his heart pounding like mad.

He pursed his lips when he saw that it was her, something, however, seemed strange to him. He squinted, watching her silhouette more intensely in the faint light of the fire and finally noticed, surprised, that it wasn't her.

It was her sister.

He hardly remembered her. She had been the last one he had kissed before falling into his wife's lips. She made no impression on him at all; she seemed pretty, but utterly bland, empty, like the rest of them, living only her ideas about him. She bowed to him, her gaze lowered meekly to the floor.

"My prince." She said softly, gently, warmly, shy smile on her face. He swallowed with difficulty at the thought that their voices were similar, but not identical.

His face expressed absolutely nothing, but his mind was in complete chaos.

"What is it?" He asked matter-of-factly, taking a loud sip of wine to calm himself down.

He had no idea what this girl was doing in his chamber so late at night.

She was silent for a moment, but then approached him with a slow, unhurried step, still not looking at him; he set his chalice down on a small table standing next to his chair, watching her expectantly.

He drew in a deep breath, shocked to see that she knelt between his knees, and only then did she look up at him, her eyes filled with a hot, feminine desire from which his throat tightened.

"My sister knows little about how to please a man. But I know a lot." She said, placing her trembling fingers gently on his thigh, stroking it tentatively with slow up and down movements. He felt his manhood throb hard at her words, his mind completely clouded, his lips parted in disbelief.

"If you will just let me, before I leave I would like to give you a gift from me, my prince." She whispered sensually, her hands reaching up to untie his breeches.

He looked at her, breathing loudly through his mouth, thinking that he could let her just do it.

Just tilt his head back and enjoy it, prove to himself that his wife had no power over him, could not change him.

However, his drunken mind realised that such a betrayal of trust would clearly set the framework of their marriage, that she would never again look at him the way she did when he felt her moist tongue deep in his throat.

He wanted her to love and hate him at the same time.

For her to seek refuge in him and fear him both at once.

For her to understand him completely and not understand him at all.

For some reason, he felt rage and frustration looking at this foreign girl who looked like a poor copy of the one he'd chosen, the one he'd fucked, the one who was his.

At the woman who wanted to prove something to herself at his expense, to humiliate her little sister.

She didn't have time to slip off the material of his breeches and his hand was already gripping her hair tightly, violently, lifting her up this way.

She squealed, shocked and terrified as he threw her to the floor, stood up and put his foot on her chest, making her choke, looking down at her with an indifferent expression on his face, his gaze dark as the night that stretched outside the window.

He thought that's what he was.

He squeezed her chest tighter with his leg, and she gasped beneath him, trying to catch her breath.

"Mera!" He called out in a low, unobjectionable voice, his servant, stepped inside after a moment and when she saw the scene that spread out before her she covered her face with her hand, trying not to scream in terror.

"Ask my wife to honour me with her presence." He said calmly, her sister beginning to squirm beneath him and sob, asking him with difficulty not to do it.

He grinned at this pathetic sight and chuckled low under his breath, absorbed in something that spilled over his heart like a deep, black hole that consumed everything.

His wife entered his chamber a moment later, startled, dressed only in her nightgown, her long, brown hair was loose.

Looking at her he involuntarily thought that she was beautiful.

This thought enraged him even more for some reason, therefore he pressed her sister even harder with his boot.

When she saw her, her own sister lying pressed to the stone floor, she looked as if she felt like screaming in terror.

He knew what she thought.

That summoned her to hurt her and humiliate her.

He thought that he would clarify for her what the whole situation looked like with a strange, unforced satisfaction.

"Your sister came to suck my cock. What should I do with her?" He asked lightly, looking at the weeping, red-faced girl beneath him, trembling all over with shame and horror. "I don't think this is what she expected when she knelt before me."

He heard his wife gasp loudly for air, pale, breathing fast, her sister didn't even look at her, she turned her head the other way, crying desperately. He pressed his leg tighter against her body, almost breaking her ribs.

"Shut the fuck up." He hissed, frustrated by these high pitched, pathetic sounds, when he had pulled a dagger out of his scabbard she began to breathe loudly, looking at her sister in horror.

"Please, I beg you, forgive me, forgive me!" She sobbed loudly with her eyes red from tears, her mind anoxic and weak, on the verge of passing out. His wife looked at her with wide eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain and disbelief, tears one after another running down her cheeks, her lips parted in a loud breath.

She made no sound of her own.

"Shall I make the decision for you, sweet wife?" He asked, playing with the dagger in his hand, rolling it between his fingers like a toy and heard her swallow loudly, pale.

"Let her go." She whispered weakly.

They looked at each other for a moment in silence, her gaze blank and devastated.

He thought that her sister broke her heart.

It seemed to him that they both paid no attention to her sister's sobs and writhing beneath him.

The battle was between them.

However, he decided that he would respect her wishes, so he took his foot off her chest and she took a sudden, deep breath, as if she had emerged from the water.

"Get out." He said lowly, turning away from her, walking over to the table where his cup stood, taking several loud, deep sips of wine from it.

The other Lady Baratheon barely rose, rising from her knees, clutching her chest as if she could not catch her breath, his wife did not move even an inch to help her.

She just stared ahead with empty gaze, her body trembling all over, tears of humiliation running down her red cheeks.

He remembered how soft they were under his hands as he touched them and took another loud sip from his cup, wanting to deafen his thoughts.

As soon as her sister left his chamber, his wife also moved towards the entrance, but his voice stopped her.

"Where are you going?" He sneered amused, already completely drunk, and held out an empty cup towards her, looking at her expectantly, his body was not staggering under the influence of alcohol, so she could not see how bad a state he was in.

He saw her quivering as she approached him slowly, sniffling silently, taking the jug of wine in her shaking, small hands. She began to pour the liquor into his cup, trying with all her might not to spill anything; she refilled his cup halfway and stopped, wanting to set the jug back down.

"More. Do you begrudge your husband wine?" He growled at the thought that she wanted to decide for herself how much was enough for him.

Usually he didn't drink that much, but that night he felt his mind couldn't handle sobriety.

"Forgive me, my prince." She mumbled quietly, taking the vessel in her hands again, pouring more into his cup, he could see that she was trying not to burst into tears in front of him, to hold her wounded heart any way she could.

He knew that she was in pain.

That the humiliation that she had just suffered was indescribable.

That she needed comfort, the same kind her brother had been able to give her.

The kind she had experienced from him when they kissed.

He thought that she would never experience it from him again.

That she might burst into sobs in front of him and he would not even touch her.

However, she did not. She stared at him with her big, pain-filled eyes, trembling all over, waiting meekly for his next command.

His brave wife.

"You may leave." He said at last, turning away from her, sitting back in his chair, facing the fireplace again; he glanced over his shoulder at her when he heard that she hadn't made any move.

"May I sleep in your bed tonight, my husband?" She asked quietly, her voice shaky at the last words she spoke.

My husband.

He felt a shiver at the way she said it, the sound of her tongue hitting her palate as she said those words, full of respect and humility. He tapped his fingers on his armrest, giving her no answer for a long moment.

No.

"Yes." He said lowly, turning his head away, taking a loud sip of wine, looking into the red, burning flames.

He couldn't deny himself that.

The warmth of her body right next to his, even if he wouldn't let her touch him.

"Thank you, husband." She whispered, hearing her walk barefoot towards his bed.

He didn't want her gratitude and at the same time he craved for it.

He squeezed his eye shut, resting his head against the backrest, feeling the whole world begin to spin around him. The last sound he heard was the rustling of his bed sheets and her quiet sniffling, indicating that she had continued to weep.

Then a wonderful, cool darkness enveloped him at last.

He shivered as he felt something warm and pleasant envelop him; it reminded him of the moments when his mother used to visit him at night when he was still a small child. He would pretend to be asleep then, waiting to see what she would do, and she would then slowly stroke his hair and cover him with the quilt.

He felt soft, feminine fingers brushing gently through his hair, stroking his cheek so tenderly that he thought that it was indeed his mother. He thought with pain, clouded by sleep, that she had not touched him this way for many years.

She was afraid of him.

She had lost hope that any of her children except Helaena and Daeron were decent people.

He felt that wonderfully soft, warm hand move away from him, the quiet footsteps moving farther and farther away, making him feel a burning sensation under his eyelids that he hadn't felt in ages.

"Don't leave, mother." He whispered, pressing his lips together to keep that humiliating wetness from leaving the corner of his eye.

He thought heartbroken that no one was actually in his chamber.

His heart pounded hard with hope as he heard the rustling of her robe, her warmth at his side again, he snuggled into her hand with relief when she touched his cheek again. He was afraid that she would abandon him once more, so he tightened his hand on her arm, thought that she seemed slimmer to him than she always had been, but she was equally as wonderfully warm, just as affectionate.

He sighed quietly as she hugged him to her chest and began to stroke his head, while he cuddled into her fragrant, warm body, thinking with some kind of relief that she still loved him.

That despite everything, he was still her child.

He fell asleep peacefully for the first time in a ten years.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol

Others: @dreamymoomin @thedamewithabook @dc-marvel-girl96 @zillahvathek @helaenaluvr @tssf-imagines @heavenly1927 @hiatuswhore @it-is-getting-better @linkpk88

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ist4rgirlo · 10 months

Text

─ 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 - 𝐜.𝐟 : 𝐈𝐈

Summary: Now that your life has turned upside down, are you still willing to put your siblings' feelings first? Or would you rather fight for your feelings and do what makes you happy regardless of the consequences that might result in the future?

Prev ; Next || Conrad Fisher x fem!reader || My blog

Warnings: S2 SPOILERS! panic attacks (lmk if i missed anything!)

SEQUEL TO BEFORE EVERYTHING HAPPENED.

───────────────────────────

Belly's Pov

Me and Jeremiah decided to go to Aunt Julia's house — just to try to talk to her, maybe we can do something — maybe we can stop her from trying to sell the house.

We even decided to buy her flowers as an offering. As we arrived to her house, I took a deep breath and decided to hop out of the car —Jeremiah following behind me. I walked towards the door with Jeremiah beside me before ringing the door bell.

Aunt Julia opened the door before saying "Can I help you?" she asked. Jeremiah walked towards her and hugged her "Hey Aunt Julia" he said smiling — before pulling away. "Uh uhm Conrad told me you were here"

Aunt Julia looked at Jeremiah "Oh Jeremiah" she paused "and you are?" referring to me "I am Belly, Belly Conklin. Laurel Park’s daughter, Susannah's bestfriend" I told her smiling gently — giving her the flowers that I was holding.

"Oh wow, it's been so long" she said, scratching her forehead. "Uhm, we just wanted to say hi and maybe talk a little bit" Jeremiah chuckled before looking at her and smiling.

"Look uhm if its about the house, I'm sorry. It's decided" Aunt Julia said — smiling gently. Jeremiah's mouth frowned.

"Uhm we're actually doing an open house tomorrow."

"You.. you have to know how much that house means to Jeremiah and Conrad. That was their place, how-how can you let go of such a-a magical place?" I asked Aunt Julia.

"I remember her calling it that" Aunt Julia paused "But i-it's not personal" Jeremiah looked at her — brows furrowed "I bet" Jeremiah smiled sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, I have to go back to work" Aunt Julia said before closing the door. I looked at Jeremiah — I place my hand on his shoulder and patted it. We walked towards the car and drove off.

"I'm sorry, Jere" Jeremiah looked at me "It's okay, we cant really change someone's mind" he said — placing a hand on my shoulder.

TIME SKIP

"Where'd you guys go?" Conrad asked — his hair wet, he was wearing a surf suit. "We went to Aunt Julia's house" Jeremiah sighed.

Conrad face started to fill with hope "H-how did it go?" I looked at him "She's sure about this, Conrad. I don't think we can change her mind." I said -- he nodded before saying "Ofcourse"

───────────────────────────

It seems like the news that we were here in Cousins have spread fast as Taylor and Steven are on the way here. Apparently, me and Taylor were bad at lying thats why Steven knew about it immediately.

I hoped that Y/N was with them but Steven said no. He tried to push her to go but she said she need to do much more important things, I just miss her. We all thought that this news would make her come here but we were wrong.

Conrad and Jeremiah decided to talk to their dad. “Dad should be calling soon�� Conrad said, informing Jeremiah.

“Do you guys want to talk to him alone?” I asked — not wanting them to be weirded out that I was there. “I-I can wait upstairs.”

As Jeremiah sat down, Conrad looked at me before saying “You helped me and J get this far. Plus its your house as much as it is ours” he smiled gently. I sat down as the phone started to ring.

AFTER A FEW MINUTES

We did everything, everything to save the house. Nothing is working, their dad is just letting it go. He just kept on sayong that it was legally Aunt Julia’s — it seemed like he never cared for it, for the house.

As the call ended, Taylor and Steven arrived to the house, surprising Conrad and Jeremiah. They were confused about why we looked down — I forgot to tell them that the house is on sale.

“We’re losing the house” Jeremiah said, sighing. “They’re putting it up for sale”

“Oh Cinderbelly” Taylor said as I stood up to hug her.

───────────────────────────

Conrad’s Pov

Here I was again, looking for her. Trying to see if she came with Steven and Taylor but no. She hasn’t even responded to my text. Maybe she’s busy.

I walked towards Jeremiah, sitting down beside him. “Hey” I said, patting his shoulder.

“You know, I thought I could convince dad. I thought we could” He sighed.

I nodded and sighed “I thought so too.” chuckling a little bit.

“It’s just.. it feels like everything is slipping away and-and the house is the only thing - the last thing tying us together” It was true, it did feel like it — we didn’t expect that we’d get together like this, that we’d be complete because of this reason.

“We’re not giving up, Jere” I looked at him shaking my head “We’re going to do something about it, I don’t have a plan. Not yet but I’ll do everything, we’ll figure ig out together.” I told Jeremiah. He nodded.

“I-I just hope she’s here, she’s the only one missing Connie” Jeremiah said — referring to Y/N. She just made everything less worse for everyone, I hope she was here too.

“Me too, Jere. Me too” I paused “You know, we should hang out tomorrow. Just all of us staying here for open house, that’d be a good plan” I chuckled

Jeremiah chuckled then nodded “Yeah we should definitely do that”

TIME SKIP

As me and Jeremiah got done talking we went inside the house and decided to hang out with the rest. They all sat down in their own places. “So what do you guys want to watch?” I asked.

“We should do… this one” Belly said — holding up mom’s favorite movie. I smiled taking it from her hands as I walked towards the tv — i mouthed a “thank you” to Belly.

After that, I went and sat the down on the other couch until I looked at my phone — recieving a text. I felt my chest tighten, I need to get out of the house. I stood up from my seat and went straight to the beach.

It was happening again, It attacked me again. I couldn’t breathe, it felt like someone was choking me. I pulled out my phone again — looking if the text was real, it was, I got in but what about Jeremiah, I can’t.

My mind filled with worried, with anxiety, not until another text popped up. It was like a coincidence, the text — my breathing is okay now, my heart is beating at a normal pace. The text was from the one that I have been waiting for.

She responded, it was from Y/N. She was going to come here, she’s coming here to Cousin. We’re complete now.

───────────────────────────

taglist : @maybankslover @urmomisafinewoman @user3729107491 @melllinaa @anthgoldenhrry @arunabrak @amj2277 @whoisalexa @remuslupinwifee @gulphulp @layanderson @astrvalee @goldenmoonbeam @podiumprincess @johannelis2302nely @silcintilla @smw-96 @apollo3475 @drikawinchester @fangirl-kimora @sanjanapm @milyswrld @scysuxx @starkeylover @fallingforel @mysticalstarlightflower @ifilwtmfc

the next part is here !! hope everyone likes it :)) lmk if y’all have requests and if you guys want to get tagged <3

love lots !!

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spacebarbarianweird · 5 months

Note

In response to the NSFW request post.

How about some body worship? Astarion x fem!Tav? Maaaaybe some oral sex?

Synopsis: As a Half-Elf, Tiriel has serious body image issues, and Astarion knows exactly how to help her accept herself.

Thanks @tragedybunny for beta-reading!

Tags: smut, oral sex, vaginal sex, sex in front of a mirror, praise kink

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

See Yourself Like I See You

"Biri", an elven woman mutters, glancing at Tiriel as she passes by.

The words hurt like burning coals. Tiriel suppresses the desire to yell at the elf. Or hit her. Violence is always an answer but, probably, beating the shit out of the innkeeper's wife isn't a rational choice, considering you travel with a vampire, who needs shelter in the daylight.

"I speak Elven '' Tiriel says loud enough to attract the attention of the Tel'Quessira.

"Oh? Someone bothered to teach you? I didn't offend you, I just... told the truth. You are only half an elf".

"Biri means trash, not just half an elf."

The elf laughs, and her voice sounds like tiny bells. "You know, in the old times, we forbid our men to mate with... N'TelQuessira. And when it happened anyway, we murdered the children not to doom them to be stuck between two worlds."

Tiriel squeezes the hand of her ax. Her elven father was just a passerby, someone whom her mother found attractive enough to forget about the marriage vows and spend a night with.

The elf left the village for good, and the woman ended up pregnant with a "fairy bastard," she didn't even bother to give a name.

"What surprises me, biri, is that a High Elf chooses to sleep with you. As if he couldn't find someone more worthy to share the bed with."

With those words, the elf disappears, leaving Tiriel alone. She wishes anger and rage were her companions. But it is only a weeping wound, something she buried so deep within that she thought would never return to the surface.

Tiriel rushes upstairs to the room she rents with Astarion. The vampire is still outside somewhere, stalking the streets of the town like a shadow.

Good. She has plenty of time to return to her senses. Astarion knows her story well enough - how her family despised her, how her siblings tried to kill her but instead awoke rage in her.

But it is nothing in comparison to what he was through, and Tiriel doesn’t want to discuss it with him.

Tiriel places her ax on the floor. She trembles as if the elven woman had beaten her.

All her childhood Tiriel heard the same words. Ugly, unworthy, half a human. Beaten. Harassed. Tiriel still remembers the dirty looks of the village men who dared to see a little girl as something sexual. Her stepfather cut her right ear to suppress his desires - luckily, a village healer stitched it back.

The only hope Tiriel had was that elves were different. She begged the healer’s husband, an old dwarf, to tell her the same stories over and over again - about his old Wood Elf friend and their adventures. She was sure elves would accept her as one of theirs.

Apparently, humans are much more accepting.

Tiriel looks in the mirror. Yesterday, Astarion had a good laugh, standing in front of it. The most useless thing to place in the room with a vampire.

Half-something.

Tiriel undresses as if the fabric of her clothes burns her skin and studies herself in the mirror.

The more she looks, the more miserable she feels.

Her body is composed of two separate parts. The upper half is elven: narrow shoulders, small breasts. The lower part is the human: wide hips of a woman who is supposed to push kids out of her every year. Strong legs. Pale skin is covered in freckles. The ears - too pointy for a human, too short for an elf. Red hair is too difficult to brush. Scars.

One crosses her eye - a memory of the betrayal when her siblings pushed Tiriel down the cliff, hoping she would die. The other is on her back, a burn from the fight with the Elder Brain.

The tadpole suppressed the pain, but once the parasite was gone, Tiriel almost lost consciousness, feeling her skin burn. When she came to her senses, Astarion was nowhere to be seen, and she was afraid he’d died in the sunlight. She yelled at him when he finally showed up after sunset, resembling a beaten stray cat.

“Stop screaming at me, Tiriel. I feel like I’ve started developing a degrading kink.”

The burn on her back is probably the most disgusting part of her body. Including the body hair.

"Well, that's how I definitely want to be greeted. '' Astarion chuckles, entering the room. "But I'd prefer to undress you myself. Leave at least something for my imagination."

He wears his leather trousers and a white shirt. His old one was torn apart by a bugbear about a month ago, and Tiriel got him another one, almost identical. Though he still complains it feels off.

"Does something bother you, my love?" he asks, noticing her uneasiness.

"No... Nothing. How was your night?"

Astarion chuckles and, instead, approaches Tiriel and hugs her. In the mirror, it looks like she embraces something invisible. She melts in his arms, feeling safe and protected.

"I can tell when you lie but I will be so kind I won't insist."

"It's nothing, really." Tiriel buries her nose in his chest. Astarion is taller than average elven men and she needs to tip-toe to kiss him.

Astarion pulls away looking at Tiriel with his most adorable smile.

"Gods, you are beautiful."

His words feel like a dagger stuck in a fresh wound. Why now? Why this? Tiriel bursts into tears, not able to control them.

"Tiriel, did I... Did I do something wrong?” Astarion stares at her with utter panic in his crimson eyes.

She tries to tell him. That it's not him. But she just can't. The only word she manages to mumble is an insult.

"Biri"

The moment she says it, panic leaves Astarion’s eyes. Instead, there is anger.

"Who said it to you?"

His voice is deceptively calm. The innkeeper’s wife must consider herself lucky she didn’t insult Tiriel in the close proximity of Astarion.

"It's ok, not the first time I heard that. Maybe the first time I heard someone tell me you can find someone more worthy than I because I have dirty human blood"

"Do you want me to kill the bitch who told you that?"

"No. It's just true, Astarion. I am...damn look at me, I am all scars and freckles with two parts of my body taken from different races. I got used to it, I just hoped I would accept it. "

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And I have seen a lot."

Tiriel shakes her head, still crying.

"I am ugly as nine hells."

"Careful, darling, you are talking about my favorite person."

She chuckles but still feels miserable.

"Tiriel, my love, look at yourself."

Astarion takes Tiriel’s chin and forces her to look in the mirror.

“See yourself.” He kisses her neck. “The hair, color of fire, sometimes I think I will burn my fingers touching it. Eyes, one is green like a dry leaf. The other is gray like the autumn sky. The hands are so thin and gentle I am afraid to break your bones.” He goes down with his lips. “Breasts I can cup with my palms. Nipple so sensitive to my touches” he pinches one of them and Tiriel moans.

He stands behind Tiriel placing his chin on her shoulder. The mirror shows only the naked woman, but not the man who whispers the words of praise. Astarion places the hand over her stomach.

“Flat but soft - the best pillow for my head” his fingers go down. “The red pubic hair, even more beautiful than what you have up there…”

Tiriel feels his erection through his trousers. Gods, is it all just enough for him? Just seeing her naked?

She notices his kisses getting stronger and more intense. Astarion doesn’t breathe, but Tiriel knows his mouth is open and eyes are closed as he caresses her skin.

But the poisonous words still sound in her head.

"Do you trust me?" Astarion whispers in her ear.

Tiriel nods. She feels her own burning desire between her legs.

" I want you to look in the mirror. All the time"

"What?"

Before she manages to object, Astarion tugs her to the bed with him and makes her sit on his lap.

The mirror reflects only one person - and Tiriel looks weird as if floating. Astarion kisses her neck and then places his hands below her thighs and lifts her legs up, spreading them as wide as possible.

"What are you doing?" she gasps. It feels deliciously embarrassing.

"I want you to see yourself, in every detail.”

Tiriel’s folds are open and she can see her cunt in every detail. The invisible fingers touch her clit and Tiriel lets out a moan.

"I barely touched you and you are already so wet" Astarion murmurs, coating his fingers in her cunt juice.

Tiriel feels weird with her legs spread - she has never seen herself under such an angle. His thumb keeps drawing circles around her bud as his index finger touches her lower entrance forcing it to contract a bit.

She feels his bulge below her hips, still hidden behind the front laces of the trousers. She moves a bit causing friction and Astarion gets even harder.

“I want you” Tiriel mewls. “Please…”

“Be patient, my barbaric love…”

She growls with disappointment but lets him keep torturing her. Tiriel studies herself in the mirror but she still can’t decide if she likes what she sees or not.

Then, Astarion frees her and stands up. For a second, Tiriel is surprised he is still fully clothed.

Tiriel reaches out for his shirt to put it off him but Astarion stops her with his unbearable smile.

“I told you to be patient, Tiriel” Instead he unlaces his trousers, freeing the pale length of his cock.

“You have teased me with your fingers, and now your cock is just a few inches away from my mouth! Don’t speak about patience!”

“Your mouth…” he murmurs. “Yes, it will work.”

He grabs her head forcing her lips to kiss the head of his manhood.

“Don't look at me, look in the mirror!”

Tiriel takes Astarion in her hands and touches the base of his shaft with her tongue. Then she licks it, tracing the blue vein up to the head, forcing the vampire to moan.

She turns her head a bit to see the reflection. Her face is burning red, and drool drips off her mouth. Her tongue licks something invisible.

“You look ravishing from up here, Tiriel. Take me with these pretty lips of yours.”

Tiriel opens her mouth a bit and in a second his whole length thrusts into her. She almost gags and tears flush down her cheeks.

The burning between the legs is unbearable and Tiriel starts touching herself as Astarion buckes his hips, fucking her mouth and throat.

“You take me so good, Tiriel. Your eyes are specifically lovely when you are aroused.”

Then suddenly when she feels like he is going to ruin her mouth he lets her go and Tiriel gasps for air. A thin string of precum and saliva still connects them.

Astarion kisses Tiriel’s lips, tasting himself on her and then finally gets rid of his shirt and trousers. Then, he sits back on the bed. His cock looks painfully hard. By this time, Tiriel can’t think about anything but the emptiness inside her.

“You look the same when you fight. I wonder if this is because battles make you horny? Or because you see sex as a form of combat? Tell me, what do you want?”

She breathes heavily, still staring at the mirror, not at Astarion. Her body is covered in sweat. Nipples are hardened and the mouth is half-open. The woman in the reflection wants to be taken, ruined…

“I want… you…”

The vampire grabs Tiriel’s hips and pulls her toward him. Then, he lies on his back, putting his strong arms on her ribs.

“And I want you to see yourself. Put me inside you.”

Tiriel squeezes his cock adjusting it to her entrance.

“You are so beautiful, Tiriel…” Astarion murmurs from below. “So desirable… Whoever told you the opposite is a brainless moron…”

The invisible cock stretches her pussy. Astarion’s manhood is so thick that Tiriel can see herself all the way up to the cervix.

She moves her hips feeling his amazing length inside.

“My woman. Mine. Only… mine”, he grunts.

Her perky tits sway following the rhythm of the moving bodies. Tiriel’s mind is empty and her mouth just makes whimpering sounds.

Astarion tightens his grip around her as his own release gets closer. Tiriel doesn’t feel her legs as the orgasm takes over her. Powerful contractions tear through her body as his cum fills her to the brim.

Tiriel elbows up to see her entrance better. The cock much softer than it was seconds ago is taken away from her pussy and the cum leaks out.

“Look at yourself," Astarion says. “You are completely ruined.”

He tugs Tiriel with his arm and once their faces are in front of each other he starts kissing her cheeks and lips.

“Speak ill about yourself once again, and I am going to fuck you into a state of unconsciousness.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

Astarion laughs and Tiriel finally manages to free herself and lay beside him. He immediately wraps his hands around her.

“But I mean it. I know why you think bad of yourself. But it isn’t true. There is no such thing as an ugly half-elf. And you are… something even in comparison with them. Among the elves, you would be a fucking goddess of war, with your red hair and strong legs. All these talks about dirty blood are nothing, but the frustration of elves who aren’t worthy of anything. Tiriel, promise me, if you feel bad you tell me.”

“I just don’t want you… you know…”

“I am not made of glass, Tiriel. I need you and not only when I have nightmares. But you also need me. That’s the deal, isn’t it? Be there for each other.”

“It’s weird to compare my struggles with yours,” Tiriel admits.

Astarion gently touches her cheek with his finger. “Struggles are struggles. No one has a right to abuse a little child and call her a freak for what she is. No one has a right to tell a complete stranger she is nothing but trash below the “true people's” feet. Besides, we can always kill people we don’t like.”

Tiriel giggles and buries her nose in the crook of his neck. She feels too sleepy for a bath or any sort of aftercare and allows herself to relax.

Tiriel is sound asleep and she doesn’t wake up even when Astarion cleans her skin of sweat and cum. He studies her body, noticing the fresh bruises and old scars. Then, Astarion lies beside her covering them both with a blanket.

He doesn’t need to sleep but he can spend his hours of reverie right now.

It still troubles Astarion - the very point of the elven trance is to relive the moments of their long lives to remember, to carve them in memory. But he doesn’t want to remember anything before he became free. Before he met Tiriel.

Memories flood him and he hopes he will have enough willpower to not see anything nightmarish.

The meadow bathes in moonlight. Astarion stays there, waiting. Waiting for this half-elven warrior to seduce and sleep with. To make sure she protects him, helps. Well, it will probably require some talk, some sweet words - but she will be his.

“You are an idiot”, Astarion says to himself from the past. “Your simple plan will end up with you not being able to think about anything else but Tiriel.”

“Hello, Astarion.”

He turns around and sees her, the fierce leader of their small group.

Absolutely naked.

Tiriel looks at him with no fear. With a challenge. He can’t take his eyes off her. Probably, Vandria, the Elven Goddess of War, looks like that without her divine armor.

Astarion concentrates. He wants to remember the first time he saw Tiriel like that, the first time he had her, even though his intentions were pathetic to the very least.

“And what do you want, Astarion?” she asks, getting closer to him.

The question strikes him. What does he want? He doesn’t remember anyone asking him that. He wants… What? This woman? Revenge? Freedom? He doesn’t know.

Tiriel is so close he can hear her heartbeat. She kisses him. With passion, with desire.

For the first time. It is the first time she kisses him.

Astarion embraces the memory. He didn’t know at that moment - but that was when he fell.

The reverie slowly lets him go, and the woman he’s dreamt about is still by his side.

@tugoslovenka@marcynomercyy @wintersiree @vixstarriarria @not-so-lost-after-allafter-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea@micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-belovedd @tallymonsterter @caitlincat-95cat-95 @tragedybunnyy @valepratirati @lynnlovesthestarshestars @marina-and-the-diam0nds-bloge-memes @waking-electricectric

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c-nstantine · 5 months

Text

Paranoid

Description: Based on the Ty Dolla Sign song. Dick sees both Y/N and Barbara Gordon in the club and Jason is no help.

Warnings: Cursing, Infidelity,

Word Count: 0.8k

Bonding, he had called it. Dick thought it would be a good idea for him and Jason to go out for drinks like somewhat normal, non-estranged siblings. Jason only agreed because Dick said that he'd pay for everything and unlike Gotham, cheap liquor was hard to come by in Bludhaven.

Dick was flirting with the bartender as she prepared two beers for the brothers. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw her. He saw a flash of ginger hair. There was nothing to be worried about, he thought to himself. There were plenty of gingers in Bludhaven but it wasn't until he got a glimpse of her face that he realized who it was.

Flashing a smile at the bartender, Dick grabbed the beers before making his way to Jason. He stopped in his tracks when he smelt a familiar fragrance. One he recalled buying for his and Y/N's anniversary. Dick had never been more grateful for dark clubs because Y/N walked right passed her boyfriend and didn't even blink an eye.

"We gotta go, like right now," Dick said while forcing the beer into Jason's hand before chugging his own.

"Huh?" Jason was confused. Dick begged for this outing and now he was in a rush to leave for no apparent reason.

"Y/N's here," Dick explained partially. He grabbed his jacket and began to put it on. From where the two were sat, Dick had a clear advantage of the club. Y/N was in the DJ booth dancing to a song he'd never heard while Babs was sitting near the bar.

"So? Invite her over," Jason would never turn down the opportunity to see Y/N. She was so perfect in his eyes.

"I can't. Babs is also here," Dick damn near whispered as if that would summon one of them. The elder brother ran a hand through his hair before wiping the excess sweat onto his pants.

"Damn, if you get caught, can I date Y/N?"Sure, Dick was his brother, but Jason had priorities. If he'd only been a little quicker the night they met, Jason could've saved Y/N from this potential heartbreak.

"What?" Dick was baffled by this thought.

"I had a crush on her but you asked her out and we were just starting to repair our relationship so it didn't make sense to ruin it because of her," Jason explained while still slowly sipping his beer. He figured that he would take his sweet time because Dick was an asshole. Toying with Barbara was one thing but bringing Y/N into it was a step too far.

"You've had a crush on my girlfriend this entire time?" Dick's tone was accusatory as if he didn't just admit to cheating on his girlfriend.

"Well, I mean- You've had two girlfriends this entire time," Jason pointed out before grabbing his jacket. Dick peered out over the dancefloor one more time before determining the best route for escaping. The two brothers bumped through a sea of people. They were almost there just a few more feet and Dick would've been completely safe.

"Dick?" Y/N said as she approached the brothers. Now, Dick could've kept walking and pretended it wasn't him, but Jason had more devious plans in mind.

"Y/N, it's so good to see you," Jason spoke before pulling Y/N into a hug. He spun her around and made direct eye contact with Dick who was motioning a prayer a sign, a silent plead.

"Oh, wait is this the bonding thing you were talking about?" Y/N questioned before flicking back one of her goddess braids and pulling down her short mini dress that had ridden up when Jason spun her around. Jason stood quietly as he took in her beauty.

"Yup," Dick said stiffly. He felt exposed and he wasn't even home yet. His palms were sweatier than before and he was sure his face was flushed.

"Jason, it's so nice that you do this weekly. Dick told me how much it means to you to salvage your relationship," Y/N said with a smile, almost as if she was proud of her boyfriend.

"Did he?" Jason cut his eye to Dick who was staring at the floor.

"Jason? Dick? I didn't expect to see both of you. I thought you couldn't make it?" The red-headed woman's last question was directed mostly towards Dick. Richard Grayson thought that the floor looked most interesting and not the scene that was about to unfold.

"Couldn't make what?" Y/N asked. Her eyes flickered between Babs and Dick. Y/N knew of Babs but from her understanding, Dick and her were just friends.

"Well, I and Dick have a date every week about this time. I'm sorry who are you?" Barbara asked. She wasn't trying to be mean but her tone indicated otherwise.

"Fuck you, Richard," Y/N said throwing a drink in his face before stumbling towards the exit. She didn't know if it was the alcohol she had consumed or the tears forming in her eyes but she needed to get away from here.

"Y/N, let me make sure you get home okay. It's late and you've been drinking," Jason said while lightly placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you, Jason. You're so sweet," She said while wrapping her arms around him. At least, one person got what they wanted tonight.

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x black!reader #dick grayson x black!reader

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inklessletter · 5 months

Text

I didn't expect to be this emotional today, but I feel like I need to share here, where I feel safest.

Not many close people, friends and siblings, know that I draw. Well, they know I've been drawing all my life, but it's not like they're aware what I've been doing lately. Due personal reasons, what I've been sharing this past year here, I kept it for myself until I was ready to share. At first only my bff and my (now) hubby knew about it, but then I grew confident and started sharing with some friends.

This Christmas I shared my socials with a first cousin, which loved what I doing. I told my parents and my in-laws, and they were really supportive. Like, they had no clue who these two guys are or where they come from, but they were all so nice about it.

Yesterday, I showed my godmother (and aunt) my latest piece (Eddie taking the picture). She told me, very effusively how much she loved it, and that she was waiting impatiently for the companion art.

She told me that she would frame them and hang them in her house. I thought that she was only being nice but she jsut sent me a voice note saying that she already had the frames. She sent a picture of them.

Then my mum went by today, and told me that she wanted another two to frame (her favs are the pairing of Eddie and Steve in summer), and another aunt of mine wrote me that how on earth I hadn't shown her sooner what I've been up to. My mother-in-law asked me to send her some of my pictures because she was in a family reunion and wanted to show what her daughter-in-law art skills.

Apparently, my godmother (whom I've inherited the passion for drawing from) had been bragging around.

Fucking bragging.

This may sound small and not a big deal, but to me this is huge. I went online in a rather anonymous way to do my art and my thing and whatever I'm passionate about at the moment, not expecting absolutely anything but heal from a traumatic experience that just dragged me down emotionally at a level of feeling absolutely worthless of any place in any community, with nothing to give, nothing important enought to write down and worth someone else to read.

I can't stress you enough how dizzy this makes me feel, how fortunate, how grateful, of having them in my life.

Just wanted to share that. Thank you for reading this far.

#inklessletter #personal

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zeltqz · 1 year

Text

— rindou/fem!reader (9.3k words)

cw—virginity loss, mentions of getting together, implied sexual assault & kidnapping (not from rindou)

a/n— inspired by anon lino. Thx for the request, I switched sum stuff up tho bc it was already long as shit n I didn’t wanna make it like 15 k words 💀‼️

Your father is a force to be reckoned with.

Listed as one of Japan’s top twenty politicians, he’s already made a public figure in the eyes of the press & population.

Some hate him, others love him. You wouldn’t know though, not being let outside of your house for safety reasons. It’s lonely a lot of the time, being stuck in your big house with your siblings all day, tall men in black suits, glasses, and ear pieces watching your every move.

Though you were one of the richest families in the country, you felt trapped in a jail cell. The only difference was your cell was a huge mansion with security locks that changed every few weeks, the code only being told to trusted security.

‘It’s for your own good’ he defends his behaviour, thinking isolating his children at home instead of giving them a life for themselves outside is for your safety.

If you needed education? You were schooled online. The best mentors in the country are paid by your father to tutor you and your siblings. If you wanted to make friends? Don’t be stupid.

What do you need friends for when you’re surrounded by all this luxury?

It was lonely , isolating , and boring .

That was why when your father was at one of his meetings, late at night, you took the opportunity to sneak out, replacing a body double made from extra pillows hidden under your sheets.

It was thrilling leaving the house alone for what felt like the first time in years. You were allowed outside of course, your father wasn’t cruel, just protective. But with your freedom came at a price, not allowed outside without the presence of a tall man—maybe two if your father felt the need for it— tailing your every move.

Now though? You were able to walk around the streets late at night without the feeling of someone watching you from behind. You had no clue what to do though, looking around, half the stores were closed, save for that late night 7-Eleven at the end of the road. Bright green, yellow, red lights attract you towards it like a moth to a flame.

The inside is packed full with items ranging from snacks, meals, drinks. You walk around like someone who’s never shopped for themselves before. It’s quite embarrassing, you think, the loathing bitter resentment you have for your father isolating you almost your whole life stirs deep, and green inside your stomach.

You pick out a small snack bar from the aisle and head towards the counter. You’re not that hungry, you just felt bad for walking in a store, seeing nothing you like, then leaving. It seems rude.

By the time you get to the counter, the woman pops her gum as she tells you the price, looking at you with a strange look you can’t decipher.

“One sec—” You smile at her.

She ignores it, rolling her eyes.

It was then you realised you’d forgotten your wallet at home, as well as your phone, the excitement from sneaking out made you lose all common sense apparently.

“I—I don’t have any money.”

“Huh?” The cashier’s voice was high in pitch, purely shocked. “Rich girl like you has no money? What, did your daddy cut your allowance or what?”

“I—wait.” You blink at her, bewildered. “You know who I am?”

“Duh.”

“Oh.” You swallow your nerves down, looking bashfully at the ground.

There was a feeling that your father was hated in this town, you don’t really blame the people for thinking so. Even you yourself hate your father. You know nothing about politics because you refuse to listen to your fathers lectures on it. So you can only imagine that the rest of the country, those who are directly affected by his political beliefs, might hate him too.

A hand claps down on your shoulder, startling you. Looking up, a tall guy, slightly shorter than your bodyguards, stands behind you, holding out the right amount of change in his hand, sliding them across the counter.

“It’s on me,” he tells the cashier, who nods her head, then jostles you with his shoulder. “Now you owe me a favour.”

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, the smile on his face screams he’s up to something, but you don’t look into it, only happy someone was kind enough to save you from embarrassing yourself further.

“What favour?”

“Come with me.” He doesn’t answer your question, just leads you out of the store. His hand rests on your lower back the entire time, and you feel uneasy, but still push it down, berating yourself for being so cautious, on guard, around a man who was willing to help you out and pay for you.

“Where—” Your voice cracks from nerves, so you clear your throat and try again. “Where are we going?”

He ignores you.

When you try to slow your pace, the hand on your back pushes you onwards, practically forcing you to move. It was when he’s leading you to an alleyway, the nerves you forced down come back full force, a thick, heavy lump forming in the confined space of your throat.

“I don’t think this is—” He pushes you into the alleyway; you land on the floor with a yelp.

“Is that her?”

A voice, husky, gruff, speaks up, different from the man from before.

You try to look up, but your vision is blurred, only seeing specs of colour you assume are people. The thick, pungent smell of cigarettes fills your nostrils, then a foot, heavy and dirty, steps on your head, not applying pressure to hurt, just keep you immobilised on the floor.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Nah, I don’t believe it. Pull out a pic or somethin’.”

You want to cough, the cigarettes making it hard to breathe. One of the men crouches down in front of you, pushing the guys foot from your face in favour of tugging you upwards by your hair roots.

“You know why you’re here, right?” He wriggles your head in his hand like he’s rolling a dice, probably uncaring to the way your scalp feels like it’s burning on fire right now. “I asked you a question.”

“I don’t—ow, sir, man, please stop…it hurts—”

“Sir?” He spares a glance to the guy behind you, then his grin turns wolfish. “I like the sound of that.”

“Don’t do too much with her. We need her stable if we’re gunna show her daddy.”

“How much money you think she’ll be worth?”

“As long as she got all her limbs, no cuts or bruises a decent price, but if we rough her up a lil’ bit, she might be worth a bit more.”

Your body feels weak, tense, mouth dry, ears full of static as you listen to these men talk about you like you’re a slab of meat getting pawned off at a butchers, talking about you like you’re not even here.

If only you’d just stayed home tonight, stayed in the confinement of your bedroom, warm and cosy, smells like perfume and scented candles that your grandma gifts you every Christmas, instead of being here, face messy from the dirty floor, hair roots on fire, nostrils scarred with the burning scent of tobacco.

The man lets go of your head, and it hits the floor, your head throbs painfully from the hit.

“You think she’s a virgin?”

“Go check.”

Check?

Your stomach churns, empty lungs short of breath when the man goes to touch your sweatpants, panic rising in your blood.

“No, please, don’t—ow!” You scream in pain when he pushes your head back down to the ground, some dirt entering your mouth.

“ Shut up .”

You’re kicking and screaming at this point, but it’s useless as his hands pull down your sweats.

Cold air smacks your bare skin and you want to cry, heat burning the edges of your eyes as tears form, but no sound comes out.

“Your daddy is fuckin’ up this country, you know that, princess?” The pet-name is cold, icy, as he grits it out like it’s meant to be pleasant.

His finger slides against your clothed folds, and your heart is racing, body limp on the floor as he continues his speech. “You probably don’t know that, huh. You rich fuckers only think about yourself.”

“I don’t,” you gasp out, weakly, hot tears stinging at your eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Agree with him. I hate him too—hate him so much,” you whimper into the ground, wet chunky tears soaking down your face.

He lets out a hefty sigh, fingers stop touching you down there, and he stands up with a sigh, relighting another cigarette. He takes a puff, a moment to relax himself, and turns to his group.

“What now?” He’s not talking to you, gesturing over to the other men who’ve been watching the whole ordeal with nothing but a straight face.

“I dunno.”

“Ain’t this kinda embarrassin’?”

The men look at the new voice that speaks up from behind them. From what you can spot with your limited vision, he has blue stripes riddled within his blonde hair, adjusting his gold glasses on his face, looking at the group with a disgusted look.

“Fuck does this have to do with you?” The one with the cigarette breath barks out, eyebrows creased with anger. “Go on somewhere.”

The guy simply ignores them, looking straight at you. You feel your blood run cold when you meet his stare. “You alright?”

“I—”

“Don’t answer him.” The guy next to you slaps his hand over your mouth. “Don’t address her.”

“You guys really have nothin’ else to do at night than harass some innocent girl?”

You fear for the guy defending you as he steps closer into the alley, the sound of his boots echoing in your ears as he makes his way towards you. You want to tell him to run, go somewhere, don’t get hurt because of you, but he seems awfully confident, and you couldn’t speak if you tried.

“Innocent? Please, you know who her father is, right?”

He shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms together. “Na. Who is it?”

“That stupid fat politician scum that’s tryna fuck with our rights.”

He gives him a blank stare, hands shoving themselves into his pockets. “So…what’s that gotta do with her? Go touch up her daddy then. Or what, you scared? Can’t take on a fat man, huh.”

The implication has the guy seething, nostrils flaring as he rips his hand away from your mouth, dropping your head back onto the floor with a smack.

There’s another dull throbbing sting in your head doing nothing but amplifying the previous pain, and your wince catches the attention of the guy defending you.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” The man gets all up in his face, practically drooling like a feral animal without a leash.

“That so? What are you waiting for then?” He smirks as he grabs onto the man’s hands, bunching them into fists and positions them by his own face.

His confidence, his blank stare, his voice…you can’t help but gawk at him, mind hazy as you watch the scene go down. “Hit me, c’mon. I even put you in position.”

The guy spits onto the ground, wiping his nose before lifting his hand to punch him.

“Dude, back the fuck up.” His friend pulls him away, ignoring the complaints and death threats spewing from his lips. “Rin, he didn't mean to threaten you. We weren’t going to do anythin’ to the girl, I promise.”

“Rin?” He cocks his eyebrow meanly. “Are we friends? I don’t know you, don’t call me that.”

The guy slams his mouth shut so quick and fast, his teeth clamp against each other. “S-sorry, Rindou. But I mean it—we really weren’t gonna do anythin’ bad to her! We just wanted to scare her daddy into givin’ us some money. That’s all! I promise…”

“Promise? You really expect me to believe that shit?” Rindou stares at the man who shakes his head in fear. He looks down at you, and your blood runs cold once more. “Did they touch you?”

“He—well, he touched me down there.” You look down at your private area.

The guy guilty of it scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “It was barely even a touch.”

You glare at him from where you’re sitting, feeling a surge of confidence flow through you now that Rindou is here keeping them at bay. “You still touched me, asshole.”

“I’ll fuckin’ do worse if you keep runnin’ that slutty mouth of yours,” he snarls.

Rindou clicks his tongue, unimpressed, lifting you from the floor easily, hoisting you onto his shoulder.

It’s impressive to you how effortless the action was, butterflies flancing around in your stomach when his arm holds your waist to support you.

“You guys better pray my brother doesn’t find out about this.”

“Fuck you and your weak ass brother.”

That guy has some serious anger problems, because even his own friends are gawking at him like he’s a lunatic for spitting those words out.

Probably some unspoken code in these streets to not insult the ‘brothers’.

Now you’re curious.

“Yeah?” Rindou only chuckles, says nothing more, pulling out his phone from his back-pocket. You lay on his shoulder as he dials who you assume is his brother.

The silence in the alley is deafening, you can practically hear the group's hearts beating out of their chest as the line rings.

“Yo?”

“Bro, guess what?”

“What?”

Rindou walks over to the dude who thinks he’s all that. “Found this guy that thinks he can beat you up, thinks you’re weak ‘n shit. And actually, he said he could kill you.”

There’s a snort over the line. “What’s his name?”

Rindou nods over at him. “What’s your name?”

When he refuses to respond, there’s a beat of silence, then Rindou kicks the guy in the knee, sending him dropping to the floor without a beat.

You’re almost certain you heard a cracking noise, then the guy is screaming in pain. You can’t see due to your position on his shoulder, only looking at his friends who stare at him with a sense of pity, but refuse to speak up themselves.

Rindou drops to his level, bringing you down with him. “I said, what’s your name?”

For the sake of it, Rindou digs his hand on his probably—no, definitely broken knee the same way he stepped on your head, applying pressure each second the guy fails to cough up his name.

“It’s Yamajiki Kenzo! Stop—argh, it hurts! Fuck—” He splutters out, desperately trying to push Rindou off.

Rindou clicks his tongue, standing upright, and brings the phone back to his ear. “Didja get that, Ran?”

Ran says with a yawn, “we can find him tomorrow, no biggie.”

“Actually—ah man, looks like I broke his knee. My bad.” Rindou sends him an unapologetic smile, and the guy looks like he’s three seconds away from jumping at him.

He hangs up the phone, tugging it back inside his pocket, turning to face the group.

“Anyway, I’m taking the girl now, or—” he jostles you on his shoulder, catching your attention. “Want me to fuck them up for you?”

“Wha—”

“Did they hurt you?”

“I mean, yeah—but—” You look around. Half of them are scared half to death right now, it won’t do you any justice seeing them beat up on the floor. Part of you wants to be the ones to hit them though, get revenge for yourself. “I don’t know.”

“Say what? You want me to let ‘em go?”

“I don’t care…I just wanna go home…”

“How’s this,” he jostles you one more time, “I take you home and tomorrow I’ll fuck ‘em up for you.”

“Home? No, no. You can’t take me home—my dad he—he doesn’t know I’m out right now. I have to—”

“I can sneak you in. It’s no biggie, I’ve done it before.”

“Okay…”

“Great.” He turns to face the group. “Just wait till tomorrow. Oh and you might wanna bandage that up. Gonna look fuckin’ nasty in the morning.” He gestures to the guy on the floor with a broken knee, his face burning with sheer rage, eyes narrow, and sharp.

“Whatever.”

Rindou puts you back on the ground outside the alleyway, watching you dust yourself off. A hot flush spreads across your cheeks and you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye.

“Thanks, Rindou. I really appreciate it.”

“‘S no big deal.” His phone vibrates in his pocket so he goes to check it. “Ah, I gotta go. Somethin’ came up.” He folds it shut. “You okay goin’ back home alone?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Kay, stay safe.”

“Bye…” Your words trail off when he heads the opposite direction. You watch him leave, heart twitching a little in disappointment because you wanted to know more about him. You’re unsure you’ll ever be able to see him again unless you get yourself into more trouble, but then again, he’s not Spiderman, showing up at any signs of danger.

Today was merely a coincidence.

You wish you’d bought your phone.

The walk home was rough. Your face and jaw aches like hell, your legs were sore from being pushed onto the ground without a care. Your heart still hasn’t slowed down, could feel it roaring in your ears with every beat.

You managed to sneak back inside your house without getting caught. Everyone was asleep, minus the family dog, rummaging through the kitchen trash. The security were asleep on their posts, and they’d most definitely be fired if your dad caught them.

You flop back onto your bed with a long, exasperated sigh, staring up at the ceiling, reminiscing over today’s events. You search your pockets quickly, frowning when the snack bar the guy bought you wasn’t there. It probably fell on the floor.

Well that’s a bummer.

You find your phone deep inside your drawers, unlock it, and start researching. Crime in Roppongi has gotten so high over the last couple months, mainly due to the fact those in power are money hungry, only caring for themselves, raising the prices for everybody that can’t afford things. Your dad is a part of that group, and no wonder everybody hates his guts so much.

Everything gets paid for you, which is why you didn’t see this as a big deal at first, thinking money was something that came easy to people. But the sheer rage on those guys’ faces made you realise some have it way harder than others, and greedy folks like your dad and his party are only out there caring for themselves.

Though it was a traumatic experience, you learnt a lot from it.

It’s no wonder why gang activity in the area has been rising steadily. Stealing food and money to survive, dropping out of schools because they can’t afford it anymore.

You fell asleep with your phone on. Your father enters your room in the morning, a little bit confused you had some dirt on your face. He taps you awake. You stir, but don’t fully wake up yet, too tired and exhausted from yesterday's events.

“What is that…” he questions, shifting your body upright to see your face better.

The side of your face had signs of minimal bruising, obvious dirt on your face, staining your skin mud brown, your lip has a slight cut on the upper lip, and your eye was slightly bruised.

“Oh my god, what happened to you?” He’s shaking you awake by force this time, and your eyes shoot open, startled, springing up from your bed and wiping your eyes.

“What? Daddy, why’re you here?”

“ Your face .” He reaches out to cup your cheek. You blink at him, utterly confused, brain hazy and muddled from sleep. “What happened to you?”

A quick peek in the side mirror across your room reveals your damaged face.

So last night wasn’t a dream? Maybe you should’ve figured since it was clearly obvious that in real life you did not have sex with dream Rindou. It was so amazing, despite being a virgin, the sensations were completely up to the imagination. He was touching you down there with those big hands of his, fucking you with that cock of his.

You were in the midst of riding him before your stupid father decided to shake you awake, breaking your thoughts, bringing you back to reality.

Wiping the crust from your eyes, you glared at your dad. “Just leave me alone. I wanna go back to sleep.”

You shove his hand off your face, mood sour, sinking back between your sheets.

“Why is there dirt and bruises on your face? Who did this to you?”

“It was nobody! Okay? I just fell. Go. Away.”

Your dad sighs, rubbing a hand on your shoulder to attempt at soothing you. It only makes you groan, wanting to push him away further, preferably out of your room forever.

“I know you’re lying to me, but I can tell you’re upset about something. So I’ll talk to you later.”

“Whatever.”

By the time he’s gone, you try to head back to sleep, try to force your brain to return to that delicious dream you were having, but all fails. You can’t even get back to sleep, yet alone dream that exact scenario again.

Later that night, after you’ve fixed makeup on your bruises, you sneak out one more time, this time with a mission and a purpose. Phone and wallet in your back pocket, you came prepared.

It seems the name Rindou holds quite a name in the town, asking the people around led you to his current location, what seemed to be a nightclub. You’ve never been inside one before, having seen them all in the movies. It was almost exactly the same, yet more overwhelming, crowds and crowds of people dressed in suits, mini dresses, long dresses, short skirts—you were most certainly underdressed, now realising that now that you left the house in a simple black tank top, paired with a matching black zip up hoodie, and a fresh, clean pair of sweatpants.

You look like you were heading out to a sleepover, rather than a private nightclub, and you instantly regret your outfit choice.

Rindou, on his way down the steps, spots you looking around as if searching for someone, and he can’t help but feel sorry for you. God, you’re so stupid, walking into a place you clearly don’t belong. From your outfit, down to the way you were being pushed around by everybody in the thick crowd.

He sighs, making his way towards you, muttering excuse me’s to everybody he’s shoving past to reach you. His hand latches onto your elbow, making you yelp since your back was turned, and you turn around to punch the dude, only to soften when you see him.

“Rindo—” He’s yanking you through the crowd before you could even finish his name, and you’re trying to push him off you, screaming at him to let him go. “Get off me!”

He’s ignoring you, dragging you out of the main room, into the hallway with all the bathrooms. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?” You open your mouth to speak when he cuts you off. “And don’t say to party, because you and I both know that’s bullshit.”

You swallow your words down, chin lowering towards your chest, avoiding eye contact.

How on earth are you supposed to explain that you were here on behalf of a dream you had the night before and want to re-enact it in real life without coming off as desperate ?

“I—I just wanted to see what a nightclub was like…that’s it.”

“Wearing that?”

“Ok. Rude.” You spot dried blood on the side of Rindou’s face, underneath his glasses. You take a step forward, he takes one back, confused when you keep walking forward, eyes trained on his face.

“What? What are you doing?” He’s backed up against a wall when you reach out to touch his face, thumb wiping over the blood from his face. It’s stained, so you frown, digging around your pocket for some tissues “Why are you touching my face?”

“Because there’s blood on it. What happened? Did those boys from yesterday hurt you? Oh my god, I told you not to go after them! I said I would handle it and now you’re hurt because of me—”

“Relax? Jeez, this ain’t because of you, or from them. It’s somethin’ else.”

“What then?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grabs your hands away from his face, putting them back down at your sides. “Now, are you gonna tell me why someone like you is out here at a club like this at night?”

“I—it’s embarrassing…”

“Now I gotta know. C’mon, tell me.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest, the action pressing your tits together, cleavage exposed from your shirt. Rindou’s eyes not-so-subtly drop downwards, eyeing the crevice between your breasts. You feel fuzzy when you notice it, hoping he finds you as attractive as you find him.

“If I tell you, you can’t laugh. At all, ‘kay?”

“Sure, c’mon what is it?”

“I…want you…to have s-sex with me.” It felt like a weight has been lifted off your chest, body feeling ten times lighter once the words got out. The initial feeling of anxiety lingers at the bottom of your stomach as you wait for his response.

He says nothing, unblinking deep-set purple eyes stare at you, bewilderedly. His brain works 100mph to figure out how to respond to that. He’s had sex before, a couple one-night stands in the past with different girls, had a girlfriend for a couple months who he had regular sex with until they broke up. It’s not often he has girls asking him for sex, they normally initiate it themselves, pulling him in for a kiss, touching his shoulders, thighs, suggestively.

To have you in front of him like this, asking for it…he’s not sure how to respond to that. “You what?”

“I want you to have sex with me. I had a, uh, dream last night about it and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I want you to have sex with me. Only if you want to, though I would appreciate it if you said yes.”

You wriggle your hands beneath your shirt, fiddling clumsily with your fingers, watching the bewilderment play out on his face.

He even scratches his head, contemplating your answer.

“I mean, sure? But—”

“Really?!” Your voice pitches higher with joy, then clears your throat to bring it back. “I mean, really?”

“Yeah I guess.” He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, heading towards the back door of the club. “You comin’?”

“Wha—what, now? You mean now?!” You jog up to him, crossing the distance quickly! He opens the door, you follow behind him mindlessly as he makes his way to his car.

“Yeah, ain’t that…what you wanted?”

“Yeah! Sorry I was just—”

He grunts, rubbing an exhausted hand over his forehead. “Stop talkin’, c’mon already.”

You snap your lips shut, nodding silently as you enter the front seat of his car. The entire ride to his place has you shifting nervously in your seat, seat belt digging uncomfortably tight against your chest.

The view outside is calming, the streetlights flashing against your face as you stare out the window makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

“Alright, get your ass on the bed.” Rindou nods at his bed, beginning to shed his shirt off. You blink at the sight of his bare chest, thick black ink covering the right side of his chest. It’s distracting, but attractive, mouth salivating at the sight. When you do nothing but stand there, he cocks his eyebrow at you. “Did you hear me?”

“No—I was just…wow.”

He looks confused for a second, following your fixated gaze towards his chest. “Oh, this?”

“Yeah…it’s—so cool.” He snorts, moving towards his bed, dragging you down with him. “Did it hurt?”

“I don’t feel pain.” He’s half paying attention to your words, tugging you onto his lap, hands eagerly untying your sweatpants strings.

“Ooh, edgy—hey! Calm down—” you yelp when he drags your hips forward fiercely, struggling to undo the knot.

“How many times did you loop this shit? What the fuck.”

“I dunno—I just do it.”

He finally unties it, lifting your hips up to tug your pants down your legs.

Your hands hold onto his shoulders, fingers digging tight into his skin as his hands wander your body. It managed to feel better than the dream, which was expected, his warm, moist, calloused palms gripping onto your waist.

He kicks off his pants to the floor, setting you back down flat on his lap. Something feels hard between your legs, pressing into the flesh of your bare thighs and it takes you a minute to realise what it is.

“Is—” you gulp down your words, fighting reality. “Is it meant to be that hard?”

“My dick? Uh, yeah. What, you’ve never touched one before?”

You shake your head anxiously, stomach burning weakly, biting restlessly at your lips as his brows lift, stunned, and bowled over at the fact that he’s about to take your virginity.

“Oh.” He looks down at your hips, white-hot fingers grazing delicately down the curve of your hips. “That’s—wow. Are you sure you wanna do this?”

In contrast to before, you nod your head quickly, and with an indescribably hunger you grab onto his hands on your hips, boldly shifting them backwards to cup your ass.

“I want this, and I won’t regret it. Promise.”

“Even if this was the worst lay of your life?” He says it as a joke, lips curving into a playful smirk as he shamelessly gropes your behind.

“I wouldn’t have anything to compare it to anyway.” You shift a little closer, hands creeping to hold behind his head, itching your fingers in the soft streaks of his hair.

His eloquent eyes drop down to your lips suggestively, soaking in the glossy sight of them. Your body is stiff as you stare at him, blinking rapidly at what’s to come. He doesn’t say anything, just looks back up at you, asking you with his eyes.

Your eyes slip shut mindlessly when he leans forward. His lips are soft, just like his hair, sensually moving them against yours. He’s patient as you learn the ropes, sometimes moving your lips at the wrong time, catching them in an awkward position. He tilts his head to create a new angle, your body stiffens still when the angle makes the kiss deeper.

“Relax,” he pulls away to whisper the words along your lips, kissing down the curve of your jaw sultrily. “You’re too stiff.”

His hands slide up the slope of your back in an attempt to soothe you, hugging your body tight to his. The feeling of his hands holding you is strangely affectionate, the feeling of your heart buzzing in your chest gives you the newfound confidence to lean forward again, capturing your lips together.

It’s quicker this time, more generous and warm, lips sliding against each other, and he drinks up the sounds of your soft moans. Your hands move to grip onto the side of his face, replicating the image you had created in your dreams.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, looking up at you with those eyes of his that never fail to drive you crazy.

“Take off your shirt.”

It’s getting real now, you realise. His voice is seductively low, slightly breathy and you fidget backwards, spine straightening, hands sliding under your shirt to reach behind you, unhooking your bra.

You drag it down and under, unsure of what to do with it, choosing to hand it to him. The second it's in his hand, he tosses it away in favour of lifting your shirt up and over your head.

He reaches under your shirt , both hands cup your soft tit, palming, kneading it. He uses the side of his head to nudge you back into a kiss.

As if now muscle memory, you hold the sides of his face as he presses firm kisses against your lips, one hand pulling at your nipples, rolling, flicking his thumb against the sensitive beaked bud, other hand gripping the size of it in his big hands, occasionally squeezing at it when a soft noise escapes your lips whenever he does something with his tongue, licking into your mouth with fervour, biting at the swell of your lips.

Your thumbs brush against his cheek bones, tilting his head to the side as you scoot yourself closer on his lap, wanting him as close to you as possible.

“So what made you agree to this, Rindou?” you ask questionably, and he breaks the kiss to look up at you.

“I mean, you’re hot, that’s for one.” He lifts your shirt up, but doesn’t take it off, putting his head under and starts to suck your nipple.

You wish you could see his face, only looking at a budge moving around through your shirt. The feeling of his wet tongue gliding across your nipple is extra sensitive, and you bite at your lip to control your moans.

“S-so you find me hot?” You feel warm and fuzzy inside when he nods his head through your shirt. “W-what else?” you ask through a shuddered breath, groaning, eyes slipping shut as your head lifts to the ceiling when his teeth tug at your nipple.

“I dunno,” he grasps both breasts in his hands, squeezing them together, groaning at the sight. “You ask a lotta questions, though.”

“...sorry.”

“What’re you apologisin’ for? It’s cool.” His tongue kitten licks at your nipple a couple times, and you shudder when he sucks it back into his mouth.

“I’m not sure….I always just apologise, I guess.”

He hums in acknowledgement—you think— raising your arms as he’s shrugging your shirt off your body, throwing it across the room. He picks you up from his lap, laying you flat against his bed, propping up his pillows as you snuggle into it.

“It’s comfy,” you say with an awkward smile, unsure what to say now.

Are you supposed to kiss him again? Didn’t you do enough kissing already? Or was it too little? Do you hop right into the sex? Maybe you should’ve watched some porn before this, gotten a little comfy with the setting before jumping straight into losing your virginity.

He laughs as if he could read your racing thoughts, and you look up at him through beaded eyes, but in reality, he’s laughing at your awkward smile. It’s cute, clumsy, and innocent.

“You’re so cute,” he says, leaning forward, propping his arms beside your head, taking in the sight of your face, blinking up at him daringly, lips pursed and parted.

He bends down to kiss you slowly, shifting to fit himself back between your spread legs as they lock around his waist, keeping him in place.

Before you could fully melt into the kiss, he’s pulling back, bracing himself on his knees before your legs, big palms spreading them out further.

You feel exposed, hands covering your face, wincing when he rubs the palm of his hand up and down your clothed pussy, fingers grazing your clit delicately through the fabric of your panties.

“Oh—oh wait, that feels good—”

You’re bucking your hips up into the feeling, trying to feel it again. His finger brushes it again, and your lips fall open in a soft moan. “Oh my god, wait—”

“I’ve barely even touched you yet,” he chuckles, amused, and you swear you feel your thighs tense up when he drops down to the bed, face inches away from your pussy.

His hands grip onto your thighs as he stalks forward, tongue darting out to lick a long strip from the top of your pussy to the bottom, and up and down, up, down again and again through the fabric of your now soaked panties.

Shaky hands wind themselves in his hair, holding the strands in a makeshift ponytail as your back bows off the bed with each lick, every nimble stroke of his tongue.

“Can you—uh, wait—” You sit up on your elbows, looking down at him between your legs. “Can you remove the panties? Please?”

“Yeah, hold-on.” He peels your soaked panties away, bound by your slick, and his saliva, that he eagerly laps up, eyes closed, groaning between your legs at the taste of you.

You can’t bear to watch him eat you out, closing your eyes, head hitting the pillows as your hands reach for his hair again. He’s mumbling something under his breath, burying his face deeper between your legs.

He doesn’t let you catch a breath, tongue scribbling ruthless patterns against your drenched folds that have you squealing, tugging at his hair desperately.

Rindou normally doesn’t do oral, rather have someone else go down on him, but just the thought of making you suck his dick makes him feel bad. There’s a hidden array of feelings concealed by his lust for you that makes him want to just pleasure you tonight, hence why he’s leaving his own comfort zone to make you feel good.

He can’t seem to get enough, unsure if it’s meant to feel this good for him despite not being the one being touched.Maybe it’s the way you pull at his hair whenever he sucks with a certain amount of pressure on your clit. His fingers dig more profoundly into your thighs as his tongue flicks and sucks along your clit, up and down, repeating that same motion over and over and over, drinking up your slick in a way that drives you crazy, tugging almost painfully at his hair that it's pleasurable.

Your hips start jolting away from him, trying to run from the feeling of his tongue spreading your puffy lips, tearing you apart piece by piece, lick by lick, stroke by stroke. It’s too much. Too much for you to handle in one sitting, muscles tightening as it chases your climax, goosebumps rising to the surface of your sweaty skin.

“Rindou—ah! F-fuck! I’m—” Your bite your lip so hard it aches, adding to the throbbing pleasure as you cum, hips jerking against his face to spread your juices along his chin as he groans at the feeling, strong hands holding you in place as his tongue continues slurping at your pussy.

You forcefully try to rip him off you, body unable to take the pleasure, your mind hazy, like you’re floating in another dimension. It feels like you aren’t in control anymore, unable to moan loudly as you squirt on his face, whimpering as your shaky legs begin to slow down.

Rindou pulls away, bottom half of his face now soaked as he lifts himself up from the bed, wiping at it with his forearm. When you open your eyes, the corner of your mouth turns downwards when you see the sight of his bedsheets, soaked in your mess.

You don’t mean to feel embarrassed, after all, he was the one that drove you to that point, but your shoulders hunch together and you pout regardless. “I’m sorry—”

“Sorry for what? That was so hot.”

“Really?”

He nods his head, gently pushing you back down to the bed.

“Yeah, it was,” he breathes as shuffles forward, spreading your legs more to get another good view of your pussy. “You look so good—” he dubiously strokes his finger against your slit, dipping it inside, loving the way your back arches upwards. Your reactions are so cute. “—so wet, you’re so hot, fuck—”

“Rindou—” You’ve never been filled, never had anything up there before, so the feeling was new territory, and uncomfortable but as he picks up the speed, your cunt drips more, soaking his long finger, giving it the momentum it needs to continue fucking in and out, in and out.

“How’s that feel?” He presses a finger upwards, brushing your g-spot, and it’s like something inside you switched, a sudden heat prickling inside you has your body jolting forwards with a loud moan that has him biting his lips, pinpointing that spot with his finger effortlessly.

Your body can’t handle another orgasm, and at this rate you’ll be cumming in no time. Your body tries to pull away from him, thigh muscles contracting, toes curling, as his finger fucks you deeper.

His eyes are focused on your body; the pain-laced pleasurable look on your face is his motivation to keep going, slipping in a second finger to watch you go crazy, moans rising in volume, hips jerking from his touch.

“You close?” He asks despite knowing the answer, wetting his lips as he’s watching you attentively, revelling in the way your walls clamp around the girth of both fingers, sucking him in each time he dares to pull out.

“I—I think, yeah—ah—” Your moans sound gargled at this point with how hard your shoving your head into the pillow to silence them.

To hear how noisy you’re being is embarrassing; sinking into the pillow is half to conceal your blaring screams, half to sink into the softness in shame. Despite the burning heat in your face, the unwavering, direct gaze on Rindou’s face as his thumb rubs speedy circles on your clit is enough to push you over the edge, tip you towards your climax for a second time, body convulsing and twitching as a second round of fluids leave your body.

It’s less than last time, having squirted it all out before like a leakage, but it’s powerful enough for your eyes to roll, lips parting in another silent scream as your legs try to desperately push him away.

His fingers still inside you as his eyes survey the damage done to your body and his sheets.

It’s equally messy on both ends, your chest inflating and deflating with every heavy pant, the area on your thighs closest to your pussy now soaked with a mixture of his saliva and your slick. His sheets are ruffled, practically pulled away from their neat placing, wet patches splattered the clean shirts dirty.

When you finally catch your breath, you can’t even find your voice, scared to talk incase of another voice crack, so you stay silent, brows furrowing at the dull ache in your thighs that grow progressively hotter when you try to sit up.

“You good?”

You peek an eye open to stare at Rindou. From his POV, you’re unsure what you might look like: drained, bushed, spent…the list goes on, you think. “I’m fine.”

Your legs are limp, like the small energy you had left in them fizzed away after your second orgasm. It’s not until you hear him unbuckling your pants, you remember you’re not done yet.

There’s still one more little thing left…oh—oh, it’s not little at all.

You’re speechless when he pulls his cock out from his briefs, shrugging them down his legs, onto the floor. He holds it like it’s nothing, like your mind isn’t shaken up, like you’re not goggle-eyed.

Your blinking dumbly, half scared, half still processing stuff out when his hand wraps around the base of it, slowly stroking himself up and down, twisting his wrist when he reaches the tip.

He’s telling you something, but you can’t hear him, not with the way blood is racing towards your ears, blurring out the sound of anything and everything.

“Hey,” he jostles your leg to catch your attention, and it’s like your ears pop, free of static. “I asked you to reach in the dresser. Pass me a condom.”

“Oh—oh, yeah okay.” You gulp down your anxieties, reaching over to his dresser.

You grab a condom packet and toss it to him. He catches it effortlessly, putting the edge of it into his mouth, holding it with his teeth as he spreads your legs for the third time today, fitting himself between them.

It’s hard fighting the urge not to fidget beneath him, tell him you’re not ready and storm out the house, limp over back to your house with your half working legs. But you’re not a bitch—you say weakly in your mind, completely lacking the confidence to say that aloud.

He rips the condom packet open, and for a second you’re puzzled with how that tiny thing could possibly fit around the length of his cock. It’s long, but not huge, not thick either, on the thinner side with a slight curve to it. That curve is already making your insides scream, wondering if you’ll be able to feel that inside you.

Is that a good or bad thing? To feel it in you? Will it add to the pleasure, or just make you bleed?

Your questions go unanswered as you watch with pure focus as he rolls it down his cock, like a veil, and it fits perfectly.

“Alright, I’ma push in now,” he says, leaning forward, strong arms braced at your sides. “If it hurts, squeeze me, ‘kay?”

You nod dumbly, blinking up at him as he rolls his hips against yours, the tip of his cock running over your weeping hole, all wet and ready for him to slip inside.

You can feel your walls stretch open when he shifts forward, engulfing the tip inside your pussy inch by inch.

“Oh—” you choke out, not liking the way the stretch feels.This is far worse than the feeling of his fingers, his tip being three times the size of that.

It feels like forever with the pace he’s going at, ever so slowly pushing himself inside. When he’s around halfway, that’s when the stretch turns into a burn, a heavy, unsettling prickling sensation around your abdomen that has your nerves igniting in a state of panic.

Your fingers fly to his shoulders, digging them almost painfully into his muscles, letting out a shattered breath when Rindou keeps pushing.

“I know, I know—it’ll feel good in a bit,” his lips brush against your temple soothingly, giving your forehead a gentle kiss, fighting the urge to groan at the pain stinging in his shoulders.

When his hips are close to yours, the final inch of his cock left to be pushed inside, your hands fly around his neck, almost cutting off his blood circulation with how hard you’re holding him.

You both let out a satisfied sigh when his hips are pressed flush against yours, his sigh mainly due to pleasure, the heat of your warm cunt is enough to make him spiral; your sigh mainly due to thanking the heavens you didn’t get ripped in two pieces. There’s an agonising ache gnawing in your legs the longer his cock stays nestled inside your pussy.

With what limited space he has, he pulls out slowly, till the tip is left, and you feel so empty for a short moment, before he’s slowly pushing back in, getting your body used to the ministrations.

He repeats this over , and over, until your hold on his shoulders loosen, until your moans are reduced to whimpers, then he picks up the pace just a little, slamming back inside you enough to hit deeper and your back arches off the bed. Your hands get stripped away from his shoulders, bunched up at the wrists, and pinned above your head as he fucks into you raggedly, rolling his hips in a way that hits deeper than your g-spot.

“Rind—Rindou—I wanna t-touch you—stop—” you beg breathlessly, wriggling your wrists from underneath his grasp. “Please.”

The attempt is useless, his grip as strong as his brutal thrusts. You’re sure your body won’t recover after today, you’ll be bedridden for days, weeks even.

He shuts you up with a long kiss, your sweaty chest pressed flush against his own.

He holds your chin up with his spare hand, tongue flicking into your open mouth, tangling with yours. Your hands curl in on themselves, desperately trying to touch any part of him, hold his hand before he pulls away, breathing heavily as his spare hand moves between your legs, spreading you out further, pushing himself deeper. The new angle is relentless, finally feeling the curve of his dick hit your g-spot repeatedly. You see stars behind closed eyes, fingers scratching desperately at his wrists to let you go.

His hips begin to stutter, his pace falling off when your walls spasm and contract around his cock. The condom does nothing to stop the tight squeeze of your pussy holding him in place.

He groans by your ear, the audible and deep noise sets your nerves ablaze, unintentionally clenching around him, ripping another groan from his lips.

Letting go of your hands, he sits up on his knees, both hands gripping the fat of your thighs unceremoniously, digging his nails into the flesh. The pain added to the pleasure going on between your legs, body happily welcoming the sting of his nails.

“H-holy shit—” he grits out, eyes trained on the sight of his cock pushing in and out of your overstimulated pussy.

“W—what?” You dare to lift yourself onto your shaky elbows, barely able to keep yourself upright.

There’s a ring of white cum being shoved into your pussy, and back out again with each thrust, covering the see-through condom cloudy.

“What i—is—ah—that? Is that bad?”

It looks bad…is that supposed to happen? Why is it that texture? Did you get an infection? All these thoughts race through your mind at rapid speed.

“No, it’s not bad. It jus—just means you—fuck—” He can barely get a sentence out, not with the way your pussy spasms around his cock, the way your pussy squelches audibly each time his hungry cock ruts into you. “T-touch your tits, make yourself feel good.”

“Okay.” You reach down, grasping your tits in both hands, squeezing them the way he did before. It doesn’t feel good, you think, unsure if you’re doing it right.

“Your nipples,” he laughs at your confused face, “touch ‘em.”

Your fingers play with your nipples, rolling them between your fingers as his hands slide upwards to your hips. You yelp when he lifts your lower body up from the bed, angling your body in a way that makes his cock hit your spot easier. The sensation from your nipples, paired with the shockwaves of his hips slapping against your ass, blur your vision completely, hitting your peak. Your gut tightens, body dissolving into a feverish pleasure, nipples tender with each rapid flick of your fingers. You think you black out, moaning in a silent scream as you come undone on his cock, crying out his name when his hips stutter, gritting out fuck as a warning he’s about to cum.

You feel empty when he pulls out quickly, tugging the condom off and jerks himself off, shuffling up the bed to kneel beside your body, tugging his cock till cum splatters on your bare chest. It feels warm on your skin, your hands quickly reaching out to scoop it up on your fingers, experimentally tasting it.

It tastes salty, earthy, on your tongue, and he watches as you scoop it up a second time, sucking it from your fingertips.

“Fuck, stop doin’ that, drivin’ me crazy.” He shudders, cock twitching when you look up at him, smirking deviously as you lick up another scoop, making a show of your tongue wrapping around your fingertips.

He’s reaching over into his dresser, grabbing some wipes to help you clean up.

“It didn’t taste like how I expected it to,” you say, laying flat on your back as he drags the cold wipes along your chest.

“That a good or bad thing?”

You shrug, eyes following him as he lays down next to you. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I can walk right now.” You curl up next to his body, seeking his warmth as he grabs the covers, pulling them over your body. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“‘M not laughin’,” he lies straight through his teeth, a throaty silly chuckle leaving his lips as you dig your fingers in his chest, trying to push him away, fake pouting as a light laugh pours from your throat as-well.

“You literally are! Stop—” He catches your hand when you try to swat at him, placing it back down by your side.

“Thanks for the ego-boost,” he smirks down at you, wiping the sweat from your forehead away.

You shift closer, hand brushing his hair away from his face, gently taking his glasses off, tucking them neatly on the side. You sit up on your elbow, bending down to kiss him. His heart rate skips a beat when your lips, soft, warm, brush his own. His hands slide down to your hips, holding you in place when your tongue traces the edge of his own. You moan when he sucks the length of your tongue sensually, soft whimpers leaving your lips when he sits up, switching the position, laying you flat on the bed as he fits himself between your legs. Your hands skim across his hair, digging them into his scalp as he bites at your lip, swirling your tongue around his.

It’s quite possibly the most intimate kiss he’s ever had, drinking up every inch of you, rolling his hips against yours when your legs wrap around his waist.

He knows he needs to stop—you know you need to stop too, but the way your heart flutters when he groans into your mouth has you kissing him harder, grabbing his hand to squeeze at your breasts.

You pull away first, wiping the saliva from your mouth. “I—I think I should go home now.”

“Can you walk home?” He asks genuinely, but there’s a hint of a playful smirk on his face that has you punching his chest softly. “Stay the night, I’ll walk you home in the morning.”

“But my dad—”

“Who cares? What’s he gonna do?” He dips his head down to your neck, and you pull him closer as he sucks bruises onto your skin.

“He’s strict and protective. He’ll notice I’m gone—”

“He’ll notice you can’t walk straight either. There’s no difference.” When you still look unconvinced, he pleads, hand sliding down to cup your ass, relishing in the way you gasp out. “C’mon, stay please?”

You bite your lip as you think. He has a point; your legs are so sore right now you doubt you could even stand on two feet to head to the door, yet walk through your house without your dad noticing something is up. He’s already suspicious about the bruises on your face that you still need to think of a better explanation for, this will just make him confirm whatever suspicions he’s thought of.

“Ok. I’ll stay.”

Time passes quickly, steady. Months of you sneaking out successfully to meet Rindou at his house, months of you losing yourself in his sheets, tugging his hair as he spreads you open with his fingers, eating you out till your legs shake and cum on his face each time, kissing you like he loves you, riding him like a woman starved, sucking the salty thick cum from his cock, smiling deviously up at him as you swallow it.

Months and months of you learning everything about Rindōu, meeting his family, his friends, creating some sort of social life for yourself.

“So when can I meet your dad?” Rindou asks, catching the ball he’s been throwing repeatedly at the ceiling.

“Never. He’d hate your guts, Rin.”

“So? The feelings are mutual, then.”

You look at him, unimpressed, rolling on the flat of your stomach on his bed. “I’m serious. He’s gonna be weird about it, hate on you, your background, your family, your tattoos—”

“Oi,” he nudges you gently with his feet. “What’s wrong with my tattoos?”

“Nothing!” You sit up, crawling towards him on the bed, lifting the hem of his shirt up, revealing the slightest glimpse of the thick black ink you love so much. “Love it so much, Rin.”

“Yeah?” His lips twitch up to a grin, resting a hand behind his head, “show me.”

You peek at him through your lashes, fluttering them chastely, grinning cunningly, leaning down to kiss down his chest.

His muscles contract and flex with each light kiss, rucking his shirt upwards as you make your way further up his chest.

You kiss up to his lips, shuffling yourself on his lap, sucking sweetly along the swell of his lips.

You pull away with a sigh, sitting back on your knees.

“But on a real note—” you cover his mouth with your palm when he tries to kiss you back, ignoring his ticked-off brow. “—you cannot meet him. At least not yet.”

He says something muffled beneath your hand. You remove it, and he repeats himself. “You’re scared I’ll say somethin’ outta pocket, ain’t you?”

He grins at your eye-roll, wiping some hair from your face as he takes a moment to admire you. You barely notice the love-struck look on his face, too busy ranting about how your dad absolutely cannot find out about your secret relationship.

“I know you’ll say something out of pocket, Rindou. But it’s too early now…and he’ll probably ground me for life for sneaking out all the time to see you and I can’t risk not seeing you anymore. It’s not worth it,” you take his hand, squeeze it gently, reassuringly. “You understand that, right?”

He cradles your body in his lap, like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. In truth, you are, he’s never been happier since he’s met you. His brother noticed, his mother noticed, his friends noticed. Even he finds himself thinking about you more than he should; you creep into his dreams at night with that voice of yours, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, creeping your way into his head whenever he zones out.

“Yeah—yeah, I get it.” He pulls you in for a tight, warm hug, nestling your head in the crook of his neck. “I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

#—tr </3 #rindou smut #haitani rindou x reader #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #tokrev x reader #tokrev #tokyorev x reader #rindou haitani smut

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farity · 1 year

Text

Let’s Pretend

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary: You suggest a pretend betrothal

Warning: Future Smut

“She is quite accomplished,” his mother was saying, listing every skill the young woman, currently pretending not to be aware of their conversation, was said to have.

A servant took his empty dinner plate and Aemond noticed a small strip of paper left next to his wine cup. He didn’t react, but looked around to see if anyone seemed to be expecting him to read it.

There were visiting nobles, but other than the girl his mother clearly wanted him to speak to, he saw no one else that would pique his interest. Pretending to be listening to his mother, he turned the little strip of paper over.

“West terrace, in grey.”

The handwriting was small and neat. Feminine. He crumpled the paper in his hand, felt for his dagger at his hip, and waited for a lull in the conversation to excuse himself.

“My prince?”

He turned to Ser Criston Cole, always alert for his family’s safety. “Nothing to worry about, stay with the queen.”

He walked around the opposite side of the courtyard so he could survey the west terrace at his leisure and saw only one person sitting there. She was writing something and not really paying attention but she was wearing a grey gown.

* * * * *

You saw the shadow falling over your notebook, then looked up into the face of prince Aemond Targaryen. “Oh good, you made it.”

“Who are you and what do you want?”

You told him your name, ignoring the rudeness in his tone. “I have an idea that may solve both our problems.”

His expression, a mixture of boredom and disdain, didn’t change, and he didn’t say anything in reply.

“I know the queen wishes for you to marry, yet you do not seem to be inclined to court anyone. I want to be left in peace and quiet but after last month’s wedding, I am the last daughter left in my house, and soon they’ll trot me out like a prized mare at auction.”

When he still said nothing, you thought maybe this had been a bad idea. But you’d started this conversation, and apparently you’d have to finish it.

“I suggest we form an attachment, only in pretense, of course. Once it is known we are betrothed, the pressure will be off both our backs and we can continue our lives without the intrusion of others.”

He sat down facing you, looked from your face to the notebook where you’d been drawing. “And why would I, a prince of the realm, in line to the throne, be betrothed to someone from a minor house, when we can gain much from a better alliance?”

You took a slow, deep breath, trying not to give into the urge to slap him. “I am highly accomplished and learned, I excel at all the gentle arts - I embroider, weave, sing, dance, and play, I-”

“And draw,” he added, condescendingly.

You slammed your notebook shut. “What I mean is, it is a perfect plan. We live far apart, so it could be a long betrothal, and while I might be from a small house, we are an old lineage and have a very competent army..”

He leaned back, crossed his arms.

Fine, if he didn’t want to go along, he didn’t have to. “The prince wishes for his attentions to land on more exalted territory, I see.”

Aemond shrugged, not denying it. “I am the son of the king. Brother of the future king.”

You rolled your eyes. “That is never going to protect you from being saddled with some obnoxious wife for the rest of your existence.” There was nothing to it, then. “But, I understand. I only ask you keep this to yourself, as I have other names on my list and only two more days here to figure something out.” You stood, gathering your pencils and eraser and took a step toward the staircase.

The prince’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

* * * * *

He remembered her now. He had met her before, the smallest of five children, one boy and four girls. She was usually trying to catch up to her siblings and Aegon had pulled her hair once.

Aemond knew well he was expected to marry, and to do so for the benefit of his house. He would do his duty, of course, but none of the ladies at court, nor the visiting nobles, had made a good impression on him. Not to mention half of them could barely manage to look at him and keep the fear and disgust from their expressions.

Her plan was a sound one, except for the part where sooner or later they would either have to marry, which would ruin the purpose of the whole thing, or end their betrothal, which would put them back at the beginning.

But it would buy him time. Time to maybe find a suitable wife. Time for Aegon to find his way. Not that he ever expected that to happen, but time might help.

He pictured her on his arm, standing next to him, underneath him in bed, and made an impulsive decision.

She looked down at the hand around her wrist and then back at him. “Prince Aemond?”

“You will burn your list,” he said, the sudden thought of her on anyone else’s arm making his stomach twist. “and I will make it known I am courting you.”

“How are you going to make it-”

He pulled her to him, grabbed the back of her head with his other hand and kissed her. Her lips were soft and sweet, and she made a little sound of surprise that went straight to his cock. He heard her book and other things falling to the floor, as well as the whispers of people witnessing the scene. He was still holding on to her wrist but he felt her other hand touching his face, the side with the scar. For a moment he panicked, wondering if this was where she’d realize her mistake and run away, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping in to taste her while he could.

Instead of running away she pressed herself against him, and Aemond realized he had to stop. He grabbed her arms and ended the kiss and saw the confusion in her eyes when he pulled back. “Take my arm and come with me.”

“My things,” she said absently.

“I’ll send a servant.”

* * * * *

By the time you retired to your chambers, it was all over the keep. People were looking at you, whispering, pretending to ignore you. The queen kept giving you appraising looks while the princess Helaena waved at you and smiled.

“My daughter, have you something to tell me?”

Your father’s voice startled you as you finished an earlier sketch.

“Father,” you said, “it appears I have caught the attention of Prince Aemond.”

“As long as that’s all you’ve caught.”

“What?”

Your father shook his head. “How long has this been going on?” he sat next to you, his expression kind as always. “He should have spoken to me before he approached you.”

“I think rules are different for the Targaryens. father,” you hated lying to your father, but you weren’t going to be married off to some strange lord who might be an abuser or worse. “I am sure he will speak to you soon.”

He kissed your forehead, then started heading out. “But tell me this,” he said suddenly, turning around, “do you like him?”

Oh good gods.

“Father, I do not think one likes Aemond Targaryen. One may respect and appreciate him, and you know me, I much admire learning.” You smiled at him, hoping he was convinced.

“Uh-huh.”

“Good night, father.”

You waited until the door closed behind him to exhale. Two days. You just had to get through two days and then you would be back home. You stared down at your notebook and scratched out the drawing you’d been working on.

* * * * *

“The Queen wishes to see you.”

You knew this was coming but to be summoned to the queen’s presence was unnerving enough that you had to take a couple of deep breaths before walking in.

The queen sat behind a desk, her father standing to one side, Aemond to the other. Your father stood across the desk, and he nodded at you as you came in.

You curtsied deeply to queen Alicent, then took the chair next to your father’s.

“My son has shared with me the affection and admiration he has for you,” the queen began, “something he has, clearly, managed to keep completely secret.”

“Your father has agreed to the terms and the dowry he will provide on the day of the wedding, as well as the vow to provide military support if needed.” Ser Otto Hightower looked at your father, and continued. “Prince Aemond wanted to present you with a betrothal gift before you depart tomorrow, and you are expected to dine with us tonight.”

Oh.

Aemond walked up to you, opened a small box that revealed a pendant with a sapphire in the center. “May I?”

You smiled up at him, “of course. Thank you,” you turned, lifting your hair so he could place the delicate necklace on you. You felt his fingertips brush against the back of your neck and barely managed to contain a shiver.

“It is beautiful,” you added, looking down to admire the sparkling jewel.

Aemond took your hand and kissed it. “It suits you. Will you walk with me?”

You nodded, and left the room on his arm.

Once the door closed behind you you blew out a breath and let him lead you outside the main building.

“Do you think they believed you?”

“I do not care,” he shrugged, “all that matters is that they accepted my request and made the necessary arrangements. You are still leaving tomorrow?”

Did he want you gone already?

“Yes, of course.”

You noticed the looks from people you passed, deferential toward Aemond, and a mixture of pity and confusion toward you. Frankly, you didn’t care. Your plan had worked, you could enjoy a few months of freedom, and then you would figure out what to do.

Aemond guided you around a corner and past a series of statues. “In a few weeks I will visit you. It would be appropriate and we can talk more about how to proceed.”

“Dear brother.”

Aemond stopped and you turned at the sound of prince Aegon’s voice. He was leaning against one of the parapets, half shielded by the side of the wall.

“You’ve been keeping this little morsel hidden.” His eyes went from the top of your head to the bottom of your dress, lingering on your breasts. “I can see why.”

“Your Highness,” you said politely, your fingers tightening on Aemond’s arm.

“This is all very sudden, isn’t it?” Aegon added, then glanced at your belly. “Do not tell me you are in a delicate state.”

Aemond stepped forward. “Of course not. If you will excuse us, brother.”

You could feel Aegon’s eyes on your ass as you walked past him, resisted the urge to turn around. Aemond pulled you closer to him. “Is that what people think? That I am with child?” you asked as you turned a corner onto an empty hallway.

“Does it matter?”

You stopped, letting go of Aemond’s arm. “Well, yes, but eventually people will know it is not true,” you mused, and caught him looking down at your stomach. “What?”

“Nothing.” He offered his arm again and you took it.

“I will see you at dinner, then.”

Aemond looked down at you before stopping close to your chambers. “Wear the pendant from now on.”

“I have some other jewelry that will be more suitable-”

He stopped and pulled sharply on your arm, making you turn around to face him. “If I say wear the pendant, then you wear the pendant. It is a gift from your betrothed and if we are to signify that you are mine then you must be mine in every way that can be perceived. You will wear the pendant every day, back home and here, you will write to me every other day and you will speak of the love you have for me to every person you fucking meet.”

Your eyes widened as he pressed you against the stone wall. “You wanted this and while I agreed, I will also make sure that you do things the way I want them done. I have done my part to ensure the news was made public-”

“By kissing me,” you said curtly, and his eye went straight to your mouth.

“Yes,” he said, lowering his voice. “It was quick and efficient, was it not?” He leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek. “The work of but a few seconds and an hour later the whole keep knew.”

He was warm, impossibly warm, his body almost covering you completely, and he began nuzzling your neck. “They will say they one-eyed prince has found happiness at last,” he murmured, and you closed your eyes. “The prince without a dragon now has both the greatest dragon of all and a beautiful wife.”

When he raised his head, you looked up at him and it was the most natural thing in the world to let him kiss you.

* * * * *

He had to stop. He kept telling himself just a few more seconds, but it kept getting more difficult to let go of her and in the end he had to shove away from her. Her cheeks were pink and she was breathing hard and now that he knew how she tasted he wanted more.

“Go change for dinner,” he said sharply, and turned to leave.

Aemond made his way to his chambers, throwing his weapons down with more force than necessary as he changed clothes.

She’d be gone tomorrow and he wouldn’t have to worry about her.

He sat by the hearth, realizing he didn’t want her to go. He threw off his jacket, disgusted with himself. He barely knew the girl, was this really going to be a problem? She was the fourth daughter from a barely relevant house, she wasn’t particularly beautiful or tall or graceful or had any distinctive feature that put her above other ladies. Once she was gone he wouldn’t think about her, wouldn’t recall the sweet taste of her lips or the scent of her skin.

He sat there for a few minutes before he realized he had been rubbing his fingertips over his lips for who knew how long, and wished it was already tomorrow.

* * * * *

Dinner was eternal, you decided later as you let the maid help you with your dress. Aemond had stared at you as you had walked in, and you had no idea if he was pleased with how you looked or thought you looked like a nightmare. He didn’t say anything, either, which didn’t help.

Your father seemed to enjoy himself, which at least made the whole thing just slightly worth it.

You’d go home tomorrow, which frankly, would be a respite from all the pretense and lies and all of it. You’d write to Aemond as he’d requested, that would be easy enough, although what you were supposed to write you had no idea because you barely knew him but you would think of something. He hadn’t said if he would write back, though.

As you slipped under the covers, you thought back to the kiss he’d given you this afternoon and the harsh way he’d ended it.

* * * * *

“We will be expecting you back for Aemond’s name day,” the queen said, “it will be good for you to become familiar with court life, being from such a faraway land as you are.”

She made it sound like you were from Essos, but you smiled and curtsied and then went up to Aemond, who was standing by the carriage with your father.

He extended his hand as your father walked into the carriage and you took it. He kissed your cheek, a chaste kiss unlike the previous two you’d shared. “When I get back to my mother’s side I want you to stop the carriage and run up to embrace me.” He pulled back and helped you get inside next to your father, and then began walking back.

You waved at everyone and sat back, keeping an eye on Aemond. The carriage started and once he was almost at his mother’s side, you hit the ceiling of the carriage. “Stop!”

You race out of the carriage toward Aemond, who catches you as you throw yourself at him and wrap your arms around him. You hear a sound of disapproval from the queen and ignore it completely, because Aemond’s mouth is on yours and he’s holding you tightly and now you really don’t want to leave.

But he pulls back and when he looks at you, he only nods, so you smile and turn around to get back in the carriage, and wonder if what you are feeling is going to get much worse.

* * * * *

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#aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #Aemond x Reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd smut #hotd aemond

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incorrectbatfam · 1 year

Note

The 'Batfam on Reddit' post was fun and I won't mind another one! (I have nothing specific in mind besides more sibling shenanigans)

Going down the list, here's Jason

———————

Posted to r/AmITheAsshole by user local-zombie

AITA for changing my grandpa's cookie recipe?

Earlier this week, one of my (22M) sisters decided to fill my rifle with purple glitter. As revenge, I swapped the salt and sugar before she made her waffles this morning. Prank worked, yada yada, that's not why I'm here though.

See, like a dumbass, I forgot to switch them back. I've been running on 4 hours of sleep and I'm not even home half the time, sue me. It didn't really hit me until I was watching my grandpa make his signature chocolate chip cookies.

This was some cinematic shit, I tell you. Everything happened in slow motion. Before I could say anything, he dumped an entire cup of salt into the batter followed by a teaspoon of sugar and started the stand mixer. It seemed then that all was lost.

Out of nowhere, my dad—and I can't believe I'm saying this—descended like an angel from the heavens and asked my grandpa to help him with his hair. And lucky for me, I'm the only other person trusted to be in the kitchen. My grandpa told me to put the cookies in the oven before he went upstairs.

This is where I might be the asshole.

I needed to fix the dough immediately, so I added extra sugar and chopped up some caramel candy to (hopefully) turn it into some halfway-decent salted caramel chocolate chip cookies. Then I scooped them out, threw them in the oven, and prayed harder than the goddamn Pope himself.

Apparently God had a high call volume though, because as soon as the plate hit the table, my ENTIRE family knew something was up, like a bunch of fucking detectives or some shit. And they immediately blamed me. They're not wrong, but the fact that that's their first reaction is totally unjustified.

Anyway, now my family's pissed off and my dad thinks I should've just told gramps, but I think trying to fix the situation should count for something. So, Reddit, AITA?

Comments

bluebirdz: Did they taste good? |— local-zombie: Not like the original, but a solid 7/10 |—— bluebirdz: All's well that ends well. NTA

redrobin: yta |— local-zombie: At least provide some reasoning |—— redrobin: no

starfire: NTA but next time give them a heads up |— your-tired-librarian: Also voting NTA but OP should've fessed up from the beginning. |—— thatpurplething: I'm saying YTA for the waffle part |——— orphanized: not relevant |———— thatpurplething: It is to me

i-am-the-darkness-i-am-the-light: NTA for the way you handled it, that was pretty smart. YTA for tampering with food as a prank tho :/

notmysecretanimeaccount: You are indeed the donkey cavity for the poor setup and execution. |— local-zombie: Dude just say ass |—— notmysecretanimeaccount: Ass cavity. Happy? |——— local-zombie: Not what I was thinking but I'll take it |———— lesbian-premium: Congratulations on the worse conversation the internet's ever had

kyle-rayner: YTA. Just in general

assenal: nta. your family is overreacting

dickwings: soft yta. how would you feel if you were expecting one thing but got blindsided by something completely different? |— local-zombie: I'd just deal with it instead of whining like a pissbaby pretty boy |—— dickwings: nvm make that a hard yta |——— local-zombie:🖕

kitty-central: ESH. You for what you did, your family for how they reacted |— pennyworthy: At last, a sensible answer.

official-batman: YTA. And grounded.

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your-honor-im-zesty · 2 months

Text

what do i deserve, really? part 2

Will never particularly liked the fact that he was a healer.

Oh, he was good at it. At the risk of sounding arrogant, he was extraordinarily skilled- healing came to him easily, like water floated within a stream. He could mend a broken arm or hum healing hymns as easy as breathing in fresh air or smiling in the sunshine.

But he didn't like it.

Growing up, he was surrounded by legendary warriors and fighters. Luke Castellan, Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Clarisse La Rue- just to name a few. Even his siblings- Lee, Michael, Austin, Kayla- were incredibly skilled, especially in archery.

But Will? He was a healer. Not a fighter. His "weapons" were gloves and medicine- while others wielded knives and swords, he wielded needles and stethoscopes. While others were entangled within duels, he was performing surgery.

Theoretically, it wasn't a bad job. He saved lives, helped people. Many expressed their gratitude after that- they thanked him for being there, for being so quick and clever. And he was aware of that. But still, Will couldn't help but resent it. In a group of combatants, he was the only medic.

People told him he was lucky- being off the field meant he was safe, for the most part. The worst thing that could happen to him was catching a contagious disease, or accidentally stabbing himself with a scalpel. But that was precisely why Will hated it so much.

Safety. It made him feel guilty, like a fraud. While people were out there, fighting, risking their lives to save the world- he was confined within the infirmary, perhaps suturing wounds or healing cuts. His hardships- sleepless night, excessive stress, the crippling guilt when death struck too mercilessly- were nothing compared to theirs: nightmares, long-lasting injuries, PTSD. And Will was painfully aware of this.

Nico, he knew, was a well-respected hero. He had traveled within the depths of Tartarus twice, had fought fiercely in both the Titan and Giant War, had helped deliver the Athena Parthenon- and not to mention, he was the son of the god of death. He could raise the dead and travel through shadows and talk to ghosts- he was absolutely legendary. He was one of the strongest people Will had ever met- not just physically, but mentally, too. Not many people could do all that while dealing with grief for their sister's death and manage to emerge triumphant, sanity intact.

Which was why Will couldn't, for the love of the gods, understand what Nico was doing with him, of all people.

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

"Well?" Hades prompted. He was staring intensely at Will, as was Persephone, who now looked mildly interested. Across the table, Nico was stiff as a board, eyes narrowed at his father. He looked confused, angry, and perhaps a little...touched?

Will stammered a little. "I don't know," he said, more honestly than he'd expected. Nico's eyes snapped to him, surprised. "I really don't know, sir."

Persephone made a soft, tittering noise; Nico looked at her sharply. "That's enough," he snapped, rising from his chair and glaring at Hades. "Father, you promised-"

"I promised I wouldn't hurt him," said Hades coolly, without taking his eyes off Will.

Well, fuck. This was what the god of the Underworld's shovel talk looked like.

Maybe it was his face, or maybe she was starting to grow bored, but Persephone took pity on him. "Enough, darling," she said. "Leave the boy be." To Will's surprise, Hades leaned back and shrugged.

"If you insist, my dear," he replied, stabbing a fork into his chocolate cake. Will didn't like the triumphant look in his eyes, like he'd just proved some sort of point.

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

Apparently, Nico didn't like it either.

He cornered Will a few days later, in the infirmary. The blond was too busy stripping off his gloves and running his hands under cold water (he'd just finished a surgery on an Aphrodite camper's chest) that he didn't even notice Nico until his boyfriend was right behind him, breathing in his ear.

"You've been avoiding me."

Will jumped a foot, swearing loudly. He instantly regretted it when a seven year old Hermes girl peered over her shoulder from where she was propped up in a bed. Fuck, he was becoming a bad influence.

"What're you doing here?" he hissed, spinning around. He deliberately pretended not to have heard the previous statement. "It's fucking eleven at night."

"Could ask you the same thing," said Nico coolly. He studied Will, those dark eyes unnervingly like his father's. Then, in a far more hesitant tone, "Did...something happen? Is this about the dinner?"

Yes. Yes it is.

Ever since the dinner, Will had felt...off-kilter. He had always felt shitty about himself, but hearing those words from Hades had unlocked a new level of loathing. It was one thing to internalize it, and another for someone to point out that hey, you kinda suck. He was much more used to subtle insults- whispers behind his back, knowing looks exchanged right in front of him, eye-rolls or subtle barbs about his status as a healer. But being asked outright...

"I don't know what you're talking about," Will lied. He grabbed a towel and dried his hands. "I've just been busy lately- the infirmary's filling up really quick, now that kids are back for summer break." It should be shameful, how quickly the lie came to him- his father was the god of truth, and yet Will was an excellent actor. He could hide his feelings as easily as he healed people.

Nico's brows furrowed; he looked uncertain. Oh, shit- Will had forgotten his boyfriend had trust issues. He felt a surge of guilt, and remembered something Michael had once told him: lying will always come back to bite you in the ass, especially if it's to someone you love. (Granted, Lee had chided him after for swearing in front of 10 year old Will, but that wasn't relevant)

"I'm sorry," said Nico. He looked guilty now, which was infuriating because he had done absolutely nothing wrong. "My father...he and I haven't always been on the best terms, and I think it's just his way of caring for me. He hasn't been a father in years."

Oh- that's right. Will had forgotten that Hades was the only one to actually follow the Big Three Pact. He winced internally, but willed his voice to sound cheery. Peppy. "Yeah, no, I get that. Apollo isn't the most perfect dad either, but it's nice that he tries, you know?"

Nico looked at him a little suspiciously; had he sounded too happy? Maybe it was because Nico himself lied plenty of times about his own well-being. Like calls to like. A liar recognizes another.

"You should go," said Will quickly; he wasn't sure he would be able to withstand an interrogation. Wrapping an arm around Nico, he pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "You need your sleep, Ghost Boy."

Nico relaxed slightly and gave a thin, wan smile. "So do you, Solace."

"I'll wrap up in half an hour," Will fibbed, withdrawing his arm. He still had at least five patients to attend to, but Nico needn't know that. "Go to sleep, di Angelo- doctor's orders!" he added, inciting a small snort that- stupidly- made his heart swoon. He would never get tired of Nico's laughs.

The dark-haired boy had hardly walked a few steps to the door before he paused and looked back. There was a slight frown upon his face. He looked...concerned. "Will?"

"Yeah?"

"You know...you know what you're worth, right?"

You're certainly not worth him, a nasty voice whispered in his head. You're just a healer, and he's Nico di Angelo.

Thankfully, he was spared from answering Nico's question; there was a loud thump! and he whipped around to see the Hermes seven year old sprawled on the floor, groaning. She waved an angry fist at the window above her bed, where there were faces- of her siblings, no doubt- pressed against, smirking and laughing.

Oh, what the hell? Will thought as he rushed to help her to her feet. He almost didn't notice the soft click of the door that hinted at Nico's departure.

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

ugh ok so this is part 2 its terrible ik i'm not really feeling it lately, idk why lmao...couldn't bring myself to properly edit this shit but so many people liked part 1 i figured why the hell not...may discontinue idk

as a writer i love to make my fictional characters suffer and insert my trauma on them :)

@wants-to-marry-sirius-black

#percy jackson #percy jackson fandom #pjo #pjo fandom #solangelo #solangelo fic #will solace #nico di angelo #will x nico #will centric fic #will angst #ugh fuck writers block

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live-laugh-neteyam · 1 year

Note

i saw that you're opening requests omfg i love your writing so im taking the opportunity!

neteyam tired and exhausted from his training and goes to seek reader to decompress, finds her then just straight up drops his body to her, nuzzling his nose to her neck and probably mutters smth like, "you're my comfort person" or smth, gets all cuddly and everything. reader is the only person who got to see neteyam like this

they're mutually pining best friends btw

bonus if neteyam didnt notice one of his siblings sitting in front of the reader 😭

im so sorry if this got too long 😭😭 tysm babe

My Comfort Person ||| neteyam x omatikaya!reader

awwww thank you so much! 🥹🫶🏻

masterlist

pairings: neteyam x omatikaya!fem!reader

summary: your best friend neteyam is a bit of a sleep cuddlier

words: 600

warnings/notes: none! pure tooth rotting fluff

After another long ass day filled with nothing but training Neteyam was exhausted. In fact, exhausted was an understatement.

The only thing he wanted to do was to snuggle up and go to sleep. What he really wanted was to snuggle up with you.

His best friend was the only person who could immediately put him at ease. Nothing could top the tranquil feeling of holding you in his arms.

Neteyam trudged through home tree, his mind on autopilot. He was so groggy and exhausted he didn’t even know where he was going.

Your hands carefully worked at the bracelet you were holding. Gently weaving the material so as not to damage it. Stopping midway through you noticed that the beads you were using were very similar to the beads Neteyam was found of.

A blush creeped onto your cheeks as you thought of him. You'd be lying if you said you didn't have feelings for him. But he was your best friend and nothing more.

"Why is your face like that?" Kiri asked unamused.

Eyes widening at being caught you tried to brush her off. "Like what?"

"Just admit that you were day dreaming about my brother so we can get back to our jewelry." She rolled her eyes.

You started to panic as you felt your entire face heat up. It wasn't that obvious, was it?

"I don't know what you're talking about." You nervously chuckled.

"Oh please," Kiri huffed. "The two of you have been pining after each other for years."

"You’re being dramatic. Neteyam doesn't see me that way." You frowned.

Kiri started laughing but quickly stopped when she saw your somber expression. "Wait, are you serious?” She asked.

"Yes Kiri! We're friends. Only friends. Neteyam would never return my feelings." You sighed.

"You must be blind." Kiri laughed. "He has been obsessed with you for years. To the point that it's alarming how much he talks about you."

"Seriously?"

"It's obvious to everyone but the two of you apparently."

Before you could argue with her the flap of your tent opened to reveal Neteyam himself. Kiri smirked giving you a knowing look.

Neteyam groggily made his way over to you. He looked liked he was half asleep, not even noticing Kiri as he passed her.

Neteyam plopped down next to you nuzzling his face into your neck. Inhaling your sweet scent immediately relaxed his tense body.

"What's wrong 'Teyam?" You softly asked while reaching your hand up to caresses his head.

"Tired." He mumbled against your skin. "Needed my comfort person."

Snuggling more into you his head found it's way onto your lap. He was hugging your arm to his chest.

You melted at the sight of him. He looked like a big comfy toddler. Seeing him like this wasn’t unusual. Despite the mighty warrior mask he wore, Neteyam loved physical touch. Whenever the two of you were alone he practically demanded that you cuddled.

But that was always when you were alone. He had never acted this way around anyone else. You were shocked that he was so relaxed with Kiri sitting right there. Usually you were the only one to see this side of him.

“Told you.” Kiri whispered.

Shushing her you waved her out. Neteyam had fallen asleep and the last thing you wanted was to wake him up.

Lovingly you admired his relaxed face as he slept. Gently you brushed his hair out of his face. A soft smile graced his lips as he begun to purr.

“Sleep well my mighty warrior.” You whispered.

Taglist:

@ilovejakesullysdick @fanboyluvr @athenalikethegoddess @loverofallthingsfandom @forasgaard @plzfeedmebread @instabull @ms5m1th @avatarappreciationblog @romimiux @ferrtan @tammitammytime @eternallyvenus @dreamyescapesfromreality @dvxsja @jakesullyfatjuicypeen

#avatar #avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #neteyam #avatar imagine #fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam imagine #neteyam x reader #becca writes 🌙#neteyam x you #neteyam fluff #neteyam drabble #request

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writethebodyelectric · 4 months

Text

Prima Nocta

A John F. Kennedy Fanfiction

Summary: When the daughter of a Rat Pack singer wants some romantic experience, she turns to President John F. Kennedy, a friend of her father’s, for help.

Warnings: 18+, smut (occasional dubious consent), angst, infidelity, antiquated ideas of sex/marriage, swearing, 22-year age gap

Word Count: 3k

AO3 Link

You’d been sitting on the edge of the bed for exactly 12 minutes and 47 seconds, your eyes twitching ceaselessly between the little white clock on the nightstand and the round-top bedroom door, when finally, the doorknob started to turn. The brass glinted in the silver-blue moonlight beaming through the sliding glass wall behind you. You felt your tongue dry out and stiffen in your mouth like a towel in the sun.

John Kennedy—or “Jack,” as he’d once told you to call him—stepped into the room, materializing out of the pitch-blackness of the hallway. “Hello there,” he said. With that charming New England accent, he pronounced “there” like “they-ah,” and beneath your heart’s frantic sparking and sputtering, a little spot deep in your gut groaned with affection.

“Hello,” you said in return. You were locked practically motionless in the dark searchlights of his sleepy gaze as he guided the door shut behind him.

His shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he began striding slowly towards you. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself to speak again: “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Why, it’s my pleasure,” he said as his shadowy shoulders blocked out more and more of the floral wallpaper around you. The sharp, forest-y scent of his cologne made your nostrils feel cool and crisp. Your hands tightened their grip on each other where they lay folded in your lap.

Jack’s mouth twisted into a gentle smirk as he swayed to a stop right in front of you and brought one of his big hands to cup the underside of your chin, his long callused fingers curling up around your head. Instantly, your spine twinged with the urge to pull backward and away, but you clenched your stomach and held yourself still. You wanted this, you reminded yourself as you gazed up at Jack through mascara-caked eyelashes. You can’t be chicken now.

“I have to admit,” Jack said then, with a huffing chuckle, “that I’m frankly a little surprised at your timing.” He sounded staticky and distant over the dizzying clang of your heart against your ribs. “I can’t help but feel guilty, uh—” (his eyes flicked briefly to the side, seemingly searching for the right word) “—spoiling you for your husband,” he continued. “Poor kid’s had the patience of a saint.”

You felt your throat press against his warm palm as you swallowed. He surely thought you were some sort of lunatic for waiting until the week before your wedding to finally dial that number his secret service agent had slipped through your fingers at Frank Sinatra’s birthday party, which was almost half a year ago now. But there was, actually, a perfectly reasonable explanation. At least, you thought so.

You could’ve explained to Jack how your future husband Jimmy, the world-famous heartthrob singer you’d been practically betrothed to since we were children and who you were marrying in just 7 days (the tabloids had been very generous in making sure every single person in America was aware of this fact—including the president, apparently), was secretly homosexual and had no intention of ever being romantic with you. The feeling was perfectly mutual, of course; you both saw each other as more of siblings than anything else. But, naturally, that still did nothing whatsoever to satisfy your ever-burning desire to find someone who could help you simulate the fairytale wedding night you’d always hopelessly dreamt about—one where, in a pink haze of passion, you’d finally hand over your virginity and roll around in the sheets till the sun came up with someone who was masculine and dashing and strong.

But, obviously, you could never betray Jimmy by telling anyone any of that. However, you also weren’t content to just waste away at home while Jimmy got to enjoy his revolving door of classified lovers, so you would just have to settle for Jack assuming you were some kind of newly-emerging sex-crazed adulteress—which he of all people would have no right to judge you for, anyway.

You felt the skin of your throat stretching as Jack tilted your head up and rotated your face slowly to the left, then to the right. You followed him with your eyes, watching him study your neck and collarbones like they were an expensive piece of machinery he was looking to purchase. You did your best to set your trembling shoulders back, wondering if this was typical behavior of a man before he made love.

“Speaking of Jimmy, I’ve been wondering. Is he the reason you called?” Jack asked while he conducted his examination, as if he was simply discussing the weather. “You think he’s liable to disappoint you on your first time? Or you just can’t possibly wait another seven days for him?” He phrased them more like teasing accusations than actual questions.

“Oh, n-no,” you said. The firmness of his grip on your jaw caused your words to come out clipped. “I just. . . .” You could feel your eyes bulging as you tried to scrap together some semblance of a reasonable explanation as to why you were here. You’d been hoping he wouldn’t bother with this line of questioning. “Well, Jimmy’s just so young, you know,” you sputtered, “and maybe—maybe I want to know what it’s like being with . . . an older man.”

Jack blew air out of his nose in a half-formed laugh. “An older man, huh?” He brought your head back to center and gave your cheeks an affectionate squeeze between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re cute, you know that, sweetheart? I’ve wanted to be alone with you since the night we first met.”

Your heart spasmed at that, and you could feel your mouth twisting as you tried not to break out in a giddy grin. Gosh, he could be so sweet.

The night you both met was two whole years ago now. Jack had been just a senator then, and you’d been just 19 when he, his wife, and several of their friends came backstage after one of your father’s glitzy Rat Pack shows in Las Vegas. You still remembered how, while your father was introducing you, Jack's placid blue eyes had slithered up and down your dress. Inexplicably, blood had gushed pleasurably between your legs while you watched him eye you like this, smoke from his cigar furling around his lip.

Jack's hand dropped from your chin then and moved to start unbuckling his pants. Your head suddenly felt too light, like your brain wasn’t there anymore, and the skin around your jaw prickled with the absence of his fingers. This was it. You were moments away from having the full experience of being a married woman and—if the rumors you’d heard about Jack Kennedy’s sexual aptitude were true—all of the mind-melting pleasures that came with it. The anxiety you’d been feeling ever since you decided to call that secret number a little over a week ago was about to be entirely worth it.

Jack let his belt slap to the floor, and his hands slipped under your armpits to pop you up onto your feet. You sucked in your lips to stifle what would’ve probably been a pathetic, whimpering gasp. His face was mere inches from yours now, and as he looked down at you, you were almost overcome by a strange, aching pull to stand up on the very tips of your toes so you could squish your nose against his. The leader of the free world was just a big dreamboat softie, really, and he could be anywhere on Earth with anyone he wanted, but he chose you.

You didn’t really have time to consider these unusual whims of yours, however, because then Jack bent his head and fastened his mouth to your neck. You could do nothing but stand there dumbly as he covered your skin with sloppy kisses, his buttery brown hair tickling your shoulder. The gentle clicking of saliva between his lips buzzed in your ears.

All of a sudden, as if you’d blacked out a few seconds ago and were now coming to again, you noticed your dress had been unzipped and was in a puddle around your kitten heels. Goosebumps sizzled up your bare arms and legs, and your shoulders folded in on themselves as Jack's hands appeared on both sides of your vision, one tossing your bra to the floor and the other moving to clasp both your wrists tightly behind your back.

He yanked your wrists downward with surprising gruffness, forcing you to arch your back and thrust your bare chest out toward him. A stuttery inhale hissed through your teeth, and you squeezed your legs together, blushing furiously as your nipples prickled and hardened under his gaze. You knew this would be part of it. You knew he would have to see you naked.

“God damn,” he said, his voice dark and rumbling, before bowing his head to take one of your nipples in his mouth like a hungry dog. A low, needy whimper trembled in your throat and as he moved from one nipple to the other, viciously biting and sucking. The stiff tent that had sprung up in the groin area of his slacks collided with your clit, wracking you with a full-body shiver. For a quick moment, you were awash with a lush, golden feeling of pride. You were making the president hard.

He hooked a finger in the waistband of your cotton panties and leaned back from devouring your chest as he pulled them down, the tip of his nose brushing on your forehead as you both watched—to your piercing horror—an elastic string of wetness stretch between your vagina and the spot on the crotch of your panties where it had attached itself.

You noticed, too, how slick and glossy the insides of your thighs had become. “Oh, no.”

“Now, now.” Jack spoke in your ear with a brisk tone like he was impatiently reprimanding a child. “There’s no shame in getting a little excited.” He brushed a finger over the smooth slit of your labia, and you practically squealed, “Jack!”

Your little cry seemed to ignite something in him. Suddenly, you were whirled around to face the twinkling Chesapeake Bay shoreline and its tumbling black water and navy blue sand. And then there was a wide hand between your shoulder blades. “Bend over for me, doll,” Jack instructed you pointlessly as he went ahead and shoved your upper body into the mattress.

With the heel of his palm, he slid you forward so you had to clamber up onto the bedspread on your knees. The electric crackle of your nipples against the rough old fabric caused a loud “ah!” to spill from your mouth. You craned your neck as far over your shoulder as it would go to watch Jack’s eyes pick their way down your body just like they had the night you met. But now, all splayed out for him like this, you suddenly felt sick and dirty enough to throw up. This sort of position seemed more suited to a common whore than a bride. Your face burned like someone was shining a heat lamp on you. And yet, your clitoris pulsed with an almost painful voracity, causing your hips to twitch slightly with each pounding beat.

Outside in the living room, you heard the muffled laughter of the two secret service men who, when you’d first arrived at this rented beach house about 20 minutes ago, had told you President Kennedy would arrive shortly, and then casually led you to the bedroom like you were going to a meeting in the White House. You clenched your teeth against the toe-curling humiliation of it and forced yourself to shuck those guys from your mind. You were going to pretend that you were completely alone with Jack, your handsome powerful husband, and that this creaky Cape-Cod-style house was your lovely newlywed home.

The quick screak of Jack's zipper snatched you out of your thoughts. In the open fly of his pants, you caught a brief, heart-softening glimpse of his blue-striped underwear—And then, suddenly, there was a real-life penis whacking against the small of your back.

“Oh my!” you shrieked, and Jack's Adam’s apple bounced with a small laugh. The anatomical diagrams you’d studied with your childhood tutor had utterly failed to capture how big and messy-looking penises really were. The veiny skin on Jack’s was wrinkly and loose like an elephant, and the whole thing looked almost thicker than your forearm.

He began pumping his hand up and down the length of his long erection in a lazy, thoughtless motion, swiping his thumb across the shiny little hole every time he reached the top.

“Do you—do you think it’ll fit in me?” you asked. It was hard enough sometimes just trying to get a little tampon to settle in right. Glancing up at the ceiling, you prayed that, by some magical trick of biology, you would be able to accommodate Jack's size.

“Oh, sure,” Jack assured you as he palmed your buttcheeks and spread them apart, allowing himself to drag the tip of his penis down across your puckering butthole and line it up with your vagina as he spoke. “A young cunt like yours might require a little, uh, tough love, but it’ll fit me by the time I’m done.”

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by “tough love,” but it didn’t matter because suddenly he was easing his big round tip inside you with a low, sonorous groan. You grabbed fistfuls of the bedsheets. Already, your “cunt” felt stretched beyond what was healthy.

“Fucking shit.” His voice sounded from far back in his throat. “You’re tiny.” And then, without further ado, he forced himself inside you, crashing his hips against yours with an echoing smack.

Your vagina ripped open. You screamed at the blistering sensation. Your stomach felt like someone had removed your intestines and replaced them with a big metal pole. The area around your belly button was bloated out and pulled taut.

A single tear was knocked out of your eye and down the side of your nose as he pulled all the way out and ruthlessly slammed back in again. He began moving you back and forth at a rapid rhythm, jerking you around like a rag doll. Your head was ringing as you buried your face in the bed, bracing yourself to take this for as long as Jack wanted you to. You wondered if it was typical for a man to be so harsh with his partner.

“Fuck.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth. “Fuck. You feel damn good, you know that?” His hand came down with a hard slap on your buttcheek and, instinctively, you bucked your hips away from him.

With his hands on your waist, Jack jolted you back into place in front of him. He smacked your butt again, like he was punishing you for fleeing, and you let out a panting whine as the sting shuddered through you.

“I know it . . . hurts, sweetheart,” he said between guttural grunts as he continued to pound into you, “but this is . . . what it takes . . . to break a little body like yours in. This’ll be . . . much easier next time.” He flashed a quick, cheeky grin.

Then he scooped one of his hands around your throat and whipped you upwards so your back thunked against his chest. He mumbled into your ear, “Now let me take another look at these pretty tits, huh?” He cupped your breasts in his hands, squeezing them together then pulling them apart, and your head fell back onto his shoulder with a tortured moan.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, pinching your nipples. “Maybe I should just take you home with me, huh? How does that sound?” He was a mumbling mess; you wondered if he even knew what he was saying. “I could ruin your little cunt so Jimmy won’t even want it anymore, and I’ll hide you away in my house up in New York. Keep you all to myself.”

As he spoke, one of his hands slid down your stomach and began to rub slow circles on your clit. This was met by another watery yell from you, and you felt Jack's teeth on your cheek as he chuckled. “Ooh, now that feels good, doesn’t it?” he cooed. “Fuck, I love it when my girls scream. Let me hear you again.” He swatted your clit with his hand and, like clockwork, you cried out for him.

He sped up the pad of his finger on your clit, rewarding you for your obedience. “Just like that,” he said. “Let those fuckers out there in the parlor here you.” He slapped you between the legs again, and that’s when, seemingly without warning, the brutal throbbing you’d been feeling tumbled over into an explosion, like a hot water balloon bursting in your pelvis. You wailed and rolled forward, your bones gelatinous.

Jack caught you by the shoulders before you could flop onto the bed and lowered you the rest of the way down. “There we go,” he praised as your orgasm rocked through you. “That-a-girl.”

You offered him a weak smile and then realized he couldn’t even see it because your face was in the blanket.

As soon as your climax fizzled away, Jack grabbed ahold of your knees and turned you over onto your back. Then he pulled out of you for the very last time with a lewd squelching noise. Your entire lower body felt shriveled and deflated as you watched him give his erection a few self-indulgent strokes.

He rolled his head back with a loud “mmm,” and several long strings of white, mucus-y liquid began shooting out of the tip.

“Oh my gosh,” you gasped to the ceiling. Air was getting caught in the emotional stickiness of your throat as you tried to catch your breath. Jack’s semen was splattering across your stomach. “Oh my gosh.”

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