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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year

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I LOVE TEN AND ONE SO MUCH YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 i know you said that you’re not yet in soft!daemon feels but what if reader already got pregnant and seeing her pregnant makes daemon so feral & just want to breed her so much…………

Mine

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: After trying to get pregnant for months, you fell into a state where all you could do is cry. It left Daemon erratic and so easily triggered. To clear both your minds, he thinks a ride on dragon back would help, but it seems even Caraxes is not in a good mood.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Mentions of failed pregnancies/miscarriage, wife!reader, depressive episodes, smut (sad fucking, rough fucking, vaginal penetration, hair pulling, impregnation kink, claiming kink, cock warming ig), angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: CONGRATULATIONS FOR ACTUALLY CONVINCING ME TO MAKE A P2 OF SOMETHING. a word of caution though, it's probably not exactly what you expect. btw if you're new here, this is technically a part two to Ten & One, but you don't have to read it to get this. It will help you get in the feels more probably, but you don't need to read it to understand. I'd appreciate it if you did read it though LEAVE COMMENTS AND REBLOGS I HELD BACK ON THE PRAISE KINK BUT I ASSURE YOU MINE IS VERY REAL ISTG IM GOING TO GO FERAL IF NO ONE REPLIES TO THIS

"Our home was once so warm," one of the head servants sigh to the two younger servants, "and not because of how Caraxes sometimes has fits, but because the lady of our house warmed it so," she shakes her head, "now she has done nothing but cry and my heart hurts for Lady Targaryen."

"I do hope she finds comfort soon," one younger servant adds with a frown, "my cousin said that her late lady eventually fell ill after grieving so long that she succumbed to her illness."

There was no ill-intent in their words, and yet he could not stand hearing it.

The sharp sound of a sword unsheathing promptly halts the servants.

Daemon is in front of them, coming out of the chamber they were meant to enter. He points Dark Sister at them, jaw clenching tightly at the words he heard them speak.

The three look to their master in fear as he takes a few steps closer to them, "I will not tolerate any word from any tongue about my wife."

Daemon watches them quiver under the gaze of his sword. Had he not been attentive of his wife, he would have killed them out of annoyance. Yet he doesn't, "do your task and leave at once."

The head servant nods and the servants scurry off into the room.

I was lying in bed, chest down, when I heard the telltale sound of footsteps. I peel my teary eyes open and mutter against the cushion, "Mileva?"

My childhood handmaiden turns to me and frowns, "yes, milady, I'm here. I have come to serve you your food."

My eyes begin to water again as I watch her set the food out on the table.

On theme with my other thoughts, I recall how she took care of me as a child, and then how she excitedly told me she was eager to do the same for my children. Her hair was now grey and yet I still had not even one child.

"Mileva," I whine, lips quivering as I reach my hand out to her for comfort.

Daemon walks back in, face hard and tense.

Mileva turns to me and sighs, "oh, sweet child." She walks over to me, taking my hand, kneeling by the side of my bed, "cease your sorrow. You will fall with child soon enough."

"But it's been a year since I've been wed," I sob, pulling her hand towards me, "what if something's wrong with me?"

"N-" "There's nothing wrong with you," Daemon quips before Mileva could speak the same words, albeit with more softness.

Mileva turns to Daemon who stood by the door, as if guarding it, then back to me, pressing a kiss on my knuckles, "my lady, take heart and regain your strength. I know you are going through a difficult season, but soon you will have what you so desire," she brushes my tears away with her calloused hands, "it is not uncommon to experience what you're going through. I myself grieved the same things you do when I first fell with child."

"Oh, Mileva," I weep helplessly, moving to sit up, "I had no idea, and I-"

"Enough, my girl," she hushes, grabbing both of my arms in her hands, "now please, do us all a favor and eat. I would never forgive myself if I allow you to lose yourself completely."

Daemon watches as I move to the table near our bed. Once I sit down, my husband speaks, "you may go now."

In exchange of the company of our servants, Daemon comes upon me, placing a hand on my shoulder as I dumbly look at the food I once loved.

"Your dear Mileva is right, you must regain your strength," he mutters, walking behind me, massaging both my shoulders.

"I feel I will be sick if I so much bring a spoon to my mouth."

He stills his actions then the drags the other chair close to me with a screech. "Shall you prefer I feed you then?" he asks, sitting next to me.

Daemon does nothing but look at me as I gaze off into the abyss that was a plate of food before me.

"I don't think I will ever find peace, Daemon," I mutter, mostly I think to myself, "I was with child," I start to feel tears burn in my eyes, "then I was not."

He brushes his fingers on my cheek, "The gods are to blame, not you."

I finally turn to my husband, chest heaving as salt water runs down my face uncontrollably. He frowns as he sighs, hand taking mine in comfort. I choke on more tears and fall to his side, unable to withhold the helpless yelps in my throat.

Daemon wastes no time in readjusting in his seat, expertly unclasping the holster on his waist, allowing his weapon to clatter to the ground. He then in one scoop brings me onto his lap, allowing me to nuzzle on his neck and pour my sadness onto his skin. His arms envelope around me, behind my back and over my thighs.

I bring my hands up to his cheeks, attempting to even out my breathing as I take in his familiar scent.

Once I finally felt like I wasn't suffocating, I begin to fiddle with Daemon's silver hair.

He leans against my touch. I pepper kisses on his cheeks.

For a moment, he is satisfied with this, but then decides to meet my lips with his own. His hands begin to tighten around me.

I release as sigh, pulling my hands away so I can readjust his grip o me and maneuver my legs over him. He makes no fuss when I straddle him, in fact his arms fiddle with the nightgown I did not bother to change out of from the night before.

My fingers travel to his tunic, and I begin to undo the its clasps. When my hand finally rubs the bare skin underneath his clothing, that's when he halts and pushes me off him to stop our kiss. He is finally certain of my actions.

I look at him. His eyes are closed and yet I could see his resolve dwindling. I place a peck on his lip as I grind down on him.

He groans, legs spreading beneath me. For a moment, he allows me to continue, but then his hands grab on my waist at an attempt to stop me.

I halt at just as he wants, but feel betrayal rise up my throat as I speak, "will you not even have me now, husband?"

Daemon releases a prolonged sigh, leaning his head back on the chair, lightly scratching my sides with his fingers, "with all my strength, I am not strong enough to even think of doing that."

I continue to buck my hips on him again.

His grip tightens but not in an attempt to withhold me.

"Then do not kid yourself by resisting me."

Daemon's eyes finally open with a grunt. The dizziness in his mind clears when he sees my face. He knits his brows and wipes my tears away, "my love."

I blink rapidly as I whine, "have me, Daemon, and end this mourning."

He calls my name, stilling me again with his hands.

This time, I bang on his chest in anger for trying to stop me, but then all at once, I crumble against him in a fit of tears.

Daemon kisses my cheek as he tightly pulls me against him.

We remain like this for a long while.

After being calmed by the sound of his breathing, I finally have the strength to cease my weeping. "I do want you, Daemon," I mutter against his cheek.

"I always want you, my queen," he replies, rubbing my back, "but I do not wish to take advantage of your sorrow."

I move against him again. He loosens his arms around me as I turn to him with glassy eyes, "then have me for no other reason than my own desire to have you, Daemon."

He is about to say something, but my hand on his hardened member takes the words out of his mouth. I palm his through his pants, "will you require me to beg for it on my knees?"

I pull away, hands snaking behind his nape, "I will be most eager to do so," I whisper, hips rolling atop his, "anything to take my mind off this, Daemon."

"Fuck," he hisses, hands tightening around me yet again.

This time, Daemon carries me to our bed and pushes me open underneath him. He hungrily kisses my neck and begins to rub his clothed member against my burning core.

"Take your clothes off," I whimper, urging his tunic and pants off.

In an instant, not only is he naked, but as am I.

Our lips take each other's desperately, and a satisfied moan fights between our kiss when I feel him enter me slowly. My limbs latch around him out of instinct and my fingers dig into the small of his back, urging him to move.

He whispers my name in my ear. He does so with much care that my heart quickens at it.

"I will try my best to be gentle, my love."

I whine at his sentiment, but I nibble his ear in response, "fuck gentle. Ruin me, Daemon. I don't want to walk around any time soon anyway."

Daemon begins to rut his hips into mine upon hearing this. He moves slowly at first, as if to measure the truth in my words. He then enters me at a quicker pace, exhaling deeply against my skin.

I whine his name out, "Daemon please, please, please, fuck me."

He heaves against me, "say that again."

I claw at him and whimper, "please, fuck me so hard I can't walk, Daemon." I match the movement of his hips, "make sure I have no choice but to stay in bed."

That's all it takes for him to thrust into me like a man gone mad.

The sound of skin slapping each other almost makes me unable to hear my cries.

He enjoys breaking my legs open and hammering into my heat. He enjoys it so much that he remains in this position for a while, savoring the feeling. He soon decides to move his hands up my legs and push my knees to my chest. Daemon lifts himself a bit, so he could hook my ankles by his shoulders. The more compromising position makes me stretch my hands above me and grip at the pillows for dear life.

I cry so hard that I don't hear anything else. I'm sure even if there weren't anyone near our chambers, my screams would still be heard.

"Do you like it when I take you like this, wife?" he asks, or challenges almost.

I'm too fucked up to reply and only the in sync rising and falling of my voice to his relentless slamming was what he got out of me.

He finds a more secure stance on his knees, and he latches his fingers under my knees as he drives into me like it was what was going to keep him alive.

His breathing is unbelievably controlled in comparison to my raggedy hitches.

As Daemon looks before him, his hands reach out to my core then to my belly. His mind floods with obscene images of previous couplings. He groans at the ideas flooding his head. He rubs my belly, "you will look so glorious filled up with my seed."

I whine as his hands grab my breasts.

"Maybe I should fill up all your pretty holes, hmm?" he pants, "but maybe then your body wouldn't know what to do with my seed anymore."

I release a string of curses as my hands shoot up to grip his biceps. My back arches to better feel him and mentally thank myself for it, screaming ecstasy when he knocks on me just right. He chuckles in satisfaction, "so fucking eager, my love."

In a twist of fate, he pulls out of me.

I'm too delirious to even realize it or manage to complain. All at once I'm being flipped onto my knees. I do however know exactly when he pulls on my hips and slams into me with dare I say more intent. I don't even manage to push myself on my arms as I am utterly boneless against him.

"Daemon."

His response to the sound of his name was to rub my sensitive nub with his keen fingers. His other hand yanks on the roots of my hair, "who does your cunt belong to?"

I growl, one hand coming to his that was pulling my head back. I am even more unable to push myself up. I scream his name.

"Mine," he growls, "mine," he flicks his hips.

He yanks on my hair again, "say it. Who do you belong to?"

"You," I heave, "you, you, you, you-"

"Good," he praises as I loose my mind, "I'll make sure you only ever cry over how good my cock makes you feel," he mutters breathily. And although his words are lewd, there is a certain sincerity to it.

Much like before, because I never really stopped, tears begin to drip from my eyes in a tinge of pleasure, pain, and residual sorrow.

Daemon massages my scalp with his fingers as his thrusts reach a quick and steady pace. I can almost feel him hit inner most parts of my mind and taste him on my tongue.

My head helplessly crumbles onto the cushions when he releases me so he can piston inside me at a better angle. My screams are finally muffled.

My husband seems not to appreciate it as he yanks my hair back and forces my shouts to me audible again, "let them hear me breed my you, wife, scream out who makes you feel like this."

At this point, I've left my mouth gaping too long that my throat dries up and the sounds of his name that I produce leaves a burning sensation.

I feel my stomach begin to tighten at his ministrations.

"That's right," he encourages, "chase that feeling on my cock," he says, "come around me, darling. Come on."

My hips instinctively buck against him at the sound of his encouragements.

Daemon revels in the repetition of his name. He feels like he is invincible at the praising sounds.

I inevitably quake around him as if it was the surface beneath that forced me to do so. My voice is absolutely wrecked at the cry that leaves my lips.

Daemon rubs my core again, milking my reaction for all he's got.

Once even my knees began to give in, that's when I feel Daemon's heat shoot into so sharply that my body quakes all over again. He fucks into me even after. There is so much of him that I feel him drip out of me with wet squelching sounds.

My womanhood is practically crying at this point.

"I'll do you well, wife," he announces, pace drastically slowing, "I'll fuck you good even if the gods obstruct your womb from carrying my seed."

I repeat his name over and over again.

Daemon finally stops, but he does not exit me. He rubs my butt in a soothing attempt, "let me stay like this for a while, your cunt is leaking."

I shake my head, "no please, turn me over. I want to hold you, Daemon."

He does not dare deny me this.

He quickly uses his strength and expertly has me on my back, barely pulling out as he does so.

He wraps my legs around him snugly as he eventually presses his chest against mine. I seal his torso in my arms. He sighs in content when he finds his face on the crook of my neck. He lazily kisses my skin as his his arms loop around my own body.

"I love you, Daemon," I mutter, fingers lightly grazing his skin.

"I love you," he responds, "I will continue to be a slave to your desires."

"Good," I pipe up blinking away the tears that were left in my eyes, "I don't want you to leave me today. Stay right here, like this."

Daemon kisses my neck, "I wouldn't dare move from where I lie."

A good seven days passed, and I was feeling a lot more myself.

Daemon, in all his paranoia that something would happen to me the moment he's not looking, made sure to either not leave my side, or to bring me everywhere with him. And since he really did leave me in quite a discomfort after our intense fucking, it was only now that he was able to bring me along to accomplish his errands.

In all his smugness, he offered to carry me if I still found it difficult to walk. I, of course, slapped him because of this. It obviously didn't hurt him, because I meant it not too, but he promised me he'd get even for it.

Today, we were apparently going for a ride on dragon back.

"How have you been, boy," Daemon calls in High Valyrian as we made our way to his dragon.

Caraxes whines the way he always does. I smile at the creature, sensing somehow that he had missed his rider. Daemon catches this and squeezes my hand in response.

All at once, Caraxes whines shift into a louder more desperate version, dare I say it was a form of discomfort. The unforeseen reaction makes me nervous, especially when the large creature makes his way towards me.

Daemon feels Caraxes' agitation, but he is more concern about mine, which is why he releases my hand and raises it up to the dragon. He promptly scolds the beast in a long string of High Valyrian I wouldn't have been able to understand even if I wanted to.

Caraxes screeches, seemingly determined to go to me.

I decide to walk back slowly, although I do this out of concern more than fear. Perhaps he wanted his rider all to himself. I agree with my mental thought, since deep down, I knew Caraxes would not turn to me will ill-intent.

One of the keepers, I find, is suddenly ghosting a hand over my arm. I gasp at the unexpected touch and furrow my brows at his words that I do not understand.

Daemon's gaze rips away from his dragon over to the keeper, "what did you say?"

The keeper turns from me to my husband, hand pulling away so he could motion to the restless Caraxes.

Daemon's face contorts at whatever it was that he was told. My concern now drifts from the dragon to his rider, "Daemon? What is it?"

He turns away from me, back to Caraxes, hushing him, "I understand now, boy."

I look at Daemon as he offers me his hand without turning away from his mount. I wordlessly take his hand in mine. Daemon pulls me slowly in front of him, hands going to my sides.

Caraxes stands on his legs upon seeing me, letting out a powerful roar.

I reel back, pressing against my husband's chest, "Daemon, I-"

"It's alright," he mutters against my ear.

Daemon looks up to his dragon then screams some sort of accusation.

Caraxes lands back on his claws, huffing out so deeply that there is a strong gust of air that nearly blows me away. Had it not been for Daemon behind me, perhaps I would have fallen on my ass.

Suddenly, I hear Daemon shudder. His hand travel to my belly. He takes one step forward, moving in front of me and calls my name out in praise before kneeling before me.

I look down at him in concern, almost not noticing how Caraxes brings his snout close to me.

I am distracted by the dragon head that I almost don't hear Daemon say, "you're with child."

My hand darts up to Caraxes and my eyes widen as I turn back down to my husband.

He kisses my skirt, but I shake my head in disbelief, "don't mess with me, Daemon."

Daemon looks up at me then stands. He hushes me as he takes my face in his hands, "Caraxes can sense it," he presses a kiss on my forehead, "the gods have finally bended to my will."

Tears begin to glaze my eyes. "Daemon," I grip his wrist and look up at him, "I'm so happy, but what if-"

"Shhh," he pulls me against him, "I will not have you speak ill of this glorious discovery."

I begin to weep, and it seems Caraxes does not enjoy it for he huffs helplessly upon hearing it.

"I will be here, my love," he mutters, "I will do all I can to make sure nothing harms you or our child."

Caraxes makes a sound that seems to be of agreement.

#ok aw so sweet but really what can he fucking do?#not me fighting Daemon aka my own writing aka myself #daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon smut #daemon kinda soft hours?#daemon angst #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen fluff #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen angst #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you

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justaaveragereader · 8 months

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Your reblog comments had me thinking about Mingi right because he is the type to be into that consuming type of love

BUT...

How would he do it when he's the submissive one in the relationship?

Would he just be extra whiney and needy? (I just love sub!mingi so much)

'You feel so warm, fuck I love you so much, I'll be good for you...I promise I'll be good for you every day...'

It's such an interesting dynamic shift *shrugs*

My love now you are talking my language🤪! Please come take a seat, kick up your feet, get comfy while we talk about sub!Mingi. I am always on the sub!Mingi bandwagon, no one can convince me otherwise. Man is a pure sub, and I love that about him.

My mind is plagued by whiney and needy Mingi😭! I feel like he’s the type to get extra needy while kissing, like he’s the type to strike me like…

~~~~~

Your hands are sprawled over his chest, his eyes glassed over with unshed tears, so many emotions coursed through his body while you bounced on top of him.

“God please, please, please don’t stop.” He whines out, hands coming up from your waist to run over your lightly sweat coated skin. Finger tips tracing every inch of your body as if you were a fragile sculpture. Throwing your head back with a moan leaving you, Mingi always filled you so well.

You were like a goddess to him, sheen sweat starting to drip off you, head tossed back, with your neck fully exposed to him, mouth in a large O. He was making you feel this way, nobody else. Reaching a arm up, he cuffs the back of your head, bringing your face down to his, your hips never waving from the rapid bouncing.

Brushing his lips lightly over yours, before diving into your mouth tongue first, lips clashing together, even tho the kiss was heated you could feel the love from each swipe of his tongue on you, savoring you, tasting you, burning you into his memory with each flick. His large hand still palming the back of your head bringing you closer to him, noses bumping continuously against each other. Soaking up the air between the both of you, pulling back slightly to take in a breath of air.

“I love you. Fuck. I love you so much.” He whimpers out as his hand slowly drops from the back of your head to the back of your neck, gripping it in a non possessive manner. Your bouncing starting to slow down but with each thrust up you slam your hips back down, making his knees buckle.

His other hand traces up your stomach, between your breast, running across your jaw line, his feather like touches make you shiver. The way he looks at you like you hand pick the stars then place them individually in the sky every night for him to gaze upon. He’s forever in awe of you. Pulling your face back down to his to kiss you more because he can’t get enough of you. Wet, out of breath kisses are shared between you both.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” He pants out onto your lips, sharp eyes staring into yours. Your hips slamming down onto him.

“You feel so good wrapped around me. Fuck I love you. It’s you, I swear it’s only you, it’s always going to be you.” He whimpers out into your lips, his breath hitting your moist, spit coated lips.

Your eyes flicker to his, soaking him in, his eyes blown out and glassed over. His hands moving amongst your body like you are made of glass, like this will be the last time to feel you. A smirk graces your face.

“Be a good boy and cum for me Mingi.” Your hips start to pick up speed, your hand pulling him closer to you, both of you are chest to chest breathing upon each others lips.

“Ill be a good boy, I swear I’ll be a good boy for you.” His lips pushed against yours, hands gripping you ever so tightly like you’ll slip through his fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, I love you. I love you so much, I’ll be a good boy and cum for you.” His face digging into yours, foreheads knocking against each other, trying to be as close to you as he can get. As his orgasm approaches he just babbles nonsense into your face, hooded eyes locking with yours.

“It’s you, I swear it’ll always be you. Fuck, I love you so much. Please, please…only you know how to make me feel this good.”

#justaaveragereader moots #I swear sub!mingi is forever on my brain #sub!ateez #sub!mingi #ateez smut #mingi smut #mingi x reader #ateez hard hours #ateez x reader #ateez hard thoughts

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months

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Lyrics: Nothing fucks with my baby/Nothing can get a look in on my baby (NFWMB -Hozier)

Character: August Walker (maybe he’s mean but over protective)

Take Care of You

Warnings: needles, self-doubt, illness, and some possible unmentioned triggers.

Character: August Walker

Summary: You try to feel better with the help of your new boyfriend.

I hope I didn't go too far out to the left with his.

As always, I appreciate all kinds of feedback. A like and reblog means so much to me! <3

“Make sure you finish your tea, honey,” his deep voice rumbles through you, the heat between your palms seeping through the prevalent chill. “It’ll make you feel better.”

You groan and sink back into the pillows, cradling the porcelain as the steam wafts up your nose. You rest it daintily above your chest. “I don’t feel like I’ll ever be better, Auggy,” you moan, “every day, I just feel worse and worse.”

He gives a tight-lipped smile, bittersweet even. He brings his fingers up to tickle the hair above his lip. Your ears pulse and your bones ache. You’ve never felt this sort of fatigue. You’re exhausted yet all you do is sleep.

“You will, I know you will,” he sits on the edge of the bed, “but we gotta listen to the professionals, right? Dr. Kemp knows what he’s talking about, okay?”

“I’m so lucky,” you cough and your head lolls as you wet your dry tongue, “so lucky to have you here…” you lift your head and raise the mug shakily. You blow across the tea before sipping it. It’s stringent but soothing.

“Of course,” he takes the script from the night table. You remember Dr. Kemp, handsome with a swoop in his hair. “I’m lucky to be here for you, you know that.”

“N-nooo,” you shake your head weakly, “no, I… I hate to think you’re missing work for me.”

“Doctor’s orders, can’t leave you alone.”

You take another drink and stare into the orange depth. He rubs your leg and slowly retracts his hand to touch the bottom of your mug, “here, we should put this down. Just until you have your medicine.”

“Oh,” you let him take the cup but can’t hide your anxiety, “do I have to? Can’t I just have some more tylenol?”

“It’s not helping, kitten. You have to do this.”

You cringe and give a quick peak to the wrapped syringe. Oh, you hate needles. You pout and stifle a sob.

“It’s just a small prick,” he assures you as he grabs the vial.

“No, it’s not that,” you recline again, deflated, “I’m so tired of this. Of being sick. I just feel so helpless.” Your head drifts to the side, “I feel like a burden. Auggy, it’s barely three months and you’re already taking care of my like some… some old lady.”

“Shhh,” he hushes you softly, “it’s okay. You’re going to get better. You have to,” he peels away the wrapper from the syringe, “because I’m gonna take you on the best date of your life. Just like I promised.”

“Heh,” you force out a weak laugh, “you better…”

You watch him draw from the vial with the long tip of the needle. He pulls it out and you meet his gaze. You give a nervous grimace.

“What is your perfect date?” He asks, “tell me everything you ever dreamt of.”

He rests his hand on your arm and rubs it. You know he’s distracting you. You need that. You take the bait.

“Hmm, well, flowers. I love flowers. Sunflowers are nice but I guess roses are more romantic…” you look up as you think. He caresses your forearm. He’s so nice, so supportive, and it feels so unreal. You feel like you barely know him but he always knows exactly what you need.

He hums as he listens; the ferris wheel piques his attention as he tilts his head. As you weigh the option of a boat ride out load, you feel a prick and give a yipe. He quickly presses his thumb to your arm and removes the needle tip. You look down and whimper.

“All done, wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“No,” you answer as you wiggle your fingers.

“See, I told you. You got this,” he looks you in the face as he sets the needle aside. He leans forward and kisses your forehead. “Finish your tea.”

He stands up and gathers up the mess, capping the needle with the plastic sheath before crunching up the wrappers. You look away. You’re so pathetic. He has to do everything. You just can’t get used to that. You weren’t like this before. You never got sick. Ever.

Not until you met him.

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #drabble #request #mission impossible: fallout

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emsgoodthinkin · 10 months

Text

steddie thought w/ their chronically ill babe

it was out if the blue. the bathroom door slams open, against the wall stunning you under the hot water you’ve been soaking in for almost an hour. steve turns off the shower, while eddie throws you over his shoulder carefully; not caring the waters getting everywhere. you ask what’s wrong, they don’t answer. you ask if you’ve done something and, they don’t answer. he just plops you down onto your back, steve catching up, both men opening your thighs wide, pinning them down with their knees. both kissing and licking each side of your neck. you’re definitely ok with this, but why?

you didn’t deserve this. you’ve been a bitch all day, hell on wheels giving everyone a hard time today. even at work, everyone’s been on edge around you. you haven’t been feeling well, everything’s been hurting, aching and it’s been making you so grouchy. you’re surprised nobody’s called you out on your shitty behavior, so why in the world are they treating you like a princess right now? both men fighting in front of your pussy, who gets your clit, who gets your lips.. you stopped asking yourself questions after the first 2 orgasms from both of their tongues.. and fingers.

thing is they understand. they know when you’re hurting, it turns to rage. they know not to take it too personally. they know to be careful with what they do or say while you’re in a bad mood. they hate seeing you hurt. cabinets slammed, clothes thrown, voice raised. tears shed. the distance. they can only help so much, they know nothing will ever help the pain. but one thing they do know is, that an orgasm puts you out of your head.. maybe not permanently but temporarily. it’s not a problem solver, but it heals their hearts to know there’s atleast something good they can do for you. taste you. play with you. praise you.

you know after this, your mood will probably go back to shit from your high, but in the meantime you’re grateful they’ll try anything for you for some relief.. a release. they really do deserve the world, you think.

Reblogs appreciated:>

#steddie x chronicallyill!reader #steddie x reader #eddie munson x chronicallyill!reader #steve harrington x chroicallyill!reader #steddie x disabled!reader #chronic pain awareness #mentalheathawareness #eddie munson #bpd awareness #steve harrington #steddie fluff #steddie smut #steddie x reader fluff #steddie x reader smut

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foxgloveprincess · 10 days

Text

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: You’re getting over your illness, but, then, there’s still Andy.

Word Count: 2,034

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: Dark, Dub Con (Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex), Manhandling, Slapping, Biting, Scratching, mild Blood, implied Kidnapping, Basement Wife Trope, Possessiveness, Illness (recovery), Swearing/Cursing, Pet Names (honey, sweetheart, etc.). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for far too long. Hope ya’ll enjoy!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics.

This is unBeta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

“Your lymph nodes certainly seem to be doing better,” the doctor says, fingers gently prodding the sides of your neck. They retreat and he grabs a pen light from his pocket. “Let me see that throat, open wide, tongue out.”

You comply with the directions, letting him examine you. Rage filling your head as your eye catches the man standing in the corner with his arms crossed, keenly observant.

“Your fever’s gone down, too?”

“Yes,” you reply, “I’ve been a lot better the last few days.”

The doctor smiles and presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “That’s good, very good.” After tucking away his light, he leans back in his chair to take a long look at the rest of you. “When’s the last time you had a pelvic exam?”

“Oh.” Mildly stunned by the question, you can’t remember. Thinking hard, you begin to count back the weeks as best you can—captivity not entirely conducive with nailing down timelines.

“Don’t even think about it, Rogers.”

Andy steps out of the corner and puffs himself up in a challenge. Your eyes roll. Dr. Rogers stands, though, with his hands held up in surrender.

“I’m just concerned about your wife’s health.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Andy bites back.

The doctor packs his few things back into his bag and stands. “Whatever you say, Barber.” A smirk plucks at his lips. “But she will need to be checked eventually.”

Andy gestures toward the door, following the doctor out. You sneak toward the door, waiting until it closes to press your cheek against it. Beep, click, click, click. Just like all the other times.

You roll your neck back and wander around your room until you find your couch once again. Flopping back, you stare at the ceiling, raising your hand to look at the diamond ring sparkling on your finger. 3 carats, and brilliant.

The door opens and closes once again, signaling Andy’s return to the room. You don’t acknowledge him. Consumed by thoughts as your ring glints down at you.

His footsteps approach and his hand weaves with yours. You snarl.

“Dr. Rogers said he’s pleased with your improvement,” he says while placing a kiss to the back of your hand. You hum. Fingers bend and flex, trying to wriggle away from his grip. “He’ll keep asking about the pelvic exam, though.”

“It’s important,” you reply.

“That’s true.” Andy releases your hand only to cup your cheeks. “But Dr. Rogers has some particular tastes when it comes to his patients.” He smiles down at you. Your eye catches the silver of the ring on his left hand. “I’m glad I could spare you from that.”

With little thought, you snap at the hand cradling your face. He doesn’t flinch. Letting your teeth sink into the meat of his thumb.

He hisses and drops to his knees. Breathing heavy and watching you. Your nostrils flare with renewed rage—his delusions curtailing your petty acts of vengeance. It grits against your gnarled insides. Needing to cause pain, to punish him.

Your teeth release his flesh, indented marks throbbing red on his skin. Not enough pressure to break it—this time.

“God, honey,” Andy sighs. “You’re so strong.” From his position on his knees, he lifts so he might level your gazes and slant his lips to yours.

His greedy kiss consumes you. You both fight. His bid for dominance easily bowing to your fury despite his urgent hunger. You nip at his lip until you taste blood and raise your hand to collar his throat. You shove him away with both your hand and your knee, placed against his chest to keep him at bay.

He retreats but keeps his eyes on you. You stare back, wondering how you’ve got to this point. When before he seemed so eager to control you. To sit before you, now, more eager for your disdain, simply because a ring sits on your finger.

Your hand darts out to grasp at his fluffy hair, tilting his head to the side at an uncomfortable angle.

“You’re only like this now because I’m your wife, aren’t you?”

He shudders at the question. Two words in particular. His eyes shine up at you, enamored.

“And all before you were ready to push me around, treat me like I was scum beneath your foot.” You click your teeth and toss him away from you.

He rocks back on his legs but doesn’t fall. “You wouldn’t have me before.” His eyes stay dropped to the floor. “I had to make you see that it would be better to marry me.”

“By taking advantage of my weakened state and your strength, by threatening me,” you spit.

“I’ve been better now,” he counters, “since you signed our marriage certificate and it’s been made official. I’ve been better, haven’t I?”

His chest heaves with deep breaths. The glint of desire in his eye still shines bright. He restrains himself as you think. The first few buttons of his shirt hang undone, showing a peek of his white undershirt.

“But you still won’t let me out of here,” you accuse.

“No.”

Watching him watch you, wait for you, you think it might not be so bad. To have the plentiful opportunities to grind him down. Until he’s just like the husk you became down in that basement. Until he begs for your mercy. You sneer and cross your legs.

“Fuck you,” you bite. “You stole me from my life on a whim.” You scoff and roll your eyes. “You don’t even care about me, just the idea you have of your perfect wife.”

“You’re my perfect wife.”

The slap rings loud in the quiet room. Both of you shocked by the impact of your hand against his cheek.

Andy blinks, eyes blowing out with lust. You swallow down trepidation but keep the steely look of contempt on your face. You stand, towering over him.

“You’re pathetic,” you say, every ounce of disdain and disgust lacing the words.

A dark look, born of frustration rather than lust, washes over his features. He meets your eye with a scowl.

“No, I’m not.”

You scoff and turn away from him. Walking toward your bathroom, just to put a door between you and the electric current of hatred that tickles at your core. You’ve had enough.

Your hand falls to the doorknob, turning it to unlatch the bathroom door, but hands land on you first. Spinning you and pinning your body to the wood.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he demands, but through his bark, you see his desperation. Your eyes cleared from their fear to see the pitiful man to whom you’re legally bound. The challenge he sets stirring something more than hatred in you.

“Fuck yo—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, hands grasping at the side of your head to keep you in place. You grab at the front of his shirt, clawing across his chest. Buttons pop open. More of his undershirt revealed. Your fingers bunch and tear at the fabric. A fight between you two. You grunt against his mouth, your kiss all teeth and tongue. Sloppy and frantic and combative.

He trails his lips down your neck, lowering to his knees. Your hands sink into his hair, hoping to keep him from his goal. But once set on it, he won’t be deterred. He lunges for your thighs, slotting his shoulders between them and forcing you into a lean.

He rips at your clothes, not in anger but passion. One moment too long to keep him from you.

Standing bare from the waist down, you continue to push him away. Lifting your knee to knock him aside, but he simply clings to it. Under his strength, you’re pinned to the door and open before him to sup.

“Andy,” you protest, hands pushing at his forehead, “jeez, just stop it.”

His tongue swipes through your folds. Your breath hitches and he hears it, the vibrations of his chuckle rolling against you. He peeks up from between your thighs.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he says, not sorry at all, “I can’t help it.” Another swipe and flick to your clit. His fingers pet your folds, parting them for easier access to the most sensitive parts of you. “Let me make you feel good.”

You can’t surrender now, not when he wants it. Even when he does that thing with his tongue that makes your toes curl and his beard scratches just right on your upper thighs. You grit your teeth. No, no way can you let him know how he affects you. His fingers and tongue work in tandem to bring you over the edge, your legs trembling under your weight and threatening to collapse. Your nails bite into his scalp. He flinches with the pain, but continues his pursuit again and again.

His body and the door are all that keep you standing. Your legs jelly from the endorphin rush of multiple orgasms, flesh tender and overstimulated. Though, that does not mean your so-called husband is done with you.

He tugs and pushes you to your bed, messing your sheets with the flop of your body. Rushing with the aftershocks of your high and boneless upon the sheets.

While you languish in your sweat and the stickiness between your thighs, he strips. His button down and undershirt revealing the sculpted planes of his flesh. Kept up by a daily routine at the pool, his skin always smelling faintly of chlorine when he sees you in the evenings. Then his trousers. Pushed from his legs with his boxers to let his cock bob hard and leaking in the open air.

Your lungs fill with air. Casting your gaze aside, refusing to give his delectable body one more moment of admiration. He knows how good he looks. You won’t pay him the compliment.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he says, gathering you in his arms and positioning himself over you. Face to face.

You huff a frustrated breath, but can’t find the strength to fight back. Not when you know how well his cock stretches you and makes you cum. It’s a perk you’ll be sore to miss once you get away from him.

His cock slides in, too easily if anyone asked you. Then again, he made it his mission to have you cum on his tongue until you were dripping. You can’t entirely be blamed.

The thrust of his hips fills you, a steady pace not too frantic or lazy. Just right to drag you to the edge of another climax. He moans in your ear, fingers digging into your hip and the bed’s duvet.

Your muscles tense, waiting for that moment of release. Building and building inside you. Your nails sink into the skin of his back, scratching down. His hips jerk out of rhythm and he pants, stalling for a moment.

“You can’t just do that to me, honey.” His eyes catch yours, adoration shining at you. “You gotta warn me if you wanna leave your mark. You know how much I love it.”

You growl and glare, but he remains unfazed by it. He leans in to kiss you, a sweet peck accompanied by a dirty grind of his hips. You bite in response. Tasting blood on your tongue. His lip split beneath your teeth.

He moans and bucks against you. Thrusting with need. You bite your own lip to stifle the moans of pleasure clawing up your throat. You break, shatter, keening a cry ripped from your chest. He cums a moment later with a shout and pulls out, splattering the folds of your sex with his spend.

Your chests heave with your deep breaths, lungs expanding. Andy falls away from you and onto his back. Hand reaching up to comb through his hair. He licks his lip with a smirk.

“You like marking me up, don’t you?” You don’t reply. Feigning the inability to form words. But, really, unsure whether the pleasure of punishing him mutates in the brief moments of bliss into something primal, claiming. It’s in these quiet moments of terror and receding pleasure where you wonder and dread.

#andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfic #andy barber fanfiction #dark #dark fic #kidnapping #tw kidnapping #yandere vibes #basement wife trope #attic wife trope #attic wives anonymous #dub con #tw dub con #18+#minors dni

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kckt88 · 5 months

Text

Petitions & Final Tributes.

Summary:

Rhaenyra returns to Kings Landing to defend Luke's claim to Driftmark and Aemond delivers a tribute to his nephews.

Warning(s): Anger, Swearing, Violence, Death & Mentions of Sexual Actions.

Word Count: 2605

Author Note: A companion piece to Wedding & Consummation/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/A Time for Grief/The Gullet & Harrenhal and the Rivers, but can be read as a one-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“Vaemond Velaryon is coming to Kings Landing to petition for his right to claim Driftmark”.

“Lord Corlys isn’t even dead yet, and the vultures already circle” muttered Vaera.

“He means to challenge Lucerys’ claim as heir,” said Otto.

A young squire entered the room, nervously wringing his hands.

"Apologise Lord Hand, but the dragons Meleys, and Moondancer have landed at the dragon pit."

"Oh, Do you suppose she has come to petition herself or claim Baela as heir?" asked Alicent.

It was a good question. Rhaenys has ruled in the absence of her husband with Baela as her ward, so if anyone had a claim, it could be Rhaenys. And Baela was the true born daughter of a Velaryon. But Vaemond would no doubt argue against both of them as they were women.

"Rhaenys is smart, she knows that Vaemond has more of a claim than her” said Aemond.

"Baela is her ward, and she is the trueborn daughter of Lady Laena. Baela would be a good option to rule” said Vaera.

“I doubt Vaemond would accept Baela being named heir,” said Otto.

“What of Rhaenyra?” asked Aemond.

“No doubt she will fight for Luke’s claim. What choice does she have” replied Vaera.

“What of Viserys?” asked Alicent.

“The King is far too ill to sit the Iron Throne. As Queen it shall be you who sits in judgement over who shall claim Driftmark” said Otto firmly.

In the last two years, Viserys health had seriously declined. He appeared almost skeletal, his flesh decaying at a rapid rate. He’d lost his right eye and most of his cheek, he spent his days in bed so dosed up on milk of the poppy that he was barely coherent.

He had no idea who he was, or where he was. He also had no idea who anyone else was either. Several times he’d mistaken Vaera for his beloved Rhaenyra. He’d even grasped her hand once and breathed ‘Rhaenyra. My only child’. Vaera stopped visiting him after that, and she certainly never told Aemond what he’d said.

Later that day, Vaera was pacing around the nursery she really didn’t want to see her mother or Daemon, but she had no choice, no doubt they’d heard of Vaemond’s plan to petition for the right to Driftmark which would essentially call Luke’s legitimacy into question as it was announced earlier in the day that they were on their way to Kings Landing.

“I hate feeling like this” muttered Vaera.

“How do you feel?” asked Aemond.

“Upset. Confused. Angry. Pick one”.

“Try not to worry Issa jorrāelagon” replied Aemond (My love).

“Easier said than done I’m afraid”.

“I know things with your mother and Daemon were never easy. But the petition tomorrow is important. We have to be there” said Aemond.

“I know we do, that was never in doubt. I just hope they don’t stay too long. This is our home. Our children’s home and I don’t want them spoiling our happiness”.

“I can assure you that won’t happen and if they even try, I’ll see their tongues ripped from their mouths” said Aemond.

“So violent” muttered Vaera as she pressed a kiss to her husband’s lips.

“Oh, you have no idea. But for now, let’s just focus on getting the petition out of the way and not worrying about anything or anyone that comes along with it” said Aemond.

“With you by my side. I’ll try” said Vaera.

“I’ll always be by your side” exclaimed Aemond.

“You are joking right?” asked Vaera stunned.

“I’m afraid not Princess. Your mother has requested to see you, she has also asked that you bring the children”.

“Apologise but you can tell my mother that I do not wish to see her, and she will not be seeing my sons” said Vaera firmly as she gently brushed Aemon’s hair.

“Princess” said the maid bowing respectfully before she left.

“She requests to see you now?” snarked Aemond as he lifted Rhaegar onto his knee.

“I have not seen or heard from my mother since our wedding. She didn’t even come to see her grandsons when they were born, but she can come to Kings Landing to defend Luke’s claim to Driftmark” snapped Vaera as she started braiding Aemon’s hair.

“She’s up to something” replied Aemond as he bounded Rhaegar on his knee, his son squealing gleefully.

“No doubt she wants to see me and the boys, so she can pretend to be the doting mother and grandmother to sweet talk me into standing by her at the petition as a show of support”.

“A pointless endeavour if I ever saw one” muttered Aemond.

“Not a chance will I give in to her whims. I mean can you imagine the trouble it would cause if I was to stand by her” snapped Vaera.

“It would definitely keep the court gossips busy” said Aemond.

"Amongst other things" muttered Vaera.

Vaera could feel the cold glare of Daemon as she stood next to Aemond, Helaena and Aegon in the Throne room.

“Looks like he’s about to piss himself” muttered Aegon as he nodded towards Luke.

Vaera tutted at Aegon’s comment, but now it was time for the petitions to begin.

Vaemond spoke first. When Rhaenyra interrupted him, Vaera was actually pleased that Alicent put her in her place. Did she really think she could just interrupt him? If he had interrupted her, she would have raised hell.

But he was done, and it was her turn.

“If I am to answer this farce with any sort of grace, then I should start by reminding the court that almost twenty years-“

“-King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm" said Ser Erryk loudly.

Vaera shook her head in disbelief.

It was over.

Vaemond was never going to win against Rhaenyra, not now Viserys had miraculously roused himself from his medicated stupor to come to the defence of his favourite child.

It took an age for the ailing King to reach the Irone Throne, but he made it, albeit with some help from Daemon.

"I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys' wishes is the Princess Rhaenys" said Viserys between pants and gasps for air.

"It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his, trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry Jace, and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree" said Rhaenys.

Naturally, Vaemond was furious at his failure to seize control of Driftmark.

“You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it."

"'Allow it'? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond. Lucerys is my trueborn grandson, and you are no more than a second son of Driftmark" snapped Viserys.

Vaemond was aghast at the King’s words.

"That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine!" yelled Vaemond as he pointed towards Luke.

Vaera reached for Aemond's hand.

"Go to your chambers. You have said enough," ordered Rhaenyra frowning.

In all her faults, Rhaenyra never tolerated anyone for calling her children bastards, not even Vaera. But that was then, this is now, and much had changed.

"You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom, and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned, I will not see it ended on the account of this-"

Vaemond paused.

"Say it” urged Daemon smirking.

"Her children. ARE BASTARDS! Even the one standing over there that calls herself Targaryen, they are the products of their WHORE mother!" screamed Vaemond.

Aemond squeezed Vaera’s hand.

"I will have your tongue for this!" hissed Viserys.

But it was too late.

Daemon sliced Dark Sister through Vaemond's skull like it was jelly. Alicent, Helaena and Aegon all back up in horror as Vaemond's lifeless body hit the stone floor, but Vaera and Aemond stayed put, staring down at Vaemond’s decapitated corpse as the blood pooled across the stone floor.

Vaera looked at Daemon who smirked at her.

"Disarm him!" yelled Otto.

"No need," said Daemon as he turned away and cleaned his blade.

Viserys soon fell back onto the throne groaning and Alicent ran to him.

"Call the maesters! Please, my love, you must take something for the pain” urged Alicent as she helped Viserys to his feet.

"I will not cloud my mind. I must make things right" gasped Viserys as he was escorted out of the Throne room by a maester and Ser Erryk.

“You look beautiful” muttered Aemond.

“What are you after?” asked Vaera smiling as she placed a gentle kiss on Aemond’s jaw.

“My wife. Moaning my name as I fuck her. Hard” whispered Aemond as he nuzzled the side of Vaera’s face, ignoring the gaze of his mother.

“Mērī lo nyke kostagon bībagon aōha orvorta ēlī” (Only if I can suck your cock first).

“Nyke kostagon rȳbagon ao” said Aegon grimacing slightly (I can hear you).

Vaera blushes as Aemond presses his lips against her cheek just as Rhaenyra entered, with Daemon and the children following.

Soon the King entered, and everyone rose from their seats as Viserys was carried to the table.

"How good it is to see you all tonight together" wheezed Viserys once everyone was seated.

"Prayer before we begin. May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest”.

Vaera hadn't closed her eyes, but Aemond had. So, he hadn't noticed Daemon's smirk when Alicent prayed for Vaemond.

"This is a cause for celebration. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, shall marry their cousins, Rhaena and Baela, to further strengthen the bond between our families. A toast to the young princes, and their betrothed" said Viserys.

Vaera saw Aegon lean over to Jace and whisper something to him. By the reaction Jace had, Vaera could only imagine how lewd Aegon had been.

"And to Lucerys Velaryon, future Lord of the Tides!"

"Hear, hear!" said Daemon loudly.

More whispering before Jace snapped.

"You can play the jester if you wish but hold your tongue before my betrothed"

Aegon looked over at his brother with a smirk and Vaera tried to hide her smirk.

Viserys seemed keen to start another speech. "It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world yet grown so distant from each other in the years past. My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am”.

The mask came off, and Vaera was still horrified by the sight of his disintegrated cheek and hallowed out eye socket. Rather poetic though, to be missing an eye. Given his lack of reaction to Aemond losing an eye.

"Not just a king, but your father. Your brother. Your husband, and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown ... then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly" said Viserys.

Quite ironic coming from the man who divided the house in the first place, by marrying Alicent Hightower instead of Laena Velaryon. But then again if he didn’t, Aemond wouldn’t exist, and neither would their sons.

Rhaenyra stood and made a toast for Alicent, which earned an eye roll from Vaera, then she had the audacity to make another toast.

“A toast to my daughter Vaera and my grandsons Aemon and Rhaegar, whom I have yet to meet, I wish them health and happiness” Rhaenyra.

“Who’s fault is that?” muttered Aemond.

“My love, leave it” begged Vaera.

Aegon seemed to have unfished business. For he whispered something else to Jace and he stood, angered. Aemond quickly stood in defence of his brother.

"Jace, no," whispered Rhaenyra.

So Jace raised his cup, looking at his two uncles.

"To Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles. And my sweet sister of course"

Vaera noticed that Aemond seemed somewhere else. Fond memories? He couldn't think of a single one with Jace involved.

But Helaena stood to make a toast, and his attention was now on her.

"I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They'll soon be married. If they don't fall in love like Vaera and Aemond did, it won't be too bad. Not every relationship can be that wonderful. But it isn't so bad, mostly he ignores you. Except sometimes when he's drunk,” said Helaena.

“Apologise for the interruption. But Prince Rhaegar is calling for his mother,” said Mayla.

“If you’ll excuse me Your Grace” said Vaera as she gave Aemond a kiss on the cheek and swiftly left the dining room.

Having little to no idea of the chaos that would soon erupt in her absence.

“Jēda syt ēdrugon issa dōna byka zaldrīzes” whispered Vaera as she tucked Rhaegar in his bed, making sure that he had his stuffed dragon teddy within his reach (Time for sleep my sweet little dragon).

“Avy jorrāelan muña” muttered Rhaegar as he closed his eyes (I love you mother).

“Avy jorrāelan tolī” replied Vaera smiling (I love you too).

Vaera checked on Aemon who was fast asleep, his hands clutching his favourite blue blanket to his chest.

“Don’t forget to keep the fire going. Aemon doesn’t like the dark” said Vaera.

“Yes Princess” replied Myla.

“Goodnight Myla” said Vaera quietly.

“Goodnight Princess”.

Vaera closed the door to the nursery and crossed the corridor to her shared chambers with Aemond.

Deciding to forgo bathing until the morning, Vaera had barely changed into her shift before her husband came storming in.

“A-Aemond. What’s wrong?” asked Vaera.

“Tell me you love me” muttered Aemond as he pulled Vaera too him.

“I love you”.

“Tell me you need me” begged Aemond as he lowered his head and pressed his face into Vaera’s shoulder.

“I need you”.

“Tell me you want me” whispered Aemond placing gentle kisses along the column of Vaera’s neck.

“I want you”.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as his fingers began untying the laces of her shift.

“I-I haven’t bathed tonight” said Vaera shivering as the shift slipped from her body, leaving her standing naked.

“I don’t care. I need you. Please” muttered Aemond as he began pulling off his own clothes.

Vaera nodded wordlessly as Aemond kissed her, walking them backwards towards the bed.

As Viserys lay on his bed wheezing into the darkness, he knew his time had come.

His family was finally united, and he could leave this world with the knowledge that House Targaryen would continue. The blood of old Valyria would live on.

“A-Aemma. I-I’m coming”

She’s here. She’s come for me. I’m ready. Take me with you.

“M-My love” whispered Viserys his hand stretched into the darkness.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond fic

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airbendertendou · 1 year

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JUST TO KISS ME! ♥︎

synopsis : various asexual!characters w asexual!reader ; non-sexual intimacy characters include : sanzu, belphie, kokonoi, and solomon.

warnings : [name] used in place of y/n or mc ; laying on sanzu in his, if that makes you uncomf you can skip ; solomon puts his hand on your throat w no ill intentions ; sexual jokes ; asexuality does not always mean sex-repulsed

song inspo ; we’ll never have sex by leith ross

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

— SANZU! ♥︎

the air is misty as you leave the shower, steam fogged up the mirrors around you, clinging to each and every surface it could. with a frown, you realize you’d left your favorite lotion in your bedroom. clad in only comfy shorts, you make your way there.

sanzu is dozing on your bed, his bare back greeting you as he lays on his stomach. a pile of bloodied clothes sit near the closet — the same suit he’d been wearing that morning. with a thought, you forgo the lotion and make your way to him.

settling down on top of him gently, you hum in delight as your skin touches his. sanzu lets out a grunt only to relax a second later, welcoming your added weight happily.

— BELPHEGOR! ♥︎

sleepy, dream-filled eyes look around until they see you. you’re sitting on the counter as satan cooks, muttering about a book you’d just read. beelzebub is peeking over the blonde’s shoulder, eyes hungry and ravenous as he watches his brother make dinner.

“mornin’, kid! sleep well?” it’s mammon who spots him first. belphie only hums, feet tapping his way to you. he wraps his arms around your hips, nose nuzzling into your sternum as he yawns. mammon lets out a snort, “like we’re not even here…”

“wanted somethin’ sweet,” he’s teetering on the cusp of sleeping again, ignoring the howls and jokes his brothers make. he hears something about you being the sweetest thing in the house — not that he disagrees on that part. with a kiss to your neck, belphie is snoring once more as you run your fingers through his hair.

— KOKONOI! ♥︎

he was meant to be helping you pick out clothes. it was your date night — a weekly, mandatory thing he tried his best not to miss. but, kokonoi looked so pretty as he juggled between two shirts — two of his favorites that he loved to see on you. so, really, it wasn’t your fault.

“baby, how do you like—“ a yelp leaves his mouth the next second. you’d tugged him down gently by his shirt collar, a devilish grin on your lips that melts against his own. pants echo in your mouth ; his tongue sweeping against yours briefly before he pulls away. koko speaks through giggles, “wait… wait a minute. let me set these down.”

his cheeks are flushed as he puts your clothes back in the closet. you’re still eyeing him heavily, sweeping up every inch of him. kokonoi clears his throat before sitting beside you this time. that’s all you need before you’re diving in greedily once more.

— SOLOMON! ♥︎

asmodeous had a problem. many problems, really, but a certain one that irritated everyone else as well. he never knocked. true to his form, asmo welcomes himself into your room, a frown on glossed lips as he holds two sheet masks. “doll, do you think— didn’t know you guys were into that.”

solomon can’t help his grin, even as he rolls his eyes. a spell you’d been trying earlier almost backfired — could’ve backfired if he didn’t help in time. as a result, your vocal chords had been hit. his hand was around your throat, checking your lymph nodes and making sure everything was okay — that’s all.

you pull your chin down and away from solomon’s hand, your own cheshire grin forming at the comment. catching sight of the masks in asmo’s hands, you speak up. “we’ll invite you next time. go with the green one — it’s good for hydration.”

——♥︎——

made this a personal challenge to only have 3 paragraphs idk how to feel abt them hehe but <3 hope they’re okay

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

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voidselfshipp · 2 months

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Moonlight Conversations

Cw: angst (hurt/comfort),Michael feeling unworthy of jericos love, Michael gets a lil sadistic describing something,mentions of falling into madness. A small scene of making out at the start (nothing explicit) mentions of body horror

Summary: an improptu date brings out a few things that need to be talked out.

->Only mutuals allowed to reblog.

Jerico grunted as she felt a piercing discomfort on her rib. She grunts--Mike...be careful with those hands

Michael lays atop of her as both cuddle on the sofá,his fluffy his fluffy curly hair falling across his face, he sighs,retracting His hand from her ribs,he sighs mildly annoued--....sorry

She breathes out and runs her digits across his scalp,tangling her fingers tangling on his Orange locks. --Youre going to chop off one of my ribs

--I dont want that, you have such a nice waist-- he whispers,pressing kisses to her jaw. His hands,really carefully,stroke her waist, his skin deathly cold.

Jer shudders-- thanks-- she answers with Pink cheeks.The skin Patterns of his hand are spirals,She can feel it as his thumb strokes soothing circles on her waist.

--I love you,yknow-- his voice is thickly laced with sleep-- even with everything, you still love me

--Of course-- she answers,tone soft and loving-- youre still the Man I fell in love with

--Yknow thats not true-- Michael replied.

--We're not going through this again-- jer replied, firm but not angry. Her hands Lower to cup his jaw and kiss him, he kisses back smiling and giggling.

He sits up a little,pulling her up by the back of the thighs and sitting her on his lap. The avatar of the spiral wraps his arms around his lovers waist, sighing into the kiss.

--okay fine-- he relents,not even out of breath-- ill stop

--Good,finally youve got some common sense-- she teased.

Michael rolls his eyes-- Keep that to yourself,I am not supposed to have common sense

She laughs and kisses him briefly-- Its a nice night,we could go out

--And terrorize some people?-- he asked with child like joy.

-- I- fine. Just the assholes

He rolls his eyes,huffing-- youre no fun

Jerico stands up, patting his arm-- Ill go change, then we can go

Michael sighs, tjrowing his head back on the backrest of the couch. He closes his eyes, feeling something setting on his legs.

Opening one eye,he looks down to a sphinx cat,bright honey eyes looking back at him-- You didnt forget me either,did you Sandy?

Sandy was his cat protector, the feline purrs and leans into his touch as he carefully scratches behind its ear.

--Of course you didnt-- he chuckled as the cat stands on her hind legs,putting her front paws on his chest-- you werent this cuddly before

Michael plays with the cat, giggling and baby talking to her with a big grin. A few minutes go by and jerico comes out of her room, ready to go.

--Dont let me interrupt-- she teased, leaning on the doorframe.

He turns to look,a sassy quip but it dies on his lips as his eyes settle on jerico. She wears short boots with a chestnut Brown colorationx,a high waisted bright teal jeans, and a velvet dark teal croptop with golden Trim.

--cat got your tongue?--She teased

The avatar is quick to recompose,face flushed, Sandy the sphinx cat leaves the room. -- thats not funny

--Sure it isnt....

Ignoring the sarcasm in her voice,he stands up and snaps his fingers. His eyes are frames by some round green glasses,he wears a dark brown turtle neck over a short croptop with desaturated purple and blue spirals over it.

He fixes up the grommet belt that holds his light brown pants, his heeled chesnut colored high heeled boots click against the wooden floor.

--Im good to go--michael announced,putting one of his hands on his pocket.

--Youre missing one thing though-- she comments,pointing at his hands-- gotta look somewhat human

The avatar sighs audibly, his long hands replaced by normal looking ones with long sharp nails, his height resting at 6'4 instead of his usual 7' +.

--Better?--He asked, Rolling his eyes.

--Yes,cmon

Both go out into the damp streets of London, Michael holds jericos hand as they walk down to a nearby restaurant in quiet conversation

The Sky is cloudy,the moon peeks through the cloud cover a little. Cold wind blows past them, and as a few cars speed by, jer has to reach up to fix what strands of curly marigold hair falls on her lovers face.

--Thank you beautiful-- he flirts,grabbing the hand near his face and kissing her palms.

--Of course,handsome

At the restaurant,they both take a Seat on the more...VIP area of the place. Nobody dares say anything, one look from both of them is all It takes.

Its not surprising really,the Ocean knew how to make someone feel lost and confused,and the avatar of the distortion was nothing but that, chaotic uncertainty. Together its no wonder nobody challenged them.

Jerico didnt mind using her..nature on these harmless things, she enjoyed it just a little. Thing that her lover would never let her live down,like ever.

Michael smirks, taking a sip from his wine-- Cmon accept it, scaring people is fun

--Oh shut it

--Nono,we're having this conversation-- he insisted,pointed accusatorily-- you like it, its fun. I saw your face

--i find it funny-- she admitted-- but only with shit like this,I dont enjoy fear

He raised a brow-- sure,sure.

--Respect and fear arent the same

--Fair-- he relented, taking a bite out of his food-- you do get hotter when youre scary though

She snorted-- what you find hot is none of my bussiness

After their dinner, both go to walk among the mildly crowded streets,holding hands. They watch the world go by and talk softly about the people they look at.

--Is it like this always?

--What?

--Eternity I mean- I cant die now-- he answers-- is eternity this calm- this cozy?

-- not always -- she admitted-- you learn to appreciate these moments

He nodds,looking down a little dissapointed-- ah,that was not the answer I was expecting

She squeezes his hand-- but I wasnt alone,and youre not alone either.

--Eternity with you? Now that puts me in a better mood-- he smiles,his spiraling eyes swirling with happiness.

Jer feels her cheeks warm up, she giggled-- I love you too. Im happy youre here

--Even if im not the same guy?

The Antiquarian shrugged with a smile-- youre still you,nothing can change that. Spiral avatar or not, youre still my Michael

His pale cheeks darken with blush--...youre too sweet

--You deserve it-- She replied, walking closer to him.-- youre always sweet to me, I love you

--I love you too-- he bends down to kiss her head and nuzzle her hair.

They make it to a park, they walk the path in silence as theres not Many people around. Above them the night has settled in and wind,cold as Ice, starts to blow but neither seem to mind.

Nocturnal birds coo and sing in harmony, leaves rustle and fall onto the ground,crunching as theyre stepped on.

--Nice night-- she replied, the hand thats holding her lovers swinging its arm back and forth a little.

--nice night-- he agreed-- reminds me of that one date we went on once, at the shores of Whitstable. We had waked down the docks with the shops on them,enjoyed some street food and then we went to sit on the shore. You spent hours telling me about old sea fables...it was fun

Jer feels her heart flutter, she smiles and tugs him closer-- god, that feels so long ago... I didnt think you'd remember

He laughed softly-- I could never forget anything about you, I still remember our first date

--First *first* date?-- she asked with a smirk

--of course! I was supposed to go down to your shop to get a book,you were just coming out to run errands and I ended up tagging along. We went to the fish market for some good tuna for the cats, then we went to Yuzuki's antique shop, the vet for those meds one of the cats was taking...Marrow! He'd gotten a stomach bug for eating from the trash

Jerico listens to him detail everything, chuckling to herself at the fact that he still didnt Belive he hadnt changed much.

--Our second to last stop was a bookstore-- he continued-- then we went for some afternoon tea and Ate dinner at one of those hole in the wall restaurants near the Institute. I ended up coming back to gertrude at like... eleven pm-- he laughed as a memory comes into his head--Oh she was SO PISSED. But I still remember how she was fighting back a smile because of how adorable the whole situation was

He turns to her,seeing her peaceful smile. She turns to him and snorts-- and then you say you have changed

Instantly his face goes bright red he chuckles nervously and he simply mutters a-- Keep that to yourself-- jer nodds playfully and leans on him.

A bit into their walk, they find a bench,sitting there for a moment to admire the empty world around them. Talking softly about how Parks always felt so uncanny when barren.

--Parks can be so disorienting at night, things start to look alike, trees seem bent the wrong way, monuments or fountains dont shine quite right! Ha! The ammount of people that get lost in these things

She chuckles-- hmm,youre giving the sea a run for its money

--Big fan of lost at sea too-- He adds-- so disorienting,sea sickness also doesnt help

Jer nodds-- Many a sailor lost with that

Michael wraps one arm around her waist,pulling her to him. Hes got that sadistic look in his eyes when he gets to talk about the things relating to The Spiral. It makes her heart squeeze with pain

--Yes! Its so fun! You see them walking around,praying to whatever could listen! The madness slowly sets it and-- he stops himself,looking down at her-- I- sorry

She shakes her head-- dont worry

--I know you dont like i-

--Mike-- she says softly-- its fine. You know I dont hold it against you

He looks away-- this is why I tell you ive changed

--Changed or not,I still love you-- she reminded him-- the good,the bad and the gruesome. This is just part of who you are,but its still you

Michael leans his head on hers, slowly stroking her waist-- I dont know why you Keep being around me

--Miike....

--You dont like violence, you dont like suffering or fear. Its all I do

--Not all

--I try to Keep it low key around you-- he admits-- I would like to make you feel like things havent changed

--Babe just because this has changed that doesnt mean you have lost yourself to it

Michael sighs audibly,tired. His eyes still dont meet hers, he stammers for a response but he finds none.

Jeri raises her hand to his face to push away his hair,setting her gaze on his spiraling eyes of shifting color-- I still love you, your changes just worries me but that doesnt mean that ill up and leave, gives me peace that you know when to hold back and when to let go.

She makes a pause,exhaling to calm herself--I'll love you no matter what happens to you, you have to Belive in my actions,but I cant help you with that.

Well,she is right.

Hes not surprised a being that has lived for thousands of years has centuries of wisdom in her.

--I guess...im on my way to Belive that-- he said,feeling her turn his head to her.

--We have nothing but time-- she promised,leaning in for a short but loving kiss.

Thats when they notice a Group of teenagers looking at them funny,not malicious but funny.

Michael exchanged one glance and jer just chuckles and nodds,playing along.

He drops his buman form so fast, and so does she. The Group of teens start running for their lives screaming like a frienzied bashee.

Both laugh at the scene and return to normal, and underneath the soon changing to autum world,he has a realization.

Trees lose their leaves every year, and they arent less loved because of it, when they emerge with New boughs to which rest from the sun, they are just as loved.

And he figures maybe its the same for him...

#michael tag pending #tma s/i #cw body horror #tw body horror

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s0dium1 · 2 years

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Archived

THAT BOY IS A REAL P*SSY PLEASER

A/n: This fic is inspired by the song Black Barbies by the queen Nikk! Ive also been going through a yuuta and yuuji phase (dont get it wrong though geto is still my #1 (￣▽￣*)ゞ) Neways hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: Pussy fanatic characters, oral, breeding kink, cum kink, pregnancy kink, sexism, sexism, master/pet play, collar/leash, dub con

Consider leaving a like, reblog, comment, or the best of all: a follow! (≧◡≦)

Yuji Itadori

Is a certified pussy addict. Yuji gets absolutely pussy drunk when it comes to you

Eats pussy like a champ. He could be in between your legs for hours, you could be full on sitting on him suffocating him with your thighs and this man wont even ask for a second to breath. His massive hands will be glued to your thighs, making sure your going no where while a eats you out like a starved man

Also certified ass man so he’ll eat you out while squeezing and kneeding your ass like dough.

In the end this himbo is a giver more then a receiver. Dont get it twisted though, just because he likes to be on his knees by no means does that make him a sub.

He’ll have you squirting on his pretty face and lap it all up like a starving man

Yuujis hands slipped under you to grab your ass, the fat of your skin filling the creases of his fingers like dough and bringing you closer to his tongue.

“Mhm taste so good baby.” Yuji groaned into your heat and you grabbed onto his pink hair for dear life as you trembled below him. “Gonna be good for me and cum baby? If you do ill make you cum again and again.”

Choso

Secret pussy fanatic, you’d never guess until he fucks you for the first time and you see the glazed over look in his eyes as he rams into you. There’s no going back

Curses dont need to eat or drink to survive, but this man does need pussy once he meets you.

Behind that usually stoic face, choso looses his mind when he enters in you. And if he can use complicated curse techniques you bet this man can treat pussy right

Oh and one more thing, when choso fucks, he does it with the intent to breed

Because above all else, choso is a family man.

Hes not human, so his stamina is endlesss. He’ll ram into your cum battered pussy until you faint and he knows your gonna be round with his kids in a few months

Choso whines into your mouth and presses his own messy kisses into your squealing mouth.

“m’ gonna cum- angle m’gonna cum inside and then im gonna fill your p-pretty pussy up again and aga-.” he cuts of with a groan of his own, shooting thick white ropes of his cum into your swollen n wanting womb.

He kept cumming inside of you, strings and strings of hot cum filling you up as he held you in his arms. It made your body shake, his load weighing at your stomach like it was forming a bulge with how much there was.

Yuuta Okkatsu

Treats pussy like a gift from god, because in his eyes it is.

There’s one thing that has him on his knees faster then any curse technique and that’s pussy

King at making you squirt unintentionally. He is just so gosh darn big T_T

Its like is dick was made for pleasure. Its slightly curved upwards to hit that special sweet spot in you and just big enough to stretch you out ever so deliciously

He’ll blush when ever you comment about how big he is but dont get it twisted, this man not only has the size of the wave but the motion of the ocean too („ಡωಡ„)

Everything was too much. From the way Yuutas dick dragged against your gummy walls too the friction of his hands on you clit. All of it overlapped into blinging ecasty that elated your brain and spread and immense warmth throughout your stomach with every thrust.

“S’ont s-stop m’so happy~” Your words strung out on your lips in a dumb haze and a bit of drool seeped out from the side of your lips from how good you were being fucked.

Pride swelled in Yuutas chest at your fucked out state and he encaptured your lips with his, a string of spit connecting your tongues as he pulled apart.

“Your gonna make me go crazy baby.”

Noaya Zenin

For all the shit that’s in his brain it’s infuriating that the fact remains he is a true pussy pleaser

Mans may not know how to treat women right but sure does know how to treat pussy good

He’ll train your pussy just like he’ll train you to be obedient for him.

Noaya will make it so you’ll be able to basically cum on command.

He’ll buy a collar for you with his name on it and pull on your leash to bring you up for a messy kiss while he fucks you

Dont think about being a brat, he is the CEO of the brat taming COMPANY

“Listen to me whore.”

You felt the harsh tug of your leash pull your fucked out face up to meet Noaya harsh gaze, a devilish grin spread across his stupidly handsome face.

“Aww fucked you dumb baby?” He brings his other hand to your face to wipe a stream of drool that escaped from the side of your lips with his thumb. How many orgasms has it been now? You lost track. The warmth of his cum spilling out of your hole made shivers rack your body and clench around nothing. There was a moment of silence, just the sound of your whimpers and heavy gasps for air while Noaya took in your state.

“Ahhh this is bad y/n.” You let out a yelp when you feel the pressure of noaya tip press against your overstimulated hole. “I dont think I can get enough of you.”

“N-no no more p-please master n-no” You weakly place your hand on his toned chest in an attempt to push him away but this only earns a harsh slap to your clit making you scream.

“When did I ever care about a women’s opinion? especially not yours.”

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s0dium · 2 years

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That boy is a real p*ssy pleaser

Warnings: Pussy fanatic characters, oral, breeding kink, cum kink, pregnancy kink, sexism, sexism, master/pet play, collar/leash, dub con

Consider leaving a like, reblog, comment, or the best of all: a follow! (≧◡≦)

Yuji Itadori

Is a certified pussy addict. Yuji gets absolutely pussy drunk when it comes to you

Also certified ass man so he'll eat you out while squeezing and kneeding your ass like dough.

In the end this himbo is a giver more then a receiver. Dont get it twisted though, just because he likes to be on his knees by no means does that make him a sub.

He'll have you squirting on his pretty face and lap it all up like a starving man

Yuujis hands slipped under you to grab your ass, the fat of your skin filling the creases of his fingers like dough and bringing you closer to his tongue.

"Mhm taste so good baby." Yuji groaned into your heat and you grabbed onto his pink hair for dear life as you trembled below him. "Gonna be good for me and cum baby? If you do ill make you cum again and again."

Choso

Secret pussy fanatic, you'd never guess until he fucks you for the first time and you see the glazed over look in his eyes as he rams into you. There's no going back

Curses dont need to eat or drink to survive, but this man does need pussy once he meets you.

Behind that usually stoic face, choso looses his mind when he enters in you. And if he can use complicated curse techniques you bet this man can treat pussy right

Oh and one more thing, when choso fucks, he does it with the intent to breed

Because above all else, choso is a family man.

Hes not human, so his stamina is endlesss. He'll ram into your cum battered pussy until you faint and he knows your gonna be round with his kids in a few months

Choso whines into your mouth and presses his own messy kisses into your squealing mouth.

Yuuta Okkatsu

Treats pussy like a gift from god, because in his eyes it is.

There's one thing that has him on his knees faster then any curse technique and that's pussy

King at making you squirt unintentionally. He is just so gosh darn big T_T

Its like is dick was made for pleasure. Its slightly curved upwards to hit that special sweet spot in you and just big enough to stretch you out ever so deliciously

He'll blush when ever you comment about how big he is but dont get it twisted, this man not only has the size of the wave but the motion of the ocean too („ಡωಡ„)

“S’ont s-stop m’so happy~” Your words strung out on your lips in a dumb haze and a bit of drool seeped out from the side of your lips from how good you were being fucked.

Pride swelled in Yuutas chest at your fucked out state and he encaptured your lips with his, a string of spit connecting your tongues as he pulled apart.

“Your gonna make me go crazy baby.”

Noaya Zenin

For all the shit that’s in his brain it’s infuriating that the fact remains he is a true pussy pleaser

Mans may not know how to treat women right but sure does know how to treat pussy good

He’ll train your pussy just like he’ll train you to be obedient for him.

Noaya will make it so you’ll be able to basically cum on command.

He'll buy a collar for you with his name on it and pull on your leash to bring you up for a messy kiss while he fucks you

Dont think about being a brat, he is the CEO of the brat taming COMPANY

"Listen to me whore."

You felt the harsh tug of your leash pull your fucked out face up to meet Noaya harsh gaze, a devilish grin spread across his stupidly handsome face.

"Aww fucked you dumb baby?" He brings his other hand to your face to wipe a stream of drool that escaped from the side of your lips with his thumb. How many orgasms has it been now? You lost track. The warmth of his cum spilling out of your hole made shivers rack your body and clench around nothing. There was a moment of silence, just the sound of your whimpers and heavy gasps for air while Noaya took in your state.

"Ahhh this is bad y/n." You let out a yelp when you feel the pressure of noaya tip press against your overstimulated hole. "I dont think I can get enough of you."

"N-no no more p-please master n-no" You weakly place your hand on his toned chest in an attempt to push him away but this only earns a harsh slap to your clit making you scream.

"When did I ever care about a women's opinion? especially not yours."

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chil2de · 3 years

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kisses from the haikyuu men (;

a/n: tbh this was supposed to be a smut piece for iwaizumi but i won’t be able to finish it tn so. here’s some collective brainrot for all the characters i’m swooning for.

featuring: miya atsumu, miya osamu, suna rintarou, iwaizumi haijime, kunimi akira, oikawa tooru, matusakawa issei, sakusa kiyoomi, kozume kenma, hinata shouyou, tendou satori, korai hoshiumi.

𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 / 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙣𝙨𝙛𝙬 !

atsumu who kisses you during the most inappropriate times. passionately and with fervor. during an argument, pulling you in by the waist and shutting you the fuck up with his lips. in public when you’re in the middle of speaking, in front of his team and his twin— all just to see your eyes blow and lips part in shock.

osamu who kisses you gently, on the forehead when he passes by your table at the onigiri store. he reserves the longer, slower kisses with more affection behind them for when you’re at home, or the quick and sloppy ones for the restroom of his store.

suna who thinks it’s funny to kiss you on the back of your hands, eye contact whilst he grazes your knuckles and makes your fingertips twitch. prefers the feel of your lips on his, and it’s also a small boost to his ego if you have to lean up to reach him.

iwaizumi who holds the side of your face whenever he kisses you, cages you in with his hand beside your head. it’s always a deep but relatively short kiss that leaves a small smooch whenever he pulls away. likes to brush his thumb against the side of your jaw, often reminding you of just how broad and sturdy he is compared to you.

kunimi who kisses your neck, targeting the areas that make you squirm all the while he tells you to be quiet. lazily watches the way you squirm and writhe underneath him when you plead for his lips.

oikawa who kisses the top of your head, small pecks on your lips and your cheeks. smiles against you when your foreheads bump, often coaxing you with flirty remarks that’ll cause you to try to shove him away- but he’ll always step right back into your touch.

mattsun who teases you and says he won’t kiss you unless you beg for it. always catches him by surprise when you do beg, but at which point he’s already down on his knees and peppering small kisses to the inner side of your soft thighs.

sakusa who kisses you when you’re not paying attention, scolding you afterwards even if his actions are contradictory. he’ll dip right in, kiss you deep with a small whimper if he particularly feels like being a jackass before asking: ‘did you listen to a word of what i just said?’

kenma who often relies on you to initiate the kiss, always desperate and exasperated for more when you do. he gets flustered easily, and you can always see his feline gaze staring your lips down hungrily. he’ll pause for a second before murmuring a soft “again.”

hinata who showers your entire face with love and affection. it’s like playing a game with him each time he runs up to you after a match. will he hold your face in his hands, kiss you between the brows? or will he kiss the bridge of your nose, lightly bumping it together in a little boop?

tendou who drinks you in because you ate the last piece of gum and he wanted some, too. might slip his tongue in if your guard’s down, but also likes pulling you in by the wrist until your chest collides into his. does this a lot, actually. just calls your name, pulls you forward or backwards for a kiss. cute lil ragdoll, huh?

hoshiumi who demands that he won’t play until he’s had his pre-game kiss from you. lifts you up off the ground a little, limbs wrapped tight around you as he holds you close to him. it’s a quick peck, but the way you grip onto his shirt afterwards when he has to leave persuades him to feign an illness/ minor injury that you “need to take a look at in the changing room”

reblog else i’ll cry violently

send me a req?

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highdramas · 3 years

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it’s rotten work | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: language, possible tfatws spoilers, general talk about illness/stomach flu

word count: 1.7k!

summary: you have the stomach flu. bucky takes care of you. somewhere in there, love is confessed.

note: here’s another installment in the twalb story <3 again, you don’t have to read these in order, they stand independently, but they do all work together! PLEASE leave feedback/reblog! this is extremely helpful for me writing future parts to know what everyone likes or doesn’t like! just a heads up i wrote this SUPER quick and it is not proofread but the thought of bucky taking care of me when i’m sick....... ya i just had to write it

enjoy! <3

“doll?”

you’re not sure when you padded out to the living room. you’re not even sure how you managed to get the bowl to set next to you, in case your stomach turned again. and you’re really not sure how you even thought to put a few cubes of ice in the mug full of water that sits on the coffee table.

all you had known was your stomach was a pit of fire and your head was pounding and you are an absolute baby when it comes to feeling ill. and bucky is finally beginning to sleep through the night in the bed that you two share. he doesn’t need to be woken by your moaning and groaning.

apparently, you had drifted off into sleep at some point. and apparently, bucky had noticed. you shouldn’t say apparently as if it’s so shocking. bucky pays attention to just about everything when it comes to you. you’re sure that the second he reached his arm out and felt nothing but the sheets, he sprung from the mattress.

you’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for you don’t know how long. it was nearly two in the morning when you wandered out of the bedroom, and as you scramble to grab your phone, it reads 3:07am back at you.

“doll, what’s goin’ on?” bucky sits on the edge of the couch and his hand goes to your bare thigh, rubbing your skin, and you note that he is shirtless.

“don’t feel good,” you mumble and cover your eyes with your forearm. “didn’t want to wake you up.” you pause and look at him. “you look so good. ‘s not fair.”

bucky scoffs and he pushes your arm away, placing his hand on your forehead. “jesus, you’re fucking burning.” you faintly feel his hand moving down the side of your face. “you should’ve gotten me.”

“didn’t want to wake you up,” you repeat and you finally open your eyes. he’s looking down at you with an incredulous smile, that somehow manages to mix irritation and adoration. “or get you sick.”

“i don’t care about that.” you’re sure with the serum he couldn’t even catch a cold. “one second.”

you begin to push yourself up, protests on your lips, but bucky shakes his head and gently pushes you back into the couch. “stop. let me take care of you.”

oh.

there’s something simple inim the words that stirs your stomach.

and you promptly grab the bowl and throw up into it.

bucky’s not gone long once he hears you. he has a hair tie on his wrist and various other items which he sets on the coffee table before he scrambles to pull your hair back. you’re hunched over with the bowl in your lap and a pout on your lips. you look at him and say, “i’m sorry, this is so not sexy.”

you throw up into the bowl once more.

despite tying your hair back, bucky keeps one hand tangled in it, the other rubbing circles on your back. “i always think you’re sexy.” cue a gag. “even now.”

you pull back and look at him with furrowed brows. “shut up.”

bucky grins and he wipes your mouth with a damp towel. you slacken slightly as he holds you, as he takes care of you. your mind is nothing but a fog, but at the center of it is bucky. bucky’s touch, bucky’s hold, bucky’s soft voice in your ear. “i think i fell in love with you the first time i saw you,” you begin to babble, your head falling to the side. whether it’s the fever or the exhaustion or a mix of both, you’ll never know. “when you asked to help build kitty’s tower.” you point to where it now lives in the corner of his apartment. “look at your handiwork. you did such a great job. how could i not fall in love with you?”

bucky stills. the two of you have passed many firsts. hell, you two live together for christ’s sake. however, there is one thing that has never passed either of your lips.

i love you.

you continue. “it’s so easy, too,” you say, your head lolling to the side. “to love you. you’re so hard on yourself, buck. but it’s easy as-- it’s easy as breathing.” you smile and it quickly dissipates as you feel your stomach twist again. “god, i’m so sorry you’re doing this.”

“don’t be,” he says, and his voice is husky.

you love him.

he should’ve guessed, right? because he is in perfect agreement with you. he has loved you since he has known you.

slowly, you lean your head on his shoulder and he holds you, setting the bowl down onto the ground beside you. “i feel like you’re not going to believe me,” you mumble. “how much i love you. you never believe me.”

“doll…”

“it’s true!” you pull back, and your eyes are glassy. you fall back onto the couch and you once again place your arm on your forehead. “i wish you could understand.”

“understand what?”

blue eyes lock onto yours. “how deserving you are of good things in the world.” you stretch your legs out across his lap.

you don’t give him much chance to respond before you’re pressing your hand to your forehead and groaning. bucky opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the words, before he shakes his head. not the time. “here,” he grabs the bottle of ibuprofen he’d found in the cabinet and the mug full of water you’d fetched for yourself when you initially stumbled out into the living room. “let me help you. can you sit up?”

nodding, you push yourself up again. he taps your chin lightly, and you open your mouth. he places two pills onto your tongue and he holds the back of your head, handing you the water. a shaky hand takes it and you tip your head back, downing nearly the entire glass. “thank you,” you look at him. “you don’t have to do this. i would’ve been fine.”

“didn’t you just say something about being deserving of good things?” bucky studies you. “that applies to you, too.”

“i didn’t realize puking all over my boyfriend was a good thing.”

he rolls his eyes and you laugh. even when you feel like shit, you’re laughing, bucky notes. it’ll never be lost on him how lucky he is to get a front row seat to that laugh every single day. the two of you sit in quiet for a long time. he gets another damp rag and puts it on your forehead. he sits on the opposite side of the couch and he runs his fingers up and down your legs, making smoothing circles.

when you open your eyes again, sunlight is beginning to stream in through the windows.

bucky is still sitting in the same position, but now, he’s watching the tv, and he seems to have found a t shirt. no sound omits from the tv, but you watch as his eyes take in the subtitles at the bottom of the screen. as you begin to stir, his head snaps to look at you. “hey.”

you rub your eyes, and you’re already feeling a hell of a lot better than you did last night. “what time is it?”

“almost noon.”

bucky has clearly done some cleaning. the bowl from last night is gone and replaced with a new one, clean and empty beside you. there’s a new glass of water on a coaster next to you, as well as more medicine and some saltine crackers. you rub at your neck, trying to recall the events of last night. the things you said.

how could i not fall in love with you?

your heart plummets. you fix your eyes on him and he sits up a little bit straighter. “are you feeling alright?”

“oh my god,” you breathe, and you cover your face with your hands. “i’m so sorry.”

bucky pulls your hands away, scooting closer to you. “doll, no. don’t be sorry--”

“no, i am!” you press your hand to your cheek. “i throw up all over you, probably sweated all over you-- like, ew! and then, i incoherently mumble about how much i love you?! buck, that’s not the way that i wanted to tell you. not at all.” frustrated tears begin to rear their ugly head. “i’m sorry,” your apology is not more than a whisper.

bucky doesn’t seem to mind any of that, though. “you remember?”

“of course i remember!” you fall back and bucky takes your hand.

“doll…” bucky looks at you. “doll, c’mere.”

stubborn as ever, you stay where you’re at, embarrassment written all over your face. his hands pull you up and finally, you look at his eyes. “i’ve loved you since that night, too.” his words are soft, almost nervous, though you could never understand why. “i thought that maybe you were just… you know, when you’re feverish, you can say crazy things. i didn’t want to--”

you can’t help it, a laugh breaks free from your lips. “that is so like you,” your words are laced with fondness. “i confess my love to you, and you think it’s the fever talking.”

his cheeks go pink. you lick your lips and you hold his face in your hands. “i meant it.” you nod your head, biting down on your lip. “i meant all of it.”

it’s as if you can see the physical weight that lifts from bucky’s shoulders. he breathes a bit lighter, his smile is a bit easier. “i love you,” you insist. “forever, buck.”

bucky’s hand goes back to that spot on the back of your neck, pushing past the tangled knot that your hair has turned into. “i love you,” he says, and he leans in.

his lips barely brush yours before you scoot back, shaking your head. “no, no.” you laugh and move to stand up. “you had to see me throw up everywhere, i’m not going to make you kiss me with vomit breath.”

bucky grabs your hand, holds your face in those tender hands of his, and he presses his lips against yours. the kiss is slow, and it is sweet. when he pulls back, he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “i’ve seen a lot of bad shit, sweetheart,” he pecks your lips again. “i’m not scared of a little puke.”

you fall in love with him over and over and over again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes series #the world's a little blurry #my writing

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danniburgh · 3 years

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Sins of the Flesh (priest!Dave York x f!reader)

Pairing: priest!Dave York x f!reader

Summary: His mind shouldn’t be on the new catechesis teacher as he cleaned the chalice after handing communion. His thoughts shouldn’t be on the young girl he knew for so long as he blessed the congregation and finished mass.

But you were different now. Something in you had changed. “Lord, have mercy on me.”

Word count: +10.9k

Warnings: religion! catholic religion to be precise, a lot A LOT of religious references and undertones (shot every time you find one lmao), age gap (around 15 years, reader is legal), smut, unprotected p in v, oral sex, breaking of celibacy vows!, catholic guilt, me making divine metaphors... i think thats it.

A/N: first of all this is all @asta-lily’s fault, she asked why no one had turned this man into a priest and i said “ok ill do it” so i did it, she is to blame. also i wanna say thanks to the pocket wives that encouraged this creation, sorry my loves, this isnt as slutty as yall thought lmao, and thanks to @alliterative-albatross who gave me all the bible verses that shaped this story as well. and i wanna thank the creator of this playlist that i listened over and over while writing this, and yeah, sorry for this monstrosity, love you <3

Masterlist // Read on ao3 // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

moodboard by @asta-lily

“So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.”–James 4:12.

Sunday 1.

Like a piece in a puzzle.

That’s how you fit in.

There, sitting in the middle of a ten people polished wood bench, eyes on the four feet tall crucified Jesus on the wall above the altar, ready for the first sermon you were to hear after coming back home.

Home. That was the name.

That church felt like home.

You were enjoying sitting there, among the children you met a couple of hours earlier when you were introduced to them as their new catechesis teacher, breathing in and out the myrrh incense burning and invading the navel and your lungs, filling them with new energy, getting them ready to feel the love that you were sure was about to pour over you.

You heard your name behind you and you turned around to see Mrs. Stevens, one of your mother’s friends waving at you from two rows behind.

“Hi, honey!” she smiled at you and immediately you reciprocated “I heard you were in town, are you staying this time?”

You drowned a chuckle inside your chest and bit your lip, nodding. Just realizing you even had missed the venomous messages hidden behind the kind words mouthed by old catholic moms.

“Yes, Mrs. Stevens, I’m staying this time.” you replied, the woman lifted her hand a bit to the sky and you smirked to her.

“God bless, I bet your mom is delighted you’re here!” she muttered “I know she missed you terribly all those years you were in that school.”

“It’s called college, Mrs. Stevens,” you reminded the woman, and she rolled her eyes, making you chuckle softly again “but do not worry for my mama anymore, I graduated, I’m staying for good.” you told her, amused at the way she acted as if you staying at home was some godsend blessing.

The organ began to play on the upper balcony behind everyone and you saw two altar boys, carbon copy of each other, almost rushing their way to the altar, and behind them… Father Dave.

You smiled softly at the sight of him as he walked solemnly to the altar, his green chasuble flowing with the air and the movement, there was a thought you had all those years you were away from home because of school, always coming back to Father Dave York: the young priest that decided to stay in the first congregation he was sent to, the one that became a pillar to the community, the holy man that held the direct link to God and that gave you your first communion, the one you missed when you went to attend mass at the church near campus because no one gave the sermons like he did. For some reason, whenever you least expected, you thought of him.

You saw him putting his bible on top of the pressed cloth over the altar, kneel and kiss the center of it and cross himself. And then, after he closed his eyes and muttered a prayer to himself and to God, he opened his deep brown eyes and he looked at you.

“Let us pray.”

Your mouth dried when his deep timbered voice, with the help of a small microphone on his altar, wrapped the entire navel and you with it, he looked at you as he cleared his throat and he opened his arms to the sky, breaking eye contact with you.

“Lord, have mercy.” he murmured, and the congregation replied to his prayer as you struggled to find the air that had escaped your lungs.

As Father Dave guided the congregation through the sermon and through the prayers, all you could see was him.

In some way, there was something different about him you hadn’t noticed the last time you were there; you didn’t know if it was something about his deep voice as he recited the credo by muscle memory, the way he walked from one side of the sanctuarium to the other as he talked about the scripture or the way his hands wrapped around the chalice when one of the altar boys handed it to him as the organ echoed all around the navel, announcing the communion.

You stood up and walked to the back of the line and sighed as he lifted the wafer to the sky, and your eyes closed by themselves when he lifted the chalice and took a sip from the sacramental wine and locked your eyes on him as the line moved.

As soon as you were in front of him your lips parted and he smiled at you softly.

“The body of Christ.” he murmured, his deep brown eyes on yours as they filled with tears.

“Amen” and you opened your mouth.

He put the wined wafer between your lips and his thumb brushed with your chin, making your skin burn as you brought it inside of your mouth with your tongue and forced yourself to walk away from him.

As you returned to your seat with the gold cross that hung from your neck between your fingers and kneeled to pray for the forgiving of your sins, all you could think of was brown, deep eyes, and a soft, brief touch on your chin that burned more than the wax of a burning taper.

Dave felt it.

The way you looked at him throughout the entire service.

And it made him feel different.

When you rose from your seat to walk to the communion line, he saw the way your body moved, almost as if you were floating instead of walking.

He knew you were back, and his heart was happy you were finally home.

But he didn’t expect to see you so changed.

And he didn’t expect the way your eyes had made him feel.

Then you were in front of him, and he smiled because he remembered the first time he handed the body of Christ to you, years and years before.

And your eyes filled with tears as his breath hitched when your lips parted for him as he fed you the sacred soul of the savior.

God, have mercy.

His mind shouldn’t be on the new catechesis teacher as he cleaned the chalice after handing communion. His thoughts shouldn’t be on the young girl he knew for so long as he blessed the congregation and finished mass.

But you were different now. Something in you had changed.

Lord, have mercy on me. He thought as he entered the sacristy.

“Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy.”–Proverbs 28:13.

Sunday 2.

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.” Dave heard your voice next to him and felt the air leave from his lungs. Not you, please God, not you.

You had been avoiding Father Dave for almost the entire week.

And you felt guilty about it.

You couldn’t even look at him in the eyes and not think about those dreams you were having about him.

If God was all love and perfection, why was he tempting you with dreams of Father Dave, his own servant, touching you in places you got shivers from, warming your body with his own, putting his mouth on your skin as you repeated his name like it was the sanctus?

Holy, holy, holy.

Why was God putting inside your head the sins of the flesh you had already asked forgiveness for? Why was he making you desire a forbidden man? A man that was not to be perceived as a man but as the representation of him on earth.

That morning, when you walked into the church to impart the catechesis class, you saw Jesus on the cross and you saw him look at you. And you knew he knew.

All omnipresent, all omniscient, all omnipotent.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Almighty God why were you thinking about him so much?

And the resolution in your mind was asking for forgiveness, you needed to pay penitence for those thoughts you knew you did.

But were you really about to confess to the man you had been dreaming about that he was invading your every thought?

“It has been two weeks since my last confession.” you mumbled, playing with your cross over your neck, Dave breathed in deeply and intertwined his hands on his lap.

“What are your sins?” he asked, closing his eyes as he remembered his own.

Dave was always a man of faith. It was in him from birth. He had been taught and trained to not fall into any temptations and so far his life had been devoted and dedicated to God and only to God.

But your eyes and the way you saw him, and the way your eyes made him feel when they locked on his, had him spiraling down into decadence.

Sometimes, dedicating his life to the word of the Lord made him forget he was still a human, he was still a man.

He had needs.

And he was alright before your eyes. Before your holy eyes were on him.

He had dreamed of them; he had thought of them; he had imagined them when he was in the limbo between sleep and awakeness.

He had dreamed of your lips, of your lips on his skin, he had thought of those lips that just looked like they needed someone to wet them and bring them back to life; he had imagined those lips of yours in places of his body he swore never to use.

He had prayed for them to disappear; he had begged to his God to erase those thoughts of his mind and free them from the temptation that was incarnated in you, in your body, in your eyes that denied to see him when you were in the same room, in your hands as you moved them to teach the children, in your legs trapped in the tight denim of your jeans, in your lips as you smiled to everyone but him, in your entire being, just by existing.

But they had increased, like a tamed flame sprayed with gasoline. He had a fire in his chest, one that was spreading through him as he was closer to you.

He needed them gone; he had sworn to never look at a woman as an object of desire; he had sworn on his life and he had vowed his commitment.

But you were there, kneeling next to him, separated by the thinnest patterned panel, holding the matches and the fuel.

“I’ve been having… improper thoughts, father,” you whispered, closing your eyes and left your necklace alone, clutching your hands together as tight as you could, you felt the aura change and the air grow thicker between him and you, “about a man.”

Dave opened his eyes at your confession and frowned. A man?

He knew you could tell him whatever you wanted; he knew he wasn’t allowed to ask in for details; he knew he was only there functioning as a link for you to get absolved from your sins and you were a young woman granted of free will and enough time to ask for absolution but he wanted to know; he needed to know who that man was.

“He is ol–older than me,” he heard you mumble and his hands tightened their grip on each other “and I can’t have him, father, I–I’ve been having these thoughts about a forbidden man.”

Dave’s mind went reeling, and he didn’t understand why. He didn’t like to assume about the life of his congregation members, he never did, but you were talking to him, after he had been dreaming about you for days, after you two shared something about desiring another man. And he was angry. He wanted to know who. He wanted to know who was keeping your mind the same way you were keeping his.

“He keeps me up at night, thinking of him, that is,” you whispered “I’ve–Jesus,” you let out the air of your lungs and Dave breathed in deeply once more “I’ve touched myself thinking of him.” you said under your breath and Dave felt his chest tug and turn.

“Does this man… know what he is causing in you?” he muttered with a frown and heard you sigh.

“No, I don’t want him to.”

“Alright, child,” he replied after a few seconds, and made a grimace of disgust at the pet name. It felt wrong, and he felt dirty with the word on his mouth, “do you repent these sins?”

“Yes, father, I do.” you closed your eyes at his words and wanted, for once, to be brave and tell him he was the one roaming around your mind. But it wasn’t fair.

“Please, recite in silence the act of contrition,” he muttered to you and you obeyed, feeling your eyes fill with tears.

As he waited for you to finish, he did the same on his side of the confession box

I’m choosing to sin and failing to do good.

“Amen.” you said, and he murmured the word to the ceiling.

“I think the word you do for the church,” he started, and you wrinkled your nose at the thought of him knowing it was you “the devotion you have, and how you repent, you don’t need to pay penance,” he muttered separating his hands and putting two fingers on the edge of the patterned panel that separated the two of you “through the ministry of the church,” your breath hitched as he whispered the words to you, and you saw with teary eyes the shadow of his fingers on the panel “man God give you pardon and peace,” you bit your lip and unclutched your hands, lifting your fingers and pressing it to his as two heavy tears fell from your eyes.

Dave felt the pressure of your touch and felt his hand tremble.

“And I ab–absolve you from your sin.” he said under his breath, pressing back.

“Thank you, father.” you whispered, not moving your fingers. You could feel the warmth of his through it and for a few seconds, you could also feel his eyes on your face.

Dave was the one to break the contact first. Absentmindedly brushing his fingers on his stole as he saw the shadow of you move and get out of the confession box.

He sat there, thankful you were the only one that morning and thinking about what you had told him.

A man of God, a man of hope. He had hoped, even if it was a sin and even if it was forbidden by pure creed and vow, that you were feeling the same as he was.

For a moment, he wondered about those thoughts… Were you thinking about that lucky old man touching you? Were you thinking about that man kissing you? What did that man look like? He wanted to be that man; he wanted to be the one whose touch you desired; he wanted to be that man you thought of as you sneaked your hand inside your underwear at night and brought yourself to pleasure. He wanted to be the one whose kiss you yearned for as your sex ached for attention; he wanted to be the one whose fingers you imagined as your own were buried deep inside you.

He fisted the flesh of his thigh over his dress pants and forced himself to stop thinking of you like that.

Dave stayed inside the confession box for twenty minutes more, praying for forgiveness, as he had done every night since you had been back.

At service, he saw you further back on the benches and he tried not to sneak glances at you as you sat there with your precious eyes on the crucifix above him, avoiding him at all costs.

And at communion, he tried not to brush your soft skin with his fingers as he fed you the wined wafer, failing when his knuckle brushed your cheek, his chest deflating when he noticed the way your face quirked in pain when you muttered Amen at him. Dave tried not to make anything of the fact that you kneeled more time than anyone else on the congregation after receiving the communion.

And when the service was over and he was alone in the sacristy, he tried and failed to not think about your skin, your eyes, your hands and your lips all over his neglected body.

That sunday night Father Dave masturbated in the shower thinking about you with your fingers deep inside you as his mind imagined it was him you thought of when you touched yourself in the darkness of the night and prayed for forgiveness.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like that.

“Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.”–1 Peter 2:11.

Sunday 3.

“Father, sh–shit,” you bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning as your pointer and middle fingers circled your wet clit under the covers of your bed, your legs spread open, the soft cotton of the sheets grazing softly at your inner thighs as you imagined your fingers being one of Father Dave’s, as you imagined him next to you, with his arm above your head as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear and nibbled at your neck while his other hand played your clit like a master pianist. You imagined the hardness of his erection pressing patiently on the skin of your hip, wetting it with pre-semen, making your body burn with the feeling of his warm naked body beside you.

As your other hand played with your nipple you imagined his eyes taking you in, you imagined his lips on your skin, were they soft? you bet they were, and you bet as well his hand would be surprisingly rough for a priest.

“Jesus, fu–fuck.” the knot inside your lower belly exploded with the thought of him and his hand and his body and his lips and his priesthood and you came with a silent scream that made your ears ring for a few seconds and your legs tremble on the bed.

As you hazed out, ready to fall asleep again before your alarm went off to go to work at the church, you felt that familiar guilt cripple inside you and settle in your chest, warming up and leaning against your heart.

Dave was panting, he fisted his hand as he leaned on the tiled wall of his shower and his other hand moved desperately on his cock. The water was still warm, and he closed his eyes shut as he imagined it was your hand on him, giving him the pleasure he was seeking, as he imagined you were behind him, your lips brushing against the wet skin of his back, your free hand around his chest, gliding softly at his skin, making him whimper with your touch.

It was so early for him to be so hot over you again; it wasn’t good for him to give into these desires he had and had been praying so hard and so much to get rid of.

He didn't want to keep doing it and he surely didn’t feel good after it, but his body ached for you, his chest turned every time he thought about you, every time he saw you around the church, he felt the deepest, hottest desire for you and your hands and your body and he just couldn’t help it.

His hand gripped and pumped as fast as he could and he came with a silent groan, opening his eyes as he finished milking every drop of his seed and watched it mix with the shower water and go down the drain. Along with the decency and morality that was left inside him.

You heard your name being said, and you turned around as you finished picking up your things from the small desk you used to teach the catechism; you saw Mrs. Vega, the church custodian, a small, old lady that had known you forever, walking towards you.

“I’m sorry dear, but I want to ask you for something.” she said when you smiled at her.

“Of course, Mrs. Vega, what is it?” you put your small book inside your bag and hung it from your shoulders.

“You see, the little twins that help Father Dave are sick today,” you frowned at the mention of Father’s Dave name but let out a sad sigh at her statement, “and they can’t come help with the service, you’re the youngest of the teachers, could you do it?”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and felt your stomach churn inside you at the thought of standing next to the altar for a whole service.

“Me?” you asked, your voice in a high pitch as Mrs. Vega reached for your arm and tugged you to walk out of the chapel and into the navel of the church.

“Yes, dear, remember only the youngest get to do it.” she obviated, pulling you with her to the transept and up two steps to the sanctuarium “you only need to hand him the communion things and the holy water, I will prepare everything for you.”

“Why don’t you do it?” you asked in a whisper, not daring to take a step further closer to the altar. Mrs. Vega turned to look at you, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Since when are you shy, girl?” she asked with a teasing smile “I remember you singing in that kiddie choir we used to have and doing it terribly,” you chuckled at the memory and bit your lip “it’s only until the boys get that bug they got out of them.” she palmed your arm, and you breathed in deeply.

You looked up at the crucified Jesus above the altar and silently begged him for anticipated forgiveness.

Dave almost cursed when he saw you standing next to the altar as he walked across the navel.

The thought of who would replace Bobby and Chris on their altar duties didn’t even cross his mind as he was more worried about praying for the boys and sending them some sweets and pleading for the cleansing of his soul after the incident on his shower earlier that morning.

As he stepped up to the sanctuarium your eyes locked on his and he noticed you lips parting when he nodded his chin once at you, he noticed the way you swallowed as you nodded back and for a brief second, his imagination ran wild and made him believe you felt the same way as he did about you.

Even if it was the wrongest thing to think about.

It was like torture.

An hour of torture.

You got to see him kneel behind the altar and kiss the white pressed cloth softly as he stood, as you wanted and wished to be the altar’s cloth he pressed his plump lips on, he crossed himself and you mimicked his movements. And for a brief fraction of a second, as he opened his arms to the sky, you saw him looking at you out of the corner of his eye. And his eyes burned in your skin, they made you feel like your chest was aflame.

The communion time arrived, and he turned to you as you grabbed the chalice with the wine, his eyes locked with yours and you felt them weigh heavy on your body.

Dave couldn't concentrate, he felt on his side the way you were looking at him. It was heavily distracting for him to have you there, in his space, so close to him.

His hands brushed yours when he took the chalice from you and he stood there for less than a second, his fingers on yours. His soft touch and warm skin made your lips tremble with the emotion that touching him gave you. You felt a shiver go up and down your spine and the small hairs of your nape rose as his hands trapped yours.

You caught your lip between your teeth as he broke the contact and you knew he noticed; he looked at your lip as you bit it, and you blushed under his and God’s gaze.

You watched him and he felt you observing him as he prepared the wafers and wined them inside the chalice.

Your throat knotted when he lifted the cup to the sky and you felt your mouth dry as he brought the rim to his lip and his neck strained while he took a sip of the sacramental wine.

Because of the closeness you could see the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed the wine, you noticed a small drop of the crimson red liquid escape from his lips and the way he trapped it with his tongue settled deep inside your belly and leaked through your sex.

The pain of the greatest guilt you’ve ever felt in your short life appeared again and clawed its way inside your chest and to its now usual spot right next to your heart, you were struggling to keep your thoughts at bay; you were looking at Father Dave, right in front of you, doing what he dedicated his life to, and you were imagining him using his hands on your body instead of handling the instruments of the church.

Would he touch you like that? would he treat you with the same delicacy as he treated the body of Christ? would he caress you as softly as he did the chalice? would his mouth be warmed with your taste as it was by the wine he drank?

Dave turned to you and he saw you clutching your hands together, you walked towards him slowly, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you moved, almost as if air went through you, as if instead of giving steps your feet barely touched the floor because you were floating.

Everything slowed down, the music of the organ in the balcony, the prayers of the congregation, even the way he moved slowed down so he could focus on your face; on your sweet eyes, those that had brought into him the feeling of humanity, on your soft skin that had scorched his hand when he dared brushed his fingers on it, on your lips, those lips that he couldn’t pray out of his head.

He lifted his hand with the wined wafer, and even the way those holy lips of yours parted was slowed down.

Your eyes connected with his and Dave felt it in his body, deep inside his stomach, the temptation, the whispers of his mortal body as it reacted to your actions; he put the wafer between your lips delicately and pushed it inside your mouth, and then, as if by the grace of God in the heavens, you closed your mouth while he did it, and your lips wrapped softly around the pad of his finger as he pulled them away from you.

And just like that, the world started moving at its usual pace.

His skin tasted sweet. And you spent the rest of the service thinking about what other parts of him would taste like that.

Would his neck taste the same if you kissed it? would his chest feel like that if you nibbled on it? would his lips be that warm or would they be warmer?

Dave’s finger was burning.

He wanted to chop it off his hand just to stop feeling that flesh-eating guilt of enjoying your lips, your soft, warm lips around it, touching his skin, wetting it with the slick of your mouth.

After the service ended and Dave blessed the congregation, he saw you rush to the exit and he felt the sting of the guilt and the sadness. He wanted to talk to you and offer his apologies before you went home.

Sunday 4.

You weren’t there.

And Dave missed your eyes on him.

“I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.”–Romans 12:1.

Sunday 5.

As soon as you walked into the church you felt the eyes of all omnipresent beings on your body. As if the desire that burned deep inside your body left marks all over your skin, that could be visible for all those that looked carefully enough.

You heard your name behind you and jumped slightly, startled. You turned around and felt your blood fall to your feet.

“Father Dave,” you muttered, more to help yourself acknowledge the fact that there he was, standing in front of you, out of habit, his white tab collar was the only piece of his attire that hinted the fact that he was a priest. You tried to control your body as you felt instantly that flame inside your chest beginning to spread.

“You weren’t here last week,” he said, hesitating to step closer to you “are you okay?”

You nodded a few times and bit your lip to stop it from trembling.

“Are you sure?” Father Dave asked, and you dropped your eyes to the floor and saw him give a couple of steps towards you, your breath hitched and your entire body began to shiver when you felt his hand on your arm “I’m sorry.” he whispered.

“What?” you looked up to see him and you could notice his pained quirk, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed and his lips… those lips you had spent all but two weeks imagining printing themselves and making marks on your skin, on a sad, downwards line.

“Can I please talk to you?” he said again in a whisper and you opened your mouth to reply, but only air came out, “please?”

His deep brown eyes were on yours and you felt your chest turn by the feeling of having him so close. You nodded, and he turned to the sides, as if he was making sure there was no one there, and guided you to the sacristy.

“What are you doing?” you asked, a bit altered when he opened the door and let you in first, followed you and closed the door behind him.

“I just needed to be alone with you for a minute,” he clarified, you let your eyes wander around the small space where he got ready every day for the services instead of letting them settle on him, because you knew being that close to him wouldn’t help your situation at all “I wanted to apologize.”

You frowned and looked at him. He had his back almost glued to the door and his hands together, his thumbs fidgeting with each other.

“Apologize for what?” you muttered, and he sighed.

“I’m–I make you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry.”

Dave felt stupid telling you that, but it was his truth; he spent every free moment of his days when you weren’t near him thinking maybe it was because of him. It would make sense, that you didn’t want to be there because you didn’t like his closeness, that you didn’t want to be there because he was taking advantage of his position to steal glances and give furtive touches.

He understood, but you were an excellent woman, devoted and committed to the congregation, and he knew he needed to stop or you would leave and he would never see you again. And he couldn’t have that.

“You aren–you…” you babbled, and then the look he gave you made you lose your words.

His eyes were all over you. And you could feel them on your skin, how they took you in, how they navigated through your body and every inch of you was immediately on fire.

Then he looked at your face and you swore you could see in his brown eyes the deepest form of devotion there was. And your mouth was agape and your eyes filled with tears and suddenly he was in front of you and his hands were orbiting your face.

“Can I touch you?” he said, and you nodded.

He cupped your face, and you felt his warm, rough hands scorching your skin as you closed your eyes. His warmth started mixing with your own and you could feel him inside you already. It was as if everything you needed in life was already there.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” you whispered, closing your eyes as his fingers started caressing the skin of your face, tracing your features “I swear you don’t”

Dave let out a sigh when his thumb traced the edge of your lips and he so wanted to lean down and take them in his. There had been so long since he last kissed someone and he, for a split second, forgot everything about him and the only thought in his mind was you.

“I don’t?” he asked under his breath as a tear rolled down your cheek and he brushed it off with his knuckles, you shook your head and opened your eyes and he felt his heart fill with the purest love he had ever felt in his life “you swear?” you curled your lips up and nodded twice.

“Can I tell you something?” you muttered, looking up at him and losing yourself in the depths of his brown eyes.

“Always.”

You allowed your hands to slide to his shoulders and you let out a relieved sigh. They fit perfectly.

“Yo–you are…” he nodded his chin, his hands still cupping your face softly as his eyes studied your face, you let out a trembling sigh and grabbed as much courage as you had left within you “you are the man I’ve been thinking of all this time.”

Dave widened his eyes and the movements of his hands stopped, he looked at you, searching for any hint of mischief or lie, searching for something that could tell him you were lying, that you were playing with him. But there was none.

“That’s why I wasn’t here last week,” he heard you say as he felt his heart burn with the flames of his desire and love “I was embarrassed after what happened at the communion.”

You looked at him for a second, waiting for the rejection, waiting for him to tell you what you already know, that he can’t for you what you wanted him to be, that he can’t give you what you wanted as his duty was with God and not with the mortals, let alone with a woman.

Father Dave had resigned to the pleasures of the mundane world; you knew that, but you also knew he deserved to know, even if nothing would happen.

“Am I?” he asked you, bewildered after such confession, you nodded and moved your hands to cup his face, a gesture that made him close his eyes. You wondered when was the last time, if ever, he had been touched like that “we can’t” he replied, opening his eyes and leaning in to you.

You could feel his breathing mixing with yours as the implications of his words fell on you.

“We can’t” he repeated, pushing his forehead to yours as you trembled under his touch.

“You want to?” you asked him and Dave asked for guidance in his mind as you started crying and wetting his hands. He nodded, and you sobbed.

“I can’t” he whispered, and you shook your head as he looked at you pouring your feelings from your eyes.

“Kiss me.” you pleaded, looking into his brown, deep eyes. Making him frown.

“What?”

“If you’re not gonna give me anything, at least kiss me.”

His face quirked from confusion to pain in an instant, and you gripped the hold on his face.

“Please, Dave.”

Dave sighed at the way you whispered his name without calling him a father, and deep inside him he was grateful. With you he didn’t feel like a man of god, with you, letting him touch you and touching him back, he only felt like a man. Like the man he never got the chance to be.

“I–I” he started, and you shook your head. Dave looked into your eyes and all the air he had stored in his lungs left his body in a hurry, you were the most precious being he had ever seen, and for a second, he wanted nothing but to make worth the fact he had you in his hands “shit.” he said under his breath.

Dave brought your face up to him and printed his lips on yours, stealing the little air and the close to no coherence you still had in you. You let out a soft moan out of the surprise and out of the feeling of your entire body warming up to his temperature.

His lips were as soft and as wars and better than you had imagined, they were a bit dry and hesitant on yours, but the contact of them with yours made you feel like you were floating away from the realm of the living.

Dave didn’t want to stop kissing you. He didn’t remember the last time he had kissed a woman, and in that moment he wasn’t kissing any woman he was kissing you; the precious being that had been in his mind for weeks and that had never left.

Unsure of his movements, he let you take control of the contact and soon enough you were sliding the tip of your tongue along the seam of his lips, Dave let out a surprised grunt and opened his mouth slightly of you, and you took his lower lip with your mouth. And he let you kiss him all you wanted, enjoying the contact of your slow, wet, warm lips on his less experienced ones until he was sure his lungs were screaming from the lack of air.

When he broke the kiss, he left a small one on your forehead and pressed his lips there and you closed your eyes to feel him settle inside you

“I’m sorry.” you whispered to his neck. And he nodded slightly.

“Me too.”

“But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”–Matthew 5:28.

Sunday 6.

Your knuckles grazed softly with the sacristy door and you heard the muffled noise of the latch and the door opened.

“Hi,” you smiled and Dave looked at you up and down “got your text.”

“Come in.” he motioned his hand for you to hurry and you turned your head to both sides and walked into the sacristy, closed the door behind you and slid the latch.

Immediately after the door was locked, you felt his hands on your waist and his chin on your shoulder.

“This is why you texted me?” you teased and he moved to let a kiss on your jaw.

“I missed you.” he muttered and turned your body around for you to face him.

“You didn’t.” you smiled at him and wrapped your hands around his neck, grateful for the apparently deliberate choice of him to take off his tab collar.

“Yes, I did, I missed you all day.” Dave leaned towards you and took your lips in his, already knowing, after less than a week’s practice, how you loved being kissed.

His lips were as warm as they always were, his tongue barely present if not just to taste the sweetness of your lipstick, his hands always steady on your waist, and at the end, his forehead on yours, just taking in your breaths with his.

“Mass starts soon.” you said, and he nodded, sliding his hands to your middle back to wrap you closer to him.

“I know.” he left another brief kiss on your lips.

“You gotta get dressed.” you murmured against his lips.

“I know.” he muttered back and kissed you again.

“Want me to help?” you asked under your breath, just for him, as if you saying it as low as you could would stop God from listening.

“Yes, I would love that.” Dave replied and gave into another deep kiss that stole both your breath and made you want to stop the time so you could kiss until your lips fused together.

“C’mon you need to get ready.” you broke the kiss and stepped away from him, making him smile. You wandered around the sacristy and found his tab collar. You sighed and took it in your hands.

Dave looked at you and noticed the way you looked at the soft plastic piece, he walked towards you and raised his hand to grab yours. As you felt his hand on yours; you turned your head to look at him and smiled softly, and you moved your hands, raising them to carefully lift the collar of his shirt and clasp the piece around his neck.

“You okay?” he asked in a whisper, you nodded and bit your lip at the sight of him in front of you.

Dave moved and walked to the small table against a wall with a large bowl of water and you gazed at him as he washed his hands and whispered a few words. You leaned onto the wall just looking at him go to a small cabinet near the opposite corner and took a white, folded linen garment, which he unfolded and you recognized as the long robe he used under all his attire.

He slid it off and whispered another prayer again as he let it fall and graze his ankles. His eyes went to you and you smiled at him, he next grabbed a green square that you also recognized and you walked to him and took it out of his hands.

“Let me do it” you whispered, and he nodded, you unfolded the long stripe that was the stole and found its middle, Dave crouched a bit to help you and you let it fall around his neck over his shoulders.

“Return to me the stole of immortality,” he whispered, looking at your eyes, your throat dried at the deepness of his voice “which I have lost in the sin of my first parent and although I, unworthy,” he continued and took your hand in his “approach thy sacred mystery grant to me everlasting joy.”

You gripped his hands and felt your throat knotting around itself.

“Why are you praying to me?” you asked under your breath. He cupped your chin with one hand and brought you close to his face.

“You’re holy.” he whispered and left a soft kiss on your lips.

“Stop it.” you chastised him and he shook his head, giving you a soft smile that you reciprocated immediately.

You turned to the table and saw a long, golden cord and you took it.

“Not that one.” he muttered, and you frowned.

“Why not?” you saw him taking a deep breath as he took it from your hand and left it back on the table.

“The cincture… it means chastity and continence.” he replied under his breath and you let out all the air of your lungs as he took his chasuble and put it on without looking at you.

“Dave.” you called, and he lifted a hand to you as he said the last prayer. When he finished, he looked at you and as if he read your mind, he smiled at you and shook his head.

“Don’t,” he whispered, taking you again in his hands and pulling softly so your head rested on his shoulders “don’t apologize please.”

“I need to,” you mumbled against the light fabric of the green chasuble “I’m keeping you from your vow.”

Dave grabbed your shoulders and pulled you away from his body, his hands slid to your face and you gripped his wrists as he brought your face to his.

“You’re not doing anything, my love,” he muttered the last words directly on your lips as he stole a few kisses from your trembling mouth “you’re perfect,” he panted out and you shook your head “I’m doing this because I want to, please understand it,” he kissed you again, a bit more desperately “you’re the most divine creation I’ve ever laid my eyes and hands upon,” he whispered rapidly on your lips “and I want you to be mine.”

You gasped as the words left his mouth, and he gazed at you.

“Dave...” you started, but he didn’t let you finish, he wrapped his arms around you and brought your body to his, tightening the embrace as he thought of the implications of what he just asked.

Dave lifted his eyes to the ceiling and for the first time in years, with you slowly wrapping your arms around his waist, exactly over the place the cincture was supposed to go around, and the sweet aroma of your perfume inundating his senses, he felt really close to heaven.

“I want you to be mine too.” you whispered into his ear, and he smiled, leaving a kiss on top of your head.

“How beautiful and pleasant you are, O loved one, with all your delights!”–Song of Solomon 7:6.

Sunday 7.

You stirred on your seat again, the organ was playing the latest song before Dave would bless the congregation and wrap up the service and you were nervous.

You glanced at the crucified Jesus above him and you felt his eyes on yours; you felt him shove his holy hand on your chest and as the last notes of the song inundated the navel, you felt your throat sting with the green tint of your deep guilt, but at the same time, the rest of your body drown with the red warmth of your love and desire for Dave.

Is it worth it? you heard inside your head and your immediate response was yes.

Eternal damnation in exchange for a few hours of love. It was condemnedly worth it.

The service was over and you stood up with the rest of the congregation; you talked with a few people on your way out of the church and slowly and patiently you waited for everyone to disperse.

You walked around the gardens outside the church and slid between the gate that marked the beginning of Dave’s small house inside the church grounds. You rummaged around your small bag and pulled out the key he had given you earlier and with nervousness and the familiar guilt settled next to your heart; you let yourself into his house.

You turned on the lights. The space wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small and everything around smelled like him. For a priest’s home, the place lacked religious imagery, and you automatically chastised yourself for thinking about his priesthood again.

You sat on the loveseat next to the door as you waited for him and got dragged inside your head again; you talked about doing that throughout the week and you had agreed it was something you both wanted. But your head sent you through an unwanted train of thought and you sat there, thinking about the future. Something you hadn’t talked about.

After all, he would still be a priest and you would still be a young member of his congregation. You could spend time with him and let you love him and let him love you as much as you two wanted, but in the future… what else was there for you?

You could never ask him to leave his habit for you, you could never ask him to leave his life for you, you could never do something like that to him. But you were unsure if something like that had any other path but failure.

The door opened and there he was, unclasping his tab collar and dropping it on the end table as you rose from your seat and walked to him. He smiled at you and his hands found his place on your waist.

“You’re here.” he said, not surprised but relieved.

As he took off his attire in the sacristy and walked to his house from the church, he had a few minutes to think about what he was about to do. He didn’t allow himself to overthink it because if there was something he knew was that he wanted it; he wanted it more than he had wanted anything in his life. He couldn’t explain it even if he tried, but he knew there was something about you that made him feel human, there was something about you that made him feel like he belonged somewhere, maybe the way you talked to him, maybe the way you kissed him, maybe the way you always seemed to understand the moral and spiritual dilemma he was in. He didn’t know, but he knew that he loved you, even if he wasn’t supposed to, even when he wasn’t allowed.

And as he thought of it, love was one of the laws of the God he represented, and he felt it deeply.

“I’m here.” he pulled you to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck and nodded.

“Thank you.” you closed your eyes and bit your lip, shaking your head at him.

You felt his lips on yours as they re-discovered your kisses and his hands roamed to your middle back to press your chest to his.

You were amazed by how fast he had learned how you liked to be touched, how you liked to be kissed and caressed, as if he was just trying to commit to memory everything you ever wanted and he wanted to do it to you to please you.

Dave slid his hands from your back down to your hips and moved you softly to the side, without breaking the kiss he snaked his hands to the back of your thighs and lifted you. You smiled in his mouth and wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked to his bedroom.

When you crossed the doorframe you started leaving small kisses on the skin of his neck and he sat on the edge of his bed with you in his lap, you were already feeling the hardness growing inside his pants and his hands started grazing up and down your thighs as he let you taste his neck how you best pleased.

Dave was in a haze. He understood then the power of physical touch combined with deep love; it enhanced the sensations, the flame inside his chest was burning him from the inside out with a deep desire he was sure he had never felt before, and you were there, moving slowly on his lap as you devoured the skin of his neck and kissed slowly around his jaw.

“Dave,” you whispered as you licked his earlobe and pulled out a shiver from him, he hummed in question “touch me.”

He didn’t hesitate on questioning where, his hands roamed all around your body, they were big and warm and they were rough; you cupped his jaw with both hands and took his lips in yours with a wet, open-mouthed kiss that he followed as his hands snuck inside your shirt and you moaned softly at the feeling of skin to skin.

You moved out of his lap and stood up in front of him, Dave let out a soft whine at the sudden loss of your weight on his body but stopped when you moved his legs open and stood between them.

“Take off my shirt, please.” you told him, not in an order but he obeyed, he grabbed the hem of it and lifted it, you raised your arms and felt his lips on your rib side as you finished taking it off and dropped it on the floor behind you.

Dave put his hands around your torso and licked your skin experimentally, which made you gasp at the feeling of his wet tongue against your skin and he smiled to himself, doing it again and nibbling on the same spot softly.

His hands slid to your waist and without being told to he unbuttoned your jeans and dragged them down slowly, his eyes directly on yours. You smiled at him with your reddened, kiss-swollen lips and he felt your smile settling inside his lower belly, his cock twitching inside his pants.

You put your hands on his shoulders as he helped you out of your shoes and jeans and when you were there, standing in front of him only in your underwear, he swore there wasn’t anything more divine than your body.

You sank on your knees and your hands landed on his thighs, Dave’s throat clutched and his chest turned as you smiled at him and your hands slid to his belt, you raised your eyebrows as if asking for permission and he nodded a few times, leaning backward into his hands to give you space for you to do whatever you wanted to him.

You unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, his breath hitched when your fingers hooked to the hem of both his pants and his boxers, and then he lifted his hips for you to pull them off him. Dave smiled when he saw you bite your lip at the sight of his hard cock resting on his abdomen. It did something unexpected on what he thought was his dead ego, but he loved the way you looked at it.

“Take off your shirt.” you said and again, without it being an order, he obeyed. Unbuttoned it as quickly as he could and slid it off his shoulders as you leaned over his lap and took his erection on your hand, your thumb grazing softly the tip and he threw his head back between his shoulders.

“Oh, my love.” he sighed out as you started pumping slowly and when he closed his eyes, you licked the underside and wrapped your lips around the tip, making him gasp.

You took it slowly, enjoying the taste of his pre-cum as it came out of him, pumping the rest you couldn’t fit inside your mouth with your hand.

Dave forced his eyes open and moved his head down to watch you, he shivered when he found you already looking at him; he moved his hand to your face and with his knuckles caressed your cheek, making you smile with his cock inside your mouth.

For him, looking at you on your knees between his legs was like looking at a sacrosanct painting; your lips around him taking as much of his length as you could, your saliva dripping from his dick to your hand, bobbing your head up and down as your eyes, those holy eyes that never left his, it was a pleasure he never thought he would get in his earthly life.

He felt himself close to cumming, and he pushed your head softly upwards, you rose from your knees and clashed your messy lips onto his and he wrapped his arms around your waist, his large hands roaming around the skin of your back. His fingers played with the back of your bra and he broke the kiss for a few seconds to unhook it and help you slide it off, you smiled when he sighed at the sight of your breasts in front of his face and he pulled you flush against his head, taking a nipple in his mouth.

The warmth of his mouth and the wetness of his tongue around the soft skin of your nipple made you cry out his name softly and arousal gathered between your legs. One of his hands rested on your other boob and kneaded delicately as you fisted his hair in your hand. Dave moved his mouth to your other nipple and lapped at it before trapping it inside his mouth, you pressed his head to your chest and let out a moan when his teeth grazed your nipple as he released it.

“I wanna taste you.” he muttered against your boob and you smiled at him, nodding.

He moved you softly to lie down on the bed; the sheets were cool and soft and he stood on the edge, taking you in again, studying your body.

He leaned down to you and you opened your legs to make space for him; he hovered over your body and kissed you again, softly, as if you were back in time to the first kiss he gave you in the sacristy, as if he wasn’t about to devour your body.

His kisses traveled from your mouth to your neck and your chest, he left one in each nipple, making you laugh, he left a trail of them over your belly and one over your belly button. As he kissed your abdomen and your thighs, you looked at the ceiling and you smiled at whoever was watching.

Dave took the hem of your panties on his fingers and you lifted your hips for him to slip them off you, you lifted your legs and he unhooked them from your ankles, grabbing your calves and opening your legs again. He gulped when he saw your wet, expectant pussy right in front of him and looked at your flushed face. He leaned down and left kisses around your thighs without breaking eye contact.

“Guide me.” he whispered and left a kiss right over the hood of your clit, making you moan.

You nodded once, and he looked at your pussy, opened the lips gently with his fingers and blew on your slick folds, making you shiver. He flattened his tongue and licked from your slit to your clit, tasting your arousal, moaning at the richness of it.

You slid your hand to your clit and looked at him.

“Here.” you mumbled, circling a few times to show him how. He had told you he had sex before his ordination, because he didn’t want to go into his holy orders without having experienced it and wondering for the rest of his life what he had missed, but he said it wasn’t as good as he thought it would be and before you, he thought he would never know. So you had to show him what you wanted and what you liked because his experience wasn’t vast.

Dave did as you showed and you moaned out loud, the pads of his fingers were warmer and bigger than yours and he was handling you so delicately you were already on edge.

He kept licking and circling your clit and then, without a second thought, he moved his fingers away and started circling your clit with his tongue.

“Oh m–my god,” you fisted his hair, pushing his face into your pussy and he pressed your hips onto the mattress, looking at your face with your mouth opened in pleasure and your eyes closed shut “Dave ke–keep doing that baby,” you pleaded and he did it, and started playing the pad of one of his fingers on your slit, making your hips buck slightly he saw you pant and smiled when you slid your free hand to play with your nipple so he added a second one to play with your entrance “inside, put them inside.” you said under your breath and he pushed his fingers slowly inside your cunt, making you let out a long moan of his name, he started pumping and curling his fingers inside as he had imagined you doing it all those weeks ago while touching himself in the shower and closed his eyes to hear you moan his name as he brought you closer and closer to pleasure.

He moved his fingers faster inside of you and hand fisted and pulled his hair as your moans became tamed screams and he thought of them as the most pious symphony that he and only him had the sacred pleasure to hear.

You wrapped a leg around his shoulders as you felt the knot inside your belly explode from his ministrations and you chanted his name over and over as he worked you through your orgasm. You panted for a few seconds and opened your eyes to the sight of Dave licking his fingers clean. You smiled at him and released his hair to motion him to come to you; he hovered over your body again and you put your hand on his nape to bring him to you; you moaned softly at your own taste and you felt it smile on your lips.

“What?” you asked in a whisper.

“Did you like it?” he asked back on your lips, you nodded and cupped his clean-shaven jaw, leaving a deep kiss on his lips.

“I loved it,” he smiled, and you wrapped your legs around his waist and felt his cock brushing lightly against your folds. “make love to me, Dave.”

You saw his smile widen, and it was his turn to nod to you, he kissed you again while his hand worked on aligning himself to you; he slid the tip through your folds and you gasped on his mouth when he found your entrance and started pushing in.

He did it slowly, no rush; he wanted to feel you in every inch of his cock; he wanted you to feel him and every ridge and vein of him as he found his home in you.

You nipped at his lip as he bottomed up and smiled when he stayed there, inside you, enjoying the wait for your body to acclimate to his, you looked into his eyes and you felt it.

You felt how you two fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

As if his body was made for you and your body was made for him.

It felt right.

It felt sacred.

Dave started moving at a calmed pace and you with him, quickly finding a rhythm where your hips moved almost in unison and he thrusted into you deeply every time he moved. He was supporting his weight on one arm next to you while the other gripped your hip and helped you with the tantalizing dance you both were having.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck when your hands moved to his back and you pulled his body down to yours, his chest gliding yours and his hips circling as he thrusted faster into you.

Dave moaned into your neck when you scratched his back as his thrusts became pounds.

“Harder, please, baby, harder.” you whispered into his ear and he listened, driving into you as fast as his body allowed, the noise of his skin clashing with yours and the wetness of you leaking around his cock flooded the room and his moans grew louder and you dug your nails into his skin chanting his name as you got closer and closer to your second release.

“Yo–you’re a goddess,” he muttered into the skin of your neck as his cock grazed your cervix, his hand wrapped around your hips and he lifted your ass for him to thrust deeper, making you moan his name loudly “you’re m–my go–goddess.”

You slid your hands to his ass and fisted his buttcheeks, pushing him further into you.

Dave felt his orgasm closer and closer every time he drove into you and your warm walls started to clench around him with the closeness of your orgasm, he nibbled the skin of your neck and clutched his eyes shut tighter when his body started to stiffen as he pounded into you; he muttered your name a few times like a prayer he never knew he needed to make, and it sounded right, your name in his voice as he drove himself and you to climax, his own name on your sweet voice as you begged him for everything he had in himself, it was all right, it was all correct, there was nothing wrong, how could he had felt so guilty about it when it was the most perfect, most righteous, most sacred, most heavenly action he could do.

You in his arms, your hands on his body, his cock inside your cunt, you wrapped around him begging him to cum inside you, everything about it was all he could have asked for to feel like he was in heaven. He had almost said no to feel it, and he bursted inside you at the same time as you broke in pieces around him, thinking that he would rather live his life with you around him than his afterlife in heaven.

“I love you.” he muttered against the skin of your neck and you opened your eyes after riding the high of your orgasm and looked at the ceiling.

You frowned when you heard his words and when you remembered what he said to you before he came, and as you turned to the side to see him that red warmth you had felt earlier disappeared almost completely and the bright green taint of the deep guilt inside you washed over your body and your soul.

He looked at you and narrowed his eyes. His expression changed as he realized you weren’t going to answer his confession.

“Dave,” you whispered and his face changed, his brow furrowed and you saw his jaw tighten “what did we just do?”

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#dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york pit #dave york the equalizer #the equalizer #the equalizer 2 #the equalizer fanfic #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal #pedro pascal characters #priest dave york

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Frailty, thy name is woman! {2}

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, masturbation, mentions of miscarriage, depression, and suicide.

This is dark!doctor!Steve Rogers and soft!Peter Parker and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You have an illness that can’t be seen or named. Doctor Rogers is your last chance at a cure as your loving husband tries to rediscover the woman he married.

Inspired by this ask

Note: It took me a while to find the energy to post this, I’m sorry. It’s been hard since I lost my job to wanna do anything but you guys are so sweet and I appreciate that. It’s set in the 1900s so keep that in mind! I hope you all like the last half.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You slept better with the effects of the medicine but your energy continued to wane. You went for a walk on the two mornings after your second meeting with Dr. Rogers but returned with only the strength to reach your bed. Your chores once more lacked and you forgot to write out your thoughts.

And Peter. Your husband tried so hard to be patient, to be understanding, and yet that cloud of disappointment hung over you. You wanted to be better for him so why was it so hard?

As the date of your next appointment approached, you were little better than you were before the first. You had ceased following the physician’s instructions and instead found yourself hopeless and hazy. Your tears stained the pillow beside your head and tainted your tongue.

“You will be late,” Peter sat beside you on the bed as he held a steaming cup of tea, “please, you’re doing so well.”

You blinked and said nothing. You were doing so well but just as before, it all fell apart. You couldn’t figure out why it always ended up like this. You couldn’t figure out your own mind and why you couldn’t just be what every other woman was.

“Doctor Rogers can help you. He’s been helping you, dear,” Peter cooed as he rubbed your arm, “and I love you, I’ll always love you, even through all this.”

You frowned and covered your face. He heaved and the porcelain cup clinked on the night table. The bed shifted as he bent forward and held his head in his hands.

“I’m out of ideas, dear,” he said, “I don’t know what else I can do.”

You rolled over and hid from him. You sobbed into the pillow. You didn’t know either.

“I have to go to the laboratory. I cannot be late again,” he stood and you listened to his light footsteps, “I will inform the doctor you are unable to attend. Perhaps we might reschedule.”

You stayed silent and he touched your shoulder. He bent and kissed the crown of your head.

“I’m not giving up,” he swore, “I won’t.”

He left, reluctantly, and your body shook without restraint. You cried into the pillow case as you were racked with a pain so deep you weren’t certain it could ever be drawn out. The sense of helplessness was suffocating. It was as if no matter how hard you fought, it would never be enough, you would never be enough.

🩺

You languished as you had. The hours passed as the sunlight shifted on the walls and sent lines through the windows. You sat up and drank the cold tea and stared at the curling metal of the bed frame. You could hear birds outside and smell the pollen of new flowers but it only made the knot in your chest tighten.

Then a knock came, distant but firm. You tilted your head, numb and lost as it came again. You looked down at yourself, the wrinkled front of your sleeping gown and the brown stain from the tea dribbled from the brim of the cup. It sounded again and you winced.

It didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. You got up slowly and stumbled around the room. You went through to the front room and neared the door as another rap shook it. A figure stood on the other side of the frosted glass. You touched the latch and trembled as you thought of turning it.

“It’s Doctor Rogers,” a voice called through the door, “will you let me in, ma’am?”

You closed your eyes and slumped. You shook your head and carefully turned the lock. You tried to stand straight and opened the door. Dr. Rogers’ smile fell as he saw you. His fingers clutched the handle of his leather bag and he pushed his shoulders up.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Why are you here, doctor?”

“Well, you did not come to the office,” he said bluntly, “it did give me concern.”

“I have a headache,” you lied, “did my husband not make another appointment?”

“A headache?” he wondered doubtfully, “you might try mint or willow bark for the ailment but I do not think it effective on a conjured malady.”

“Doctor,” you fluttered your lashes guiltily.

“You might assuage my doubts and my concerns if you let me attend to you,” he said, “just to be certain you aren’t in dire condition.”

You looked down and stepped back. “Come in, doctor,” you murmured, “I apologize I did not come--”

“And what have you done these last weeks?” he ignored your apology, “have you been taking exercise? How have you been eating? Have you attended any of your chores?”

Your silence was an admission but he did not show the disappointment he expected. Instead his face softened with empathy as he set his bag down on a round table beside the upholstered chair and opened it.

“You have not even dressed yourself, I can guess at how you fare,” he said, “so I think we might take a different approach to your treatment. We should build to your independent healing although I do expect you to still attempt to adhere to my prescriptions.”

“Doctor?”

“Many contemporary physicians and psychologist suggest that hypnosis might be beneficial to those with your affliction,” he brought out his pocket watch and looked to you, “if you would lay on your back,” he pointed to the sofa.

“Hypnosis?” you drew your brows together, “I don’t think, well, I don’t know much about it.”

“It is nothing, it is like sleep. I think it will help with your nerves,” he looked at the watch, “you trust me? I am a doctor and I would not do anything but to help you. Why, I came all this way just to see that you were well.”

You felt a pang and realised how inconvenient your negligence was. You went to the couch and did as he said. He pulled the chair to the edge and sat. He held up the watch and let it dangle.

“All you have to do is focus on this,” he tapped the golden front, “and count and breath in time with it.” He began to swing it back and forth as your head was propped up against the arm of the couch, “think of nothing but the watch.”

Your lips parted and you grimaced.

“I know how it seems but haven’t you ever wanted to just not think? Perhaps that is the issue, that you never stop,” he said, “so, humour me.”

He kept on and you followed the watch with your eyes, back and forth, breathing in and out, one, two, three, four, five… Soon your vision blurred and your head felt light and then all your worries were gone. You laid there, blank and bleary, but free.

His voice was distant and the click of the watch as he set it down was almost indiscernible. “That’s it, you just relax,” you felt a tickle over your knees.

You didn’t move, you realised you couldn’t, and that the tickle was your sleeping gown. The fabric was drawn above your knees and a warmth glided up your calf. You were moved down so that you laid entirely flat, your leg slipped over the side of the couch.

“You must stay relaxed and breathe,” Dr. Rogers said as you felt his hand creep higher on your leg, “isn’t it nice?”

He pushed between your thighs and turned his hand. His flesh was hot against yours.

“We must relieve the tension,” he purred and slid his fingers along your cunt. Your eyes rolled back and you purred at the riling sensation. He poked between your folds and you felt a flush spread across your body, “just breathe.”

He rubbed along your opening and over your bud. His motion was steady as he swirled his fingertips and you felt yourself growing slick. You could think of nothing but your breath, but the burning in your core as he stoked it. You gasped and your heart beat faster as he played with your clit. It never felt so good.

He pressed a finger to your opening again and slowly dipped inside. He drew in and out several times and added another, bending both as he kept his thumb to your bud. He rocked his hand and your entire body with it. Your voice was loud and yet it was beyond your control.

“Let it go, let it all go,” he cooed, “come on.”

You moaned and it grew to shrill cry as a strike of lightning shot through you. Your body contorted as your core bloomed and fire swept through your veins. He guided you through the paralysing pleasure and stilled his hand only as the ripples faded.

Slowly he drew his hand from your cunt and sat back. He hummed and your skirt was pulled back down your legs. He took a deep breath and snapped his fingers. Your eyes shot open and suddenly the room was clear again.

You sat up, startled, as if awaking from a dream. He caught your shoulder and eased you back against the arm.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to answer but didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t explain how you felt.

“What I just did, you can do, you should do, at least once a day,” he leaned back and rubbed the wool of his trousers, “it is perfectly scientific. There’s have been a slew of recent studies which find that the female orgasm can be very impactful for woman who suffer so.”

“But, isn’t it--”

“What is wrong about it? It is human nature and if God made humans with that nature, it cannot be so bad. You have not spent seed without fruition, you have only used what creation gifted you,” he said, “but consider how you feel right now. You feel better, am I correct?”

You stared at him and bit your lip. You did feel lighter, you felt more awake, and you felt peaceful.

“Yes,” you whispered, “I suppose I do.”

“Great,” he clapped his hands and stood. He took the watch and returned it to his bag, “should I remain a time? We might talk?”

“No, no, you should go,” you stood unsteadily, “you have other patients and I’ve kept you so long.”

“It was not so long,” he said as he closed his bag, “but if you would that I go, I will.”

You nodded and saw him to the door with a frantic farewell. You locked it behind and turned to lean against it. Your heart was racing again. You thought of Peter, of his dismay that morning, of all those times you’d been unable to hold him.

🩺

You were hesitant at first and you resisted the doctor’s suggestion. Several days passed but the writing, the tea, the walking, none of it helped and you were so inconsistent, it was as if you hadn’t changed at all.

Then one morning, Peter left, again after a hopeless plea for you to get up, and you laid under your shroud of self-loathing and longing. You thought of it for a while, debated it in your head, and as you felt beneath your sleeping gown, the guilt nipped at your neck.

You tried to recall what Dr. Rogers did and tried to mimic him. As you played with your bud, your fingers were soon guided instead by the delightful stirring in your core. You shuddered as you slickened and you kept on twirling and twirling. Your breaths grew harried and you gulped as your voice spilled forth in weak moans.

Your toes curled as your hand moved faster and you came in a tangle of linen and wool. You pressed your hand flat to your pelvis and went limp over the mattress. You were floating, flying, and you felt as if you might do anything.

After a moment, you sat up and glanced around. You wiped your wet fingers on your nightgown as you stood and made the bed carefully. Then you went to the armoire and pulled an outfit from its depths. You dressed one piece at a time and looked at yourself in the mirror. That was something.

The hours before Peter’s return had you anxious but not deflated. You felt lost in the kitchen as you prepared the evening meal and when your husband returned, he smiled and searched as if in disbelief.

“Dear,” he kissed your cheek and you latched onto him to kiss his lips instead.

“Peter,” you said breathily, “I’m so sorry.”

His cheek twitched and he caressed your cheek, “don’t be.”

“I don’t know if I’m better but… I’m trying,” you said.

“I know,” he wrapped his arms around you and drew you close. His eyes flitted down to the bodice of your dress, “I am such a fool, I didn’t even say how wonderful you look.”

You laughed softly and cradled his face between your hands, “Truly?”

“How could you ever marry me? You’re so beautiful.”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, “I wouldn’t any other.”

🩺

The tentative touching became a ritual. You were both pleasantly surprised and confused by the effects. You never would have thought of the act, you never would have attempted it after years of being forbidden from it. You felt even your marital bed was restrained by the laws of propriety.

But as you toyed with yourself, you wanted more. You wanted your husband again, just as you had on your wedding night. So you waited again with dinner cooking in the oven and greeted him in a dress you hadn’t worn since before you married.

After he ate, you tidied up and read a newspaper in the upholstered chair. For a moment you stared at him and felt a twinge. Dr. Rogers had sat there and he had… you had let another man… but he was a physician and it was only treatment. At least, he made it seem so.

You went to the bedchamber and undressed. It was a tedious process and by the time you wore nothing but your chemise, you were ready to snap the laces of your bodice. You set aside all your layers and checked your reflection. Did he still want you like that?

You peeked outside the door and called to him. He looked over his shoulder and folded his paper as he stood.

“What is it, dear?” he neared and stopped short as you stepped out from behind the door frame, “oh.”

“Husband,” you stepped closer and bit his lip.

“Are you certain?” he asked as he touched your chemise.

“Certain. I love you,” you said.

“Sweetheart,” he crashed his lips into yours and snaked his hands around your body.

He ran his hands down to your bottom and scooped you up. You cried out as you parted from his lips and he carried you backward into the room. He dropped you on the mattress and tore off vest. You got to your knees and reached to unbutton his shirt. You helped him undress eagerly, adding your chemise to the pile as he climbed up after you.

He rolled you onto your back as he leaned over you and kissed you again. His hand ventured over your chest and he felt your breasts with a purr. You grabbed his hand and guided it lower, pushing his fingers between your legs. He hummed into your mouth and let you lead his fingers, taking the motion on his own as you opened up to him.

You clung to him and brushed your hand against his cock. He groaned and teased you more eagerly. Your thighs clamped around his hand and you came as your body jittered against his.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed as he slowed his fingers, “are you alright?”

“I’m wonderful,” you gripped his cock and stroked him, “I want you.”

He moved between your legs and bent over you. He felt along your folds and spread you as he found your entrance. He pushed inside you slowly and you leaned your head back with a sigh. He sheathed himself entirely and stopped as he bent to kiss your neck.

“I love you,” he uttered as he tilted his hips.

“I love you, too,” you grasped his biceps, wiry but thick, as he rocked into you.

He nuzzled along your throat and jaw and nibbled at your lip as he sped up. He growled as writhed against you, hungry and desperate. You clung to him and moved your hips in time with his. You wanted all of him.

Your bud rubbed against his pelvis and you urged him on with breathy pleas. You hooked your legs around his as you chased another ascent and came as your nails sank into his shoulders. He kept his motion and lifted himself to look you in the eye. He watched your dazed delight as he began to tremble.

“Oh, oh, oh,” he stammered and closed his eyes as he hung his head. He gave several short thrusts before he collapsed and rested atop you out of breath.

“Peter,” you played with his hair as he tickled along your side.

“You can’t,” he said, “you can’t love me as much as I love you.”

🩺

For the first time, as you sat in the waiting room, you didn’t feel nervous. You were anxious to speak to the doctor but you didn’t dread it. Those last weeks had seen so much change, they could have been years. When your name was called, you stood and crossed to the nurse. You were shown to the room and you sat on the couch.

Dr. Rogers entered shortly and greeted you with his usual manner. He stopped however before he sat and considered you. He squinted and smirked.

“You’re well?” he asked.

“I think so,” you said with a smile.

“Things have… changed,” his lips straightened and he sat slowly.

“Some,” you said, “and I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’ve followed my advice?”

“Yes, I’ve been doing more around the house and even writing here and there. I went for a walk--”

“You’ve been touching yourself regularly?” he asked abruptly.

You blanched and gave a nervous chuckle. You didn’t expect him to be so forward.

“Well, yes, I have a little,” you admitted, “as you bid.”

“Mhmm,” he poked his cheek with his tongue, “and it’s helped?”

“It’s not the only thing but--”

“Does it feel as good when you do it alone?” he interrupted.

You shook your head and blinked at him. You were confused. His methods were different than any other doctor you’d seen but his questions, that look, it was off.

“What do you-- I don’t understand,” you pouted, “I… it was part of the hypnosis. You were showing me what to do.”

He shifted on the stool and sighed. He tapped his heel on the floor. His gaze was discerning and crippling. You couldn’t read his expression but it wasn’t his usual smile.

“I asked you if it felt better when I did it,” he intoned tersely.

You were quiet. You looked at the door and swallowed. You stood and he did too.

“We’re not done. We’ve barely begun and you’re being evasive. Should I be concerned?”

“I don’t… understand. You’re angry with me?” you asked.

“I’m asking you questions that you won’t answer. As your doctor, I need to know these things,” he insisted, “now sit down.”

You lowered yourself slowly and stared at him. He strode over to the sofa and sat beside you.

“Did it feel better?” he asked.

You had tried to forget that afternoon, even as it forced itself into your mind whenever you let your hand wander. You were afraid to mention it aloud. Afraid to admit that you felt guilty for it.

“I… I suppose it did,” you said quietly.

“Mmm, and your husband, how are you getting along with him?”

“Well, I think, we have been… closer.”

“You’ve engaged intimately?”

“Uh, yes, he is my husband so yes,” you sputtered.

“But you hadn’t before,” he prodded.

“It was different before,” you said, “I am doing everything you’ve said.”

“I didn’t tell you to fuck him,” he snarled.

“I am married to him,” you scoffed, “what did I do wrong?”

“You’re not ready. I am your doctor, you need to consult with me,” he glared at you as your eyes settled on your lap.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t realise.”

“If your treatment is to be effective, you must follow my advisory,” he huffed, “how many times?”

“How many-- not more than five?”

“You’re uncertain?”

“I don’t keep count, doctor, I… I’m very confused.”

He pushed his head back and tilted it side to side as he cracked his neck. He jutted out his jaw and blew out air.

“When you came to me, you were broken,” he sneered, “but now you think you know better than me. Remind me again of your credentials.”

“I didn’t…” you stood and he caught your arm, “Doctor, I do not think this is appropriate and I cannot understand your anger.”

“Why have you come to me?”

“Pardon?”

“Why have you come to me?” he repeated.

“I, um, to get better. To treat my sickness, as you have and I am so grateful--”

“This is your fourth visit and you think yourself healed?” he snorted as he rose and loomed over you. He faced you as his nostrils flared, “you came to me so that I might help you conceive a child after you failed so many times.”

“I--” your voice caught in your throat and your eyes burned, “Doctor, that is unkind.”

“In my professional opinion, you are not the reason for your miscarriages,” he pulled you to him and gruffly cradled your head in his large hand, “my examination did show you more than capable of birthing a healthy child.”

“Please, what are you--”

“I think it is the seed that is bad,” He swung you around so your middle hit the examination table, “it is a theory but we can test it.”

“Doctor,” you tried to push yourself away from the table and he caught the back of your neck, “ahh, please--”

“Be quiet,” he hissed, “you make another noise and I’ll have to say you’re hysteric. A woman like you won’t last in the sanitarium.”

You whimpered and hung your head as you slapped your hands on the table. He squeezed your neck and leaned in.

“Don’t move,” he warned, “this is for your own good, for your health. You want a baby, don’t you?”

You sniffed and your vision blurred from your tears. He released you and his hands trailed down your corset and to your skirts. He lifted them and reached beneath to tear down your bloomers. The action jolted you and he stood, untangling them from your ankles with his foot. He kicked your boots apart and pressed himself to your back as he bunched up the layers of your skirts.

He pushed until you bent over the table, leaning on your elbows as his hot breath encircled you. He felt along your bare ass and tickled the top of your thigh. He pinched you and buried his face in your neck. He growled as he held your skirts in place with one hand and unbuckled his belt. You sobbed and his demand that you shut up was muffled against your collar.

He opened the front of his pants and slipped out his hard member. You winced as you felt the tip brush against your bottom and he shuddered. He bent his knees and guided himself down to your folds. He forced you to arch your back as he searched for your entrance and lined himself up.

He pushed until his tip stretched you and you clawed the white sheet across the table. He slid in another inch and you whined. He slapped his hand over your mouth, his other planted beside yours on the table and bucked. He impaled himself completely, thrusting you onto your toes.

He pulled back and rutted again, hard and impatient. Your hips slammed into the edge of the table with each tilt and you cried into his hand as he forced you lower over the sheet. He pinned your shoulder with his other as he turned your head, your cheek against the linen as he rocked into you.

He let out thick breaths, withholding grunts as he sped up. He pounded into you and the noise of your flesh filled the small room. You closed your eyes and his fingers crawled down along your back. He bent over you as he reached beneath you and found your bud among the layers.

He rubbed you until your sobs were wild moans. He kept them stifled against his palm and hammered against you. You were close to coming as your walls clenched around him and added to the pressure of his fingertips.

“This is what you want,” he whispered in your ear, “hmm, that’s all you need, a child. You will be a wonderful mother…” his voice fizzled and he barely swallowed a grunt, “so sweet, so sweet.”

He snarled and rammed harder than before. Your body quaked as you succumbed to the ripples flowing from your core and you leaked pleasure around his cock. You mewled into his hand and he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“This is the baby you wanted,” he growled and jerked sharply.

He spasmed in a series of hectic thrusts and slowed. He exhaled and removed his hand from your mouth, wiping it on the sheet as he pushed himself up. He slipped out of you and groaned at the sensation. You felt his cum spill out as he dropped your skirts and left you against the table, his belt clinking loudly in the silence.

“I’ll have you scheduled for another home visit,” he went to his desk and inked his pen as you rose, “and you will track your cycle so that we might be sure. Timing,” he tapped his fingers as he finished scribbling notes and stood straight to face you, “is essential.”

You bent to gather your bloomers and he came close. You cowered and he snatched the cotton from your grasp. He put them to his face and inhaled.

“You smell as sweet as you feel,” he turned and bent to shove your undergarments in his bag, “I will make certain your next appointment isn’t so far away.”

#steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #peter parker #steve rogers x reader #peter parker x reader #fic #au #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #spider-man #1900s #doctor au

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