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lijojo · 9 months

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genshin sugar daddies: leaving hickeys on you

premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for each day of the week. it’s a bit overwhelming, but you try you’re best to keep each relationship relatively independent from the other. that means no hickeys. except, well, each one of them wants to make you theirs exclusively and they’re not above marking you secretly to send a message to tomorrow’s person. (yandere! possessive! genshin reverse harem x reader) (modern au!)

*if you want more yandere genshin sugar daddy content the introduction is here but this can be a standalone read!

tags: nsfw, dark content, afab reader, fingering, dirty-talk, unprotected sex, dub-con, smut smut smut smut smut

diluc is no stranger to jealousy. you can sense it in the way his eyes constantly beckon for yours. the way he grips tightly onto your waist. he never asks anything more than your gaze on monday evenings. they have to be on him. always. not for a second more are you allowed to look at anything else but him. he’s greedy, always pulling you to look at him once more. naturally, his gaze is always on you.

you feel it drag up and down your back. crawl into the little dip in your neckline to see what’s underneath your clothes.

so the one time, the one time, kaeya’s crafty attempts to leave hickeys on your folds and inner thighs in the midst of eating you out, diluc catches it.

he sees it the moment he peels off your panties. what should’ve been a slow sequence of him sinking his tongue into your pussy is immediately halted at the sight of a very small but noticeable bruise in the juncture between your thighs and your labia minora.

kaeya’s warning.

the change in his demeanor is undeniable. his heavy gaze flits over to your face. intentful. unaware of the hickey, you’re understandably confused.

if diluc’s seen something, he doesn’t tell you. instead, he internalizes the sight. it’s a warning and a challenge.

mine.

he’s quick to grab onto your wrists and pin them above your head. before you can brace yourself, he’s slipped a finger inside you. you gasp at the sudden intrusion, but welcome him as he curls his finger towards him, gently brushing against that spongy spot that leaves you breathless.

he chuckles lightly as you roll your eyes back. his thumb presses on your clit, nudging it side to side. “you’re soaking wet,” he mutters, sliding another two fingers inside you. “all for me?”

your hold on the sheets tightens.

he leans closer to your ear. “i can’t wait to smear the remnants of your orgasm on my cock. make it slick enough to slip inside you. make you feel good. we want my darling to feel really good, right?”

you hiss when he starts thrusting his fingers into you at rapid speed. desperate. eager to make you spill your affection onto his hands.

“that wasn’t a rhetorical question, sweetheart.”

you can’t help the moan that leaves you as you approach your climax. “y-yes! yes—ah—diluc!”

his grin looks so unlike him. his thumb starts to draw circles on your clit, going quicker and quicker the more you squirm and moan.

“cum on me. do it for me, princess. cum all over my hand. give me all your everything.”

you can barely understand the undertone in his words. instead, you reach your high. your orgasm pours out of you, onto his beckoning fingers. and instead of letting you go, he continues mercilessly until your left whining for him to stop.

and he does. eventually. he slowly pulls his digits out of your crying cunt. he collects the droplets that trickle out of your lower lips and let’s it drip onto his twitching dick. he runs his hands along his shaft, letting out a shaky groan.

“look how pretty you’ve made me. this is all you, darling.”

he fucks you like it’s he’ll die if he doesn’t. blinded by the mixture of pain and pleasure, you close your eyes and submit to the feeling of overwhelming bliss.

you’re so overwhelmed, that you don’t register how he’s kissing your neck like a man on a mission.

დ

the two of you are in the middle of a normal tuesday brunch when childe sees it. when you turn to accept the menu from the waiter, he can see the slightest marks that you couldn’t hide, even with the most expensive foundation.

you curse internally when you see his eyes narrow in on you. you should’ve known better than to ever believe that diluc would ever follow one of your only rules: no hickeys.

and now childe, notoriously competitive, will feel compelled to have his fill.

you should’ve worn a scarf.

you thought that the position of the hickey, and the slight fadedness your foundation was barely able to provide would’ve been enough. you were wrong.

like a built-in reflex, you smile. “what’s the matter? is there something wrong?”

he gives you a smile, an all-knowing smile as he takes the menu from you. “nothing is wrong at all, girlie. i’m just admiring that new necklace i bought you.”

you’re good at pretending nothing’s wrong, so you fiddle the crystals with your hand. “i love the way it shimmers,” you add, “i love how sparkly you’ve made me.”

if you’ve done anything to settle his displeasure, he doesn’t show it. instead, he averts his eyes to the menu. you know better than to believe that nothing bad will come out tonight.

for the rest of the night, he engages in small talk with you. about the weather. a new store that’s just opened up. some story about some poor guy who borrowed more money than he could ever give back. the thought makes you tighten your grip on your fork.

when you get back to his penthouse, he’s quick to strip you of your luxurious gown and all of it’s accompanied gold accents. when you reach to take off the necklace that decorates your neck, he stops you.

“keep it on,” he whispers, his hand crawling up your thigh to grip your ass. “wanna fuck you looking so pretty in my jewelry. wanna make you shine with sweat as pretty as those gems.”

“oh really?” you retort, sliding your hand between the two of your bodies and cupping his sex. he groans as you run your fingertips down his groin. “wanna make me shine with your cum?”

“yes,” he gasps. in the heat of the moment, his eyes catches the faint outline of diluc’s mark just below your jaw. overtaken by some primal instinct, he presses your waist against him. “you’re letting all those side-fucks give you hickeys?”

his words almost make you want to freeze. but you’re quick to resume back to normal, to pretend that those words don’t phase you. that you don’t hear the implications in the undertones of his voice.

it’s worse if you tell him it was unintentional.

“it’s a new development.” you tug at his hair as he digs his face into the crook of your neck. “you get only one.”

you need to have the upper hand. in a sea of seven men who are constantly demanding things from you, you have to take what you’re dealt with and do something before they overtake you.

he grins. “you’re such a tease. which motherfucker left this on you?”

you know better than to tell him. everyone knows that there’s seven who you’re regularly seeing. but they don’t know the names—not the order. you know better than to give names. these men are as powerful as they are rich, you wouldn’t do anything that’d upset the city’s dynamics.

so you avoid the question, like you’ve always done.

“i can think of better ways you can use that mouth, other than asking silly questions.”

his brow twitches, but he doesn’t do anything else to push you. instead, he smiles into your neck. “only one?”

“only one,” you confirm.

he doesn’t hesitate to take off your necklace. his hands dive to the back of your neck to unclip it and toss it to the side. you let out a yelp in surprise when it clangs onto the coffee table.

“i’ll buy you a better one,” he says in-between open-mouthed kisses on your jawline. “fuck, i’ll buy you a thousand more.”

he sinks down to your collarbone. “’been dreaming of this. my girl, my pretty, pretty girl, wearing reminders of me.”

♡

the two of you are in the comfort of kazuha’s home. wednesdays are reserved for writing, and like always, you’re pinned under his watchful gaze while he writes his thoughts away in his notebook.

with every few scrawls, he peeks over the paper to steal glances at you. you hum, pretending to be blissfully aware. you’re just here as his muse.

as of this moment, you snuggle into your comfortable place in the back of his study, leaning against the window that expands to his backyard that oversees the sunrise and sunset. your own notebook rests on your thighs, your knees pressed close enough to your chest to allow you to write smoothly. kazuha sits across from you, his feet sometimes brushing against yours. if you laid your legs out straight, no doubt that the balls of your feet would meet his waist.

he keeps stealing glances at you. has been for the past hour. no matter how much you try to focus on your own poems, you can’t brush away the feeling of being watched.

his eyes are impeccable, and can spot the marks that occasionally peak underneath your scarf when you move a certain away.

“you let them mark you?” he asks out of the blue. not accusatorily, per se, but you can detect the edge in his voice.

the corners of your lips perk unnaturally. the moment you’d been dreading since you woke up had arrived. you let your eyes soften, as if it could soothe kazuha by any means. with a gentle hand, you reach out to softly grasp his hand that tightens around the edge of his notebook. it’s something he accepts readily, enveloping your hand with his.

“i was meaning to talk to you about this, kazu,” you say tenderly. “it’s just something i’m trying out. everyone gets one. see if everyone’s okay with it.”

kazuha doesn’t say anything. his gaze is fixated on your intertwined hands. “my love, they mark your skin like animals.”

you smile like it’s no trouble. because that’s what you need him to believe. you feel like kazuha’s a loose thread. tug him in the wrong direction, the wrong idea, and he’ll undo the entire sweater.

“it’s only going to be seven,” you reply, trying to lessen the tension.

“it’s better if there’s just one,” he retorts gingerly. “they aren’t gentle at all, are they?”

you don’t like the way his eyes sweep over your entire figure. you hold back a shudder, feeling as if a ghost had just passed through you.

“they are,” you mumble, although you can hardly say it’s true. “don’t you worry kazu, i can handle myself.”

your line of sight flits back to your intertwined hands; he lets go, instead running the pads of his fingers down the back of your hands before settling on your wrist. his hold is firm. it’s not tight enough to cause you pain, but not gentle enough to let you pull away.

“i’m sure you do, love,” he mutters. but the way he says it makes it seem as if he doesn’t believe you.

his eyes connect with yours intently.

the rustle of your clothes shuffling echoes through the quiet study as he pulls your wrist towards his mouth. in doing so, you’re forced to lean forward. his eyes never leave you, not when he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“they just want you for your body,” he says, more to himself than you. “they don’t love you at all. everything would be so much better if you just dropped them. let me take care of it. take care of it all.”

you don’t say anything back. he doesn’t want you to. and even if you did, it wouldn’t be something he’d want to hear. you have bills to pay. you have enemies a wealthy poet wouldn’t be able to defend you from on his own.

his tongue slides out of his mouth to lick a long strip up your wrist, all while looking at you. he presses open-mouthed kisses in the same spot, sucking and nibbling with purpose. in-between kisses, his tongue draws letters on the expanse of your skin in a sentence you’ve begun to fear.

A L L M I N E

დ

when spring comes, tighnari will sometimes give you hickeys. he’ll do it in the heat of the moment in a passionate rut. he can’t think of anything else but you. how perfect you are for him. how beautiful. how you belong to him.

while he drives his cock into you the only way he knows how, his lips will find their place in the crook of your neck. on the curve of your breasts. on the plush of your thighs. he’ll kiss you like you’re his air.

he’ll whimper into your skin. in that moment, you’re powerless to stop him. his pace is godspeed, pummeling into you like you’re his lifeline. driven to leave his white reminders of his love and devotion into your aching pussy. you can barely hold yourself up steadily. your fingers tremble. overcome with an insurmountable high, you can’t push him away as he leaves hickeys all over your body.

it’s not to send a message to everyone, per se, but to express the feelings he’d been keeping pent up during autumn, winter, and summer. the overwhelming infatuation and adoration he feels for you.

his pension for leaving nonstop hickeys on you starts to settle on the fourth day. and by the end of the week-long rut, they’ve faded just enough that you can cover it up with foundation and expensive jewelry.

but when he’s not blinded by his sexual desperation during the spring, it’s a different story.

it’s a perfectly fine thursday mid-afternoon in the comfort of tighnari’s study when he sees it.

he catches a glimpse of kazuha’s kiss on your wrist when you pass a cup of tea to him. your sleeves ride up just a bit under the beaming sun. you notice too, and are quick to pull back. but it’s too late. the moment he’s set down the cup he’s grabbing onto your wrist and pulling back the sleeve. “what’s this?”

you’re tempted to let out a breath of relief that he didn’t notice the hickey that barely rested on the edge of your collar. when you donned on the turtleneck sweater, you feared that he’d notice it if it slipped down and grow even more livid.

just play it off. pretend. if you’re lucky, by the end of this week, you’ll end up with only six hickeys.

“oh, i must’ve bumped into something.”

tighnari scowls. “this doesn’t seem like an ordinary bruise. how’d you get it?”

you’re scrambling for a believable response. “i was leaning back onto the counter and didn’t realize the corner was there.”

he chuckles. “clumsy you.” his forefinger inches up the slightest bit to press on it.

you wince. subsequently, your entire body tenses. this isn’t like those times where you can lie sweetly to him whenever he asks for you to stay for good. this isn’t like one of those times you can charm your way out of a situation. the way he looks at you is knowing. feral.

“i wasn’t born yesterday, love,” he hisses. “i know a hickey when i see one, especially when i leave them on you every spring.”

the way he kisses you after is rougher than usual. desperate. needy. aggressive. he presses into you, his tail wagging tentatively. he brings your arms to wrap around his neck. his tongue caresses your own, exploring your mouth like it’s a new discovery. a new treasure trove.

he whimpers into the kiss, his little squeaks and moans muffled by his need to devour you.

you close your eyes and let yourself get swept up with the pacing. to get distracted by him. you hardly register the time pass before the two of you are naked, your clothes strewn across the floor in his bedroom.

your back is pressed against his chest, your ass hugging his dick while he slides his hand down the valley between your breasts, stopping to pinch your nipple until it hardens. his other hand is left to its own devices, settling on your waist.

his fingers find themselves in the comfort of your pussy. he whimpers at how amazing you feel around his fingertips. how every time he pulls in and out, there’s squelching noises that almost overtake his little whines and yelps. every time he pushes his fingers back in, your ass presses a little closer to his dick.

he moans like you’re the one pleasuring him. like he’s on the cusp of euphoria, only silencing himself to press open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder.

“it’s m-my turn,” he says in-between whines. “m-my pretty l-little pet.”

დ

when alhaitham gets home after a long week of working, all he wants to do is relax in warmth of your embrace. friday is his reward.

he eats dinner as always, asking you questions in-between bites while delivering long stares that still make you feel like you’re being researched. but this week, instead of insisting you two spend quality time together reading on the couch, he coaxes you into the bedroom.

he groans into the kiss, pressing you to the wall as he helps you out of your clothes. but when he opens his eyes to admire your body, he doesn’t like what he sees.

he lets out an unamused chuckle. his hand brushes over your shoulder. “what’s this?”

you try to speak, but he cuts you off with another kiss. when you gasp in surprise, his tongue dives into your mouth.

he leaves you breathless; his pace is rough, almost angry.

“what a bad girl you are,” he seethes, “letting all those bastards touch you like that? bruise your pretty, pretty skin?”

he doesn’t let you talk. he envelops your opportunity to reply with his relentless kisses. he presses harder into your mouth, your teeth almost gnashing together. it’s almost painful, as if he wished to bind you two together.

“every friday is my solace, my holiday, didn’t you know?”

you gasp for air. “i-”

“i’m not done yet.” he brings his lips to yours for another hungry kiss. “every week i work so hard so i can see you, cherish you, and this is how you repay me? i thought you were my good girl.”

he chuckles darkly. “but you’re just a bad apple, aren’t you? i’ll have to fix that.”

he continues to kiss you. to ravish you with his mouth. he swallows your moans, his hands eagerly exploring your body like it’s his first time. and like always, his hands find their place on your chest.

“i’ve always loved your breasts: the way they curve, the way they sway so sweetly every time you arch your back for me, how your nipples perk up with every caress of mine.” he flicks one and you yelp.

“those imbeciles really have no intelligence at all.” he licks a long stripe in-between the valley of your breasts. “your body is a canvas.”

his eyes connect with yours, beckoning your gaze. a silent connection, a guarantee that you’re looking at him. at what he’s doing. at what he’s making you feel.

he stares at you attentively, and once again you feel like you’re being studied. every gasp that comes from your lips. every twitch of your brows. every time your eyelids flutter is under his watchful gaze like it’s the only thing his sight is for. like he’s a scientist researching the cure to his very own hunger.

his lips find purchase just on the edge of your areola, sucking intently. “to mark you is a form of art.”

he relishes in the way you shudder. but he needs more.

with one hand on your waist, his other comes up to fondle your other breast, craving for more reaction.

“only idiots wouldn’t be able to realize it.”

დ

unlike all of the other saturdays, where you’re probably swept up in the grand scheme of things (attending formal events, meeting politicians, or shopping like ayato’s wallet depended on it), you’re lounging in ayato’s home office on a calm evening.

the two of you decided to end things a bit earlier today and relax a bit. and by that, you suggested to spend some quality time alone so that you didn’t need to walk anymore. although you prided yourself on stamina and tolerance to soreness, even you couldn’t keep up after just about a week of aggressive men fucking their jealousy into you.

“it was hot today,” ayato mutters lazily as he gently runs his fingers through your hair. your head rests on the plush of his thigh, just as he likes it. “are you sure that you’re comfortable in that turtleneck, love?”

you curl into yourself a little bit more, tugging the collar up. “yes, i’m perfectly fine.”

you’re not fine. you’ve been sweating up a storm underneath your sweater but you were adamant on ending this week with six hickeys instead of seven. your stubbornness refused you the pleasure of ice-cold showers to wash away how your clothes burned you.

he pouts. “are you sure? you look awfully uncomfortable, dear. you can take a shower in my bathroom, if you’d like.” he smiles. “i won’t look, promise.”

you turn to look at him, contemplating. on one hand, you don’t believe anything good will come out of undressing in ayato’s house. you don’t believe his promise, either. if you knew him any better, he’d walk into the shower on the grounds of saving water, where he’d see all the hickeys imbued into your skin. while diluc, childe, and kazuha’s marks were getting a little faded, you doubt you could somehow explain alhaitham and tighnari’s hickeys.

but on the other hand, you’d been in this sweater for a whole day already. and your skin was started to get irritated. you felt gross with all of the sweat you’d accumulated. maybe five minutes wouldn’t hurt.

you smile like there’s nothing to worry about. like you’re an adoring lover. like you’re whoever ayato wants you to be. you reach out to cup his cheek, to which he warmly receives.

“okay. i’ll be back soon.”

he chuckles as you get up from his lap to head to the shower. you had to be quick.

you all but run to the bathroom once you’re out of sight. you head to ayato’s bedroom where some of your clothes are. dresses, lingerie, t-shirts, jeans, shorts, and all other items of clothing he’s ever bought you hang neatly in his closet. you pluck whatever seems practical and make a break for the shower.

you slip off the diamond ring he’d given you months ago. you all but slam it onto the counter, relieved your ring finger can breathe for once.

the quicker you take, the more likely you can shower without incident.

but the moment you’ve stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped secure around your torso, to your horror, the door opens.

“hey, love, i was wondering—”

just before you can close the door shut on him, his eyes connect to the discoloring on your shoulder.

regardless of his discovery, you move to usher him out. but mid-way, your feet are halted in the middle of the bathroom floor. the words are crawling in your mouth. you want to tell him that you’d like to shower in peace, tell it to him teasingly, but you don’t think you can.

that’s not what he wants. that’s not what pays the bills.

you offer a tight-lipped smile. “like what you see?”

he paces towards you, caressing your shoulder. he leans closer to you, examining the color, the shape, the size. “hm, so that’s how they want to play this game,” he whispers, ignoring your question entirely.

his hands gently tug at your towel. he smiles. “won’t you open up for me, love?”

he guides your hands as you drop the towel, revealing alhaitham’s mark.

“hm.” he looks at you as if he’s silently critiquing an art piece. “i see what’s going on here.”

he takes the ring that you left behind on the counter and works to slide it slowly onto your finger again. “you almost forgot to wear the symbol of our love, dear.”

“oh, it must’ve slipped my mind.” it’s like there’s cotton in your mouth. your throat feels dry.

he chuckles at that. “poor thing. my poor lover can be so forgetful.”

his eyes drift down to your chest.

he presses a kiss above your breasts, where your heart is.

“she almost forgets that she’s mine.”

დ

even if he’s your designated sunday, if you aren’t careful enough, kaeya will create a week full of trouble for you.

when he eats you out, he becomes pussy-drunk. he kisses your lower lips like it’s his prize. his reward for working so hard this week. his tongue runs up your pussy to your clit in a slow, deliberate stroke.

when he reaches your clit, he lets his mouth mold over your nub. he licks at it gently, cherishing it like it’s his only rose on a lonely valentine’s day.

he makes love to you like he’s reached his happily ever after. his lewd slurping overshadows the shuffling of the sheets, your moans. when he dips his tongue into your cunt, he whimpers.

his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you in place. even when you’re overstimulated, begging for a break, he won’t let you go. he savors the way you tremble so cutely under his touch. how your cum leaks out of you in small streams after your fifth release. he’s immersed in your cunt, yearns to make out with your lower lips while his nose nudges at your clit.

it’s too much. the feeling of your climax is so overwhelming.

he wants you to feel this euphoria, to remind you of how he feels every time he looks at you.

he wants you so much. so fucking much it hurts him when he can’t see you. when he can’t hold you. when he can’t be with you like a real lover. he needs you like he needs air. he needs to feel you wrapped around him to give him life. to give him purpose.

that’s why when you’re so swept up in the feeling of a constant climax, when your legs feel numb, he gets so carried away.

if you don’t catch him in time, kaeya will leave secretive hickeys along your inner thigh, dangerously close to your folds. he needs the others to know he’s staking his claim.

to know he’s making you feel so good that there’s definitive proof.

at the end of the week, when you see him again after seven days of trying to calm down the jealous storm among your seven sugar daddies, he’ll grin.

it’s that same devious smirk he gives you at candlelight dinners, except it isn’t one to mask his vulnerabilities with charisma and one-liners. it’s one to tell you that he knows exactly what he’s done.

he knows what he wants, and he’s finally had enough of the fucking waiting.

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whosjunglejim4322 · 1 year

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Saccharine - E.M

Warnings ® smut! Fluff, soft bf Eddie<3, first time sex as a couple! Nasty IN LOVE smut bc this bitch is a hopeless romantic! Eddie is super sensitive, Established relationship, you stroke his dick, Eddie almost cums in his pants, lil bit of dry humping, this is incredibly self indulgent but u didn't hear that from me, overly descriptive bc why not

You shouldn't be nervous, really. It's just Eddie, who is your boyfriend of three months and twenty-six days. Who is sitting across from you on his creaky mattress criss-cross style, your knees touching. Your Eddie, who has two big hands flailing in the air as he goes on about the recent campaign, broad mouth etched into a whimsical smile, big eyes wondrous and full of excitement for the tale.

The bed bounces with his enthusiasm, and you draw closer to him with each syllable.

Your Eddie, who is doing nothing out of the ordinary, and who is as beautiful as ever in loose fitting plaid pyjama bottoms and a tattered black tee that exposes half of his collarbone and smudges of black ink - he doesn't even have to try, and perhaps these simple mundane realizations are what cause the flutter of wings in the pit of your stomach.

"And then Mike - hey, you okay?"

If it weren't for his vast change in expression, you truly wouldn't have realized what a trance you're in. Between the furrow of his unkempt brows and the amused but curious tilt at the corner of his mouth, you come back to earth. The weight of gravity settles in your bone marrow, as his calloused thumb quickly strokes your chin as if to remind you he is still here.

"I - yeah yeah, sorry I just," you grab his hand by the heaviness of his wrist, dragging it into your lap so you can stroke the back of his rough knuckles. "got distracted s'all."

Your eyes divert to where your fingers are joined and the sound of his airy, through-the-nose chuckle has more heat blossoming behind your ribcage, nudging at your organs.

"I'll stop with the D&D talk, know you hear enough about it from the kids. There's only so much dorkiness you should be subjected to, y'know?"

It's lighthearted, he's smirking and looking down at you with enough palpable fondness the apples of your cheeks feel like they're being stroked by a flame. Still, the implication that he may be bothering you in any way has an urgency filling your eyes. You shake your head.

"No, no that never bothers me Eds, don't be silly." The nickname makes his mouth dry, still, after three months and twenty-six days. You finally meet his glance. "You're just handsome, really handsome especially when you're talking about something you're passionate about and I just...yeah."

It's word vomit, messy and you feel like it makes no sense but then he squeezes your hand and you know that he reads between the nervous mumbo jumbo - you have no clue how you make him feel, do you?

"You're fucking cute." He breathes out earnestly, smoothing his grip upwards to your forearms and pulling you forward with minimal effort - right onto the stirdiness of his lap.

Your giddiness is the perfect portrait, your arms finding a resting place atop his broad shoulders. Curls tickle the tops of your arms and your wrists, and your thighs brace your frame by the slim of his taut waist. He can't help it, the giggles escaping his throat. The proximity is intoxicating for no reason at all.

"Can't believe this is our first time spending the night together, I'm so used to falling asleep on the phone with you that it really doesn't feel all that different." He smooths your hair out of your eyes, tucks it behind your left ear.

I get to touch her like this, he thinks to himself. His chest jostles underneath the muscle and bone.

"Yeah, except I get to fall asleep with you'n my arms, wake up with you in em' too. I'm one lucky son of a bitch, hmm?"

He's practically thinking out loud, but he's too far gone to feel shame. When you nuzzle your face against the warm nook of his neck, wet lips smiling against the flesh, his encapsulating arms squeeze you impossibly tighter. He buries his nose against the top of your head, inhaling the fresh scent of your shampoo. Your cheek grazes the side of his jaw as you meet him face to face, nose to nose.

He sees you trying to formulate words, a sentence, even a sound but none of it seems like a totally accurate way to express the adoration threatening to consume you from the inside out. You graze his cheek with your mouth, slowly, tentatively, and he hangs on with half an air full of lungs.

You suckle his bottom lip and he sighs into your mouth, the relief making him lightheaded. He kicks into gear and pushes back with an overlap of his mouth - hands wandering over the small of your back, to your soft lovehandles and upwards until his fingrtips have passed your jugular and he's holding your face as tenderly as you're holding his.

It's now, when you feel it - the growing firmness beneath he thin material of his bottoms. He tries to keep it at bay but it's damn near impossible, and the whimper, the fucking whimper you let out when his soft tongue touches yours from the warm cavern of your mouth - he couldn't stop it from twitching even if he wanted to. He's only a man.

And you're a menace. As new as this is, your body reacts to the prod in between your legs, underneath your crotch. You press yourself tighter to his frame, hips scooching against his hard-on in the process and he stiffens.

"Mmm, baby baby..." your pout is immediate when he breaks from your mouth, brows furrowed and lips a kiss bitten fuschia. For a moment, you think you've taken it too far too fast - he's stopped you from moving completely. Your whole body burns with a tingly sensation somewhere between shame and the aftershocks of arousal.

"Are you...are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

You sound so sweet, it makes his lower belly ache among other things. He stifles a laugh brcause he knows it will only make you feel worse. Something wrong. Something wrong.

"Fuck no, I-sorry I just uh...almost..." He can't bring himself to say it, you guys haven't even been kissing for five whole minutes and here he is about to blow his load. When you realize how close his dark lashes are from kissing his cheeks, how his pupils have almost turned the whole of his irises onyx, you connect the dots.

Woah, you did that to him? That moth in your belly threatens to take flight, and without much thought, your mouth is moving before you can stop it.

"I wanna see."

Those are the only words your brain allows you to spit out. His chest has gone still, and you feel that twitch against your center again. Your thighs have begun to tremble.

"You wanna see...? My cock?" He shouldn't sound so incredulous. You're his girlfriend for christ's sake, but you are important to him. More important than he ever thought anyone could be, and so he has kept his lust at a minimum of 48% when he's around you for the most part. Save for intense makeout sessions.

"Yeah, I wanna...well I wanna know how to make you feel good."

He's worried for a moment that he's having another wet dream, but he's sure this is real life because he feels how warm you are against him and you are so close he can see his own reflection in your eyes. You toy with the shell of his ear and a chill ascends his spine.

"Sweetheart if you touch me m'not gonna last long." His skin is pink and scarlet, and he's gotten at least ten degrees hotter judging by the heat billowing off of the back of his neck. His adams apple bobs when he swallows.

"That's okay, really it is. You have nothing to be embarrassed about....I like it. Like that I make you feel that way. " You rake your fingers through the front of his hair, pushing it away from his pretty face. He checks your eyes again, needing confirmation.

"Are you sure? You don't have to do anything you don't want to." He gnaws on the inside of his plush mouth, tries to calm the animal inside of him that wants to fuck your brains out right now. He almost feels guilty just thinking about it, until you lean over to peck the side of his stubbly chin, fingertips grazing his taut belly.

"Yes, really wanna."

There is a curious, nervous anticipation in the crinkle underneath your eyes.

"Kay' baby, explore all you want." The boyish smirk he gives is enough to have that knee buckling tingling sensation coming back full force as he presents himself to you like this. Does he seem as pulled together and totally not overly nervous as he thinks he does? Probably not.

His arms depart from your body, ribs expanding as he reclines on his palms. Tendons flex and stretch underneath the black bats and fuzzy layer of hair atop his forearm. You swallow, intimidated by the beauty of the boy.

You find the courage to finally move off of his lap so that you can take him all in, and the bulge of his cock swipes the underside of your thigh as you slide off.

You don't know where to touch first. That's a lie, your hands almost instinctively slip underneath the hem of his old shirt, where that dark thatch of hair trails under his belly button. He's soft, so soft it's unreal, he is velvet and delicious scarring and beauty marks. His tummy convulses underneath your hand.

He watches you with complete fixation. You have your bottom lip tucked between your teeth and you don't even realize it, all perched and pretty in front of him. He closes his eyes when you explore his sides, over the planes and arches and past the small stretch marks by his chest.

You can't ignore it anymore, the tent that has formed at his crotch and continues to throb with each passing touch.

The blunt of your nails rake down the soft plaid covering thick thighs, and he takes this sharp breath that has you glancing up at him with heavy eyes.

"So pretty...Eds you're so pretty." You say it ardently, your voice small and weak. An arm reaches down, strong but gentle as he strokes the back of your plush cheek with his ring covered knuckles.

"Can't fucking believe...can't believe you're mine, finally. Shit." He's almost murmuring to himself again, on the verge of cardiac arrest. Maybe he's losing his mind, maybe this is heaven.

Then your palm presses against the thick of his cock where it's bulging out, and his thighs spasm.

"Oh, oh." He's all curses and praises, giving you encouraging glances each time you look up at him to silently ask for guidance. You move your hand up and down what you assume is his shaft, and he keeps his hips from bucking into your touch. He feels thick, and the back of your mouth starts to water.

Without warning you're hooking your fingers into his waistband, and he lifts his hips in compliance so that you can pull them down to his mid thigh. He has no time for nerves anymore. Any fear he previously had about what his dick looks like, or what you'll think of it, is stripped along with his clothing. You're looking at him with too much love for him to be insecure - and that takes him by surprise the most.

At this point his checkered boxers are just in the way, and you take it upon yourself to pull those down too. A thud hits his belly.

And really, you should've known. He's big. Not because he's impossibly long, his size is above average but he's thick - the tip iridescent with precum, the same shade of plum as his lips underneath the slick sheen. He is slightly curved upwards, a prominent vein decorating the underside parallel to his frenulum. It's pretty, just like the rest of him. He's neatly trimmed, which is the most surprising part if you're honest - but nothing about Eddie could ever be displeasing to look at.

Your mouth is parted with this expression of surprise, and Eddie almost can't believe what this is doing for his ego.

"Woah." Is all you say, transfixed when you reach out to grasp the appendage. He hisses through his teeth when your small hand finally grasps it, so fucking warm and so gentle it's almost maddening. You both feel it, the invisible weight that has settled in his small, messy room.

The weight of being alone, together, all night and all of tomorrow afternoon while his uncle Wayne is away on a business trip that is probably more lucrative than what he leads on - but Wayne has never been one to boast or speak about things like that out loud. Says it'll jinx the whole thing.

The feeling hits you first, as you find this foreign courage to lean over and dribble spit over the slit of his cock. He gasps, watching the glob of saliva drip down the front of his dick till it's soaking into the curls at his pubic mound.

"Is this okay?" You already know the answer but you ask anyways, taking more pride than you should at the expression on the pretty metalheads face. He nods his head fervently, unable to respond right away.

You twist your palm, spreading your spit further until his whole head is covered and you're able to stroke him with no resistance.

"Fuuuck, yes. Yeah, that's so good baby." He's panting as you begin to properly jerk the tip of him off, the sounds in the room too lewd for you to handle. A squelchy feeling has developed between your thighs, led by each filthy groan that leaves your boyfriend's throat.

Then you're looking at him through fluttery lashes and a gone expression, with your chest rising and falling almost as rapidly as his and thick fingers grasp your wrist quickly, rougher than anticipated.

"Sorry, just - close."

Seeing his hand blanket yours over his cock is doing something to you. You know his palms like your own, hold them more than you look at your own, and yet right now such a sweet thing has never been more provocative.

"Shh, no more apologizing," you lean over and he meets you in the middle. The kiss is sloppy this time, evidence of the maddening desire taking him over from the inside out.

"Not fair," his voice is strained through your mouths ministrations. "Got me all worked up and you're sitting there neglected." He smiles and his tongue strokes your bottom lip. You shudder as that heat comes in an overwhelming wave.

He's gripping the back of your neck now, properly hungry and your hand continues its ministrations between your bodies, that wet sound prompting a shared groan from the both of you - intensifying the feeling. His nose is scrunched against your cheek from the vigour of his kisses.

"You can undress me."

He doesn't waste time once you've granted him verbal permission, and with an exhale you're being tipped over onto your back, breathing in the weight of him as nimble and eager fingers pull his tee shirt over and off your body.

"Jesus," He whines, and you're captivated by the look on his face. It's impossible not to feel flustered.

"Can I-" you don't let him finish.

"Yes, please touch me." You're just as fucked as he is, arching your chest upwards and into the warm, all encompassing mass of his palm. He stifles a groan, cock bobbing up and down in the space between you two, dribbling with a bead of pre arousal. You feel like you're losing your mind.

Eddie short circuits for about five whole seconds flat, and he can't concentrate. He makes a bee - line to your chest, plush lips sucking your swollen nipples into his mouth. A gasp and a pulse of your poor clit later, and your fingers delve into his curls like they'll keep you here in this moment forever.

He's sloppy, moving between the valley of your breasts to the other one, leaving trails of spit across your flesh.

"Eddie, that - that feels so good, can't - mmph." You're a mess. How are you such a mess? He's a phantom, a head of hair across your sternum until he glances up at you with saliva soaked lips and red cheeks and a sweaty forehead.

"Sweet girl, oh god I can't believe..." All you taste is him, the words being uttered between the space when he forces himself to breathe. "can't believe you're all mine, wanna make you feel so fucking good. Give you anythin' you want."

He lies his full weight on you, and through the thin sleeping shorts you've got on, his cock beckons you with throbs and weeps. You feel drunk off of him, every sense surrounded by Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

His shampoo from two days ago, the old spice lingering under his arms, the natural scent of his skin, the sweetness of his breath and the perspiration that's formed in little beads on his upper lip. He's all but devouring you, lust and admiration for the angel beneath him taking over any sense of importance regarding anything else.

Your heels dig into the back of his bum, knees pulling inward so that his hips come clashing into yours. Your fingernails claw on the material covering his back, taking it upon themselves to pull it over his head. He's beaming like a kid in a candy store at your eagerness, eyes all crinkly underneath.

"Want me to grab a rubber now?" He mumbles between the sloppy kisses, hoping you can't hear the hitch in his throat at the prospect of this finally happening.

"Mhmm, yes." It feels just as surreal for you.

He whines as he departs, reaching over across your head to pull open his bedside drawer and ungracefully tear open the new box of condoms. His eyebrows are furrowed, arms flexing with intensity from his excitement. He groans out of frustration, and you giggle, grasping his thick forearm.

"Let me help baby." You reach in the drawer for him and pull the box out, finishing the rip he'd made and pulling out a metallic row of squares. You tear one at the perforation and hand it to him, grinning at the entire situation. He huffs and rests his forehead between the valley of your breasts.

"What would I do without you?" He mutters, matching your expression when he lifts his head back up and pushes forward to kiss you on the tip of your nose.

"Not have sex, I suppose." You bite back with no hint of malice, only an insurmountable level of love and he sees it shimmering everywhere around you. His girl. His.

"You're somethin' else, sweetheart." He mouths the side of your face, across your jaw and underneath your ear.

You feel like you're in a psychological limbo, in a world between consciousness as he sits back on his haunches and lifts his shirt off of his body from the back of his collar. That may be a dramatic sentiment to many, but it's fitting.

He does it so casually, throws his shirt to the side with the rest of discarded clothing and stray items that live on his bedroom floor. You feel weak in the knees when he tears the condom package and pulls out the slippery rubber, unraveling it before bringing it down to his cock.

You watch his face the way his pink tongue darts out and nips the tip of his tongue, brows furrowed in concentration and arousal as he fits the condom down his thick shaft. You watch his biceps twist, his taut abdomen clench, the black ink coming alive with the ministrations of his muscles underneath.

When he meets your eyes again, you look completely overtaken with desire, eyelids heavy and breath bated. Your pebbled nipples stand at full attention, mimicking his dick and Eddie hooks his fingers underneath those infuriatingly sexy shorts of yours so that he can get rid of them.

You're not wearing underwear. Of course you aren't. Your entire existence is specifically designed to test the bounds of his composure, of his strength. The gold room lighting from his lamp illuminates your body and your shy thighs only part when he's placing his palms between them, slowly encouraging them to allow him a peek or two.

You reach out to stroke his arms as he separates your legs, his jaw hanging ever so slack, cock twitching just a few centimeters away from your opening.

"Fucking hell...you're so goddamn pretty." He strains, swallowing hard as he touches you with hesitant hands, as if he's scared to break you. Your hips lift, just enough to make contact with the tip of his dick and you whine. It's a sound so sweet he almost whimpers himself.

"Please, Eds. I want you inside of me. Please."

His stomach tightens and he crawls over you once again, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

He maintains eye contact, breath fanning your mouth as he slips an arm between your bodies and grips his shaft, lining it up with your entrance. Your thighs lift towards your chest, ankles stationed at his waist, and you feel the welcome intrusion of his tip as it passes your slick labia.

You both take a breath in, your fingers needing a vice and moving to the back of his neck as he pivots his hips forward and slips himself into the tightness of your cunt. The stretch causes you to hiss, both in pleasure and pain.

"You okay? Let me know if I need to stop." He grunts, kissing your chin.

"M'okay, don't you dare stop."

His eyelids flutter in tandem with yours, a choked moan leaving his throat as he continues to push himself in, till he's nudging against the soft roundness of your cervix and his balls are resting against your ass.

It feels right. Having him this deep, this close.

You shudder nuzzling your face against the bicep that holds him up. You kiss the skin there and he groans, dragging himself back out and then back in. Your whole body jostles with the movement.

"Jesus Christ, how do you feel s'fucking good? I don't - I can't, fuck." He's a slur of words, beginning to form a steady rhythm. Your moans are more like squeaks the faster he goes, increasing the lewd, sticky sounds between your legs that squelch with each drag and pull of his cock.

"Eddie...E-eddie." Your words are hiccuped from the impact, his hair dangling in your face, tickling your cheeks. His belly is pressed right against yours, the curls at the mound of his pelvis pressed against yours. He lets out this pained sound and goes to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

"My name, fuck say it again. Say it again." It's muffled but you can hear it right underneath your ear, his lips a soft vibration against your flesh. You feel so full, it's hard to speak at all. To say anything other than his name. So you recite it like it's the only words you know.

"Eddie Eddie Eddie Eddie." They're all punctuated with a whimper that starts from your diaphragm and crawls it's way out of your throat, pistoned by his hips and their grueling ministrations. Skin against skin can be heard from down the park, you're convinced, with how he's fucking you.

Eddie is fucking you. Your boyfriend, Eddie, is fucking you.

"Ohhhh, god, please." You cry out, heels digging into his back, hands splayed across the broad expanse of his shoulder blades. Every breath that passes his lips is followed by a grunt, a groan, a sound that is so close to agony and even closer to toe curling pleasure.

Each stroke of his cock inside of you feels like a pull into his being, and you get frustrated with the fact that you can't see his face, tugging at the back of his neck.

When you look up at the boy above you, reality, for once, feels like the most beautiful thing you've ever endured.

He's flushed, all sweat and shades of pink and red. His eyes are glassy, mirroring yours in the way that it almost looks like he could shed a tear. You move his sticky bangs from his forehead and Eddie is sucker punched in the gut with a wave of adoration.

"Oh, sweetheart," he leans down, slowing his thrusts so that he can kiss you steadily, purposefully. Somehow he feels deeper this way impossibly so, and he nips your bottom lip when you flutter around him. "didn't mean to...to not show you attention m'sorry, just...you feel so good. S'like heaven."

He's half sober half drunk on your pussy and it's so fucking endearing. Neither of you can make out a coherent sentence.

"Keep - keep going, just like that, ohhh." You glance down between your bodies and somewhere behind your organs a warmth, teetering unbearable, flutters throughout your limbs. His arms shake with the fight to hold himself up, until he doesn't anymore, and slips his hands underneath you till they're sandwiched between the mattress and your back. Snug, safe, he engulfs you.

His thrusts are deep and slow now, meaningful instead of mindless bunny fucking. Which, he's not opposed to, but you're you. He wants to fuck you like he might not ever get the chance to again.

"I love you, I love you." He whimpers against the crook of your shoulder. You hold him with the same ferocity that he's holding you, staring up at the ceiling and the stars that blanket your vision instead of the fan above.

"I love you too, fuck, Eddie."

He makes this noise, it's almost pathetic. Petulant. That coil holding you tight, snaps and all at once you're gasping, thighs a deadly grip around his waist.

"Cu-Cumming, I'm cumming." Your walls flex and spasm around his length and Eddie thinks he might pass out. You're still twitching and whining his name with his balls are emptying, when he's spurting into the condom, nudging your cervix.

"Fuck, fuck just like tha- ohhh fuck." He thrusts like he's fucking his cum into you, like he's filling your womb up and making you his forever. He made you cum. He's never felt this high before, and he's a fucking drug dealer.

It's a mixture of panting and the thud of your shared heartbeat for what feels like eternity and one split second. You feel his lips peppering soft, gentle kisses along your jugular, and your fingers trace lines up and down his warm back as his cock softens inside of you.

He rubs his cheek against you, and your fingers pull his hair away from his pretty face. He's looking at you with so much love you could burst again.

"I love you so much." He speaks tenderly, softly, for once. It's scary and breathtaking all at once. The tip of his nose rubs yours, your smiles a reflection of the other.

"I love you too, Munson."

And you do. You really fucking do.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things x reader #joseph quinn x reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson has my heart

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ginnsbaker · 2 months

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (1/?)

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat. Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.” Or the one where you fall in love with the widow of an ex-lover you never knew was married.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6k+ | Warnings: None for now | A/N: I wrote about 30k words of the Succession Wanda but hit a wall in terms of plot progression. So that's on hold. Allow me to apologize with this two-shot. P.S. I've always wanted to write for Leigh, and this idea came out of nowhere. Loosely based on canon.

Masterlist | Next Part

Leigh wakes up in a bed that’s not hers for the first time in months, and the unfamiliar scent of freshly cut grass and cedarwood almost immediately overwhelms her senses, suffocating her with its cloying sweetness.

“Jules?” she croaks out, her mind clawing its way through the fog. When it lifts a few seconds later, Leigh realizes where she is and what she’s done.

And how she’s very, very naked underneath the sheets.

The person lying next to her in the bed starts to move. Right away, she knows it's not her sister, unless she's somehow caught up in a prank she doesn't find amusing at all. And so, she braces herself for her dead husband’s brother's voice to shatter the silence.

But it never comes. Instead, an arm drapes itself across her stomach, pulling her towards warmth. Leigh gets the sudden urge to vomit, except she skipped dinner and there isn’t anything to bring up. Last night, in a desperate attempt to fill the void left by Matt's absence, she had reached out to someone she shouldn't have. Someone Leigh didn’t even like to begin with. A knot tightens further in her stomach as she considers what her husband’s ghost would think.

Would he approve? Would he feel betrayed or disgusted as she does?

Careful not to disturb Danny, who still sleeps soundly beside her, Leigh slips out of bed with the grace of a cat. She gathers her clothes from the floor and dresses herself with heavy limbs, each garment reminding her of how Danny had taken them off her body.

As messed up as it sounds, Leigh can't help but draw parallels between him and Matt. They share the same blood, but there's not a single trait in Danny that triggers memories of Matt. With Danny, it's all about his own desires, his movements reflecting his wants. But with Matt, it's like he's always bending to Leigh’s will, submitting to her.

It tears Leigh’s heart anew.

As she finishes dressing, Leigh glances around searching for her watch. She second-guesses whether she even wore it last night, the disarray of her thoughts mirrored in the disarray of the room. Her eyes scan the bedside table, the floor, and the dresser, but there's no sign of the timepiece.

A sudden sound from Danny startles her, and she freezes in place. She doesn't believe she can prevent herself from literally bolting out of the house if he so much as breathes her name. She’s rooted in her spot however, waiting for his breathing to steady, her heart pounding in her ears. Only when she's certain he's in a deep slumber does she release a pent-up breath, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. In that moment, she mentally curses herself once more, acutely aware of the mess she's created, before tiptoeing towards the bedroom door and abandoning the search for her watch altogether.

As she considers her options, she entertains the idea of escaping town altogether. Maybe if she leaves, she can avoid Danny for the coming days, possibly forever. Leigh wonders if she ever made Matt feel this trapped, inadvertently pushing him to leave in the only way he knew she could never follow.

Several days after ignoring Danny’s calls and attempts to talk to her, he retaliates by telling her the most absurd thing about his brother.

He tells Leigh she wasn’t the only one. There had been two others in the last year.

And the last one, he fell for hard. Or at least that’s what Danny believes.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, her eyes beginning to sting a little. “If you think making me hate Matt would change my mind about us, then—”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you, Leigh,” Danny interrupts calmly, shaking his head. “I just believe you deserve to know the truth. Maybe it'll help you stop blaming yourself and move on.”

“It just seems a little too convenient that this 'truth' works in your favor to tarnish Matt's reputation, doesn't it?” Leigh points out with a humorless smile. She’s always thought the worst of Danny, but she never imagined he’d go as far as fabricating a story just to get her on his side.

“I understand your skepticism, I do. I couldn’t believe it at first either,” he says, his gaze dropping to the ground as if the transgression he’s confessing were his own, not Matt’s. “But think about it. Have you ever walked in on Matt just as he's ending a call? Noticed how he's suddenly started spending more time at work, consistently twice a week? And what about his sudden interest in going to the gym and being conscious about what he eats? These are all signs, Leigh.”

His words push her to think about it, even though she doesn't want to. Leigh starts to reflect on how Matt had stopped leaving his phone unattended during showers, how he had suddenly logged off his social media accounts from her laptop, or the noticeable enhancement of his physique—all juxtaposed against a lingering decrease in his appetite for intimacy with his wife.

“I…” Leigh hesitates, searching for a rebuttal but finding none. Then Danny gives her a look—one of pity and longing that makes her want to crawl out of her skin—and suddenly she finds herself vehemently denying all of it.

“I still don’t believe you,” she says, desperately clinging to the last shreds of the illusion she had crafted around her marriage.

Danny's expression remains unreadable and it drives her further up the wall. “Fine. Believe what you want, Leigh. I'm just trying to look out for you.”

Leigh's jaw tightens. “Regardless of what you say—whether it’s real or not—I know what I want, and it's not to be with you.”

He keeps up the stony facade, opting instead to pull a card out of his wallet and hand it to her. Leigh accepts the card, her fingers quivering, as a solitary tear finally breaks free and trails down her cheek.

Danny begins to reach out, intending to brush away her tear, but hesitates at the last moment, withdrawing his hand.

“See for yourself. Goodbye, Leigh.”

Just two days later, Leigh finds herself in front of the small animal clinic you own, situated a short walk away from Beautiful Beast—the fitness studio her mom owns and where she works.

Though the sun hangs low in the sky, she's been awake long before it began to rise. She waits for the receptionist to flip the sign from “Sorry, we’re closed” to “Come in, we’re open,” ignoring the curious glance directed her way when the receptionist notices she isn’t accompanied by a furry companion. With a determined smile on her lips, Leigh pushes open the door and steps into the clinic knowing she'll leave it with answers—whatever they might be.

The receptionist looks up from her computer, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern when she sees the look on Leigh's face. “Can I help you?”

Leigh clears her throat, trying to steady her voice. She tells her she’s looking for you, her words coming out in a rush.

The receptionist furrows her brow. “Do you have an appointment?”

Leigh shakes her head, blinking rapidly as she comes up with an excuse. “No, it's... it's urgent,” she stammers. “I need to speak to her right away.”

The receptionist appears mildly annoyed, but it doesn’t faze Leigh in the slightest. “I'll check if she's available. Please take a seat,” she says.

Leigh nods mutely and sinks into one of the chairs. She clasps her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to quell the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her. She imagines Matt’s ghost watching her this very second, frowning at her doubts about their relationship by coming here in the first place.

And what if she’s wrong? What if Matt wasn’t cheating on her after all? But Leigh had to come here to put the issue to rest. Matt would understand why she needs to do this. He always did.

A few moments later, the door behind the reception desk opens and the receptionist emerges from it, motioning for Leigh to enter.

Leigh finds you standing behind your desk, your back to her, arranging a stack of medical records on the shelf.

“Dr. Y/N?” Leigh calls out softly.

You turn around at the sound of her voice, and when she sees you for the first time, Leigh immediately knows.

Danny was telling the truth. It takes everything in her not to break down in front of a stranger her husband fell in love with.

You, however, don’t recognize the woman standing before you, thinking perhaps she's simply one of your past clients. You offer Leigh a contrite smile. “You wanted to see me? Miss…?”

“Leigh Shaw.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell either, but you keep a friendly smile on your face.

Leigh hesitates for a moment before continuing, her voice sounding fragile. “I need to talk to you about my husband,” she says, studying your clueless face. You're stunning and accomplished—a doctor and a businesswoman. You have a smile that could brighten even the darkest room.

Matt never stood a chance, did he?

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat.

Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.”

After leaving your clinic, Leigh heads straight to Matt’s grave, stomping angrily on the sparse sheet of grass that has begun to sprout from his resting place.

“You're such a fucking liar!” she spits out at the unsusceptible headstone, the heat of fury spreading through her veins and to every molecule in her body. The cold wind lashes through her hair as Leigh drops to her knees, feeling like the entire world is bearing down on her. She reaches out to touch the cold marble of the headstone, still seeking solace from the one who caused her so much hurt.

“Why, Matt?”

She knows there will be no answers—only the cold silence of death.

Leigh feels a surge of anger rise within her once more as she recalls the way you looked at her—the pain in your eyes when she revealed to you that Matt had died. What you two had was real, as real as what she had with him. She had been hoping it was at least just a fling, but alas, she couldn’t be further from her assumptions.

“I can't believe I ever loved you,” Leigh mutters bitterly. She wants to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all. But all she can do is clutch at the grass beneath her, her nails digging into the earth as if trying to anchor herself against the torrent of pain crippling her chest. Tears stream down her face as she finally collapses to the ground, assuming a fetal position, whispering, “I can't believe I still do.”

You continue to stare at the space that Leigh previously occupied for a good ten minutes, not moving an inch from where you stood—shocked, hurt, confused. Matt, the man you had been seeing, was dead. And not just dead, but married. Married to someone else, someone named Leigh Shaw, a name so important but he managed to hide from you for weeks.

Matt had never mentioned a wife, never wore a ring, never hinted at the existence of someone waiting for him at home. If he had, you would never have let him get as close to you like he did. You've always respected boundaries and families—and now you've discovered that unwittingly, you've destroyed one.

Leigh's departure was swift, just as soon as you confessed to having feelings for her husband and how Matt reciprocated those same feelings. Leigh, ruthless in her questioning, demanded to know if you had slept with Matt. You swore you never did, detailing how Matt abruptly ghosted you after your first kiss, leaving you with nothing but unanswered texts and missed calls.

You wanted so badly for Leigh to believe you, and you think she did. However, none of it mattered in the end. He cheated all the same. He hurt the woman he made a promise to love and stay faithful to.

Because of you.

You feel sickened by your own naivety; by the way you have allowed yourself to be fooled by his lies. And yet, amidst the anger and self-recrimination, there is a profound sense of loss. Despite the circumstances of your relationship, you had cared for Matt deeply. Maybe even loved him.

But how much of it was real? How much of it was not about him running from his problems with his wife and using you as a distraction? The ease with which he slipped out of your life suddenly fits into place.

While his passing deeply rattled you, it's now largely overshadowed by thoughts of his widow.

Leigh Shaw.

Earlier, even though you said sorry over and over, it felt like it wasn't enough, and you wanted to do more to make her feel better. What stopped you was the realization that you're likely the last person she would want comfort from. A sense of helplessness washes over you as you come to the conclusion that there's nothing you can do to undo the damage that's been done. Matt is gone, and Leigh's world has been shattered in ways you can't even begin to imagine.

Moving on from Matt is something you know you could do. He wasn’t the first person to break your heart, be it through deceit or demise. But the situation with Leigh is unfamiliar territory.

How do you fix this for her?

Will she even let you?

When Leigh tells Jules about Matt’s infidelity, her sister fixates on the detail that she slept with Danny. It’s not the response Leigh expected. She anticipated shock, and maybe even a bit of outrage on her behalf. But instead, Jules latches onto the one detail that seems to pale in comparison to the enormity of Matt's betrayal.

“But how could you?” Jules asks, her voice incredulous as she chews on a dumpling. “How could you sleep with Danny?”

Faced with her sister's disapproval, Leigh finds herself clamming up. “Are you kidding? I just told you that Matt was cheating on me, and your response is to judge me for hooking up with a single guy while I'm single?” Leigh retorts, hastily wiping her lips with a napkin.

Jules just shakes her head, putting down her chopsticks. “Leigh, I get it. Matt’s betrayal is awful, and you have every right to be angry. But the ‘single guy’ you hooked up with isn't just any guy, and you know it. You don't think it's weird? What would people think? That all this time, sleeping with your husband’s brother has always been an option?”

Leigh's eyes widen in shock, and for a moment, she's speechless. She hadn't—didn't want to entertain the idea of what sleeping with Danny would imply. She was chasing a feeling; any feeling that wasn’t emptiness. And with Danny, she did feel something, even if it was regret and shame. At least it proved she was still capable of feeling at all.

“It… just happened,” Leigh murmurs, rubbing her temples. Hollowness and migraines, she's almost forgotten.

“And? Is it going to be a ‘thing’?” Jules probes, eyebrows raised.

Leigh lifts her gaze, biting back a defensive retort. Instead she simply says, “Absolutely not.”

Jules seems satisfied with that, knocking back the rest of her beer. “Good.”

But as Jules moves on, Leigh’s left stewing in her own thoughts. Telling Jules felt like yelling into a void—exhausting and utterly pointless. Now she’s dreading the thought of breaking the news to Drew. If Jules’ reaction was any indication, she’s in for another round of disappointment.

Being a young widow already sets her apart, but nothing makes her feel more alone than her family's inability to truly grasp her grief. She guesses she's been feeling alone for years, long before Matt came into her life and subsequently left it.

Jules, catching the tail end of Leigh's distant look, leans in and asks, “So, what's the plan now? You still going to that grief counseling group? Danny's been showing up there, right?”

Leigh's gaze sharpens, a bit taken aback by the sudden shift back to practicalities. “Are you asking about my plans with Danny? Because I already told you, that's over. I'm never seeing him again.”

Jules raises her hands in a placating gesture, mindful that one wrong move could tip Leigh over the edge for good. “Not really, no. I'm asking if you're still keen on processing your grief. Now that it turns out Matt was... well, a snake.”

Jules calling Matt a snake doesn't sit well with Leigh even with his cheating coming to light. But she supposes it's Jules' way of being on her side every once in a while. It's a clumsy attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

“Yeah, I'm still going,” Leigh finally says, her gaze dropping to her lap before meeting Jules' eyes again. “Not for Danny, not for anyone else, but for me. Turns out, finding out your rotting husband was living a double life does a number on you. Who knew, right?”

Jules cracks a small, rueful smile at that and says, “Who knew indeed.”

Leigh thinks back to the time when she believed she knew Matt inside and out, a belief so deeply ingrained it felt like a cornerstone of her identity as his wife. She prided herself on their connection, convinced that they shared everything—every thought, every fear, every dream. It was a pride rooted in the belief that she knew him better than anyone else could, and he, her, in the same intimate manner.

It was the kind of recognition that’s not only about knowing his favorite color or the way he took his coffee. It’s deeper and more layered. She knew the exact tone of voice he'd use when he was about to apologize, the look in his eyes when he was holding back tears, the subtle shift in his posture when he was trying to be braver than he felt. And she thought he knew her just as intricately—the silent language of her sighs, the meaning behind her quietest smiles, the small, everyday details that they believed only they could understand about each other.

“It's hard, you know? Feeling like you're mourning someone who never really existed,” Leigh mumbles after a long pause.

“Yeah, I can't even imagine,” Jules responds, reaching across the table to give Leigh's hand a brief squeeze. “But I'm here, okay? Even if I don't always get it right.”

Jules, Drew, Danny, her mom—all of them—rarely get it right. It has always been Matt.

He has always been all she has and needed.

Even if Leigh wasn't aware that she was probably just getting his scraps.

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps thinking over the next several days. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It doesn’t help that there’s a new member who has also been widowed, and she’s sharing about her late husband who had quite a number of mistresses throughout their eighteen years of marriage.

Leigh listens, her fingers twisted together in her lap, as the woman talks about the signs she missed, the lies she believed.

“I just keep thinking,” the woman's voice breaks, “if I'd been more attentive, more... I don't know, less demanding, maybe things would've been different.”

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps screaming inside. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It took Leigh a long time to return to the apartment she shared with Matt after his passing.

Mostly, it's because Leigh found it difficult to confront the scattered remnants of him that would remain untouched in his absence. No longer would he be picking up his favorite shirt or completing another page of his crossword puzzle book. Yet, these belongings would remain his, just as Leigh felt she still belonged to him.

So it’s ironic that now, surrounded by the same belongings in her bedroom at her mother’s home, she's being overwhelmed by the impulse to turn them all into ashes. In a sudden frenzy, Leigh grabs a box and begins to throw everything inside. The sound of her ragged breathing fills the room, only matched by the soft thuds of objects landing in the cardboard.

“Stupid fucking toys!” she shouts, tossing a figurine with more force than necessary.

“And this shirt—what were you thinking?” She grabs a garishly patterned fabric, shaking it at the empty air as if expecting an answer.

Her voice cracks, “You're not even here, and you're driving me crazy!”

As Leigh's wrath burns through the remnants of Matt’s life, her thoughts take a dark turn. The things he owned, the pieces of his life flying from her hand—it all leads her back to the one person who had a piece of him, a piece that was never hers.

The thought of your face, the one that belonged to him too at one point, flashes in her mind, and she's on the edge of losing all control.

If only Leigh could throw you into the box too.

Finally, she finds the book he gave her for her last birthday, the one she never read, and for a moment, her movements pause. Then, with a cry of anguish, she tosses it in as well. When the box is full, she kicks it. Once, twice, thrice—each kick releasing a burst of pent-up fury until she's gasping for breath.

A knock at the door startles her. It's soft but persistent, making it obvious that whoever is outside has heard the commotion in her room. “Leigh, honey, are you done in there?” Amy's voice seeps through the wood.

Leigh wipes at her eyes. “Almost. I, uh… just give me a minute,” she calls back. She’s not done—not really. But she’ll probably set the house on fire if she doesn’t stop here.

Pushing herself up, Leigh opens the door. She knows the sight she presents isn't pretty—eyes swollen red, nose a mess, and those dark circles. But her mom has seen this look more times than either would care to count.

“You okay?” her mom asks, though the answer's written all over Leigh's face.

Leigh shakes her head, no energy to pretend.

“Want some breakfast?”

Again, “No,” slips out.

Then, “Need a ride to the studio?” her mom tries again.

“Yes,” Leigh finds herself saying, clinging to the offer like a lifeline, a small acknowledgment that life, somehow, must go on.

The following day, Leigh looks at the box, then at everything around her. She mutters, “Screw this,” and starts pulling everything out of the box, putting it all back where it came from.

Leigh's back at running, not because she loves it, but because the sun insists on poking her awake before the rest of the world stirs. It's an old hobby, dusted off to fill the gaping mornings before her first yoga class.

It’s easy to do because she realizes she’s good at it. Leigh’s only been at it for just a couple of weeks and already she's feeling fitter, faster. She likes the pain too, not being aware before that there are different kinds of pain, and some of them do feel good—addicting even.

Mid-thought, her routine jog takes a wild left turn: stranded in the middle of the bustling traffic is a French Bulldog, looking decidedly out of place. Ignoring the honks and the near misses, Leigh bolts across the street. It's a bit of a mad dash, dodging cars that are swerving and braking hard. She scoops him up in her arms and doesn’t stop to think about the close calls.

It hits her then—she's surprised at her own gutsiness, not even pausing to think that she could've been clipped by a car not paying attention. Maybe all this time spent wrestling with thoughts of death has brought her to a strange peace with it and is no longer scared of it. It's like she's danced with death so much, it's just another shadow she passes by—not something that paralyzes her in place anymore.

Leigh’s not sure if being this fearless is actually a good thing though.

After cooling her heels on the sidewalk for half an hour, with no owner in sight, she shrugs and decides he’s coming home with her.

Jules gives her a scrutinizing look the moment she walks in. “What, you went out for a run and decided to get a dog?”

“Rescue mission,” Leigh shoots back, setting the dog down. “Found him in the middle of Second Street. Seems he’s lost.”

Jules doesn't miss a beat, heading straight for the newcomer. She kneels, her hands gently petting the dog, her eyes softening in a way that Leigh rarely sees. The dog, clearly pleased with the attention, wags its tail vigorously. Her eyes are practically giving her away, so it sounds almost funny when she looks up at Leigh and says, “Just don't get too attached, okay?”

“I won’t, which is why I named him Visitor. It’s temporary,” Leigh says with a smile, looking very proud of the name she came up with.

Jules chuckles, standing up and brushing off her knees. “Nerd. Matt would've gotten a kick out of that.”

The room just freezes at the mention of his name. Talking about Matt is like walking into a glass door you didn't see.

Jules tries to backpedal, “Hey, sorry, I—” But Leigh's quick to brush it off with a shrug.

“Don't worry about it. Let's just figure out where Visitor here belongs, okay?”

As they refocus on Visitor, Jules can't help but notice the way the dog favors one leg as he trots over to sit snugly between Leigh's legs, looking up at her with those big, trusting eyes. “Looks like he's got a bit of a limp,” Jules points out.

Leigh frowns and leans down to get a closer look, her fingers gently probing around Visitor's leg until she finds a tender spot. The moment she applies a little pressure, Visitor yelps, pulling away sharply and retreating a few steps.

Jules winces at the reaction. “Yeah, that's not good. Maybe we should take him to a vet?”

Leigh can barely hold back a grimace as her brain immediately links you to the situation.

“What's wrong?” Jules notices the sudden shift in Leigh’s mood. “There's St. Mary's Animal Clinic nearby. I heard they're great.”

That's your clinic. Leigh's throat tightens at the thought, the memories of her visit flooding back. “Are there others around here?”

Jules looks puzzled at the question. “I mean, I can look it up, but what's wrong with St. Mary's?”

Leigh considers whether she should tell Jules about meeting you. Part of her really knows it’s unfair to dislike you, especially if you genuinely didn't know Matt was married. But she knows Jules too well—tell her, and it'll turn into a whole thing. Leigh's not sure she's up for that drama.

Despite her reservations, Leigh decides to bite the bullet, her curiosity getting the better of her. Besides, if she can’t be brave enough to talk about this in her counseling group, she should probably at least tell Jules.

“Actually, Jules,” Leigh begins, “St. Mary's Animal Clinic is where... where she works.”

Jules's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. “Wait, you mean... you mean her, as in…?” she stammers, disbelief written all over her face.

“Yup,” Leigh confirms, smacking her lips forcefully.

“Oh my god—that bitch,” Jules spits out, her voice dripping with disdain before Leigh can even brace for impact.

“She didn’t know Matt’s married,” Leigh clarifies quickly.

“And you bought that?”

“I had a feeling she was telling the truth. Besides, I can’t imagine Matt being that brazen to pursue someone while married. He can be a little self-righteous sometimes,” Leigh says, only half-sure of her statement. Recently, she has to remind herself that maybe she never really knew him at all.

Then, an idea sparks in Jules's mind. “You know what?” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Maybe this is a good opportunity. After all, she owes you one, right? Maybe she'll treat Visitor for free, to make up for being... well, you know.”

Leigh rubs her nose, skeptical of the idea. “I don't know, Jules. I don't want to impose…”

Jules leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, if she's the reason you're hurting, maybe she should make it right?”

She isn't hurting because of you, not directly. That's why Jules’ suggestion hangs in the air, unappealing. Leigh remembers the pity in your eyes from that morning, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want anything from you at all. Her resolve instantly hardens like ice.

“No,” Leigh finally says. “I don't want her charity. I'll pay for Visitor's bills myself. And I'll keep the receipts for when his real owners show up.” It's a decision that feels surprisingly empowering, a small reclaiming of control in a world that's felt off-kilter for too long.

Jules merely sighs; she knows better than to push Leigh when her mind’s made up.

“Have it your way.”

Leigh brings Visitor to St. Mary’s the very next day.

There's a certain set to her jaw, a readiness for something less than pleasant. She doesn’t need to go through reception this time because she spots you right away, escorting a client to the door, cradling their puppy in your arms. Seeing you with a pet makes Leigh realize why you’ve chosen this profession. You fit right in among the animals, she muses bitterly.

It's with a sense of satisfaction that she watches your smile dissipate as soon as your eyes land on hers.

She strides confidently towards you, dog in arms, forcing you to quickly hand off the puppy back to its owner. Yet, you recover with a swiftness that's begrudgingly admirable as you give her a look that’s equal parts professional and friendly—like you were actually looking forward to seeing her again.

“Good morning, Leigh. How can I help you?”

Without a word, Leigh extends the dog she’s carrying towards you, a silent transfer of trust, or perhaps, necessity. You gesture towards the consultation room, an invitation she accepts with a terse nod, following you into the space where you effortlessly shift into doctor mode.

As you begin to charm her dog, she can't help but narrow her eyes. It irks her, watching Visitor take to you instantly, as if you were old friends. “What's his name?” you ask, looking up at Leigh.

“Visitor.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the name, just in time for your irises to capture the light seeping through the office blinds. They glow a hazel-brown, disarmingly so. Leigh forces herself to focus back on the purpose of her visit.

Leigh continues, “He’s limping on his left hind leg. I’d appreciate it if you can prescribe him something. I'll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Ignoring the undercurrent of Leigh's insinuation, your attention remains undividedly on Visitor. The well-being of the dog before you eclipses any personal sentiments, as it always does.

“I'm sorry, but before we can consider any medication, I need to examine him thoroughly. It's possible he might require some lab tests to rule out anything serious,” you tell her. Despite sounding apologetic, Leigh interprets it as your polite way of telling her to fuck off and let you do your job.

As you palpate the dog's leg carefully, you begin your routine questions. “Can you tell me his birthday? Any vaccination history?”

They’re basic, but they seem to catch Leigh off guard anyway. “He’s not mine. I found him on the street yesterday,” she reveals with a reluctant sigh.

The news prompts a more detailed response from you.

“I see. In that case, we should definitely line up some tests for Visitor. We need to ensure he doesn't have distemper or any other airborne virus that could be affecting his mobility,” you suggest, already mentally cataloging the necessary procedures.

You start detailing the tests you intend to perform, explaining their purposes and associated costs. Leigh is clearly deluged by it all and you decide to take pity on the poor woman by adding that it’s still up to her which tests to proceed with, if any at all.

“Your call, Leigh,” you tell her.

Leigh can't shake off the vibe that you're throwing a gauntlet down in front of her. It's like her inner competitor wakes up, refusing to back down. “Do all of them,” she declares, tipping her chin up towards you. “Whatever you think is best.”

“That’s a good decision. We’ll take care of it right away,” you say, already picking up the phone to call the reception for assistance.

Leigh's still trying to get a read on you. Was her arm twisted into this choice, or did you genuinely have Visitor's best interest at heart? She's not about to hand out trust like free samples, especially when she could end up misjudging you. It’s a tricky spot, especially because she’s clearly been wrong before.

The tests take their time, roughly an hour, after which Leigh finds herself pacing the lobby. An additional quarter-hour trickles by before the receptionist finally calls her back into the consultation room.

“Good news,” you start, making sure to catch her eye. She meets your look briefly before her attention shifts to Visitor. “It's only a sprain. The X-ray revealed no breaks or other issues. But,” you pause, checking to see if she's still fully engaged, “his blood tests indicated a low platelet count and evidence of an infection.”

Leigh listens intently, nodding along.

You explain what this means in a clear, concise manner, avoiding medical jargon as much as possible. “It's something we can manage with medication. I'll prescribe some antibiotics for the infection and pain medication to help with his discomfort. It's important that he completes the course of antibiotics to clear the infection completely.”

You watch Leigh closely, gauging her reaction and ready to answer any questions she might have. “We'll need to keep an eye on his platelet count, so I'd like to schedule a follow-up visit next week. This will also give us a chance to check how his leg is healing.”

“Will he be okay?” she asks without looking up from Visitor, busy scratching behind his ears.

“He'll be just fine,” you reassure her, adding, “Any questions about what we discussed?”

Leigh stays silent and you take it as your cue that she doesn’t have any thoughts on the matter. As she wraps up without saying much more, you realize it's time to wrap things up too. But there's something niggling at you, something that's been on your mind since the last time she was here. You're about to let her go, but then, out of nowhere, you feel this urge to clear the air about that whole mess with Matt.

“So, uhm, about the other week when you…” you trail off, suddenly feeling like you're balancing on a tightrope without a net. You’re not so easily spooked by confrontations, but Leigh makes you nervous in a way you can’t explain. “I guess I just wanted to say sorry… for your loss, and for—”

“Does he really need to take pain medication for seven days?” Leigh cuts you off suddenly. It’s sharp enough for you to shut your mouth and abandon your attempt to get personal.

“Yes, the full course is important to ensure he's comfortable and that the inflammation goes down properly. It's just as crucial as the antibiotics for his recovery…”

Leigh nods, carefully scooping Visitor into her arms, preparing to leave.

You try one last time. “Leigh, I really am sorry–”

“I’ll see you next week, Dr. Y/L/N,” she says dismissively and then she’s gone.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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tender-rosiey · 9 months

Text

mourn and want — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: angst version of gojo coming back so don’t say I didn’t warn y’a; also him saying my wife makes me giggle like HEHEEHE

satoru’s vision is blurry. he can’t see anyone except kenjaku and sukuna, though his thoughts immediately drift to you.

he can feel your cursed energy somewhere, but it’s so faint. it worries him so he quickly teleports to shoko and his students. his eyes strain as they frantically search for you, “where is y/n?”

most of them stay silent and he immediately jumps to the worst conclusion, but shoko doesn’t let him dwell on it for too long.

she lets out a sigh and it’s followed by a mutter, “follow me.”

she starts walking towards an abandoned building, probably a hospital, and satoru wordlessly walks after her. their footsteps echo throughout the deserted hallways, along with the sounds of water droplets hitting the ground every few seconds.

they finally arrive at a room and its door is noticeably cleaner than the rest. satoru speaks up, for the first time since they started walking, “is she here?”

shoko nods, and her face is solemn, “yeah, but…” she looks away from the moment, “she won’t make it. she will probably die in an hour or something.”

“can’t you do something? anything?”

“satoru, I tried, but whoever attacked her did irreversible damage,” she takes a deep breath, “the healing won’t even work so—I suggest you talk to her and get your moments. she has been asking for you ever she came out of that attack.”

with nothing else to add, shoko left, but not without patting satoru’s shoulder lightly.

he hums quietly then his hand reaches for the doorknob. he takes a deep breath and braces himself for what he will see. satoru is no stranger to death. in fact, he met it personally.

for some reason, though, he feels like yours will be the hardest to face and endure.

the door clicks and he pushes it lightly. his eyes fall on your resting figure, if resting could be used as a word with how in pain you look.

you’re breathing heavily and your hand is clutching your side. he closes the door behind him, a small grin on his face, “hey, pretty? missed me?”

your eyes peak open and you glance towards the door. a small smile appears on your face at the sight of your husband, “satoru…”

he chuckles and gets settled right beside you, “the one and only…how’re you feeling?”

a wheeze escapes your lips as you try to sit up, but satoru quickly—and gently—pulls you into his embrace.

now, you’re both on the ground with you cradled in his arms. you look up, “I feel like shit.”

“figured,” he smiles while caressing your cheek, “you look the part.”

after your small laugh, the both of you fall into silence. your hand is holding onto satoru’s. you take a moment to breathe then you mumble, “I don’t have much time left.”

his arms around you tighten just a bit, “don’t say that.”

“but it’s true.”

he bites on his lips to hold back his tears, “no, no, it’s not—you can’t do this to me,” a shaky breath escapes his lips, “we still have a future together, a daughter to raise.”

you weakly reach put for his face and make him look at you. even with his teary eyes, he manages to compose himself quickly. you sigh in content, “at least, she will have you, her strong papa.”

“why can’t she have her mom as well? why are you giving up so easily?”

“I tried a lot, but it wasn’t and will never be enough—everyone tried!”

the tears you’ve tried to suppress are falling freely, “but it hurts so much, ‘toru! I can’t go on living with this pain!”

satoru is stunned to his core before he swiftly recovers and pulls you closer, doing his best to comfort you, “shh, I am sorry,” he kisses your temple, “I didn’t mean it,” your cheeks, “I am sorry.”

your arms weakly wrap around his shoulder as you sob into his chest, “I don’t want to die! I want to be with you! I wa—want to wake up to you by my side!”you’re cut off by your sob, “I want to raise our daughter together! I want to hear her sweet giggles every day—satoru, I don’t want to go yet!”

“I know,” he buries his face in your hair, “I don’t want you to go either.”

his hand is rubbing your back while you cry and wail. he presses feather-like kisses to your head, before he speaks, “I—…I want to hear you scold me more. I want to see your messy hair every morning. I want to see you team up on me with our daughter. I want to feel your love and give you mine every—every single day.”

you pull away slightly and you lock eyes. he isn’t crying, but he can’t deny the lump in his throat nor the pit in his stomach. you peck his lips gently and rest your forehead on his, “promise me that you will take care of her.”

his thumbs wipe at your tears before he nods, “yeah,” then whispers, “I promise.”

his face is still so close to your own as your body relaxes slightly in his hold. with a small sigh, you murmur against his lips, “I love you.”

“I love you too—I love you so much,” he croaked.

“you better,” you smile before closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.

your body goes limp, and satoru immediately hugs you closer, tighter. your face is buried in his chest while he repeatedly and frantically kisses the top of your head, tears of his own dripping to the ground.

his body envelopes your own like he’s fearful of the fact that something will take you away, yet again.

he doesn’t hear the door open at first.

his blood-shot eyes eventually travel to the person who entered, shoko. her voice is shaky as she speaks her name before she sighs, “I need to take her—“

“no.”

his eyes focus on your face once again, “I didn’t get to mourn all who passed—and I will be damned if I don’t mourn for my own wife.”

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

#gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #jjk gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo x you #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #jjk x y/n #jjk gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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stars-for-circe · 3 months

Text

Dead Men Tell No Tales

Tags / cw: Pirate Age (1650 - 1730s), fluff, Pirate!Abby, Mermaid!reader, slight somno (reader kisses an unconscious Abby), mentions of drowning, piracy, strangers to lovers

Taglist: @ourautumn86 @peanutbutterandjayjay @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @r3starttt

Walking the plank was something Abby knew well, having seen it every few moons. After all, piracy always came with disloyalty - the promises of gold and rum being too tempting not to betray your crew for. But walking the plank herself? That, she was not prepared for.

Hands tied behind her back and a gag in her mouth left only a deathly glare for Abby to give to the men behind her. The men, her crew, behind her. And at least they had the fucking decency to look shameful.

“Captain, why the long face?”

…except for one.

She should have never let that fucker on her ship. Right from the beginning, he was suspicious. It was weird enough that he had managed to sneak onto her ship at the last port, and even weirder that he seemingly had no motive. Abby should have known that his promises of a map in return for safety were empty. That his objective was her fucking ship, not the treasure her crew had sought after. Another boot pushing into Abby’s back made her groan out a muffled swear, the end of the plank now dangerously close.

“Any last words? Advice maybe, for your loyal crew.” A smug snicker broke the silence afterwards. And then an exaggerated sound of realisation as he gestured with his sword to her gagged mouth.

“You must pardon my ignorance captain, I must have forgotten!”

Suddenly, a harsh kick to the base of her spine left Abby screaming in pain as she fell over the edge of the plank. The wind howling in her ears as she scrunched her eyes shut and braced for the ice cold impact of the storming ocean. But the last thing Abby heard was instead his taunting voice that followed her into the depths of the sea.

“Dead men tell no tales.”

A haunting cackle left his mouth as Abby plunged into the vicious swell. The current overpowered her easily, each wave more fierce that the last, throwing her around like a mangled toy. She could no longer tell which was up or down, but the feeling of being pulled down lower and lower gave Abby a sinking feeling that it wasn’t her ship she was heading towards.

Thrashing hard against her binds, she regained her bearings and tried desperately to kick up to the surface, the water surrounding her no longer disturbed by the storm, but instead of Abby’s panicked movements. But it was futile, Abby realised, as she saw that what was once a dark ocean around her was now her own life flashing past. How cliche, she thought.

And it had been a long time since Abby had last dreamt like this - as if death had allowed her one final moment of reminiscing before she was met with its cold embrace. She saw herself as a young girl begging her father to let her sail, dreaming of conquering the seven seas, fighting pirates, finding the most enchanting merpeople along the coasts. Like waves rolling over each other, the played over again and again, each time becoming more blurry than the last.

And when it finally ceased, Abby spent her last breath on a silent vow on revenge. As the ocean pulled her down from the violent waves into its abyssal depths, she swore it. No matter how many lifetimes it took, she would come back and fucking kill him.

Human lips were so enchanting. Unlike yours, Abby’s were pinker, and chapped - most likely due to the fact she didn’t live underwater like you. Heavens, it wasn’t just her lips. Her entire self had you absolutely entrapped with her beauty. Her structured face (that, for some reason, still displayed a frown and furrowed brows, even in her unconscious state), her long hair that was splayed around her head, and her body.

God, her body. You couldn’t help your wandering eyes after you had pulled her ashore from trailing down lower and lower. Her drenched shirt, slightly transparent and clinging to herself, proved as the perfect window for you to see her well built arms and…..other areas, too.

Fuck, you shouldn’t be getting distracted at a time like this. Your family would already be beside themselves with you interacting with a human, fancying one would probably get you exiled. But you really couldn’t help it.

When you had saved Abby last night, it was purely by chance. You were trying to swim down to the ocean floor to stay safe from the stormy surface, and you should have done so. But on your way down you had felt a large splash ripple through the water, and then you saw her. Illuminated by striker of lightning, she was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. And you tried to keep your distance at first. After all, her feet weren’t bound together so she could have swam up herself. But when you noticed her go limp, you couldn’t stop yourself from helping her.

And it wasn’t like you’d be caught, she was fucking unconscious. So you grabbed Abby as fast as you can and pulled her to the surface, and eventually, to the shoreline. You knew this island had people somewhere, so it would only be a matter of time before someone found her - she was safe here, and you could leave her, right? No, but what if she didn’t wake up? What if no one found her in time? What if they tried to hurt her?? Maybe it was best if you stayed until she woke up.

And now here you were, on the beach of a strange island, making fucking heart eyes at a human of all things. A human with the prettiest face you’d ever seen, though. A human, who was still bound and gagged, you realised (no, you weren’t making another excuse to touch her, she really needed your help this time). Tentatively, you reached out and carefully rolled her over. Which was fucking hard considering you could only use your core strength, but you managed to untie her hands and lay her back on her back.

Slowly, you trailed your eyes back up from Abby’s arms to her face, capturing and memorising each and every part of her as your hands followed in suit. And gently, you cradled her head up to undo the binds around her mouth, before placing her back down as they fell apart beneath her.

To anyone else, the angry red marks rubbed raw against her cheeks, agitated and sore from the ropes, would be a disgusting sight. Yet you found her, still, an absolutely breathtakingly beautiful sight. The way it traced her cheekbones, stopping at the edges of her mouth, where pink lips met the marks and met at a soft Cupid’s bow. God, were you being punished for something?

The one person, you couldn’t have, a human, just had to have the most kissable lips out of everyone you had ever met, and it was forbidden. Not only that, she wasn’t even fucking awake, either!

…she wasn’t awake.

She would never know.

No one would, you thought as you stared curiously down at Abby. One moment of self indulgence to end the hours of suffering and pining, that’s all it would be. No one would know, not Abby, and least of all your family. And if anything, it could be considered a ‘thankyou’ for not letting Abby drown in the first place.

You glanced up to the sky, almost daring your ancestors to stop you, before looking back down at Abby. Tentatively, you traced the back of your hand against the side of her face before cupping it into your palm. And with the other, you gently moved the hair splayed around her forehead as you took a long glance to her face. Fuck, you were in over your head. After a deep breath in, you felt yourself moving closer as you closed your eyes, and finally, you sighed as your lips met with hers.

They were cooler to the touch than expected, you thought. But that was probably because the poor girl had just taken an involuntary swim in the ocean. She tasted almost salty, you realised, as you deepened the kiss, how softly moving them against hers. With your eyes closed, all your senses zeroed in on kissing Abby, the roaring waves and screeching seagulls simply turning into static noise. All you focused on was kissing her properly before you would never see her again.

So maybe that was why you could almost feel her moving her lips against yours, returning your kisses with a soft fervour that was so delicate you could have imagined it. A soft hum escaped your mouth as you traced your tongue against her lips, lost in her taste, her touch, her. And it was only when you felt a hand softly tracing up your spine that you realised you weren’t imagining it, that Abby was really kissing you back.

Almost as fast as it had started, you bolted up away from her mouth, a panicked gasp leaving your own. Your eyes darted around her face for signs that she was fully awake, and when you noticed her relaxed state, you let out a sigh of relief. While she may have been conscious enough to kiss you back, Abby was still too out of it to notice where the fuck she was (and why a mermaid was making out with her).

Thankfully, you had time. A very short amount, you realised, as you noticed Abby coming to much faster than before, but time to hide nonetheless. Reluctantly, you took your hands away from her face and moved her hand off your back, before glancing behind you to look for an escape route. And luckily, there was one. As you dragged yourself to the rock pools, you shot Abby one last, longing glance before turning back around and diving into the shallow water from a rock platform. Praying that you were fast enough, you whispered a goodbye to Abby before swimming away to your family, who were surely worried about your whereabouts by now.

And you were. Fast enough, that is. In fact, you were so swift with your departure that you had failed to stay around long enough and see Abby open her bleary eyes and take in her surroundings. But maybe that was a good thing considering how you would have gotten lost in their grey-blue beauty. And maybe you were lucky that Abby didn’t see you go, because the best explanation she could come up with as to how the fuck she didn’t die was simply that the tide had brought her to shore, somehow.

But, for some reason, Abby could not shake the feeling that she had been helped, and she could not shake the dream she had before waking up of someone before her, untying her ropes and caressing her face. She could not shake the feeling of scales morphing into soft skin against her hand as the moving it up higher and higher. And for some fucking reason, Abby could not, for the life of her, shake the feeling against her lips. Like they were kiss-bitten and tingling, and warmer than they should have been considering how cold the rest of her was.

Maybe, if Abby had focused on her surroundings more than her recollection, she would have noticed the obvious trail in the sand leading to the rock pools on her right. And noticed that strangely large tail peeking through the now settling swell in the distance - much to large to be a fish, but too colourful to be a dolphin’s, either. But no, all Abby could really focus on was how for some reason, that stupidly warm, soft feeling on her lips felt nice. Pleasurable, even. But also, how the fuck she was getting off this island.

#tlou2 #abby anderson #the last of us #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #the last of us 2 #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson tlou2 #wlw #sapphic #bisexual #lesbian

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wheeboo · 12 days

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laundry day | hansol vernon chwe

SYNOPSIS. in which it's laundry day and you're in a bit of an embarrassing predicament. PAIRING. hansol vernon chwe x gn!reader (however, sorta implied that reader is more leaning toward fem) GENRE. fluff, humour?, best friends/roommates to lovers WARNINGS. cursing, vernon is checking reader out lowkey, reader embarrassingly wears hello kitty underwear i don't make the rules, ik vernon is mainly chill but in this they bicker <3, this was very stupid n silly lmfao WORD COUNT. 1.6k

requested from @weird-bookworm: lemme be annoying already— noni + #16 and #59 from list 1!! - #16: "You hugged me like your personal pillow." - #59: "Laundry day doesn’t mean walking around in your underwear, but for you, I’ll make an exception."

notes: i'm never good with writing humour but i thought of this stupid scenario and idk how i feel BYEE (cuz ur girl lowkey struggled on figuring out how to put #59 in the story lmao) tysm for submitting this in sky <3 and ty @bananabubble for reading it over for me!

join the 2k celebration!

You are so stupid.

So fucking stupid.

How could you let yourself get carried away in loading all your laundry that you forgot to save a pair of pants to wear in the meantime?

You replay everything in your head: your overflowing, neglected laundry basket, the utter satisfaction you felt after loading it... right up until the moment you realised every single pair of pants you own was now basically swimming around in a goddamn whirlpool, and now you're left sporting nothing but your underwear and a shirt that didn't offer much coverage than expected.

You let out an annoyed groan, burying your face into your hands and mentally slapping yourself in the face. The chill of your room sends a trail of goosebumps running up the exposed skin of your legs. There really was nothing you could do but wait for your laundry to finish.

Then your head shoots back up, and maybe your bedroom lights up a bit brighter at your metaphorical lightbulb moment, because you think of Vernon. He's the only other option you have.

Tip-toeing up to your closed door, a bit of hesitancy gnaws at you for being so dumb, before you yell out, "Vernon!"

He's probably in the living room right now𑁋you can overhear the faint music of the record player the two of you snagged at this vintage thrift store the other week. A very good and lucky find, nonetheless.

Taking another (and maybe regrettable) deep breath, you call out again, a little louder this time. "Vernon! Can you hear me?"

The music seems to dip down slightly, and after a moment, the record stops spinning, replaced by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. You brace yourself for the door to swing open to reveal the embarrassing state you're in right now, but it doesn't.

Instead, you hear Vernon's voice respond to you through the door, "Yeah?"

"Uh..." You bite your lip because you can't believe you're about to ask this. "Do you have, um... a pair of pants or shorts I can borrow? I'll give it back to you tomorrow."

For a moment you think he didn't hear you because it's completely silent on the other side of the door, and it does absolutely nothing at calming down your racing heart. You see, you probably should be fine with walking around in your underwear with Vernon because he's your best friend and roommate and he definitely would not judge at all, but it's simply not that simple𑁋

"Did you, like, spill Monster on yourself again?" Vernon asks casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world that you would do (it's happened one too many times).

"Yes, I mean, no, I mean𑁋look, just fetch me a pair and I'll bring it back to you later?"

"Uh, yeah, about that..." He pauses. "I'm wearing my only pair right now since you loaded yours first."

You really should've considered that being best friends with Vernon meant collectively sharing the brain cell of procrastinating when it comes to doing your laundry. Great, just absolutely fantastic. This was very much how you wanted your day to go. Perhaps this is why you're best friends, after all.

"Well, shit," You murmur, more to yourself but Vernon hears it anyway.

"Look, I'm sure it's not that bad, right?" Does he seriously still think you spilled Monster on yourself? "You could probably just𑁋"

You can hardly act by the time the doorknob twists and Vernon peeks his head around the door. But the second he catches sight of you, his eyes flicker over you, before he quickly averts his gaze to the Radiohead poster on your wall. Was it the lighting in your room that's making his face look pink?

You stand there awkwardly, suddenly feeling so exposed in front of him as if some sort of gigantic spotlight was shining down on you. It's not like you haven't been half-naked around each other before, but this feels different... somehow. You don't know why, or maybe you don't want to know.

A cough erupts from Vernon, breaking the sudden silence.

"Oh, wow, um..." He toys with the black hoodie around his head. "I didn't look. I swear."

His eyes dart everywhere except back to you, lingering on the Radiohead poster, the slightly askew picture frame on your desk, just anywhere but you. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or embarrassed.

"Ugh, I'm so stupid." You run a frustrated hand through your hair. "And I have this meeting for work in an hour and I know the laundry won't be done by then. I'm actually screwed."

Vernon thinks for a minute. "You can't like... virtually attend the meeting?

"No."

"Or it can't be postponed?"

"Nope."

"What if I file you as a missing person to the police?"

"You're seriously no help, dude," You say, giving him a light shove to the shoulder, but it's hard to suppress the curve to your lips and the small chuckle that leaves your mouth when you see him fall back dramatically.

Vernon snorts lightly. "Well, it's probably better than showing up to work in your Hello Kitty underwear𑁋"

"You said you didn't look, you idiot!" You exclaim furiously, and Vernon literally does not see the way a pillow practically spawns in your grasp and flinging toward him before he can even react. The pillow hits him square in the chest, causing him to stumble backward with a surprised yelp. "Oh my god, just report me missing at this point."

Vernon just laughs as he catches his breath to stand back up, grabbing the pillow up the floor and lifting it up like a shield as if to defend himself from you. Your face is burning brighter than the lava lamp glowing on your bedside table.

"This is so embarrassing," You mutter sheepishly, wanting to unleash another defeated groan again. "I can't believe I'm this stupid to forget to..."

"You're cute."

"...and then I'm probably going to get fired𑁋what?"

Vernon tosses the pillow back onto your bed and clears his throat.

"I said you're really dumb."

That is not what he said.

For a second, the disastrous situation seems to lighten up just a little bit, and your heart is doing some intense, unrhythmic tap dance against your ribs. You heard exactly what he said𑁋that he called you cute in this ungodly predicament𑁋and now he's trying to brush it off?

Vernon cracks a teasing, boyish smile. "And stupid, yeah. You're not wrong about that."

You open your mouth to retort, but the words get caught in your throat, almost like a choked sound coming out instead. So you point an interrogative finger and step closer to him (and yes, still in your underwear), eyebrows furrowing together.

"You called me cute," You state, all firm and serious now.

Vernon's playful look falters slightly, expression shifting to something a bit more guarded now. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, that nervous habit you've always found sort of endearing throughout time. Perhaps there's a bit more meaning to it now.

The few moments of silence that follow is absolutely suffocating. You can't even tell if time is passing by quicker or slower as the two of you stand there, shifting this uncomfortable weight between both of your feet.

"Yeah," Vernon says simply, quietly. "I did."

You nearly want to laugh for some reason, but you can feel the nerves tickle up your spine. "I'm standing here in fucking Hello Kitty underwear and you think I'm cute?"

You can visibly see the way the lump in his throat tightens as he swallows, his eyes flickering uncertainly between you and the floor.

"Look you just... You caught me off-guard. Like... laundry day doesn't mean walking around in your underwear and all that," Vernon explains, in a tone like he's trying to reason with you. "but for you, I'll make an exception because𑁋"

"𑁋because I'm cute?"

"Because you're so stupidly cute from freaking out when I could just go to the store right now and buy you a pair of pants to wear." Then he sucks in a breath. "And yeah, the Hello Kitty underwear is cute, I guess."

You feign a shocked, traitorous look to your face. "You guess?! It's Hello Kitty, man."

"Dude, do you want me to snatch you some pants to wear or not? Because I'm deadass about the missing persons report," Vernon asks, half-annoyed yet somewhat half-amused. The twitch to his lips doesn't go unnoticed. And the voice of him calling you cute just minutes earlier also doesn't go unheard of too.

You wear a cringy, exaggerated pout to your lips. "Please."

Vernon's face contorts in slight disgust at that. "Please don't do that eve𑁋I'm leaving." And before you can say anything, he's turning around and leaving your room.

You hear the clinking of keys, assuming that Vernon is getting ready to leave to presumably retrieve you a pair of pants to wear for the day. You step up to your doorway to peek into the living room.

"Hey, I owe you!" You holler out to him. "Let me know how much it costs and I'll pay you back."

"No need," Vernon calls back over his shoulder.

"Come on, I'll feel bad," You insist, leaning against the doorframe. "I'll do anything, I swear."

Now that seems to intrigue him, and you watch the way Vernon slowly turns back to you, and maybe you're starting to regret ever saying that to him.

"Okay," he says lightly. "We're watching a movie tonight."

"A movie? What are we..." Then your eyes widen in realisation. "We are not watching Shrek again. I'll end up falling asleep on you because we've rewatched too much."

Vernon just shrugs. "Yeah, like last time. You hugged me like your personal pillow, remember?"

"I..." You stop yourself from responding immediately, feeling a flush creeping up your cheeks at the memory. "Fine, whatever. If I fall asleep again, you can just wake me up this time."

A low, thoughtful hum runs out of Vernon's mouth. "I mean, I really don't mind if you fall asleep, you know. If you're tired and stuff."

You blink up at him dazedly. "Really?"

"Yeah," he answers, and the corners of his lips lift up ever so slightly. "You're cute when you fall asleep on me, anyway."

another note: guys idk what i just wrote lol its like 90% dialogue n rushed HAHSADSA

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziesmei @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit @bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @tanya596carat @starshuas @totomoshi

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1whore1gang · 6 months

Text

I wanted to try something

NSFW WARNING MDNI!!!!

Soooo I’ve went down the rabbit hole of werewolf!TF141 and honestly I’ve had some ideas pop up, so uh yeah this is what my brain does when it gets on tumblr

Warnings: sex…full blown smut, fingering, p in v, all the warnings y’all,….. i think i used ‘pup’ in here somewhere

MDNI!! NSFW!!

Omega!Reader x Werewolf!141

written as a f!reader

It was like any other day, training with the 141. As the newest addition to this pack, you were pushed hard to be the best. Being one of two Omegas was even tougher, considering the other was your superior.

“Push harder rookie.” Soap’s voice rang out as you pulled yourself off the floor, exhausted and drenched in sweat. “Dig deep, you aren’t goin’ anywhere until you pin me down.”

You want to groan, complain, but you don’t. Instead you brace for impact as the sparing continues. Soap had you beat in just about every category when it came to fighting, this man was HUGE. You couldn’t keep up.

“I’m tapping out!” The words come out quick as Soap backs off.

“Already?” He questions. Soap was one of two members you’ve already met. You haven’t been here very long.

“Yeah, I’m calling it quits.” You push yourself onto your feet, panting. “You can’t expect this out of me on Day 3 can you?”

Soap only laughs, not even a glisten of sweat on him. “You’ll get there pup. Soon enough you’ll be able to take the big dogs down.”

Big dogs?? You think to yourself. There’s guys bigger than Soap here?

Meeting the rest of the team embarrassed you more than you care to admit. This team was graced with two alphas. When you got near the room they were in, every hair stood up on your body, their scent so strong it lingered down the hallway.

Weeks and months go by without a hitch, except for one, but we don’t talk about that…

You were sent on your first mission and it was the night prior when your whole world fell apart. You had just gotten out of the shower when your knees collapsed and your body felt like it was on fire.

“No, no, no…” You had felt sick the last couple of days but chalked it up to something you ate. You felt your skin becoming warm and damp with sweat as it all hit you.

You were in heat

You panicked, the pain engulfing every inch of you, the need for relief taking over your cognitive thinking.

You crawled over to your phone and texted the only person you could trust, the team Beta, Gaz.

Within minutes he was at your door, jumping inside your room to help you dress and get into bed. He was calm, assuring you it was all going to be alright.

That’s when you let out a horrific scream. You covered your mouth immediately, Gaz backing away. “What was that?”

Your eyes were wide. “I don’t know…”

You both froze in time, praying it didn’t draw either of you any unwanted attention. But, unbeknownst to you both, the other 3 men could smell you miles away.

Gaz stayed with you, trying to cool you off and keep you fed and hydrated, it was hours before another man showed up at your door….Soap.

He looked at you with worry, in his pajama pants and shirt. He didn’t even have shoes on…. “What’s going on? Your scent is intoxicating.” He slowly entered your room, approaching you with caution.

Gaz spoke for you, and when he did, Soap asked him to give you and him some space. Soap crawled in behind you, leaning your head against his chest. “Relax for me okay?” Soap was an Omega, just like you, but somehow his presence felt calming. It didn’t dull the ache you felt, but he brought a sense of peace to your mind.

Suddenly, you feel his hands roam down your body to your lounge pants and remove them down to your ankles, lifting your knees to spread your legs. “Do you trust me?”

You could only nod as the cold air of your room hit your bottom half. Soap’s hand took home inbetween your legs, his fingers entering you and filling the emptiness you’ve felt.

A moan left your lips as he moved, your head falling back to rest on his shoulder. Gaz watched on, waiting to be told how he could help.

As good as Soap’s fingers felt, you still felt the searing pain. It wasn’t doing anything to quell your problems. It caused you to question Soap’s methods.

But little did you know, Soap knew exactly what he was doing because it didn’t take long of his fingers in you until the two alphas appeared at your door. The sight before them causing them to become feral, primal even. “Look at that, they smelled us.” Soap smirked.

Looking at Price and Ghost, you couldn’t help but feel a bit exposed, but their presence brought a newfound relief to you.

Price moved first, coming to hover above you against Soap’s chest, his hand brushing your hair down as he spoke softly: “We’re gonna take care of ya.”

Price slowly moved Soap’s hand away, putting his own palm flat against you. His middle finger swiped up, taking in the feeling of you. His eyes closed as he buried himself in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

Before you knew it, Ghost was now in place of Soap, his hips rutting against your ass, his hands on your chest. You had found yourself sandwiched between the two alphas. You were drinking in every moment.

Price slowly warned you as he moved, slowly letting you adjust to his size, purring in your ear: “That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

Ghost took care of every other area of your body, slowly caressing you in every way. His fingers grazed over your nipples and eventually would travel down to your clit to help you along.

Between both of them, it didn’t take long for you to come undone. Price continued through to his own release, burying himself deep inside you. The feeling was unlike anything.

The sounds you let out as the fiery pain left your body we’re heaven to the men’s ears. Price quickly moved to help clean you up as Ghost covered you with the hoodie he had been wearing. Ghost had marked your sheets with his scent, leaving you surrounded with it.

As soon as you were clean, the alphas left without another word, Gaz quickly coming to your aid with food and water while Soap sat with you, massaging your sides. They kept you company until you had fallen asleep, and they returned to their own rooms.

#captain price x reader #soap mactavish smut #tf141 x reader #soap mactavish x reader #call of duty mw2 #werewolf!soap #werewolf au #simon riley x reader #alpha man #modern warefare 2 x reader #tf 141 x reader

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wynnyfryd · 6 months

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Trailer park Steve AU part 8

part 1 | part 7 | ao3

He finds himself on Cherry Drive by muscle memory alone. Quarter mile past Maple Street, take the third left, the second right; drive straight through the next stop sign and suddenly the Hagan house is coming into view around the bend, bathed in dim yellow light from a flickering street lamp. A 50s era ranch house, painted brick with a detached one-car garage, weeds sprouting through the crooked old stones of the front walkway and leaves scattered across the lawn in mushy browns and orange-reds.

It's not as nice as Steve's place is.

Was.

Whatever.

Steve blinks, shakes himself fully awake; feels a jolt of fear at the idea that he just drove here in some kind of fugue state because he doesn't know what he's doing here. Tommy left for college, and fuck Tommy, anyway.

He pulls up to the house. Slows the car to a crawl.

It's dark inside, all the lights turned off except for a single table lamp in the entryway window; shaped like a sea turtle, its belly full of blue-green light. Mrs. H. loves the sea.

He wonders if they're out of town or if they're just asleep.

The Hagans go to bed early, he remembers. He spent so many nights talking in a hush in Tommy's room; 8:45pm and they'd be lying side by side on the floor beside his bed, reading comic books or sports mags and whispering about nothing. Tommy'd always thank Steve for coming over because he knew his house was a little boring; he was the kid with old parents who went to bed early and kept the radio turned down and wouldn't let them have sugary snacks even on the weekends. Steve would always just knock their shoulders together and smile 'don't mention it' because he'd hang out with Tommy anywhere.

"Anywhere?" "Yeah, anywhere." "What about in a cave?" "Sure." "Under a bridge?" "Don't see why not." "In the belly of a whale?" "Now you're just being dumb." "Am not!" "Are, too." "Oh, yeah? Well- shut up!"

That was usually the part where they got in trouble for making noise, caught red-faced and laughing while they wrestled on the floor.

There's warmth in his chest at the memory, and that part, he expects.

But also...

Something about it makes heat flare in his gut, shameful and feverish as it flashes through his mind: the phantom press of Tommy above him as he pinned his shoulders down; the way the flush on his cheeks made Tommy's freckles pop; the breathless smile he gave, so close their noses almost brushed...

A light turns turns on in the Hagans' hall.

Steve hits the gas.

He drives for a long while, feeling like an asshole for burning through their precious gas money, but too— too something to fully care. He's alone on a highway with dark pastures blowing by, with the heat on and windows down, and he's circling back toward home when Bruce Springsteen starts to play, all croaky static over the spotty radio.

Born down in a dead man's town. The first kick I took was when I hit the ground.

Steve cranks it up and sings along. The song is cheesy, and he feels stupid, but he also feels free. Like there was a shackle around his throat and he didn't notice until it was gone. He shouts along to the chorus and then just shouts in general; long, guttural screams that feel like poison being purged. Tommy, his dad, the Russians, his mom. All of it, all of it spewing out of him into the cold night air.

He misses Carol suddenly. Her acidic attitude. The way it always ate through the worst of his sullen moods.

He can picture her now: perched on someone's lap in the crowded backseat, no seatbelt, manicured hand braced on the ceiling. She'd be smacking bubblegum and twirling a lock of her hair, and she'd roll her eyes at Steve's dramatics and ask whether he was done untwisting his panties yet. Steve would say something dumb and pervy in response, like, "Too busy dealing with girls' panties to focus on my own," and she'd roll her eyes harder and go, "God, you're fucking gross."

Carol's not here, though, so he just screams about her, too.

When he get back to Forest Hills his voice is hoarse. His body is tired; his soul is light. He's thinking, like: maybe he'll be okay. He'll channel his inner Claudia or Joyce and soldier on. Resilience, and all that shit.

He's almost smiling to himself when he turns into the park.

And then he sees the flashing lights.

There's an ambulance on his lot.

—

part 9

just gonna start tagging whoever commented the day before (if your settings will let me) bc i have the memory of a goldfish @a-little-unsteddie @slowandsteddie @pennyplainknits @thesuninyaface @hotluncheddie @messrs-weasley @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @blackpanzy @disrespectedgoatman @i-have-three-feelings @sirsnacksalot @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #tommy hagan #carol perkins #my writing #my fics #angst

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erikatsu · 8 months

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LIGHT MY FIRE LIKE A CIGARETTE — YINGXING

ᥫ᭡ SUMMARY: a surprise visit to yingxing’s shop on his lunch break leaves you full, but not in the way you imagined.

ᥫ᭡ PAIRING: yingxing/blade x fem!reader

ᥫ᭡ WARNINGS: [n]sfw. fingering. brief oral (fem! receiving). quickie. semi-public + clothed sex. multiple orgasms. implied established relationship. reader’s in a dress. yingxing is a little shit. creampie. technically baby trapping but reader’s a vidyadhara so there’s that. super self indulgent. mdni.

ᥫ᭡ SERIES MASTERLIST.

a soft sigh leaves your mouth, eyes falling shut when yingxing’s lips met your neck. the back of his shop was disgustingly hot, but it was the only place the two of you could find privacy. it wasn’t like you even came here to be put in the position you were in, but he couldn’t help himself when he saw you wearing his favorite sundress of yours. now here you were, propped up on his work bench with your dress hiked up and one of his hands exploring underneath the fabric of your panties.

weapons and curios had been tossed aside or to the floor, giving him plenty of room to fit himself between your thighs. if you ever had any doubts before about how good he was with his hands, you did now. the dexterity in his fingers alone was enough to have you on the edge almost as soon as he pushed two of them inside you. he was a master craftsman after all, leaving him able to quickly learn about what he was working with and your body was no exception. it took him no time to learn what made you tick, and it came in handy when he was short on time like he was now.

it wouldn’t be long before the apprentices came in to inform him of their breaks, and how fair would it be to you if you didn’t get off just so he could satiate his own needs?

he moved quickly, his fingers finding that sweet spot with ease. you couldn’t help the gasp the rolled off your lips, trying to keep quiet since you knew the others were still working. his breath was hot against you skin as he chuckled, “they’ll never let you live it down if they hear you, sweetheart.”

you knew that, but you couldn’t help it. no matter how hard you tried, you always seemed to be putty in his hands and you knew he loved to hear it. it was clear in the way he was nipping at your skin, and curling his fingers against your tight walls– antagonizing you to the point where you couldn’t keep yourself composed. you bit down on your lip, wrapping you arms around his shoulders before you were coming undone in his hand.

he placed a sloppy kiss against your mouth before pulling away and licking you off his fingers. you had no time to prepare before he dove down, running his tongue over your wet folds. you whimpered, thighs trying to squeeze together when lips found your clit– sucking and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud. it was almost as if he were trying to get you to be loud, showing his apprentices you were the greatest curio he ever had the pleasure of handling.

but it wasn’t as if you weren’t enjoying yourself. you were aching, nearly gushing as he teased you with his mouth. your hand had wound itself into his silky white hair, pushing his head down even though he couldn’t go any further.

all too soon he was moving back, glancing up at you with desire flooding his lilac eyes. your juices were running down his chin, which he didn’t even bother to wipe away as he undid the button of his pants. he gripped your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the work bench. a yelp of surprise left you, and you glared at him knowing he did that on purpose. but, he didn’t quite seem to care. he was too busy working his cock free from his boxers to be phased by your mad look. it didn’t take much to get it to go away either– running his leaky tip over your entrance before pushing himself into you.

you inhaled sharply, hands flying up to brace yourself against his shoulders. you stared at him wide eyed, moving your hands up to cup his cheeks. you pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing your lips against his. he sank further in as you used your legs to guide him and you moaned against his mouth as if it would help muffle the sound.

one of his hands kept a firm hold on your waist, the other coming down to rub his thumb over your clit. you whimpered in response, still sensitive from his actions just minutes ago. you almost couldn’t take it when he finally started to move his hips, steadily building up his rhythm and rutting into you until he couldn’t reach any further.

you lied back, bringing him with you. you wound your arms around his shoulders again, breaking the kiss to bury your face in the crook of his neck to quiet the choked whine that left you. he was grinding against you, grunting lowly when he felt you tighten around his cock. he swore under his breath, losing control of his hips as you sighed out his name.

your breathing quickened, evolving into airy gasps as you came for a second time. you shuddered under him, toes curling and back arching before your hold on him loosened altogether and you laid your head back. you sucked in a deep breath which was followed by panting and a dizzy feeling clouding your mind. you barely registered the sloppy kiss he placed on your lips, along with the way he whispered, “m’gonna cum,” into it.

he didn’t stop, cock twitching as he filled your cunt with his cum. he pulled out, his fingers quick to catch what began to drip out. he pushed it back inside, curling his fingers a few times for good measure. he pulled your panties back in place before helping you sit up and straightening himself up.

“dinner, tonight,” he wrapped his arms around you and placed a gentle kiss to your lips. “and after, i’ll be sure to take my time with you.”

#blade smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #yingxing x reader #blade x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #blade x you #hsr x you #[ ❀ ] – sunflower series

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leaentries · 3 months

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out of line | nico hischier

summary: when his girl finds the ring, it doesn’t end like he had hoped.

warnings: mostly angst, swearing, this does have a happy ending (im sorry i couldnt leave my babies in dispair)

wc: 1.9k+

a/n: i’m sorry in advance, i feel like i don’t write angst that well…but i hope you enjoy regardless

the captain’s girl masterlist

Heaviness lay in thick blankets around the room, almost like the inches of sand that covered the expanse of beach outside. Your throat felt tight at the intense gaze Nico was blazing at you. It wasn’t often the two of you fought, but it sure hurt like hell when you did.

Shuddered breaths heaved in your chest, hands pricking at your nails. It all felt like a nightmare. Except, you weren’t waking up.

Tension had been rising for days, emotions only growing as you and Nico danced around each other. You had refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room, or rather, the ring.

You loved Nico, with everything in your being, but you weren’t ready for marriage. Not yet anyway. Nico had always seemed so understanding about you choosing to wait a few more years before doing anything rash. Yet now, you weren’t so sure.

With Nico inviting you to come along for the trip during bye-week, you couldn’t have been more ecstatic. The thought of being able to spend an entire week with your boyfriend was like a breath of much needed fresh air. And it was, for the first few days.

At least until Wednesday.

❥.

Nico had gone out with some of the guys, promising to be back by 4 at the latest. Not that you minded much, getting the very nice and very expensive villa to yourself for a while was enticing.

After an hour or so in the sun, you decided to take a little break and use the giant bathtub that had been screaming your name since you had arrived. Grabbing your bag and some clothes, you made your way to the en-suite, making sure to leave the door slightly cracked, just in case Nico got home.

You turned on the faucet, making sure the water temperature was just right, before stripping yourself and sinking into the welcoming space. Closing your eyes, you sunk your body lower into the water, until it brushed against your chin with any movement. The motion of the slight waves was like a massage to your sore, sun-burnt skin.

You remained in the tub until the water ran cold and your skin began to get pruny. You pulled the drain, before carefully getting out and wrapping yourself in the closest towel. Walking over to the counter, you rummaged through your bag, trying to find your face wash, yet coming up empty handed.

You rolled your eyes, realizing you must have left it somewhere. Although, it was just a minor inconvenience, since you and Nico both used the same brand, so you weren’t worrying too much.

Squatting down to open the cabinet under the sink, you pulled out Nico’s black bag, quickly opening it to find the familiar bottle. You began to pull stuff out, before a little velvet box fell onto the tile beneath you.

Your breath caught in your throat, hoping it isn’t what you think it is. Nico knew you wanted to marry him, but not now, not during the peak of his career and your schooling. It just wasn’t what you saw for yourself. Shakily reaching down to grab the box, you stood up, scared to open it.

You almost opted to put it back, knowing that if it was an engagement ring, your relationship would never go back to the way it was. This would bring up a new wave of emotions and obstacles. It would open up a door you didn’t know if you could close.

Bracing yourself against the counter, you slowly opened the box. Gleaming back at you, in all its glory, was the most beautiful ring you could have imagined. It was the perfect ring. But this only made it hurt worse. Just picturing Nico picking out a the cut of diamond you had always wanted, or the band color, had your heart clenching with sadness.

You knew you were gonna have to talk to him about it, before he did something that neither of you would be able to walk away from unscathed.

It was the only option to save your relationship. To save Nico.

Sighing, you swiftly get dressed, placing the box back on the counter, hoping that Nico would realize you had found it. Now this may seem cowardly, but it was truly what you thought would be best. At least then, the blow would be softer than a straight out rejection.

You figured that if you prompted him to bring up the ring, the conversation would be easier. Only, he never brought it up. You could tell he knew, by the way he was so cautious with anything he did around you past 48 hours. This only caused your heartache to worsen.

Eventually, the tension came to a boiling point. Having just got home from a private dinner, you can’t help but feel as though Nico had originally planned for more to come from that picture perfect beachfront sunset. Deep down, you didn’t need to guess, you knew.

This was the night Nico was supposed to propose.

You felt conflicted as you entered the living room in silence. On one hand, you felt relieved he didn’t get down on one knee, yet on the other, you felt guilty for hoping the man you loved wouldn’t confess his undying loyalty to you. Your chest tightened with emotion.

“Can we not do this anymore?”

Nico’s voice rang out, interrupting your battling thoughts. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Not do what, Neeks?”

“Not sit here and pretend you didn’t find the ring, or that I wasn’t gonna propose to you.”

There it was. The bomb finally dropped. With those few words, the harsh truth of the situation became real. All of it did. No matter how hard you tried to remain in denial, or refuse to acknowledge it, reality always finds a way to bite back.

You bit your lip, contemplating on how to begin voicing your side, “Nico, what you need to understand is-”

He cut you off, “I do understand, Y/n. But you told me about your whole “plan” 2 years ago when we first got together.” His chest heaved with despair, “I thought you’d change your mind by now.”

“My plan? My plan was never going to change. You can’t be upset with me, when you were the one who assumed I’d say yes.”

Nico felt his heart shatter at your words, anger quickly began to boil through his veins, “Of course I’d assume you’d say yes,” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “I mean, fuck, we live together. We do everything with each other. I’m sorry for wanting to take that step with you, truly I am.”

His sarcasm didn't get lost on you. Scoffing, you turned away from him.

“Nico, you’re not listening to me-“

“What’s there to hear?” He cut you off once more, arms flaring into the air, “That you don’t want to marry me? God forbid someone actually wants to love you.”

You spin back around, tears springing to your eyes, “You are so out of line right now, Nico.”

Yet, your shaky tone did nothing to calm him.

“How am I out of line? For loving you?”

Disbelief was written all over your face. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend the intensity of it all. Nico’s harsh comments pelted through any sort of resolve you had left. Never once did you think Nico would say something like that. Especially knowing your past. It stung worse than any pain you could imagine.

“T-That’s not fair,” You quivered, “And you know it.”

Nico’s tense form deflated at your meek voice. The anger that once flowed through him like hot lava, has now receded, leaving nothing but spiky coldness and depression. He felt lost, plagued by the possibility of not spending the rest of his life with you.

He gingerly walked across the room, now standing directly parallel to you, “Why?” His voice was distant and cracking under the weight of his emotions, “Why won’t you marry me, schatzi?”

The use of the familiar nickname was enough to break you. Sobs wracked through your body, knees becoming shaky. Nico immediately engulfed you in his arms, cradling you against his chest like it was the last time he’d ever feel you. You felt Nico’s own tears fall freely, the hurt grasping you both. Heavy cries left Nico’s chest, only furthering your guilt.

“I’m so sorry, Nico!” You blubbered hopelessly, “I love you so m-much, I just,” Your sentence was cut short by the rapid hiccups in your breath.

Nico’s hands moved to gently hold your face, pulling it to meet his bloodshot eyes. His cheeks were red and puffy, wet tracks trailing down to his chin, but you knew you didn't look much better. He tried his best to calm your breathing, even through his own unsteady gasps. After a few minutes, you found yourself composed enough to continue.

“I don’t know,” You admitted weakly, “I don’t know why I don’t want to marry you, Neeks. I’m just not ready, yet.”

Nico took a second to mull over your words. He dropped his hands from your face, leaving you distraught at the possibility of him being even more upset. He quickly turned, retreating to your shared bedroom. You felt your throat squeeze, a new wave of anxiety washing over you.

Finding the courage to follow him, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs.

You made your way over to him, perching on your knees in front of his legs. He lifted his head, pain written all over his handsome features. Your body physically ached at the amount of hurt swimming in his doe eyes. You cursed yourself for being the cause of it. Nico reached out to slowly like he’d spook you if he moved too quickly. He pulled you to stadle his waist, big eyes drilling into yours.

He dropped his head in shame, “I’m sorry, schatzi.”

You swallowed thickly, having not expected an apology.

“I should have talked to you about it first. I-I just got excited when we finally started talking about the future, I thought you had changed your mind.”

You relaxed slightly, realizing he wasn’t gonna end things, “Don’t be sorry,” You rasped, voice hoarse from crying, “I should have made it clearer.”

Lifting his face, you forced him to look at you, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get married eventually, Neeks. I promise, I do. Just-,” You looked at his hopeful gaze, “Just not right now.”

He nodded slightly, understanding your words.

Your eye flickered from his eyes to his lips, before carefully placing a delicate kiss. Nico responded almost immediately, hands pulling you deeper. The kiss was slow and passionate. The days of bottled-up emotions pouring into each other's mouths. You slipped your hands into the back of his hair, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

You eventually pulled away for air, chests panting. You sat for a moment, just taking in the other’s body. Nico was the first to break the silence.

“Can you promise me something, schatzi?” Nico begged.

You nodded quickly, “Anything.”

“Promise you’ll marry me someday.” He swallowed, face falling into a serious expression.

You smiled slightly at his lingering worry. You kissed him once more as reassurance, before pulling away just enough to speak.

“I promise I’ll marry you someday, Neeks.”

#the captain’s girl au!#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier angst #njd #new jersey devils #leawrites💋

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neostrayteez · 1 year

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PLAY MY WAY

PAIRING. mark lee x female reader

WORD COUNT. 5.9k

SUMMARY. you never met a guy you couldn’t score and church boy Mark is no exception, but he may end up surprising you.

WARNINGS. smut, profanity

PLAYLIST. “serial lover” by kehlani

ONLY WAKE ME UP IF YOU CAN TAKE THAT SHIT UNDERSTAND YOU’RE ENTERING AT YOUR OWN RISK

The moment you saw Mark, you knew you had to have him.

Not because he was cute, which he definitely was. And not because he laughed at all your jokes, even the bad ones. But because he was a good little Christian boy, yet there was something in his eyes that told you he would burn down everything he believed in for the right girl.

Mark thanked God for everything - the food his mother spent hours preparing, the clothes his father paid for, even the goddamn sunny weather when rain was expected. It was annoying and made your eyes roll back in your head.

You, on the other hand, despised everything about religion. Especially its misogynistic rules on what you could and couldn’t do with your own body. Sitting through a sermon on chastity (or any subject, for that matter) was far worse than sitting in hell beside the devil himself, you mused.

So, when you excitedly asked to go to church camp, your parents could hardly believe it. A whole week of preaching and bible thumping? Maybe one message would finally get through to you.

Little did they know, you were a girl on a mission.

First, you wanted to know if Mark actually believed the bullshit he so fervently said. Secondly, and much more importantly, you wanted to know if getting him between your thighs would be as much of a fun challenge as you hoped.

From the moment camp kicked off, you had every innocent excuse ready to be near Mark. You needed a prayer partner, because you weren’t very good at asking God for things. You needed a peer to counsel you, because you were struggling in your faith, but the older leaders were too intimidating.

Mark was all too happy to be everything you needed.

You were careful not to be too clingy, avoiding and ignoring Mark in between your moments together, creating a push and pull dynamic that definitely caught his attention, because Mark would start searching for you when you weren’t leaning on him for guidance.

And by day four, you had him.

Mark moaned as he slid inside you, fingers digging painfully into your hips.

You sucked in a breath, feeling yourself stretching around him, and tightened your fist in his hair, your arms around his shoulders. “Just like that, baby,” you purred, nibbling at his ear. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

Mark braced a hand on the wall behind you and groaned, “So good.”

If you had told Mark that morning he would be having sex in a tiny closet crammed full with craft materials and weird stuffed animals staring at him, he would have laughed in your face. But there was no resisting you.

Mark was hooked to the sound of your laugh, to the twinkle in your eye when you smiled at him. He knew deep down you didn’t give a shit about God, but he would eat up any opportunity to be near you, to feel even the slightest brush of your skin against his.

When you took him by the hand and asked him to follow you, Mark’s body was already moving before his brain could comprehend what it all meant.

You had kissed him with a passion Mark wasn’t familiar with, because he’d never known it. He’d kissed girls before, little pecks here and there, but this was something entirely different. You were kissing him like there would be nothing left of him when you were done.

Mark had groaned when you palmed him over his jeans and he didn’t stop you when you began unfastening his belt. The taste of you on his tongue was too addicting; he didn’t want it to end. The warmth of your body against his was more intoxicating than any alcohol he’d tried. Just the feeling of your breasts pushed against his chest as you kissed him was enough to get him hard.

The moment Mark sheathed himself to the hilt inside you, he knew he was fucked. Literally, but also in every other definition of the word.

You knew the chances of an orgasm on your part were slim, but you didn’t care. You were getting off in other ways. You wanted Mark to come and you wanted it to break him.

The closet was dimly lit. Your naked ass was propped on a cabinet against the wall, your skirt hiked around your waist as Mark tentatively thrust inside you again, your thighs hooked on his hips. You found purchase in his shoulders as you tucked your face in the crook of his neck and let a sound of pleasure escape you.

“Fuck,” Mark said, his voice low and raspy in your ear. The heat of your breath on his skin sent a shiver down his spine. He moved slowly inside you, drawing his hips back to push in again. He was trying to savor it, make it last.

You smiled, a little smug and even more surprised. You expected him to go hard and fast, too fucked out by the vice of your body. A pleasure he had never felt before.

Mark snapped his hips harder and liked the noise you made when he did. So he did it again and again, until the cabinet beneath you started to creak with his movements. He shifted his footing, cursing his pants pooled too snugly around his ankles that threw him off rhythm.

“Mark,” you whined, grazing your teeth at the base of his shoulder. You felt his body tensing under your hands and you smoothed them down his back to calm him.

Mark lifted his head and tossed the hair out of his eyes, staring into your face and wondering what the fuck someone as beautiful as you saw in him that you would let him be inside you like this.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly. The look on his face was something you hadn’t seen before. You didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t the lust you’d come to expect from boys that got to touch you.

It was more like reverence.

Rather than get into all the feelings rushing through him with the same intensity his pulse was pounding through his body, Mark said, “You promise you’re on birth control?”

You snorted. “Mark, I would not be letting you hit it raw right now if I didn’t have an IUD inside me.”

“Does it hurt?”

“My doctor was nice enough to numb my cervix before putting it in.”

You assumed, since Mark was still sinking his cock in and out of you at a languid pace, that the sudden need for conversation was to distract himself from how close he was and you wouldn’t hold it against him.

Mark bottomed out inside your wet, tight sex and stilled. He wanted so badly to kiss you, but he was a coward. “No, I mean, me,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Am I hurting you?”

You blinked. Tilting your head, you asked, “Do you want it to hurt?”

Some boys did. You knew that. But Mark shook his head immediately.

You dragged your nails down his spine, getting ahold of his hips and drawing him flush against you, chest to chest, nose to nose. Kissing the corner of his mouth, you whispered, “It’s deep. And tight.”

“Fuck,” Mark huffed, smashing his lips on yours. He couldn’t resist anymore.

You closed your eyes and let yourself feel him, whimpering into his mouth when he started thrusting into you again, smooth but hard. Mark swallowed every sound you made, holding you to him so tightly it was almost painful.

This was what made life worth living - the toe-curling pleasure of him fitting so perfectly inside you, completing you and making you whole again. His cock dragging against your sweet spot almost rivaled the high that came with knowing you had conquered another boy.

Mark moaned into your mouth and broke from your kisses. His gaze fell to your swollen lips. They were parted, endless soft noises of pleasure rolling off your tongue with every stroke of his cock. He shivered at that, knowing he made you feel good.

You grabbed Mark’s arms for dear life when he began fucking into you like he would never get the chance again. A victorious grin spread across your lips when his groans pitched higher and higher, his pace jarring you on the cabinet as he lost himself to the euphoria that was your body.

“Come for me, baby,” you crooned in his ear and Mark shattered in your arms.

He released inside you with a mangled cry, a groan catching in his chest, hips smacking into you messily to empty his load until he was totally spent.

Mark’s mind went blank except for pleasure. He couldn’t think and he sure as hell couldn’t breathe. The high took over every inch of his body and ruined him, making him shake down to his very core.

You snickered quietly, tempted to tease him for how hard he came, but held your tongue. Mark slumped against you, burying his face in your breasts, hands braced on opposite sides of your hips as he panted for oxygen. You kept running your fingers over his hot skin, soothing him, and whispered, “My sweet little virgin no more.”

Mark was relieved you were still holding onto him, even as he went soft inside you. He wasn’t ready to be parted yet. From this feeling. From you.

Get it together, he told himself and finally staggered out of your arms to begin fixing his clothes.

Mark couldn’t meet your eyes, because he’d realized that thanks to the intensity of his climax, he wasn’t sure if you’d finished too. He did shyly ask if you were alright and you told him you were fine. He didn’t need to know you were fighting a giggle at his expense. The boy was so fucked out. Mark was seeing you - and probably his life - though brand new eyes.

It was all a lie. He didn’t get struck by a bolt of lighting from heaven for having sex. Though whether or not he would burst into flames when he walked into church remained to be seen.

After finding your panties on the floor, slipping them on and adjusting your skirt, you sauntered out of the closet without a word and went about your day. You didn’t like to linger and began the long walk to your cabin for a well-deserved shower.

You weren’t surprised that instead of afterglow, there was awkwardness on Mark’s part. It was to be expected for someone who had surrendered their precious virtue. What did surprise you, however, was that you kept thinking about Mark after you left him. That wasn’t like you. You assumed the attraction to him would go away once you’d gotten what you wanted, but no - you found yourself eyeing him from across the way.

Wanting him.

No one had ever looked at you the way Mark did. Other boys focused on your body and all its power, but Mark stared into your eyes. He kissed you recklessly, driven within an inch of madness. Like he was fighting for his life and only you could save him.

Get a grip, you told yourself, the low monotone of another preacher humming like static in your ears as you replayed the memory of Mark fucking you in your head. It made the evening sermon easier to get through.

Mark, despite being at the other end of the row of chairs, could hardly breathe with the heavy tension in his chest. He wanted to stand up and shout at the top of his lungs, “What are we?!”

But he already knew. Out of the two of you, he was the only one thinking about that closet and the secrets it kept inside. You had already moved on and Mark felt totally discarded. He fell asleep that night to a fantasy of you sleeping in his arms.

Ever a loner, you kept to yourself. You had two more days to get through of this stupid camp, but you were satisfied. You’d accomplished what you came there to do.

Sitting at one of the tables outside, the pages of your bible that you had never opened flapping in the wind, you played on your phone and nearly jumped out of your skin when someone slid unannounced into the spot beside you.

“Jesus Christ, Mark,” you exclaimed, setting down your phone. The anger swiftly left your face when you realized how close he was to you and goddamn, why did he smell so good? Your heart was dancing in your chest, much to your annoyance.

Mark had been watching you from afar, catching himself smiling at the way you tucked your hair behind your ear as it swept up in the breeze and how you kept nibbling on your lip as you concentrated on your phone. He decided, at the sight of you, that he wasn’t happy with being discarded.

And he didn’t like that he was falling apart at the seams while you went along like nothing happened.

“I think we should pray together,” Mark said under his breath. You didn’t come to him anymore, for prayer or guidance or advice. Mark felt invisible now and for someone that had been inside you, that seemed unfair.

The anger instantly returned to your face. You rolled your eyes and focused on your phone again. “I think you should suck my dick,” you deadpanned.

If you had one, Mark probably would. He’d never felt about anyone the way he felt about you, but he persisted. “What we did was wrong.”

Like hell it was, you wanted to say. If it was wrong, why did it feel so right? Why were you craving for it like an addict after a high?

You didn’t look up and said in the most disinterested tone you could muster, “Give me one non-religious reason that having sex with me was wrong.”

“We’re not married.”

“Marriage is a piece of paper used by the government for tax purposes.”

“We don’t even love each other.”

“Love and sex are two different things. They are not mutually exclusive.”

Mark knew he would lose this argument, if he hadn’t already. You would have an answer for everything, because you were a girl set in your ways after years of experience. You were the total opposite of him and yet, you were what Mark wanted.

And what he wanted to be - free.

“I’m thinking about you,” Mark confessed in a soft whisper, because it rebelled against everything he’d been taught. “Constantly and in very bad ways.”

That made you finally lift your head and look at him, lips pulling into a devilish grin. “Glad to be of service.”

Mark scowled. “This isn’t funny.”

“I think it’s fucking hilarious,” you shot back, turning toward him more directly. He was already wilting beside you. You knew exactly how a boy looked when he wanted to fuck you. “You’re having an existential crisis about getting your cherry popped, aren’t you?”

Rather than get angry or annoyed, Mark looked sad. His expression sank and he asked, “Didn’t you? Don’t you feel even the tiniest bit of shame?”

That made you bristle. They always resorted to shaming after they had their way with you. You wouldn’t relent. “No. Why should I?”

You expected him to quote the bible. You expected him to rant about purity. You fully believed he would chide you for stealing his virginity. You were prepared for that. It would bounce off you like arrows on a wall, because you’d heard it all before and you would never let a boy’s words hurt you.

Instead, Mark sighed, “Because it’s supposed to be a sacred thing between two people.”

Your eyes flickered. Your mind scrambled for a witty retort, but for the first time in your young adult life, you came up empty. That’s when you realized you were looking at Mark differently.

This wasn’t purity culture talking. It was just a boy wanting to be loved.

At your silence, Mark seemed to gather he had you on the ropes and he leaned in closer, close enough to kiss you, but he didn’t dare. Not out in the open like this. But he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t want to kiss you until you fell in love with him.

“I took advantage of you and I’m sorry,” Mark started.

Anger reared its ugly head again and you glared at him, snapping, “You did not take advantage of me, Mark. I’ve been trying to fuck you since the moment I met you.”

Mark’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide.

You smiled at getting the upper hand again. “What if I told you that after you filled me up, I got in the shower and touched myself to thoughts of you, and came so hard I screamed your name?”

Mark swallowed the lump in his throat. He really was an idiot to think he could ever beat you at your own game. “...Stop.”

“No,” you said, staring him down. “I’m trying to save you from a lifetime of being made to feel guilty about sex. About intimacy. They want you to feel guilty about being a goddamn human. Don’t you get that?”

Mark opened his mouth to answer. To tell you that you were winning. You were shaking him down to his foundation.

Something that felt so good couldn’t be bad.

“Mark!”

Both of you turned to see one of the youth leaders, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Given how close you and Mark were to each other, you should have known it would draw some unwanted attention.

“That’s my cue,” you said, packing up your stuff and leaving Mark alone with his thoughts.

Mark hung his head. Being close to you made him feel whole again. You’d taken a piece of him and it went with you whenever you parted.

“Jezebel,” the leader hissed as you walked by.

“In the flesh,” you retorted proudly.

But the moment you were hidden in your cabin and sitting on the edge of your bed, tears pricked at your eyes.

It’s supposed to be a sacred thing between two people, Mark said. You were thinking about the way he’d looked at you. It hadn’t left your mind since you left that damn closet with him.

For once, you felt like a thief. You’d stolen something precious from him. Mark just wanted a connection with you, a connection with the person he was intimate with.

But a connection was what you’d learned to avoid most, because boys always ended up changing their mind once you’d given all you had to give.

Except Mark. You’d given him your body and he still wanted more. Boys weren’t interested in your heart or your mind, but Mark was. You thought about all the times you talked with him. Even though you had ulterior motives for it, Mark listened to you. He never interrupted or spoke over you.

Mark cared.

I’m thinking about you - constantly. Mark had said that too. It would seem both of you were in the same boat about each other. Confused and lonely boats adrift at sea, passing in the night.

You skipped dinner and feigned stomach problems when the evening service rolled around, because you didn’t trust yourself to lay eyes on Mark and not burst into tears. You’d hurt a sweet boy that didn’t deserve it, who deserved much better than the likes of you.

The counselors didn’t argue. One look at you curled up in fetal position in your bunk and staring at the wall was enough for them to leave you alone.

It was nice being the only person outside while everyone was in church. You sat on the front steps of the cabin with your arms around your knees and watched the beautiful sunset, enjoying the quiet and trying not to think about Mark. To no avail.

You wondered if he noticed your absence and if he cared. If Mark came looking for you to ask if you were okay, you would probably crumble. It was hard accepting someone cared about you after all you’d ever done was take care of yourself.

Yes, Mark noticed. Yes, he felt like dying. He regretted confronting you that afternoon, but he’d wanted to apologize. It felt empty and worthless now, honestly. Like all he’d done was make things worse.

Mark asked one of the girls in your cabin about you and she told him you were refusing to get out of bed. That told Mark all he needed to know and it made hope spark in his chest that maybe you were down bad for him like he was for you.

The next morning, you were deemed well enough to attend the early service. Unfortunately, because you’d spent all night thinking about Mark - or trying desperately not to think about the feelings you were growing for him - you fell asleep barely ten minutes into it.

Turns out, youth leaders got really peeved when someone was caught either sleeping or playing on their phone during a sermon. If they only knew you’d had sex too. You sat through a stern scolding, which you gleefully ignored, and then you were sentenced to an hour of solitary time in the chapel.

Hurt me some more, you thought with a chuckle. So, you sat on the front row, leaned back and made yourself comfortable, and zoned out. Once again, enjoying the peace and quiet of being alone.

At this point, you wondered if they would hold a gun to your head to try and make you talk to God.

Toward the end of your delightful punishment, a familiar voice called your name.

You opened your eyes and sat up sharply, gathering your things. “What do you want, Mark?” Your tone had an edge. You weren’t in the mood for a lecture.

“You.”

You glanced up at him as he approached you, hinged on whatever he said next like your heart depended on it.

Mark looked like he hadn’t slept a wink either. “I just want you,” he whispered softly.

You smiled. The first real smile to grace your lips in years. “I’m all yours.”

Back in that same closet, you cried out when Mark shoved you against the wall and slipped his tongue into your mouth.

You liked this hungry, impatient side to him. The one that couldn’t go without you for one more second.

Maybe you were his god now.

Mark cradled your head, kissing you deeper, making you moan a little. You would have been content to kiss him for the rest of the day, but you knew time was of the essence. People would come looking eventually.

“Mark,” you stammered, sucking in a breath when he latched his lips to your neck, his hands now palming your breasts over your shirt. “We don’t have long.”

Mark seemed determined to kiss and suck every inch of your neck, in a silent competition with the boys that came before him, but he should have known he’d already won.

“I wanna make you feel good,” Mark growled in your ear. “Like you did for me.”

“Then fuck me.”

Mark spun you around roughly, crowding your back, and kneaded your breasts, kissing down the column of your throat. Your eyes fluttered closed and you moaned softly, rocking a little to brush your ass against his crotch. He was grinding against you, searching for friction, but stopped to unfasten his pants.

You bent over the cabinet, lifted your skirt and shimmied your panties down around your thighs, not getting a chance to take them off completely because Mark was on you again, wrapping his arms around your waist in a vice grip and spreading your legs with his knee.

Mark groaned when his hand cupped your sex, running his fingers between your slit and feeling your arousal. “Do you always get this wet?”

You chuckled at the shock in his voice and answered honestly, “Definitely not. This is all for you.”

“Fuck.”

Sweet little sounds fell from your lips as Mark played with your entrance with two fingers. His hard cock followed, having been rubbing eagerly against your ass. You gasped and grabbed the edges of the cabinet when he impaled you on his length, your pussy fluttering and stretching around him.

Mark had only a string of curses to say. Any other words escaped him. The heat of you knocked the wind out of him, just like the first time.

Your legs trembled as he bottomed out, immediately drawing back to sink into you again slowly. You bit your lip to hide a smile at how hard he was inside you, but how gently he moved.

Mark felt you relax once you’d adjusted, hyper aware of every little move you made. He slipped his hand into yours and said, “Put me on your clit.”

That was definitely unexpected, but you did as told. Steering him down, you helped his fingers find your bundle of nerves and he rubbed at it curiously.

“There?”

“Yes,” you sighed in pleasure.

Mark was salivating at how sensitive you were to his touches, thrusting into you eagerly for good measure. “It feels good?”

“So good.”

“It’s making you tighter,” he said, stroking his cock inside you deep.

You taunted, “If you really wanna feel how tight I get, make me come.”

Mark swallowed loudly. Pressing a kiss beneath your ear, he said, “Tell me how to do it,” with a tone that left no room for argument.

“When you feel close, slow down,” you told him, brushing your hands over his arms affectionately, coaxing him. “Edge yourself for me. Until we come together.”

With a nod, Mark kissed your cheek, which felt both intimate and possessive, and released your waist in favor of your hips.

You were too fucking tight and warm. Mark was humiliated at being so close to orgasm already when he’d only just begun and the sound of his hips colliding with your plump ass turned him on so bad he kept biting his lip to stifle a groan. He was ready to sell his soul to you just for the chance to empty himself inside you again, but he wanted to feel you come.

Mark stilled, body trembling a little with restraint. You smirked, knowing he was close to finishing.

You purred, “Good boy. That’s it.”

Mark’s jaw went slack and he moaned as you started rolling your hips, grinding back against him. You knew exactly what you were doing. There was no thrusting. You weren’t pushing him back to the edge. Your pace wasn’t fast enough. But your pussy clenched on his cock, so wet with arousal the insides of your thighs were slick with it.

You giggled when Mark reeled a hand back and slapped your ass. He just couldn’t resist. You wiggled your hips from side to side to make your ass bounce for him, working yourself on his stiff cock.

“You like being balls deep in me, baby?”

Mark groaned. Girls weren’t supposed to talk like that. But fuck, it turned him on.

“Say it,” you hissed, throwing yourself back on him, sending a loud, wet slap echoing through the tiny closet.

“It’s good,” Mark said hurriedly, wanting to please you. He squeezed your hips in his hands to the point of bruising and watched you take his cock. “You feel so fucking good. I can’t… fucking…”

That made you fuck him harder, arching your back.

“Fuck!” Mark snapped, folding himself over you, pinning you to the cabinet and throttling his cock into you, drilling your pussy at a brutal pace.

Your eyes rolled back, your toes curled and you moaned at the top of your lungs for him. The angle was just right. He was hitting your sweet spot, making you suck in a breath and beg him, “Don’t stop, Mark. Please, don’t stop.”

Unfortunately, hearing you moan like that and beg him to keep pounding you made Mark’s cock twitch with warning. Mark let out a mangled groan, stilling inside you abruptly, because he was there - again. “Shit. I’m sorry,” he stammered, kneading your clothed breasts. “I was close.”

You steered his fingers to your clit again and made circles with your hips with him sheathed inside, trying not to lose the edge he was bringing you toward. “I’m close too, baby,” you assured him. “Hang in there a little bit longer.”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat. He rolled your clit with his fingertips, peppering kisses on your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat on his tongue. He was pressed so tightly against you and locked inside you.

He could feel your labored breaths, just like his. He could feel your racing pulse beneath his fingers. It moved at the same furious pace as his own. Your skin was hot and sticky with sweat. His too. He could feel it running down his back.

It hit Mark like a ton of bricks. This was what intimacy felt like. Tangled together with another person, not knowing where he ended and you began.

And Mark knew then and there he didn’t want to live without it. Nor did he ever want to let someone tell him he couldn’t have it.

Mark lifted you up, your shoulders against his chest. He cradled your jaw in his hand, tilting your head so he could kiss your cheek and the corner of your mouth. You sighed at the affection, both of you still moving hungrily but gently in tandem with each other.

“You were right,” Mark said breathlessly. “There’s nothing wrong about this.”

You smiled. Not from victory this time, but acceptance. Maybe he was right too. Maybe sex could also be treated as a special thing between two people. There was a connection between you and Mark, and you were done fighting it.

Mark desperately wanted you to say something. Deep down, he hoped that he was more than another quick fuck for you. Though to his credit, there was nothing quick about this time.

“You were right too,” you finally whispered, making Mark’s eyes flicker. “Maybe it should be treated with more respect.”

Mark turned your head and smashed his lips on yours, kissing you with such intensity your heart stopped beating in your chest for a moment. At least you thought it did. It was rapturous and made your legs weak.

If not for Mark holding you to him, you would have fallen to your knees.

Mark broke from the kiss, but held you in place, making you stare into his eyes as he took you, as he started thrusting hard and deep again. Your mouth was open, panting for air, because you knew you weren’t in control anymore.

You had surrendered to him.

And Mark knew what to do now. His body followed instinct. He lost himself in your eyes, no thought in his head except how perfectly you wrapped around his cock and how he wouldn’t stop until you came for him. On him. With him.

You’d broken him. He was ready to break you back.

“Mark…,” you choked out, scraping your nails over the cabinet. “I’m coming.”

Music to Mark’s ears. He tightened his grip on your neck, making sure you knew that you were his now. His breath was hot on your cheek, rapid like the pace of his cock slamming into you. He pinched your clit with his fingers, feeling your walls pulse around his dick.

You squirmed. You couldn’t help it. Your body arched into him involuntarily, warmth spilling over between your legs. His touch on your bundle of nerves teetered dangerously toward overstimulation, but it was that perfect cock hitting your sweet spot that finished you.

“Come with me,” you barely managed to say before crying out in ecstasy, your core tightening and your legs shaking.

Mark kept burying his cock inside you to the very end, his hips smacking into your ass. You could hear him grunting and swearing past the ringing in your ears, his thrusts turning ragged with how tightly your cunt gripped him.

“Holy shit,” Mark growled, struggling to keep his hold on you as you writhed. Then with a shudder, Mark came, bottoming out and releasing with a moan that rivaled yours, painting your walls with his release.

As you drifted back down, you undulated as best you could, kneading every drop out of him. You let the cabinet support your weight, catching your breath while Mark went soft inside you.

Mark clung to you, but at this point, you weren’t surprised. And you kinda liked it.

Okay, you really liked it. Finally, you felt like you could belong somewhere. Tangled up with Mark.

With a kiss to your temple, Mark stepped back, his cock slipping out of you, and you sighed at the loss of him, feeling both of your releases dripping from your folds.

Mark’s eyes were on your sex and seeing his cum mingle with your juices made him want to kill any man that dared lay eyes on you. He tried not to think about how he would walk out of there like nothing happened, but you would be carrying the evidence between your legs.

It should not have turned him on the way it did.

The two of you dressed in silence, occasionally stealing glances of each other, but there was no awkwardness this time. Instead, tension settled over the room.

Where did you go from here?

Mark was the first boy you’d fucked a second time. You weren’t usually one for encore performances. He was also the first boy you couldn’t get off your mind. And given what Mark had said to you - to say nothing of how he looked at you - the feeling was mutual.

“What’s wrong?” you asked sweetly, though you had some idea.

Conflicted emotions were colliding in both of you for totally different reasons.

Mark had fully dressed, but made no moves to leave. He stared at you, wishing he could put into words how you made him feel.

“I want to hold you.”

You blinked and your heart clenched in your chest. For a moment, you studied him. Cautious. But you knew from the start it was a losing battle. “Hold me,” you said, reaching for him.

Mark closed the distance between you and swept you up in his arms. You closed your eyes and tucked your head beneath his chin, breathing him in. Mark’s hand was lost in your hair, the other resting at the small of your back.

You didn’t realize how hard you were holding onto him until it was too late to stop.

“Maybe we could see each other again,” Mark said in a low voice.

You fought the tears as they burned your eyes.

Mark tugged at your hair, searching your face. “You could teach me more about intimacy and being human.”

You allowed yourself to smile at him, appreciating his efforts to diffuse the tension. “Okay.”

“And I could teach you about trust and commitment?”

Two things you staunchly avoided, but you recognized the soft lilt in his voice, framing it as a request and not a demand. Too many people had tried to force you to see the error of your ways and they were met with resistance.

You would never let anyone conquer you, but maybe you could make a little window in the walls around your heart so Mark could sneak inside from time to time.

Maybe he’d make a home there.

Either way, you wanted to watch him try.

“Alright, Mark. You win this time,” you whispered, rising to your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

Mark grinned and kissed you back.

END.

#mark lee #mark smut #mark lee smut #nct smut #nct dream smut

2K notes · View notes

hwashotcheeto · 3 months

Text

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒕

Vampire!Park Seonghwa X Pet!afab!gn!reader

Summary: Your sensual, mysterious vampire master calls you, his lovely pet, into his study to introduce you to a new, pleasure filled world you were originally unfamiliar with.

WC: 3.6k

CW: Smut, fluffy aftercare at the end, Seonghwa and reader have an owner x pet relationship, reader calls Seonghwa "Master," blood consumption (obviously, he's a vampire)

Names used for reader: Jagiya, darling, doll, (pretty) pet, slut

Smut warnings: Reader is a virgin (no bleeding, not really corruption either), kisses, teasing, dirty talk, handjob (idol receiving), unprotected PIV sex, rough sex, choking (reader receiving), biting (reader receiving), orgasms for both

AN: I dragged this up from the dregs of my drafts due to a conversation with @mxnsxngie, so here it is, lovely. 💜

I felt much better after some sleep and some time to myself, so that's why I'm posting today. Originally, I wrote this purely for myself a year or so ago, so it wasn't too difficult for me in terms of writing. 🥰

This is also inspired by this fic, which is what made me finally fall in love with vampires. Please go read it, it's wonderful. 💜💜💜

Tag List: @cherrycel @mxnsxngie @malldreamprincess

"Jagiya~"

You shivered as Seonghwa's voice hit your ears.

"Come here, please."

He didn't need to give a reason, you were already up and on your way. You assumed he meant his bedroom, but as you turned down the small hallway, light spilled onto the floor from the left door, not the right. You'd never been inside the study, the door had always been closed. Not locked, closed.

Even though this house was your home as much as it was his, there were rules that you didn't question. One of them being, "If the door is closed, don't open it." He needed no reason, there were no exceptions. If the door was closed, you didn't open it.

You’d only paused for a second before you walked through the open door.

It was roughly the same size as his bedroom, but it was so vastly different. High walls, lined with dark bookshelves, filled with so many books of different sizes. You’d wondered if there was an end to how many books he had. It seemed like there wasn't, but he still had secrets that you had yet to uncover.

At the end of the room in front of a large circular window, Seonghwa leaned against a large desk, his hands braced on the edge, watching you as you looked around. Your eyes met and you felt chills race down your body. You stumbled over nothing, trying to pretend you hadn’t, and continued your walk. A small smirk appeared on his plump, red lips. Lips your eyes couldn't help but linger on for a moment.

He kept his eyes locked with yours as he raised his hand and flicked his wrist. Behind you, the door swung shut, blowing a gust of air against your back. Almost like Seonghwa was saying "Come on, we haven't got all day, doll."

You quickened your pace and stopped a few feet away from him. He pushed off the desk and shortened the distance in only a few steps, towering over you. You held your hands behind your back and swallowed hard as you tilted your head back to look at him. His smirk only grew bigger, and you felt your thighs quiver in answer.

He reached forward and tucked your hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. "What do you think?" He asked, glancing around the room. "You've never been here before."

"I haven't," you breathed, cursing your body for how it reacted to him. You could barely focus on his question, but you fished an answer out of your brain that'd been turned to mush. "It's intimidating." Seonghwa's eyes flashed and his eyebrows went up.

"Why do you say that?"

"It's big." That's the only reason you had. You opened your mouth to say more, but closed it the next second when you realized you had nothing to add. Seonghwa waited another second before softly laughing.

"You get used to it." He pulled his hand away from your face and turned back to his desk. He walked around the great wooden piece and sat in the chair behind it. "This is my one place of solitude. Unfortunately, my bedroom isn't as private as I'd like it to be."

That comment almost felt like it was directed at you. You looked down at the floor as guilt washed over your body. You were about to mutter an apology when he suddenly clicked his tongue.

Your head shot back up and met his eyes again. He didn't say anything at first, and in that silence, his eyes flashed again. A soft pink glow ringed the brown, and chills raced over you again. You tried to hide it, but you know he saw your throat bob slightly when you swallowed.

"I don't mean you, doll," he began softly. "It started long before you. Don't worry your pretty head over it." It wasn't a compliment, but it still made your cheeks flush red. Seonghwa smirked again, and raised his hand.

Your eyes shot to his fingers as he beckoned you to come forward. You stepped up to the edge of the desk, but he clicked his tongue again.

"No, doll." He snapped his fingers and pointed beside him. You let out a shaky breath and walked around the desk, now standing beside him. He moved his chair backwards, and you stayed in place, thinking he was going to stand up. Seonghwa snapped his fingers again and pointed at the desk this time.

You stared confused for only a few seconds before it clicked. When it did, Seonghwa could hear the pounding of your heart grow faster. You walked over to the edge and faced him before pushing yourself up and onto it. Seonghwa smiled deviously and nodded slowly.

"That's it," he said lowly, barely above a whisper. He finally stood up from the chair and walked forward, just barely a breath away. You gripped the edge of the desk as you kept my eyes on his. There was another steady glow of pink that ringed the brown. He smirked as he heard your breath catch.

You hadn't realized that your short dress had ridden up your thighs until Seonghwa laid his hands on them. You gasped and looked down when you felt his fingers slide up under the hem.

You watched his hands slip under the thin material, eventually wrapping his fingers around your hips and gripping onto them. You were powerless to stop the whimper that bubbled up inside you.

"I've thought about this quite a lot." Seonghwa's voice rumbled in his chest, very quietly, just enough so you could hear him, but not any louder than that. "My pretty pet sitting on my desk just like this." His words made you shiver just slightly, but he felt it.

He released his grip on your hips and used his thumbs to rub the inside. Chills ran up your spin and you tightly snapped your legs together. Seonghwa chuckled softly and gripped onto your thighs, forcing your legs open again and putting himself between them so you couldn't close them anymore.

Another whimper left your lips when you felt his clothed cock brush up against the growing heat between your legs. "Don't do that, darling."

"I'm sorry, Master," you blurted, barely getting the words out. They were barely even words, the sounds just tumbled out of your mouth, sounding vaguely like what you wanted to say. Seonghwa's hands gripping onto your thighs and feeling him pressed up against you made your head feel light, critical thinking was no more.

That's how he wanted you.

His hands slid back up to your hips and his thumbs gently rubbed the inside again. You gripped onto the desk tighter and your thighs pressed against Seonghwa's hips. His eyes glowed in sadistic delight hearing your blood races through your veins.

Seonghwa gently grabbed your chin and tilted your head forward so you could look into his eyes again. He made you feel so utterly small, even when you were only a few inches apart, sitting on his desk.

"I want you like this, pet," he breathed, pulling you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist. You put your hands on his chest, and when you did, he moved his hips against you and let out a soft groan. You whimpered at the contact and gripped onto his shirt. "I want you, pet." He rocked his hips up again, slowly moving himself against your soaked underwear, the liquid no doubt already leaking onto his desk.

Seonghwa took his hand off your hip and slid his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, hooking onto them and pulling them down your thighs, off your legs and tossing them somewhere. The cold air hit your now bare entrance, making you shiver.

Seonghwa laughed as his fingers slid back and up against your sensitive cunt. "Oh, you're soaked already, pet," he cooed softly. His fingers reached back and teased your entrance, making your tighten around nothing and forcing another whimper out. He smirked and pushed his fingertips against it, gently rubbing. "How cute is that?"

His fingers slid back down your thigh, leaving a trail of slick in his wake, and started undoing his pants. You were still holding onto his shirt with a death grip, leaning your head on his chest, panting heavily.

The desire you felt inside you, the desperate, sex crazed animal that was clawing at you, was something you’d never encountered before. You craved the unknown feeling of Seonghwa inside you more than you craved air.

You were pulled from your daze when you felt his cock gently push up against you, and you yelped in surprise. Seonghwa laughed and gently pet your head. "It's okay, darling, it's alright."

He surprised you again when he asked, "Don't you want to take a look?" You snapped your head back up and stared at him in confusion. He smirked and put his hand on the back of your head. "Wrong way, pet." He pushed down and leaned back to give you the view.

Your heart stopped when you took in the sight of his cock pressed up against you. The head was aligned with your navel, and from it, a white liquid leaked out and down the shaft. His fluids mixing with yours made this whole situation so much more erotic than it already was.

You don't know what possessed you to do it, but you reached out with a trembling hand and touched the head. Seonghwa sucked in a sharp breath and flinched, and you reeled back, thinking you’d hurt him.

But he shot out and grabbed your hand, his grip firm but gentle. "That's sensitive, doll," he ground out through gritted teeth. "Be careful with that." He guided your hand back to his dick, and with his permission, your nervousness disappeared.

You gently laid your fingertips on the head, slowly rubbing and smearing the creamy liquid. It made your movements smoother, and you let your hand slide down his cock. Seonghwa groaned softly and gripped onto your waist tighter, and used his other hand to brace himself on the desk. It made you want to keep going.

You wrapped your hand around his cock and slowly stroked him properly. More cream came out, leaking all over himself and your fingers. Seonghwa groaned in satisfaction, his eyes fluttering. He laughed and looked down at your hand on his cock.

"Oh doll, you make me melt so bad," he breathed, letting out another groan as your hand came back to the tip. He rocked his hips forward, rubbing against your clit, pulling a soft whine from your lips. His cock twitched at the noise.

Seonghwa laughed again and moved his hips forward once more. Again. And again. And slipped into a steady rhythm of rubbing up against your clit. It was small, but it felt so good, so you kept your hand on his cock to make sure it didn't go anywhere.

His fluids mixing with yours making him glide against you, giving him the ability to rock his hips faster, it made your hands begin to shake. It didn’t take long for a knot to twist in your stomach. It hurt, and you couldn’t help but whimper in pain.

"Master," you gasped as you gripped onto his shirt. "My stomach hurts." You looked up at him with pleading eyes and met his devious ones. He cooed and held your face as he slowed his hips.

"It hurts, pet?" You nodded with a pained whimper, and his smile only grew. "I'll take the pain away, don't worry."

He grabbed the hand you had on his chest and laced his fingers with yours. You gratefully held on tightly.

"If the pain gets worse, tell me, alright?" You nodded again. "If you don't want this, tell me no."

"I want this, Master,” you said confidently.

Seonghwa smiled and pressed his lips against yours in a very gentle kiss. The kiss was a sweet distraction, and you were too busy drowning in his soft, plush, pretty lips to notice until the head of his cock was pressed against your entrance.

Just as you pulled away from his lips, the tip slid inside like it was meant to be there. And it was a feeling you could never have imagined.

He slowly pushed himself deeper, deeper than you thought he could, all the way until his hips were flush against yours. It was such a bizarre and new feeling, you didn't know what to do with yourself.

After he'd got himself completely inside, his eyes met yours again. And they were gentle. The gentle pink glow was soothing

"You're so tense, darling." His words were tight and clipped as he said them. He swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath. "Try to relax, alright? Take a deep breath."

You nodded and did as he asked, taking a deep, shaky breath, trying to relax your body. You needed more than one, but you eventually managed to relax.

"That's it, good pet." You shivered at the praise. "I'm gonna move my hips now." Seonghwa made sure he was looking into your eyes as he said it, making sure he could see how you felt about it. You gave him a little nod, and he nodded back before he slowly started moving his hips.

It took a little bit of adjusting, and it did hurt, for only a little bit, but after that, he moved in and out of you with such ease, you couldn't help but stare down in amazement. Watching all of him somehow fit inside you, filling you up every time. You head grew light and your body began to tremble.

Seonghwa laughed and tilted your head up to look at him. "You like to watch, pet?" He breathed. "You like watching my cock disappear inside you?" You could only whimper and nod in answer. He laughed softly and ran his tongue over his lips. "That's my doll."

You rolled your head back and let the pleasure wash over you completely, moans coming from deep in your chest as he moved inside you, sounds you never thought you could make, filled the room. All because of him.

"Does my pet feel good?" Seonghwa asked, gripping onto your waist again. You lifted your head and looked back at him to nod. He smirked again and removed his arm from around your waist and let go of your hand.

The sudden loss of his support made you fall back on the desk. You were going to push yourself back up on your arms, but your efforts were useless.

Seonghwa gripped onto your hips and snapped his own into them, making you fall down onto your back. A cry left your lips as he hit a spot inside you that you didn't know existed until then.

"Again," you gasped out. He pulled back and slammed into you again. And again. And again, until that was the new rhythm. His hands gripped your hips so tight that they ached, but you didn't care. You’d never felt this good, and never wanted it to stop.

Seonghwa grabbed your trembling thighs and wrapped them around his waist, releasing your hips to lean over you and grip onto the desk beside your head, fucking you harder and faster than before.

You couldn't see his face, as your head was hanging off the desk and your eyes were tightly shut, but you heard him. You heard the animalistic groans and grunts that left his pretty lips, the growl that rumbled in his throat when you cried out particularly loudly. It made you want to keep making those noises so he'd continue.

In doing so, you’d unlocked some primal part of him that you weren't prepared for.

"Such a good, pretty pet." Seonghwa wrapped his hand around your neck, tightly gripping on and pulling you up to look at him. The ring of pink around his eyes turned to a vivid red that shocked you. Literally, you felt a bolt of electricity run through you.

"Never had this before, but such a fucking slut. You love this, don't you?" He ground out. He squeezed your throat tighter, making your head go light and your eyes roll back. "Say it."

"YES!" You cried out weakly, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Seonghwa’s tongue peeked out from between his teeth when he smirked, savoring the way you melted on his cock.

Seonghwa pinned you back down on the desk and slammed his hips into yours like his life depended on it. You were at his mercy and it felt amazing.

Looking up at him through tears as he gripped onto the desk and stared down at where his cock pounded into you, transfixed like he was stuck there, it made your head go light again.

The blood was rushing through your body, your heart pounding so hard, so loud. Seonghwa could hear it all, and it was making him delirious. Your blood smelled divine, he wanted nothing more but to sink his fangs into you and taste you.

As if you could hear his thoughts, you gave him permission in a soft, weak sob, because you too desired the feeling he craved.

"Bite me, Master."

You’d hardly gotten the words out before Seonghwa's fangs dove into your neck, and your blood was his.

He groaned into your neck and rolled his eyes back, the warm, sweet blood pouring into his mouth. He pulled his fangs back out and desperately licked and sucked at the bite marks.

His hips fell out of rhythm as he let out a soft whimper, and his next words made you snap.

"You taste so fucking good, darling.”

A completely new feeling you never knew was possible exploded through your entire body and made you scream out so loud, the whole town could’ve heard it. Your arms shot out and locked them around Seonghwa, gripping onto his shirt that was now cold, soaked through with sweat.

He continued for a few more seconds before he too let out a loud scream and buried his face in your neck, weakly lapping at the bite marks while his hips slowed until they stopped, panting out soft whimpers of your name between licks.

And as it came to an end and you reached the end of this euphoria, the tears in your eyes turned from ones of pleasure to that of pain. Your hips ached, blood still leaked from your neck, and the place that once radiated with pleasure now radiated heat and pain.

A tiny sob erupted from your lips as your head fell back away from Seonghwa. You were weakly laid out before him, ruined and spent.

You couldn't describe it, but you wanted him to lift you up and hold you. You wanted him to stay close. When he pulled away and removed his cock from you, another sob bubbled up out of you.

"Why are you crying, pet?" Seonghwa asked softly as he redressed himself.

"I don't know," you whispered, suddenly overcome with shame, trying to stop sobbing. You rubbed your eyes and swallowed back the sobs. You didn't understand anything. You didn't know why you wanted him to hold you, you didn't know why you were upset, you didn't know why you were in pain.

The confusion upset you more than anything, and it just made it harder to stop crying.

Seonghwa gently wrapped his arms around you and pulled you up to a sitting position before he lifted you up and held you like a child.

You latched onto him and gripped him tightly, tears still pouring from your eyes.

"It's alright, pet." He whispered as he pressed a gentle kiss to your head. "I've got you. You're okay."

Seonghwa then carried you to the bathroom, where he set you in the tub and removed the short dress before he turned on the water. Being as weak as you were, you gladly let him run his gentle, soft hands over your body, which was still slightly trembling. You leaned into all the sweet touches, even when his skin was ice cold.

He also cleaned the wound on your neck and wrapped a bandage around it. The blood loss was beginning to set in, and your head dropped back against the tub as Seonghwa pulled his hands away.

He pulled the plug to drain the tub, and as the water left, he got up and left the bathroom. The sound that came out of you was a desperate, unintelligible cry as you weakly tried to grab him as he left, but he was already gone.

You felt stranded. Helpless. You could hardly lift your head. Even though he was hardly gone more than a minute, being alone and defenseless like that was enough to make you sob in fear.

Seonghwa heard your cries, and it broke his heart. He came back quickly with towels and a new dress for you, setting them beside the tub before he sat on the edge.

“Shh, darling,” he said softly, reaching out and wiping your tears, cradling your face in his hands. “I’m here, I wouldn’t ever leave you like this.”

He pulled back to drape a towel over his lap before he pulled you up to sit sideways on it. He shushed all your soft, pained whines as he used another towel to pat your trembling, weak body dry.

"Shh, shh, you're okay," he said softly against your hair. "I've got you, darling. I'm right here." His voice soothed the writhing demon inside you. The one that told you there was pain and anguish. There wasn't.

There was only him. Your master as he dressed you and carried you to his bedroom, where he laid with you and held you tight against his chest until you fell asleep.

Seonghwa wiped the rest of the tears from your cheeks until there were none left. He pet your head until your eyes fell closed. Like a kitten.

Before you slipped under, he pressed a kiss to your head and whispered,

"Sleep well, my darling."

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed! 💜

This is a work of fiction written by me. This does not represent the idol(s) in any way. Any re-upload is not allowed and will be reported.

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 8 months

Text

A Perfect Score - Chapter 5 - Ice Princess | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: Moving on to the North, before the match with Cregan and Sara, everything comes to a head | Word Count: 7.2k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: *deep breath* jealous!aemond, swearing, degradation, heaps of sexual tension, one room in the hotel trope, aemond being a sexual menace, a lot of dirty talk, p in v unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, creampie, mild angst

A/N: *me barking writing all the warnings* I ain't got nothing else to say I-

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

“What the fuck was that?!” El shouts over the video call, making you cradle your face in your hands.

She’s showing you her front camera, tapping on the TV in front of her as she rewinds the footage of your routine at Casterly Rock. She must have replayed that specific part about ten times now.

She taps the screen harshly, “Look at that! You’re fucking blushing, you whore!”

“El, please” you reply, exasperated.

“Is that a fucking bruise on your leg”

"El!" You shout over the phone, making her press her lips together in a mischievous grin.

"Did you get a bit too cozy?" She teases,

"Fuck off"

"You both look completely different. Also that triple spin, that was fucking perfect"

"Thank you" you say flatly, rolling your eyes, remembering doing it in the routine.

You don't remember the time between the dressing room and getting on the ice. Just the steady hum of the crowd's applause as the announcer welcomed the representatives of the Crownlands.

"Performing second is Aemond Targaryen with his not-so-new skating partner, who proved herself significantly in the deciding match for the Championship tour"

"They were both very icy in that performance. Let's see if anything has improved"

You run over all the jumps and spins, in case your mind is so preoccupied that you've somehow forgotten. Smoothing down your hair and your skirt, desperately trying to hide any proof of his fingerprints, you take your spot in the middle of the ice.

For this routine, it begins with Aemond facing you, and when he pauses to a halt before you, you meet his gaze briefly, feeling the warmth creeping up to your cheeks.

Before he left the dressing room, he looked nervous. But that facade is gone. He looks deadly serious, and you hate to admit that the look he's giving you, performance or not, is so piercing and purposeful that it's almost exciting. Arousing? No, focus.

At the other match, his touch had been calculated, firm and almost rigid. His movements were largely the same, as you had pointed out only the day before. But now, his touch is so whisper soft it's almost undetectable. His fingers dance across your bare skin, a path of goosebumps left in their wake. Except this time, his eyes barely ever leave yours, fully aware of the effect of his touch and a ghost of a smile lob-sided on his face.

Every single touch of his hands on your waist to lift you, every hold to lunge into a jump together and every shared gaze never fails to have your stomach roll pleasantly inside you, settling between your thighs where Aemond had touched you not a moment before.

You come together, skating backwards for the triple spin. His hands brace your waist, and you swallow anxiously.

"Remember to tuck your arms in" he whispers, you nod, running over what you need to do, "you've got this"

"I'm seeing a stark difference in attitude in this performance. Perhaps our icy couple are starting to warm up"

Taking a steadying breath, Aemond does as he needs and flings you in the air, ready to catch you once you've done one, two, three spins, before taking your hand once you land.

Right leg, push…

You can't help but smile when you land it. That's the best feeling in the world, when the crowd applauds.

"She's done it! Another graceful landing!"

You release the breath you'd been tightly holding, gliding through the rest of the routine with Aemond to the view of the stands, some of them stood and some seated in applause.

It's only when you are stopped, with Aemond's arms around your middle and feeling his hurried breath against your back, that you can finally form a thought. Your heart beats furiously in your chest, lungs dry.

"Well done" he breathes, hot against the shell of your ear. The praise goes straight to your core.

"Oop, I saw that look. Perhaps the Ice Prince has an Ice Princess in his sights"

"Oh come on, look at the way he's looking at you!" El beams over the video call, tearing you from your thoughts, "I swear to all the gods, if y'all don't smash-"

"Can I have one conversation with you that isn't about fucking please?"

El pulls a face, "What can I say. Hoes United. Are you kidding me? Ice Princess? He better be calling you princess between the sheet-"

"Goodbye, El"

You hang up, heaving a large sigh, staring forwards at the bed with your packed duffle bag, ready to depart once again in the car with Arryk.

It was clear as day, the difference between you and Aemond. The attitude.

The commentators dubbed you his 'Ice Princess', a nickname which you hate immensely. Several reporters had flocked to the hotel you were both staying in, all hanging around Arryk's car waiting for a chance to speak to the famed 'couple'.

The match was a success at least, no doubt because of the 'warming up' to one another, as the commentators graciously put it. You received good scores, marginally better technically than Johanna and Jason but ultimately winning most on performance, the former of which wiggled her eyebrow at you as she hugged you in congratulations during scoring.

She didn't dare say anything. The cameras would pick it up, no doubt.

A seasoned pro in that respect.

As per usual, you and Aemond were hauled into the back of Arryk's car provided by Hightower Management, sat together on opposite ends.

Also as usual, Aemond had his airpods shoved inside his ears, turned away towards the window. Usually, you'd be able to hear the music blasting through his earphones. But you couldn't hear a thing.

Perhaps he just wanted to be left alone.

His hands were clasped tight in his lap, his left leg bouncing. And you had to turn away towards your own window to stop staring at him in his sweatpants, feeling your face and neck get hot just thinking about what happened between you two.

The journey to Winterfell was several hours. You couldn't possibly be faster getting out the car and grabbing your stuff, walking straight past Aemond to go into the foyer of 'The Lone Wolf', a humble yet large hotel in the heart of Winterfell. Owned by none other than the Stark Family, so the idea of seeing Cregan before the match sent anxious flutters in your stomach.

"Good morning, Miss" the receptionist says with a polite customer service brimmed smile.

"Hello, uh, should be some rooms booked under Hightower?"

She nods, her fingernails clicking against the keyboard, "Just let me check for you…"

You ignore the white-haired male in your periphery, leaning against the desk by one of his forearms, one airpod now safely tucked away. When you spare a brief glance, he's not looking at you, but at the woman as she types quickly, flexing his fingers on the desk. You swallow thick at the closeness, sidestepping an inch.

The lady pulls a face.

"I'm afraid there seems to have been an administrative issue with the booking…"

Your skin starts to erupt in worry, "what issue?.."

The receptionist meets your eyes, her lips drawn flat in apology, "There is only one room on the Hightower booking…"

You go cold all over, staring back for a long moment without saying anything.

"A twin?" you ask,

She shakes her head, "a double.."

Your hand braces your forehead, leaning against the desk, "Fuck"

An awkward silence passes before you ask, "there aren't any other rooms?"

"I'm afraid not. We're full because of the skating match in a few days"

Aemond bites the inside of his cheek, his face stoic, "Is there a sofa? In the room?"

She reluctantly nods, "Yes but only a 2 seater-"

"That's fine" Aemond says immediately, holding his hand out and clapping the keycard in his grasp. He sighs and turns to you, smirking slightly at the horrified look on your face, "Let's go then, business partner"

You feel like you stand stock still, frozen into place, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought of sharing such intimate space with Aemond.

I've got to be the most fucking unlucky person in Westeros.

By the time you catch your breath, having checked to see if Arryk had already left (which unfortunately he had), you're walking hurriedly to the room, standing before the numbered door for a moment as if to psych yourself up for the next day and a bit that will be inevitably be spent in extremely close proximity with Aemond.

The hotel room is luckily wide, with an en-suite situated in the corner as well as a wide curved window that looks out over the roof of another building. Aemond shucks his bag onto the sofa, his well muscled back moves as he unzips it and pulls his belongings out.

He barely moves his head, "You gonna unpack or just stand there?"

Hot embarrassment combined with subtle anger nips at your insides. You pull your lips into a flat line to hold you back from retorting and huff your bag onto the bed, pulling off your jacket.

Aemond won't stop you from getting comfortable.

"Will you fit on that 2-seater?"

Aemond shrugs, still busied with unpacking, "I've slept on worse"

Usually, unpacking is a time for relaxation, making a home of the hotel room. But here, with Aemond, it feels like you're on guard the entire time, methodically grabbing the more intimate items of clothing and putting them away as quickly as you can.

Suddenly, the shorts you're wearing feels just a bit too revealing, the hem lapping at your thighs barely. Every now and then, you feel his gaze on them, setting every hair on edge. But when you look back at him, he just does that little lob-sided smug smile, pretending to be busy with something else.

You push your palms over the skirt of your dress anxiously, feeling a nervous sweat coat them "Okay well…" you murmur awkwardly, "I'm gonna…to go downstairs for a bit"

You're barely turned, hand on the door when Aemond chuckles, low, in his chest, "Desperate to get away from me, hm?"

You freeze, not daring to turn back. All you can hear is the soft press of his trainers on the carpet as he turns away, and you just know he's looking at you.

The inside of your mouth is so dry.

"I know what you're thinking, I can see it on your face" he muses quietly, his voice edging closer to your back as you're frozen on the spot, "I know you've been thinking about what we did, in the dressing room"

No I haven't.

Yes I have.

Fuck.

As much as the thoughts whizz around your head, they don't make the connection to your mouth. You can feel how close Aemond must be to your back, and your fingers tighten over the handle of the door.

"You have, haven't you?" He grins darkly, his voice an octave lower, quieter, more calculated, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it"

Your breath is stuck in your ribs, arousal pooling slowly in your belly, like the calm tide of the ocean sweeping in to wet the sand.

You feel his breath against your neck and ear, blowing the hair at the side of your face. His mere presence behind you.

"See you tonight"

Almost as soon as he says it, you're out the door, pushing it shut behind you forcefully. Shutting out the feeling that you desperately want to disappear. The mere memory of his hands on your bare thighs that day sets urgency in your core, hands clenched tight at your sides.

But more than anything, the way he kissed you, was the feeling you remembered the most. You recall moments after he'd rushed out, touching your kiss-swollen lips, willing the feeling of them back, realising just what line had been crossed.

Aemond Targaryen was an infuriatingly good kisser. Just like the way he moves on the ice, he's smooth and deliberate, taking his time. And it translated in the passion of that moment, the way his hand had grasped the back of your neck, and the other had spread your legs to accommodate him standing between them…

…How his hardness had pressed against your clothed core.

Aemond had been aroused.

Everything you thought about him, about how he felt about you, could very well be misplaced.

You don't know how to feel about that.

It goes against everything you thought. Everything you believed.

And he still hasn't apologised. He'd said pretty words, all but those two you really needed.

Nothing would happen until he did. You'd make sure of that.

Torture him right back. It's the least he deserves.

Prick.

The hotel bar is better than anticipated, with several tables and chairs, even stools that line the front of the large oak counter on one side of the room. You don't usually partake in drinking, or at least much. But every now and then you feel you deserve it.

And right now for example, it's taking the edge off.

The large glass windows show you just how dark outside it already is, with the streetlights beaming through the single glazing. The North is different, obviously, but you didn't quite consider the weather.

Your muscles ache from doing your cardio, choosing to train on the ice tomorrow instead, the day before the match with Cregan and Sara. The hotel gym was nice, and each time you went into the hotel room to change, you worried about running into Aemond.

But luckily he was nowhere to be found.

Where he'd gone?

Not your problem, you surmise.

You were dressed once again in black, but nowhere near as flashy as the after-party from weeks before, but still a nice enough dress that it completely didn't work with the use of a bra. Hightower Management had organised a small get-together of the skaters currently in the North, as a way of showing support, despite all of you being quite literally competitors.

This includes the Singles skaters.

With that, they insisted you and Aemond look presentable.

You were there early, as a means of…avoiding Aemond in the hotel room. With so far, success.

A few figures begin to leak into the bar area, a few you don't recognise, but then a sea of silver-hair you actually would like to see.

Baela and Rhaena, clad in equally stunning blue dresses, bound up to you with gleaming teethy smiles. You stand excitedly meeting them in the middle, a shared female squeal of excitement is the only sound emitted.

"There she is!" Baela shouts, and both the twins envelop you in an equally tight hug.

"Jesus, guys there's only one of me, bit looser please" you joke, pretending to be out of breath.

They pull back, their silver curls sitting loose with silver accessories, "Our Ice Princess!" Rhaena jabs with a mischievous smile.

You can't help but roll your eyes, "Don't you fucking start, I've had enough of that"

Baela laughs, "had enough of your Ice Prince as well?"

You give her a warning look and the twins hold back their smile, dropping the subject as per your glare. Knowing how you can get.

"How is Pairs?" Rhaena asks,

You sigh, "Different" is all you respond, "How's Singles? Rhaenys giving you a hard time?"

They both groan comically at the same time, "is she? When is she not giving us a hard time? She's our grandmother"

You laugh, sipping your drink, "Ah yeah, forgive me, I do forget sometimes she's a gilf"

"She's not a gilf!" Baela retorts, making you snort a laugh. Almost dropping the glass in your hand.

"Who's not a gilf?"

You all turn and beam, "Jace! When did you get here!" Baela throws herself at him, as does Rhaena as soon as her sister lets go. Sometimes you forget they're cousins, they look so different.

"Hi Jace" you smile, "How have you been?" You ask giving him a hug, which he returns with one hand politely on your back.

"Alright, competitions kicking my ass though"

"Oh dear" you pout, faking a sad face and patting his shoulder, "You'll get over it"

"Thanks, you're so kind" Jace grins.

Over his shoulder you spot him, lurking in a corner with a phone pressed to his ear.

Aemond.

He's dressed all in black again, hair in a loose bun, with a button down and dress pants, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a chain that glints beneath the collar. You swallow at his expression.

He doesn't look pleased in the slightest.

But annoyingly, he does look good.

His eye flits from you and Jace, before realising that you're watching him, to which his attention falls entirely to you. You wonder if he's actually on the phone since he doesn't say anything.

"There she is. The Ice Princess" Cregan Stark obstructs your view for a moment and you smile politely.

"Hi, Cregan-umf"

Your outstretched hand in greeting is completely ignored as Cregan pulls you into a hug, his massive form completely swallowing yours.

"You're in the North, we hug here" he laughs, the vibrations rumbling through your chest, his hand politely in the middle of your back to gently squeeze the hug for longer than you'd think.

Your eyes immediately go to Aemond, over his shoulder. He hasn't moved an inch. But he's hung up his phone, slapping it on his thigh to shove into his pocket. You can't pin down what that look is, but the muscle in his jaw tenses when he looks at Cregan, softening into a smirk when the Northerner pulls away.

Your throat feels tight.

"I know you've been thinking about what we did, in the dressing room"

He doesn't look away, eyes trained on your body. Unabashedly raking over it.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it"

"Drinks!" Baela announces, dragging you luckily to the bar, breaking your staring competition with Aemond.

As the night progresses, you get to know Cregan and Sara. They couldn't be more different from one another, despite being half siblings. Sara has a fire in her belly, and a competitive eye, whereas Cregan is like a big, muscly Northern golden retriever. He looks like the kind of guy who lifts at the gym in one breath and in another would be having afternoon tea with his grandmother.

The duality takes you off guard multiple times during the night.

Jace and Cregan at least seem very close, having trained together multiple times. They're like long lost brothers, the way Cregan has him in a soft headlock as they wobble back to the bar, is proof enough.

Sara leans close to you, "Is he always like that?"

"Who?" You ask, sipping the drink you've been nursing for hours. Not wanting to get drunk in the slightest.

She nods to the corner, "Your Ice Prince. Aptly named by the way he stares at you"

You follow her line of sight, your core instantly clenching at the sight of him. Perhaps you hadn't really realised it before but several of his top buttons are undone, showing more of his skin at a formal event than he had previously.

You swallow, "Oh, uh, yeah he is. Ignore him"

Sara smirks, "Girl, he wants to fuck you. Can you not see that?"

You turn urgently to her, cheeks ablaze, "That's not true"

Sara hums smugly, "Denial is a river in Egypt. He looked like he wanted to tear Jace's head off when you hugged him"

"Jace is just a friend"

"Oh good, so he's available?" Sara raises her eyebrows.

Now it's your turn to smirk, "Are you after him?"

She shrugs, "he's not bad looking. Guy like him might look harmless but I bet he's freaky between the sheets. With a massive c-"

"Sara!" Cregan interrupts, seeing your screwed up face, clearly having heard everything, "Can we have a moment alone?"

She doesn't even need a second, before she prances off in Jace's direction, giving him the big eyes. Cregan leads you to the bar by the small of your back, and you can't tell if he's oblivious to how intimate that is, or if it's intentional, but when he does it you can't help but look in Aemond's direction, who's being hounded by Baela, but clearly not listening.

Cregan smirks in Sara's direction, "Poor guy. Being in Sara's sights is never good"

You laugh, "She'll eat him alive"

"Quite literally I think" Cregan chuckles in return.

There's a pause as you lean against the bar.

"How's life with the Targs?" He asks, one large hand encircling a pint glass effortlessly.

You shrug, "Has it's trials and tribulations, but otherwise they've treated me well enough"

Cregan looks around before leaning forward, murmuring in a hushed manner, "All I would say is, be weary of the big guy"

You cock your head, "You mean Otto?"

He points his finger like you've hit the nail on the head, "Yeah, him. I heard he's a right fucking stickler"

You nod, "He's very particular" you smile, reassuringly, "I manage though"

Cregan is about to open his mouth when Aemomd steps forward, his tall stature rivaling Cregans as he makes himself known. The Northern man fakes a smile, nodding in greeting, but neither says anything.

Before you can inquire, Aemond's hand encircles your forearm, "We're leaving"

"What?" You ask wide-eyed, wondering from where this rudeness has come from.

Aemond tugs you away, and you wave goodbye to Cregan as well as Baela and Rhaena, whose eyes you catch across the room. Sara wiggles her eyebrows.

Aemond doesn't reply, so you fight against his grip, to no avail, "Aemond let go of me. Now"

It's clear Aemond is not listening, and if he is, he doesn't show it on his face. He even stops by the lift, pressing the buttons hurriedly, but once he sees which floor it's coming from, he grumbled and drags you instead up the stairs.

"Aemond, what the fuck is wrong with you!"

"Not having that northern cunt cosying up to you" he murmurs low, dragging you up the four flights of stairs to your floor. Luckily there's nobody there to see you both, it's so late at night.

His face is stoic, lips flat in a line, seething underneath.

"Are you fucking for real? Let go of me!"

It's only when you're in the hallway, stood before the hotel room door that you manage to pull your arm free of him.

"Are you fucking deaf?" You quip angrily, "what the hell was that Aemond?" You push against his chest as hard as you can, but he's built like a fucking brick wall and doesn't move an inch. Doesn't even lose his balance a little.

He doesn't say anything for a moment.

"Do I have to repeat myself? I'm not your fucking girlfriend Aemond! Stop treating me like one"

"You'd rather me let you have the likes of Cregan fucking Stark trying to get into your-"

"So what? What right do you fucking have to boss me around like you own me?" You retort, "besides he was just being nice!"

Aemond chuckles, "Oh yeah, just being nice. He only had one thing on his mind" he smirks, his gaze raking over your dress, "dressed like that, who knows what he was thinking"

"Excuse m-"

Down the hall, a room clicks open, the shadow of it moving barely before Aemond tugs you inside the hotel room out of view. He shuts the door and locks it quickly, his fingers once again curled around your forearm.

"I swear to god, if you grab me more time-"

Aemond scoffs, releasing and facing you, dwarfing you with his form as he approaches, "Or what, princess?"

You swallow, backing up somewhat when he takes his calculated small steps towards you. His chest level with your eyes, you see the chain poking out beneath the undone buttons, the slightest bit of skin…

"Don't call me that"

"Who can blame Cregan fucking Stark anyway? With you dressed like that" Aemond responds, invading your space even further.

Your throat goes dry, "What?.."

"The second I saw you in that flimsy little thing, all I've been able to think about, is how I'm going to take it off"

Through your fierce blush, you clench your hands, your core doing the same involuntarily, "you're delusional"

He hums a laugh, "You're cute when you're trying to be angry, princess"

You feel how short your breathing is, how your chest goes all tight. It feels like being hunted, when he looks at you like that. That mischievous glint in his good eye.

"What is your fucking deal, hm?" You retort, feeling a last rush of courage, "Does it give you some sick satisfaction making my life hell? First you hate me, then you're indifferent, then you're hating me all over again and now you're acting like th-"

His hand claps around your waist, squeezing painfully, tugging you towards him in a deep, near-desperate and dizzying kiss. Much like the first one in the dressing room, it's urgent, his lips prying yours apart to slip his tongue into your mouth, humming deeply at the contact with yours. His other hand quickly finds the back of your head, anchoring you with him and chests touching only barely.

Everything dissipates, he's a good fucking kisser annoyingly, and he sucks briefly on your lips, making the blood rush to them so that they're swollen from his attention.

Your brain, lost in the brief act of passion, kicks in finally and your hands push him away. Your lips part from each other with a wet click, your face noticeably flush. Aemond too, looks slightly flushed, but wears a smug expression.

"What the hell was that"

"You reciprocated" he answers matter-of-factly,

"In your dreams"

He hums, "So stubborn. Are you always like this?"

"Fuck you"

"In the dressing room, you were so intent to continue" he replies, stepping forward slightly from when you'd pushed him, "If we weren't due to perform, nothing would have stopped me from fucking you right on that table in your sparkly little get-up"

You can't deny how the air gets sucked out your chest when he says that. Hate and lust are head to head inside you, battling for dominance.

"You'd like that wouldn't you…"

It's the way he says the words, so low and calculated, with that lazy smirk. His lips just as kiss bruised as yours, the few strands of hair that fell from his bun, disheveled.

All of your pent up hormones from not having slept with anyone for ages, the memory of what he did in the dressing room, as well as the sight of him right here, giving you that fucking look…

Every fucking look he's given you the past few weeks.

The memory of his hand on your thigh, squeezing.

Every hand against the small of your back…

…something snaps.

"Fuck it" you whisper, advancing on him again, both hands cupping the sides of his face and kissing him fiercely again, putting all those bottled up emotions, good and bad, behind the intensity of it.

You feel him smile smugly against you, his hands rested on your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress, "Fucking knew it" he murmurs between the breaks of both your hateful kisses.

One hand sliding round to the back of his head, you card your fingers into his hair, inevitably ruining whatever style he had it in, to pull him closer to you, intensifying the neediness of his lips against yours. You swear he moans at the tugging of his hair, but you don't even hear it, too concentrated on his teeth as they nip at your bottom lip, nursing the area with his tongue afterwards.

A full body shudder erupts through you, sending a gush of arousal straight between your legs. It makes you feel weightless.

As if that weren't enough, Aemond's hands drop, cupping and kneading the flesh of your ass, squeezing near-painfully. The unexpectedness of it makes you gasp into his mouth as he pulls your core that bit closer to his hips, where you can feel the evidence of his arousal hard in his dress pants.

Your hands can't help but explore him as well as he is for you, running across the planes of his well-muscled chest, feeling them strain under your touch like he's holding back. Your fingers run over his chain, dipping to undo the buttons with dizzying speed.

"Eager, are we?" He whispers cockily between kisses.

You shoot him a scathing look, punctuating your words with the rough undoing of more buttons.

"Do you ever shut up"

He doesn't reply, too entranced by the softness of your touch on his bare pale skin as it's revealed button by button. His own hands trace up your middle, over your ribs and straight past your breasts to the straps of your dress, tangling his fingers into one and them and pulling it over your shoulder. Not quite enough to expose any intimate part of you.

Fuck, he's teasing you.

His lips migrate past yours, his nose ghosting over your cheek to your neck, where his lips tease the sensitive skin with open-mouthed kisses, teeth nipping at the space where it meets your shoulder. It's rougher than anticipated, and a soft breathy moan slips out, only serving to spur him on.

His one hand on our waist pushes you back, your knees hitting the mattress sending your body against it. He follows you, cushioning the fall and looming over you, using one of his knees to edge your legs apart for him.

In the heat of it all you've managed at least to get his shirt entirely open, shifting the fabric from his shoulders, shamelessly appreciating the shape of him. Your fingers trail that little bit of hair leading beneath his belt, feeling how the muscles of his abdomen flex with the contact, hearing the whisper of a low moan in his throat.

It's only when your hand begins to massage the very obvious and, you hate to say it, impressive bulge of his erection, that Aemond lets out a shuddered quiet moan, his breath fluttering against your neck.

You smirk, "Eager, are we?" You tease, echoing his previous words.

It's like a switch flipped and Aemond rights himself slightly, one hand taking both of yours and pinning them above your head in a very sudden act of dominance. He revels in the shocked look on your face, his black shirt now forgotten on the floor.

"Keep them there. You won't like it if I have to ask twice, Princess"

His voice send a bolt of pleasure to your core, and you visibly swallow nervously, watching his hands dip to your thighs and pushing the fabric of your dress up to your hips.

You jump in your place as Aemond's hands brace your thighs roughly, parting them and bringing his lips to the sensitive skin on the inside, trailing them up slowly, teasingly, to place an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed core.

"You have no idea what you do to me" he murmurs against you, wrapping the hem of your underwear around his fingers and tugging them off your legs. The motion, as quick as he does it, leaves your lungs breathless for a moment as he descends and kisses the now bare skin on the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

"Aemon-"

Aemond's tongue swipes through your slick folds and he groans low at the taste which sends a deep thrum of want through your core, making everything seem just too much to bear. Too much and yet too little all at the same time.

"Fuck, baby…"

You can feel your thighs shaking against his grip as he keeps them parted for him. It halts every thought in your mind, back arching off the bed as he delves deeper, his tongue parting your folds to fuck you with the wet muscle repeatedly. It feels like he's trying to discover places inside you, as deep as they may be, to make you fall apart.

The angle has your lips parted with hurried breaths, head thrown back against the bed, struggling to keep quiet with the way his nose moves side to side against your aching bundle of nerves.

"Fuck…Aemond…"

It feels like as soon as the pressure begins to build in your belly, he comes away, his lips glistening with your slick, causing your face to heat up in embarrassment. His eyes gleam with mischief.

"What happened to that smart mouth, hm?"

Before anger even has a chance to reach you, he plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you, instantly curled up trying to find that sweet spot inside. Your thighs shut around his hand, effectively trapping him there, a slew of desperate moans filling the silence in the room, as well as the wet smack of his hand as he fucks you with his fingers.

" - ah, fuck, Aemond - "

He grins, "Fuck you're soaked for me…" he muses, increasing the intensity, pistoning them inside you, "...come on, baby…"

He finds that spot with infuriating accuracy, aided by the thickness and length of his fingers, stretching your pussy as he watches them disappear, covered in your arousal.

Your back arches impossibly, thighs squeezed tight. And he smirks in victory.

"There it is…"

Logic, reality, everything is just absolutely gone. Mind blank, and all you're able to think is just him. The pleasure he is giving you. His words. It's all just too much.

The coil in your belly threatens to snap at any moment, the pads of his fingers bullying your g-spot mercilessly. So much you can feel your slick soak his hand and the insides of your thighs.

And just like that.

It's gone.

Your crane your head to him, looking up as he kneels between your legs, outright moaning as he swipes his digits through his lips into his mouth. Tasting you.

Your clit throbs at the lewd action, as well as the fact he's enjoying it so much. Feeling your face flushed and heat bathing your skin.

His hands drop to his belt, "You look so fucking perfect like this" he says, the sound of the leather slipping from his dress pants sending a bolt of arousal back to the place you need him most.

"Don't look at me like that" he smirks, his fists closing around the buttons, "the first time I make you cum, it's going to be on my cock"

You would think of some kind of quip, but Aemond tugs his underwear down, his cock springing free, and his hand coming to stroke himself to full hardness. The motion has you captivated, and inadvertently makes your thighs press together.

Aemond is big. Perhaps bigger than anyone you've had before. He is slightly curved, leaning slightly to the right, and as he strokes himself, his thumb swipes whatever precum comes out his weeping pink tip all over his cockhead, sighing softly at the relief of it. Your breath is momentarily stolen once you realise how his large hand encircles it, making it clear how thick he is on top of all that.

Annoyingly, he has the prettiest cock you've ever seen.

As a last ditch attempt to keep up appearances, your eyes meet his.

"What makes you think I'd let you?" You challenge, "you've not apologised to me yet"

Quite unexpectedly, he smirks, laughing lowly.

"Oh, Princess" he whispers, one hand pulling the rucked up fabric of the dress at your waist and removing it, tearing the fabric over your head and leaving you entirely naked and exposed. The sensation of the fabric and cool air has your nipped harden to attention, and Aemond sighs appreciatively as he kneads one breast in his palm.

He leans down, his tongue darting out to tease the skin around your nipple, "I am sorry" he muses condescendingly, before closing one nipple around his lips, tongue swirling against it. You're unable to do anything but press your lips together to stifle a moan.

Aemond pays special attention, lapping at it like a man starved, humming and pleased at the reaction he gets when he grazes his teeth over it. He pulls off with a gentle pop, kissing the valley of your breasts, his cock hanging heavily against your thigh. So close, and yet still feels so far away.

He reaches away for a second to go for his wallet on the bedside table, but your hand moves quickly to capture his wrist. His piercing gaze looks down at you questioningly.

"I'm clean…" you say, face hot with embarrassment, "...and I'm on birth control"

Aemond grins wolfishly at the admission, leaning down to kiss and nip at your neck, "Someone's prepared"

You gasp when he drags the head of his cock up your folds, parting them only slightly.

"You just want it raw, don't you?"

From this action alone you can feel how wet you are, and when he taps his cockhead against your clit a few times sending sparks of pleasure up your spine, it's obvious when it smacks wetly against your skin.

"Now baby, it's just you and me. I want to hear you when I fuck you. Understood?"

You nod, dizzy from just how much he's teasing you.

"Just fuck me" you plead, annoyance colouring your tone.

He laughs through his nose and your mouth drops open when he pushes into you, splitting you open on his thick cock, slowly working his way inside.

"I'm going to fuck that little attitude right out of you"

Fuck.

Aemond bottoms out inside you, stilling for a moment for you to adjust but also for him to catch his bearings. He breathes in shuddered bursts against your neck, his stomach flexing and fists tightened either side of your head.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight…can feel you squeezing me…" he moans softly against your ear, pushing himself as far inside you as he can possibly go. It has your eyes fluttering shut as his length tucks against that sweet spot, filling you aggravatingly perfectly, the walls of your pussy stretching deliciously to take him.

"Shit-Aemond…" you mewl as he shallowly fucks himself into you a few times, craving friction, craving what glimpse you saw of him earlier, "...please…"

Resting on his forearms, one hand ventures to your thigh to spread you further apart as he pulls almost all the way out.

"Seeing as you asked so nicely"

All air seems to be stolen out of your lungs and replaced with warming bliss as Aemond's slams back inside, his hips immediately pressing with a loud smack against you as he thrusts ceaselessly, holding both of your thighs in his palms.

With every harsh push inside, a soft, moan-like breath slips from your lips. Gods, when was the last time someone fucked you, as in properly fucked you, like this? Probably longer than you'd like to admit. That Highgarden guy left you high and dry, and even the guys before that, they probably thought girls had one hole, so knew little about how to pleasure you.

It's clear Aemond doesn't share this trait, and your thought process is immediately zipped from your past sexual encounters to right now as Aemonds thumb begins to deftly gather your arousal on it to circle around your clit, setting every nerve alight.

"Stubborn and a brat?" He muses, applying a delicious amount of pressure to that needy bundle of nerves, "I thought I made myself very clear, Princess. I want to hear you"

He punctuates his demand with two particularly harsh thrusts, your arousal sounding almost pornographic in nature.

Whether you want to or not, your lips part more to let your sounds of pleasure fill the room, the ceaseless sounds of your fucking alongside it. Your hands fist the bedsheets and Aemond hums appreciatively watching your breasts and body move with every motion.

He rewards you by increasing the speed of his motions, practically fucking you into the mattress. It's here that is the first time you see Aemond let his face show what he's feeling. That smug, cocksure smirk he has worn since arriving back at the hotel room drops, and his jaw slackens, his eye hooded to look down at you with reverence.

"Fuck-baby, I can feel you, you're going to cum for me aren't you-" he moans, his hips never letting up their pace, "shit-feels so good. Been dreaming of this for fucking weeks"

"Aemond-" you moan softly, turning your head, closing your eyes, feeling all exposed to him when he looks at you like that. The pressure in your gut is absolutely set to explode, and you feel that coil tighten impossibly.

Your throat tightens as Aemond leans down, his hips hitting the flesh of your thighs as he continues to piston his cock inside you, the chain around his neck dangling arousingly above you.

You feel him grab your face, turning you to face him, your eyes slightly hooded with pleasure but looking right at him. It's so intimate, it makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

His expression is serious.

"I want you to look at me when I make you cum"

Your hand joins his wrist, guiding him to your neck, and his jaw slackens again when he realises what you want. His fingers wrap around your neck, palm against your windpipe, and he just holds you there, feeling your pulse fluttering against his touch.

All you're able to utter before falling off the edge of your pleasure is, "fuck-"

Blinding white pleasure courses through your veins, your heart hammering in your chest, feeling every single thing Aemond is doing but ten times more sensitive. Being edged twice before certainly didn't help. Every thrust inside, brushing against your sweet spot, the way his thumb continues to press circles against your bud, has your orgasm extended in a long drawn-out shattered moan.

Aemond buries his head into your neck, his arms enveloped around you, letting your bud finally have a reprieve. Your thighs begin to shake as Aemond fucks you through it, overstimulation rocking through your entire body with the incessant bullying of his length against your sweet spot.

"It's alright, baby, I've got you" he whispers, his own tone strained. You can't help but sigh fondly at his words.

"Fuck-where-"

"Inside me…please"

Aemond feels you tighten impossibly around him one last time before he stills, hot ropes of his cum painting your walls and leaving an unmistakable warmth at the deepest parts of your core. Aemond says nothing, but moans helplessly against your neck and you feel his all-body shudder through your hold on his shoulders.

He fucks you shallowly, aching for the last moments of friction just as your orgasm subsides, replaced with a manageable dull thrum, practically able to fell your own heartbeat, and his with his presence inside you. The drag of his cock through your sensitive walls has breathless pants spilling from your mouth.

The silence stretches as Aemond stills, his cock softening within you.

You don't have time to consider what at all he's thinking, as he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw, significantly softer than anything you've both done since arriving back to the hotel room. It shocks you, the intimacy of it.

What had you expected him to do? Get up, pull on his clothes and leave?

Maybe.

You had no expectations with Aemond. So for him to do this, had your chest constrain almost painfully.

What did this mean?

Did he just want a quick fuck?

Had he done this with Floris?

What did it mean for your partnership?

You're almost disappointed in yourself that these are the first thoughts on your mind.

And yet despite the pleasure running hot through your veins even still, as Aemond props himself up to look down at you, his chest heaving with hurried breaths, there's something on his face, in his expression, that you just cannot read.

There's an uncertainty in not being able to read him.

And underneath that hum of pleasure, through your rapid heartbeat, there lies something that hurtles you deep away from it all.

Doubt.

Taglist 1 (Bold means I could not tag!)

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yeyinde · 8 months

Note

This might sound so cringe and cliche, but I wanna be of help in some way-

how about price faking injuries to see a specific nurse he has a crush on but won’t admit.

Cringe and cliche are quite on brand for me, tbh.

It starts as a concussion, a stiffness in his neck. A pinch in his shoulder.

Then it changes shape, shifting, evolving, into something more. A tenuous dance held together by silken threads. He tugs on the ends sometimes, just to watch little pieces of you begin to unravel. Raw skin, untouched and new bared to his curious eyes.

You’ve thrown him off-kilter, left him feeling strange. All asunder.

He shouldn’t be too surprised by the way you unmoor him so easily. Your eyes swallow the atmosphere around him, eating through gravity. Weightless, he’s left to drift in the aether until you snatch him from the air, leaving him wing-clipped, and kept cupped in the soft swells of your palm.

It’s greed, he thinks. That awful little thing that makes him keep coming back for more.

The helicopter crash did a number of things on him—mild concussion, a fractured rib, sprained wrist; it seemed to have flipped his insides all askew for a moment when he plunged to the earth before somehow righting themselves when he'd landed—but in retrospect, hindsight, whatever, it could have been a lot worst.

A fact Gaz seemed to have picked up on quicker than he had when they'd met in the medical bay together, holding their broken bodies with trembling hands.

(Or maybe threaded together by a statuette of Nefertem laced in the fibres of their hearts.)

"What's this now," Gaz asked when he limped in, knee smarting without the surge of adrenaline keeping him upright. Mirth rolling through his teeth, ge offered Price a fractured grin that very likely might have been a grimace. "Two for two? Might be a sign, cap…"

"A sign for what?"

Gaz shrugged, pressing tender fingers against the gash on his forehead. "Stay the fuck out of helicopters. Take the bloody bus instead."

There's a retort in the back of his throat, but it's swallowed when you walk in, hands gripping a medical bag between blanching knuckles. He's closest to the door, and you turn to him with an air of pensive uncertainty that nudges the spot inside of him that preens under authority. That likes law, order, and the simplicity of life. A natural-born leader. He plays the part, of commander and captain, and dips his head toward Gaz, a silent motion meant to convey him first.

The always in that is ironclad, he thinks. Brassbound. Even if he was bleeding out on the pavement. His men, his boys, first.

Except, he catches Gaz doing the same thing toward him. A stalemate, then.

You're new, he notes; ears still wet, face still green. He braces himself to step in, to lay down the authority you need before you flounder, unsure what to do, but instead of being met with uncertainty, he finds himself breathing in your ire.

"Well, heroes," you snip, brow pinching together in displeasure. "One of you has to go first, don't you? So while I put my stuff on the table, I expect you to have figured it out amongst yourself, yeah?"

And it's—

It's something.

A strand of static in the air. Direct current to his heart. It thuds in a strange murmuration, off rhythm, off balance. But it makes sense. You'd thrown him so wildly off kilter.

He clears his throat of the soot that congeals the back, and nods once. Sharp and jerky.

"Right, yeah…"

Price turns to Gaz, brows pinched in the middle. A messy bow.

It isn't like him to be so askew, but you turned everything upside down before he could familiarise himself with the world in its right state. He's adrift for a moment. Floundering, he notes, tasting something sweet behind his teeth.

Gaz meets his eyes somewhere in the fog, the furrow in his brow asking the questions he won't voice aloud—you alright, cap?—but he isn't sure what he's meant to say. Everything feels like it was knocked loose inside of him, left to roll off shelves and clatter to the floor. Disorganised chaos. Awash. Lost in tangled webs. He isn't used to this. To feeling so useless, so askew.

He later finds it just the concussion warping the edges of his mind, turning his thoughts into a slurry. That the mild part was an oversight, one that was immediately corrected by you—firm fingers holding his chin still, nails scratching against his beard as you peered into his eyes with a clinical air of detachment that shouldn't have made his heart beat as loud as it was.

You smell of summer rain. The musk of water on a hot pavement. He breathes it in until it's clogging the back of his throat, so thick he can almost taste it. So heavy, so heady, his head swims. Ozone. Charred wood. War tucked in a bottle.

The soft fingers against his pulse was a shock, made potent by the little curl of your brow when you counted the beats per minute and found they were much too fast. He isn't embarrassed. Doesn't think he has it in him anymore to feel that way, but there's a sense of frustration in the back of his mind as you move around him, commandeering him with an ease that leaves him feeling a little breathless.

"You're concussed," you say at last, lips pitching downward as you read his charts, the scrawl left behind by the nurse who'd seen him earlier. The one who promptly sent him to you. "And it isn't mild."

With that, and a list of things he ought to do (non-negotiable), you send him on his way. Gaz, too. Fixed up with gauze and made shiny and new.

Soap asks why he's so quiet later when they meet for a debriefing later on (one that he knows is definitely on the list of things you told him not to do), and has to stop the rip current from spilling past his lips.

"He's concussed," Gaz supplied, narrowed eyes clipping the side of his face when it lands; a physical blow. "Doc said he needed rest. But good luck telling him that."

"Don't need rest," he grumbles. There's a blossom of pain in his temple. A little sapling that flourishes under the waning sunlight. "'M fine."

They don't believe him, but the debriefing is too short to push him to lay down, and he spends the next hour pretending he's not seeing shadows in his periphery. That the words on the pages don't bleed together.

(That the scent of Petrichor doesn't glue to the back of his throat.)

When the hurt in his head dims, he finds his thoughts drifting back to you. Meek and unassuming. A wolf in sheep's clothing. It lingers long after the meeting has ended and he's ushered to the barracks for rest. Home tomorrow, Gaz promises on the tail end of yawn. Gonna sleep for a whole year, I think.

Aye, gonna head home in the morning, Soap murmurs, but his eyes don't stray from the corner where Ghost leans, chin dipped low to his chest.

(Price wouldn't put it past him to be asleep already.)

They tell him to get some sleep, dressing the worry in their voice as a friendly admonishment, and he takes it as it is.

But rest doesn't come.

He's curious about you. The little hellion that managed to snatch him clean from the air, and cup him in the palm of your too-small hands.

(He wants to feel it again.)

It begins as idle curiosity.

Price is a large man full of bulk and grit. The snarls in his throat command authority, respect. He isn't used to feeling so wing clipped, sidelined, and he blames that on why he seeks you out.

A pinch in his shoulder. His chest feels swollen around the broken rib. His knee hurts. There's an ache in his throat. A throb in his kidneys.

Each time is met with the same stern expression, firm hands. You commandeer him around the room, dragging out the ailments with ease that always seems to leave him off-kilter and breathless.

He realises what it is the fourth time he comes to your office, exacerbating some mild pain.

You take up space. All of it. Any crevasse, or corner is immediately filled by you. You have this presence about you that is so at odds with the meek façade you carried on your countenance like an ill-fitting mask when he'd first laid eyes on you.

You're an enigma, a paradox. A riddle begging to be solved. He wants to take you into his hands and pull you apart until your insides are bared to him, true and real, and known.

He's met people like you in his lifetime. Leaders in roles that don't fit them. He thinks you belong in worn pages of history, tucked behind a desk as you commandeer the world around you with firm hands and a gnarled smile instead of standing before him, musing softly at whatever ailments he throws your way.

Despite his plethora of issues, you tackle them all with an air of severity and seriousness that he finds kinship in, touching softly at the twined mass that writhes before him. The cuts in your gaze are made from the same shorn razor as his, and he wants to see what's behind that ill-fitting mask.

He wants to see you slip.

But you don't.

Tongue between teeth, clenched so hard that blood blooms and swells in the tip, you keep everything locked tight to your chest, and usher him out with pantomime remedies to heal his farcical hurts.

Price isn't sure why he keeps going—curiosity, maybe. An attraction that cracks like lightning striking through his chest. A gale of turbulence that leaves him seaswept and standing on shaking knees. He doesn’t know what to do with the kinetic energy that buzzes in his veins, begging to be free, and so he tests. Pulls and tugs at the seams that keep you spooled tightly together just to see that fissure that once split across your face, leaking fury and fire into the air until it ripped through his nerves, an electrical fire, and set him alight from the inside out.

(He finds he likes the way it hurts.)

As much as he tugs, he finds he likes it when you pull back.

"Should be careful," you coo, and the syrupy sweetness of your voice sparks against some dormant part of his mind. "You seem to have a lot of bad luck when it comes to ailments."

He shrugs. "Just unlucky."

"Or you're being cursed."

"Oh, yeah?" He hums. "Could be."

You offer a flimsy smile, but it’s enough to soothe the ruffle through his plumage.

"What's your name?" He asks, fingers plucking at the gossamer that sits between you, unsettled by the quiver in his chest.

The smile you flash at him is all teeth. "Sekhmet."

Laswell doesn't ask why when he requests your records, but he senses the confusion in her voice when she calls.

"All of them?"

He grunts in response.

"I vetted them personally, John… but," there's a shuffle in the background. Boxes sliding on linoleum. She's overseeing the tearing up of Shepherd's office, and this minute request suddenly turns his stomach sour. "Fine. If that's what you want."

"It's just—"

He isn't quite sure what to say. He was weakened and flummoxed by the world around him. You turned the tipping axis on its head, leaving him feeling asunder.

"Heard they were quite rough with you," she teases, an olive branch. An excuse. "Bossing around the boss. Is this what it's about?"

He scoffs, then, and only feels an inkling of pain. "No, Laswell. And I wasn't bossed around."

"Manhandled?"

It gives him pause. That feeling from before swells in his chest. Soft hands against his talons, clipping his wings.

"No," he mutters, but the airiness of his voice gives him away.

Laswell, in a feat of mercy, just hums. "They're good, John. Good for this team."

Good for you, she doesn't say. John thinks she doesn't have to. He hears it, anyway.

There are cracks inside of him, ones made from the chipped clay that once concealed an unslaked black hole.

You fill space, he thinks.

He isn’t surprised to find you fill the gaps inside of him, too.

He goes again, but this time it’s real. A bullet grazed his shin, deep enough to warrant stitches, and finds you waiting for him with that clipboard pinched between your hands.

The look on your face gives him pause. It’s pulled taut, coiled like a defensive viper, but where he expects the same clinical efficiency and detached airs, he instead is met with a palpable sense of uncertainty—too much, he thinks, like the first time you walked into the room, unsure and wobbling on unsteady feet.

His heart thunders under your prying gaze. “Need some stitches,” he says, if only to fill in the terse silence that settles over the room, hushed and aggrieved.

“Right,” you echo, eyes dropping to the blood that runs in streaking rivulets down his leg.

And you say nothing else after, working quietly as you knit skin back together and sponge the drying blood from the wry thatch of curls that blanket his shin.

Price takes in the paleness of your lip, pinched tight against your clenched teeth. The deep ravine that cuts a line between your brows, heavy with shadows and flooded in some strange amalgamation of anger—potent enough that he can catch the embers in the air on his tongue—and this uncharacteristic sense of disquiet that makes your shoulders tense, your hands slacken. The firm, sure touch is gone—replaced, instead, with clouded unease—and you no longer commandeer him around the room, catch him from the air and manoeuvre him to your fanciful whims. You nudge, now. Soft utterances; requests.

You don’t move space to fit yourself between the brackets. You linger in the periphery.

He isn’t accustomed to this, and the hesitancy in your brow needles behind his ribs, pinching and pushing until he’s left feeling that same, strange sense of weightlessness as before. But where you led him around by the tip of his ears, he finds himself unmoored.

(He likes the loss of control, but only when it’s tethered to your hand.)

His wound is patched up, skin knitted together with silken black lines that cut a neat crisscross through his tumid skin. There is no reason to linger, despite the weight on his tongue urging him to speak.

But you strike first, catching him at the door.

"Is there a problem?" You ask, words stripped bare, and masticated between clenched teeth. Reluctance is a heavy weight on your brow when he turns to you, as if you don't want to ask, but are compelled to. Forced to.

It's the first time he's felt any sense of control around you. He stretches his wings.

"Problem?" He echoes, and tucks his hands beneath his arms. Steadying his stance. Preparing for the fight.

You mimic his pose, but grab the knobs of your elbows between tense fingers instead. There's fire in your eyes. The room fills with smoke.

"You asked for my papers."

The meagre file tucked away in his cabinet spoke of your accomplishments in the same detached, clinical distance as one of the many façades you adopt. It listed your education, your former employment, and your accolades in Times New Roman, all standard affairs. Impressive, of course, but he found it all to be quite lacklustre.

It didn't mention the firmness of your fingers when you take his pulse or commandeer him to your liking. It said nothing about the paralysing weight in your gaze, vipers tucked in the corners of your eyes when he meets your stolid authority with his own fiery wrath.

(Or the softness of your cheeks when you try to hide a smile. The admonishing pinches made in jest when he says something that distracts you from your task.)

"I did."

"Okay," you breathe heavily through your nose. "Why?"

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't?"

"You just—" another breath. He has the peculiar urge to syphon the next directly from your lungs, to taste your air on his tongue. "You come here, week after week, with some—illness, and just—"

"Just what?"

"If you have a problem," you say at length, eyes flashing. "You could have come to me? One on one. I would have—"

"A problem?" He singles the word out, tossing it back at your teeth. “I don’t have a problem.”

You laugh, but it's scathing. "Are you undermining me? Is this—hazing?"

“Hazing? No,” he shakes his head, chasing the tail end of your derision. “Consider this vetting.”

And there it is—that fissure. Heat pops from the lavascape, spilling down the split of your lips.

“Right.” You snip, shaking your head. “Well, I hope I met your expectations, Price.”

He huffs, then. The noise is a broken facsimile of a laugh forced through crooked teeth. “Of course you do.” The pinch in your brow wobbles. “Wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, love.”

He rents the air with his admission, splits the seams of this tenuous dance you make each week he shows up, speaking of some phantom pain ripped the pages of the textbooks that sit, worn and well-loved, on the shelves behind your desk.

You say nothing when he leaves.

(Or when he rests a piece of himself on the doorframe—a glossy feather from his primary remiges just for you.)

He doesn’t go for the next three weeks, but it isn’t cowardice that drags him away from this oddly shaped choreography. He’s caught in a storm halfway across the world with sand in his hair, and the curve of your confusion nudged between the fibrils of his chest.

In the softness of night, he wonders what you've done with his clipped feather.

Price meets you at the beginning, but this time, he stands in the medical bay with firm knees, and a clear head. Searching, seeking.

The thread vibrates, and he finds you with your back to him, doling out gentle, firm, commands to the medical staff congregated around you. Clinging to your breathy orders with the same listless uncertainty that makes his chest swell with the urge to lead whenever it's rested on his shoulders.

He isn't sure if you can feel the reverberations through the thread, the leftover sutures from when you weaved a needle over the cut on his forearm, and accidentally sewed a piece of yourself into his skin, or if it's just the heavy weight of his gaze burning brands into your back that draws your attention.

(It certainly garners enough from the staff around you, their flighty eyes flickering from the mountain of a man seething at your back, to you—feigning obliviousness as he strips you bare beneath his glacial gaze, cutting a path to your membrane where he knows he'll find the piece of himself that you snipped off months ago.)

When you finally turn, you give a peculiar look over your shoulder, eyes clouded over, gaze inward. He watches you for a moment, taking in the curve of your cheek, the slope of your nose. Foreign, of course; but familiar under the cloak of darkness and the hail of gunfire.

The fire still burns in your unreachable depths, but the embers are smouldering. He feels the heat even from this distance, but when you return from whatever thoughts were racing through your head, he finds the look that fixes itself there to be strange. Pensive.

A quiet contemplation as you take in the length of his shoulders, the width of his chest.

His heart hammers against the cages of his sore ribs, leaping to the base of his throat where it pulses like a raw wound.

The whole of his body smarts like a massive contusion—muscles bending at odd angles, bones brittle—but he knows in an instant that he won't mention it to you. He'll tuck the hurt aside. Let it moulder. Let it rot.

This thing between you—crafted from the design of his heart—has been pulled and pinched, flexed and stretched too taut. It's ready to snap. To break.

He waits for that moment, bracing himself for the inevitability of the recoil clapping him against the chest, but it doesn't happen.

You give a small dip of your chin.

Then, you're gone.

You've been moulding him between form hands since the beginning, moving him around however you please.

So, it just feels natural when he follows.

This time it's his chest.

You go through the same dance, steps known. Ingrained in muscle memory. Your hands are firm, authoritative as you lead him on this little chase, pushing and pulling, tugging on the threads that keep him sewn up and whole.

But an incipient path is born. A new routine. The hand on his cheek, as you read his temperature, lingers, thumb brushing over the dividing line that separates skin from wry curls.

The touch is familiar. You’re no strange to feeling around the phantom aches and pains he presents to you, but this is an electric shock that rattles through his nerves. The trail your thumb leaves behind as it strokes idly at his skin prickles and burns. Goosebumps rise, creating cresting hills and peaks along his topography. You map it all with nimble fingers, firm and sure.

You take the thermometer out of his mouth after a moment, not even pretending to read the results (thirty-seven degrees, always), and it’s tossed back on the tray quickly before your hand returns to his skin, drawn there by that same innate pull he feels in his iron bones. The warmth of your palm threatens to suffuse his skin, mated together in ferromagnetism.

His chin rests, plinthed in your palms, and there’s a sudden swell, a rush, that gorges on his heart. The façades fall, clattering to the ground. The broken pieces lay in remains by his feet.

Price doesn’t spare them a glance.

Can’t, maybe, because in azimuth he finds that solidary feather he plucked for you resting between your teeth.

Wonderment. Awe. He feels the surge of something ripping through his body—a paroxysm—but he can’t look away from the shapes of your bare face; the imperfect asymmetry, the wrought iron lines, the convulsing atoms. It’s mesmerising.

And maybe it’s an electrical phenomenon—no let go—but he doesn’t spare it a single thought, even as the current burrows deeper into his chest, igniting his tissue until red-hot, blistering, charred. Even then, even with the scent of smouldering, necrotising flesh brimming cloyingly into his scenes, the absolute apathy he feels for himself at that moment is a testament to the unshakeable draw, that primal magnetism that glues him to you; met in perfect equilibrium in the middle.

It’s you who moves, who splints the poles until they fall apart when you let your hand drop.

But you’re not finished. The tips of your fingers move, a long peregrination down the twisting, sloping topography of his visage; snaking down his temple, the dip of his nose, the rough bushel of curls, the soft pout of his lips, the ulotrichous hair along his cheek and jaw, the long decline of his check, the ridged of his collarbones, the swell of his chest. It’s there where it lingers, fingers spreading like webs along the birdcage of his thundering heart.

Price watches you, rapturous and nearly choking himself on the avarice that spills from his heaving lungs.

You rest the flat of your palm there for a beat; lost in perambulation. Feasting on the thud of his heart.

He thinks you’ve had your fill. Quenched yourself.

But when you look up from the slight tremor of your hand, pulsing in time with his hurried beats, the look in your eyes is distinctly unslaked.

(—and he can’t stop the rumble from spilling out of his chest at the sight.)

Price isn’t sure how long you stay like that. Minutes, seconds, hours. Aeons might have passed since you let your mask slip. Since he plucked at threads keeping it upright. But he shakes back into cognisance when you pull away, cutting through space and time, and filling the gaps once more with the heavy weight of your presence.

“You’ll be fine,” you say over your shoulder, reaching for your clipboard. “A little rest is all you need, captain.”

There’s an insurmountable number of things he can say, but you press on his throat, and he swallows them down, nodding at your back instead.

The cloven strands fall around him, broken with distance. There’s an urge in his bones to sew back into his skin, to press them like drying flowers into the folds of his heart where they’ll say, nurtured on his blood and suffused into his being. He rests his laurels on it for a moment, feels the weight of his want, his desire, and compares it to the fraying wisps dragging along the linoleum.

But he doesn’t reach for them.

He is wing clipped and flightless. You hold the only feather that gives him lift between the monoliths of your teeth.

A fine place to keep it, he thinks and turns around, ready to leave on unsteady feet, but—

"Seven," you say, firm and sure. No nonsense. But when he turns, he catches the pallor of your knuckles gripped tight around the clipboard. You hold it to your chest like a shield. The vipers in your eyes quiet their hissing, tongues lashing out to scent the air. "There's this place in Manchester that makes the best Beef Suya."

You're not asking him.

(But you don't really have to, do you?)

His lips pull up. He catches the drifting threads in his bare palm. "Manchester, mm?"

"I hope you like a little bit of spice."

"I can handle the heat."

You swallow thickly, and he thinks the action on anyone else might be easily mistaken for nerves, but the livewire that pulls taut between you thrums with a heavy sense of anticipation.

"I hope so, John," he startles at the mention of his name. It makes your lips curl back, and he shouldn't find it so mesmerising when can't tell if it's a smile or a sneer. "Otherwise I'd be quite disappointed."

His chin dips to his chest. It renders his voice to little more than smoke and ash, but you shudder from across the room at the growl.

"Wouldn't want that, now, would we?"

It isn't breathless when you speak, but he licks his lips and tastes the pulsing excitement that sparks in the air. It curls in his lungs. Saltwater on burning coals.

"Don't be late."

It's a promise, he thinks; a warning, too. A threat. "Wouldn't dream of it, love."

He turns away from you, shielding the growing smile from your searching gaze, but your voice stops him short at the door, fingers curled around the frame.

“And Price?”

“Yes, love?” He calls, featherlight in a way he hasn’t felt since he was eighteen and free. Ready to soar, to fly.

"You know," you say, brows knotting together. Despite the severity of your expression, there's a note of playfulness between your teeth. "If you wanted to see me, you could have just asked."

After dinner, they fucked so nasty that Qadesh could be heard gagging across the aether.

#u ever just write a thing and then realise there's something fundamentally wrong with u on an atomic level? cause hey that's me #no one asked for Sekhmet x Ptah but my god did i tackle that task as if my life depended on it #John Price x Reader #Captain Price x Reader #Price x Reader #ughghghghg #i feel like that kid who just stares point blank at the barrel of a gun and says “shoot me”#i kinda just wanted an mc who was like #oh you big man lemme manhandle YOU #and i did it #maybe

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