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draconic-desire · 2 months

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A Dance With the Dragon II — Mates

Yandere Neuvillette x Reader

[Part I] [Part II — You are here] [Part III]

Neuvillette brings you to your new “home”, which also comes with new challenges.

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, forced imprisonment, Neuvillette accidentally goes a little feral here, brief non-con at the end

One of the first things Neuvillette did was move you from the apartment at the Palais Mermonia (your prison for the past four centuries) to his personal residence. Securing his palms to your waist, he teleported you directly into the foyer of the massive home.

The interior was splashed with blues and whites that matched the Chief Justice’s own color palette. The upper walls were decorated with friezes depicting various marine creatures, from floating otters (how ironic) to bobbing seahorses. A grand spiral staircase led to the upper floor, while a set of double French doors connected the foyer to a massive living room adorned with plush love seats and armchairs, tasteful artwork of Fontainian landscapes, and enormous windows that overlooked the sea. It appeared the house was set into a cliffside, with the waves battering the rocks far beneath you.

You paced into the living room, running your hand along the blue silk couch cushions. To your left, a door led out to what appeared to be an inclosed courtyard with a miniature fountain. To the right was a closed door, a familiar dragon carved into its exterior. Your arm burned in resonance.

Though you were loathe to admit it, the place was beautiful.

“Do you like it?”

Shifting your gaze to him, it was clear that Neuvillette was desperate for your approval. Ever since he let you outside to discover the true length of your imprisonment, you had rarely spoken a word to him. Clearly, your silence had done a number on him, as the normally composed man was fidgeting nervously.

When you kept quiet, Neuvillette cleared his throat. “I admit, part of why things took so long was due to my insistence that everything be perfect for your arrival. I rearranged our bedroom perhaps a dozen times, and I couldn’t for the life of me decide what your personal room should entail.” When you glanced out towards the fountain, he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, that was a…sentimental addition. It makes me think of how we met.”

You’d never forget that Archons-damned fountain. If only you hadn’t been so naive. Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, go away.

Neuvillette extended his palm towards you in what appeared to be both a peace offering and an order. “Shall I give you a tour?”

Suddenly your feet appeared very interesting. What were you supposed to say? This technically was your home now, like it or not. You’d become painstakingly familiar with it with time. Although you weren’t imprisoned within the Palais as before, your new life still promised shackles nonetheless.

“Could you just show me my personal room?” You sighed. “I’d prefer to just rest after that.”

Neuvillette smiled softly, relishing the sound of your voice. “Of course.”

Twisting his fingers through your own, he led you towards the dragon door. Once again, your hidden tattoo pulsed with energy. It felt like a pull forward, a welcoming embrace. You realized then that there must be some sort of warding spell on this room, likely meaning only you and your captor could enter.

Marvelous.

Pushing the door open, Neuvillette swept his arm gracefully through the entrance. “After you, my love.”

You stepped in and immediately went still.

For in every direction around you was rows upon shelves upon stories of books.

Neuvillette had build you your own personal library.

And not just that. You noticed that entire sections pertained to your personal interests—marine biology, photography, even your personal favorite genres of novels. A separate door labeled Dark Room promised an avenue for you to pick up photography again. Similar couches and chairs as the living room were arranged around a huge coffee table, and a cracking hearth added to the cozy atmosphere.

Your throat bobbed. You had always dreamed of owning a room like this, a place where all your passions converged. But to have it under these circumstances…you didn’t know how to react, torn between frustration and a grateful little voice in the back of your head that you buried at once. No, I didn’t earn this. I don’t want this. It was forced on me.

All you could choke out was, “This is…mine?”

“Down to the last book.” You could hear the pride in his voice. “I spent the most time on this room. Over a century to get it right.”

You startled. A century? Your heart stumbled, but your hands fisted by your sides. So much given, yet what had it cost you?

Shaking your head, you simply said, “I’d like to be alone.” Connecting your eyes with his, you could see his hurt, the expectation of a grand reaction on your part that you refused to indulge.

However, the look was quickly wiped from his face, for he must have seen something broken in your facade. A muscle in his jaw feathered as he approached you, a gloved hand stroking your cheek. “I understand you must be overwhelmed. I’ll leave you to explore,” Neuvillette said, placing a kiss on your forehead before heading for the exit.

“Neuvillette?”

Said man turned back towards you, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Why me?” You grabbed your arm where the shadow of your draconic tattoo hid. “Why…all this?”

His gaze immediately softened. “My dear, we have centuries for me to show you.”

~*~

It was times when Neuvillette was vulnerable that it was hardest to hate him.

He had returned home after a long day at court to find you sitting in the courtyard on the edge of the fountain, peering up at the night sky as if the stars held some answers. Moonlight bathed you in an ethereal glow, and if he didn’t already think you a goddess, he would have pledged himself to you then and there.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, too involved in your own thoughts. True to his word, Neuvillette had given you time and space to enjoy your new (cage) home. You had to admit, it was a major upgrade from the Palais, and you knew the Iudex would continue to let you explore Fontaine, if you tolerated his presence beside you. However, you knew this dance wouldn’t last—it was only a matter of time before Neuvillette expected something in return. It was abundantly clear that he desired your affections, but how far would he go in order to sway you? To fully make you his?

A sea breeze whipped around you, eliciting an involuntary shiver to rip up your spine.

A sudden warmth enveloping your form brought you back to reality. Blinking in surprise, you peered up to see the Chief Justice smiling softly at you, his purple irises sparking with longing and care. His elaborate attire was gone, leaving only his pale undershirt.

He’d given you this coat.

“I…thank you,” you mumbled, averting your eyes from the man.

“Do my ears deceive me? Did my dear (Y/n) actually acknowledge me?”

Your grip on his robes tightened. “Don’t mistake my words for kindness. I haven’t forgotten what you are.”

A sigh. “Despite what you may believe, I’m not a monster.”

You deadpanned. “You’re quite literally the Hydro dragon.”

“Archons above,” Neuvillette whispered, glancing up at the sky as if it held the key to winning your heart. “I was referring to a monster in the definition you humans use.”

“What? You mean like a man who would kidnap and imprison an innocent person—”

“Considering you are not in the Fortress of Meropide, I’d hardly consider this imprisonment.”

“What, have I offended you?” A scoff left escaped you. “If you want to play house, at least own up to your actions. Don’t pretend you’re some sort of gentleman.”

Neuvillette was silent for a beat, his mouth a thin line. Unexpectedly, his muscles relaxed as he released his tension. He lowered his large frame, taking a seat next to you. “You’re right.”

You sketched a brow in surprise.

Neuvillette trained his eyes on his palms, facing upwards in his lap. “I understand neither what it means to be human, nor what it means to be a god. I was given this duty to protect and uphold the laws of Fontaine, and yet I cannot save those who need it most.” His fingers formed fists, and his lids closed solemnly. “Carole, Vautrin…all of the others I have failed…”

You worried your lower lip. Although he had already informed you of his friends’ fate in your absence, it was still a raw wound for the both of you. Yet the anguish in Neuvillette’s eyes twisted your heart. How could a man be so duplicitous, so capable of both justice and blind obsession?

As if sensing your conflict, Neuvillette gently took your face in his hands, tilting your chin so that your eyes locked once again. His eyes danced with silver sparks of emotion, like cracks of lighting across a dark sea. A thumb brushed away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“So if I can protect but one thing, one person, I will do it.”

~.~

You often noticed that Neuvillette’s horns got stuck in his robes.

Honestly, it was kind of humorous. In the beginning, watching him struggle gave you a sick sense of satisfaction. You’d take any circumstance that inconvenienced him, however petty that might be.

But today, seeing the Chief Justice pouring over a case regarding the protection of Fontaine’s sea life at an ungodly hour, head propped on a fist to keep him awake, you couldn’t help but feel sympathetic when he emitted a low hiss as his horns tangled into the ornamentation of his attire once again. “Damned human attire,” he cursed.

Neuvillette wasn’t an inherently bad man. In fact, your own case aside, he had invoked significant and positive change in Fontaine’s legal system. He judged cases fairly and prudently, working himself ragged each day to ensure the nation’s safety. It would have been admirable to you in any other circumstance.

You didn’t know what possessed you when you stepped behind him and carefully untangled his twin blue horns.

At your touch, Neuvillette immediately froze. His heart rate skyrocketed and his mind went blank because you were touching him.

And not just anywhere, but his horns. Unbeknownst to you, a dragon’s horns were the most sensitive part of its body, only to be handled by itself or its mate. One brush was akin to a lovers embrace, the whisper of a kiss, the hot breath shared between partners in the thralls of passion. Not only was the touch intensely intimate, it was also an acknowledgement—an acceptance of the male’s advances onto his partner.

Oh, if only you knew how many times he had fantasized about this, your acknowledgement of him and his love for you. Although his rational, human side knew your touch as unintentional, the dragon within Neuvillette reared and roared against his skin, demanding to be set free upon its mate.

“Your horns were caught,” was all you said as you settled back into the sofa, flipping to the marked page of your novel.

If you had looked up, you would have witnessed the Iudex gently touching his horns in awe. He swore he could still feel the brush of your palm against him, shivering delightfully at the mere memory of your touch.

Little did you know that your simple act of kindness would unleash the storm.

~*~

The one unfortunate deviation of your current accommodations from the Palais Mermonia was Neuvillette’s unyielding insistence on sharing a bed.

You had foolishly thought escaping him, even if just within the confines of your shared home, would be simple. You believed the library, what he even referred to as your room, would be your bedroom as well. Despite the lack of an actual bed, the plush couches and ever-lit fire provided more than enough comfort to lull you to sleep.

But when you had opened your eyes, you were mere inches away from Neuvillette’s shirtless, sleeping form.

You had assumed it was due to the draconic symbol guarding the room; perhaps it linked you to him more than you had thought. So, the next night, you decided to sleep in the parlor instead.

Only for your hopes to be shattered the next morning when you awoke not only in bed with your captor, but with your limbs entwined.

Anger, shame, and a touch of something you couldn’t quite place—something not entirely unpleasant—flooded you as you tore yourself out of his embrace. How was he doing this? Was it magic, or would he physically carry you to bed each night?

This pattern repeated itself. You would pick various places around the huge house to retire for the night. However, you would wake up in bed next to Neuvillette each morning without fail.

You had even reverted to your previous stubbornness and slept on the ground a few nights, but to no avail. It seemed you were bound to his bed.

Tonight, you decided to face the issue head-on. You stormed up the stairway and into the spacious bedroom, ignoring the pain in your lower back due to all the errant surfaces you had tried to sleep on. The downy pillows and lush, cream comforter practically begged you to surrender to the king-sized bed and its occupant.

Instead, you halted at the foot of the bed and crossed your arms. “You have to stop this.”

Neuvillette immediately looked up from the tome in his lap, his reading glasses slipping down his nose. He hadn’t yet changed out of his white dress shirt, and the buttons revealed a hint of his toned chest as he set the book down. “And what exactly are you demanding I stop?”

You huffed a laugh. “I wish I could say all of this,” you waved your hands around, as if that would convey the entirety of the situation, “but I mean putting me in your bed each morning.”

“Our bed,” he corrected, as if that were the issue.

“No, your bed. Are you really telling me that with all this space, you can’t just let me sleep alone?”

He removed his glasses with a sigh, setting them on the nightstand. “I could, but I don’t want to.”

You seethed. “Well, I do.”

Neuvillette’s violet gaze pinned you with something like hurt. “Have I truly done something to upset you? It seemed as if you were settling into our new home quite nicely. Our conversation and touches were…” His throat bobbed. “Pleasant.”

You narrowed your eyes and bit out, “Don’t take any of that as complacency. You’re still a monster.”

Neuvillette flinched in response and, for just a moment, you felt a piece your heart falter. That is, until he whispered, “Mates don’t sleep apart.”

The room went utterly still.

Your voice came out as a breath of air, but the words were clear: “I am not your mate.”

It was then that you noticed the claws emerging from his fingertips, piercing into the sheets under his form. His eyes flashed silver, dangerous as knives. You could have sworn you saw a pair of elongated canines as he grit his teeth. “You have no idea how difficult it has been,” he breathed, voice tight, desperate.

On instinct, you took a pace back. You suddenly felt like a cornered animal, unable to avert your gaze from those claws that looked ready to tear into you. Clearly you had misjudged the situation—the Hydro Dragon was a starved, deadly predator, and you were practically served on a silver platter as its next meal.

Icy panic raced through your veins. You’ve never seen him like this, so out of control and inhuman. Trying to mediate the situation, you put your hands up in surrender. “Neuvillette, listen to me. Just calm down.”

You had hoped that saying his name would do just that, but it seemed to only rile him up further. The Chief Justice of Fontaine actually growled in response. You couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a plea. “You deny your mate, and now you’re telling me to simply calm down?”

Another step back. Just put out the fire and deal with the consequences later. “I apologize for being confrontational. I think it’s best if I just go—”

Before you could react, Neuvillette pounced forward and grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you onto the bed. You released a cry and tried to scramble away, but he spun you around and pinned your back against the mattress with his muscular frame. He loomed above you on all fours, his hands gripping your arms and applying just enough pressure to hold you still without hurting you. The glint in his eyes, however, promised pain that was yet to come. You were the prey about to get its throat torn out.

“Wh-what are you doing?” You struggled, heart skyrocketing at the feel of his arousal pressing against your core.

"Something I’ve needed to do for four hundred years," he growled huskily, his breath fanning your lips moments before they slammed against yours.

The kiss was hungry, predatory. Obsessive. You could feel the release of each year, each century, as his mouth devoured yours. You arched your back in an attempt to get away, but Neuvillette was quicker. He lifted your form easily and slammed your back against the bed once again. At your gasp of shock, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You fumbled around for something, anything that you could take purchase of. Your arms were pinned, but you were just barely able to grab onto the first thing and tug: his horns.

Neuvillette moaned, a deep, throaty sound that sent heat flooding through you.

It was in that moment you realized your mistake. You recalled how some marine animals with horns had millions of nerves within them, making these appendages a source of sensory stimulation. When you had started adjusting his horns after they were getting stuck, it must have been like touching his—

Oh, fuck.

Neuvillette released you arms, grinding against your thigh. “Do that again,” he begged, though it came out as more of a growled order.

“Neuvillette, stop—” An involuntary whine escaped your lips.

Your lewd noises only instigated him. His movements became more erratic as he slid a clawed hand up your leg and to your core, which was protected by only a nightgown. You jerked as his finger pinched your clit, eliciting another whine.

Neuvillette’s eyes sparked with heat, dual purple flames that devoured your form. “That’s it, my dear. Let me take care of you.” He bit down on your neck, causing you to cry out. He was marking you before he took you fully.

“Tonight, you become more than my wife. You become my mate.”

~*~

You laid there limply in Neuvillette’s arms. He peppered you with kisses and whispered words of protecting you and lofty dreams of your future together, but it fell on deaf ears. None of it made you forget about the bites along your neck or your throbbing core.

You couldn’t believe you had let his kindness fool you for even a second.

You had to escape this prison.

#yandere #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #dragon #obsessive love #tw kidnapping #tw noncon touching #neuvillette doesn’t understand the concept of personal space #neuvillette is down bad #mates

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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

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I know there’s a human resistance rebellion they could probably snatch some baby humans from or something, but what about like human breeding or something? is that a thing in this universe? Since they’re more akin to pets I was wondering if there was some sort of like human breeders.

Since there’s also like selective breeding for pets there could also be selective breeding for only the most fertile humans (even if it technically doesn’t work that way). They might not even keep the males, it could be like how they just harvest sperm and artificially inseminate them?

Just worldbuilding from your silly local rice ball lover 🍙

That's a really good point, thank you, Onigiri anon!! Yes, some humans are kept as nothing more than breeding mares to move humans. Unfortunately, in the initial uprising, a large population of humans, especially the most vulnerable ones, were killed by monsters, hunger, and the elements when the civilization fell into dystopia for the first time. Monsters quickly learned that just killing every human they see isn't really a viable scenario, and someone had to pick up where the others have fallen. Men and women are both viable for reproduction, esp for species that lay eggs, like Konig or Gaz. With monsters of egg-laying type, no matter if they are birds or reptiles or sea life, they are using humans as incubators, since they need warm and soft bodies for the eggs to nourish on. It's more like a reverse seahorse situation, when you're inserted with eggs, but don't really have a genetic intake on how the babies are going to turn up. There is a chance of a more traditional pregnancy with children resembling both parents, but it's extremely rare and frowned upon by monsters - after all, humans are deemed inherently weak by any monster. Selective breeding saves both male and female specimens, as long as they have more advantages to raise the monster brood properly - I imagine wider hips, softer bodies in general, resilience to pain, and the submissiveness that gets really stuck in their heads as a result. With humans sold in pet shops, it's no wonder that some monster species are taking their role as caretakers and raisers of new human generations for further breeding - as fucked up as it might be. some humans get released by human resistance, although if a person comes from this indoctrinated, monster-pleasing background, they wouldn't be able to survive in the wild, in most cases. Also as a fun fact, humans have much larger life spans than any human would - Konig can easily clock up at least 100 years and more and more, as long as he isn't killed - but the thing is, that human's biology gets irreversibly changed after a prolonged and repeated exposure to monster semen. Our poor breeding wifey, she doesn't even know that aging isn't a problem anymore( death of old age isn't going to help her get free of Konig, they have mated, and she will be alive for much, much longer, her life span increasing with every time an egg or semen gets deposited in her.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #tw: monster fucking #monster!141 #cod x reader #monster!konig

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lottiecrabie · 11 months

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don't fuck the line cooks. part one – matty healy

(also lovingly known as linecook!au)

working at your father’s restaurant for the summer, you meet back-of-house line cook matty healy. there’s something impossibly tempting about him, even if you shouldn’t be thinking of him this way. for multiple reasons.

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dom/sub undertones, temperature play, vague authority kink, health code violations, problematic age gap, sleazy man

part one of two

14281 words

His moves are precise and dexterous, a second nature he’s developed through cuts and burns. He fine chops with confidence, raking the onions and throwing them in the sizzling skillet. The sound explodes through the busy kitchen. A dirty joke must be told from the man mashing potatoes in the station next to him because he laughs, shoulders shaking, wrinkling his nose in some sort of snort. His head shakes; his hair with it.

He grabs a towel, covering his skillet with the lid, throwing it over his shoulder. A stained white shirt with short sleeves practically strangles his biceps, showing off tattoos scattering down his arms. They flex as he reaches for a bubbling pan, pouring some cream in his red concoction. His long, spindly fingers grab the pepper, twisting it with two surely rough hands. The fingernails are cut short but clean. Knowledgeable fingers; fast and sure and nibble. There’s a callus at the base of his index finger, a telltale sign of experience. Tough skin that would—

“Are you looking for something?” Matty calls.

You jump, eyes snapping from his hands to his face. He arches an eyebrow, smiling at you. There’s something almost condescending about the look you don’t quite enjoy, something that has you blushing. You twist your fingers in your apron. “Um, yes. Salt? I’m supposed to fill up the shakers.”

Matty nods. “Dry storage.” You must be giving some sort of lost look because he turns to his friend, asking, “Can you watch that for me?”

After a noise of affirmation, Matty throws his towel on the counter, walking up to you. His chin tips to the right, but you wait until he brushes past to follow behind him. You’re practically running to catch up with his steps— once again, fast and sure and confident. It feels like it’s all you've been doing these days: running; trying to keep up with this bustling environment. Everything spins nauseously around you, dizzy and off-kilter, running a hot plate when you’re still scribbling down the order.

“Daddy didn’t show you around?” Matty asks, although the mean tone clearly doesn’t particularly wish for an answer. That, too, is all you’ve been doing these days: laughing off taunts and teases about your father.

You huff. “He’s been busy.”

“I know.”

Matty stops in his tracks. He turns to you, tilting his head towards the door. Dry Storage is labeled neatly on it. You flush, suddenly feeling quite green for needing to be handheld towards it. You open the door, stepping in.

“He’s never here much,” Matty continues, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed. The end of a seahorse peeks out of his white sleeve.

“He has three restaurants,” you defend. Dozens of quips about your lineage poke at your mind, burned and spiked. It’s because of the uncauterized scabs that you hear yourself retort, “And you should be glad. You guys wouldn’t get into half the things you do if he was here.”

Matty arches an eyebrow, staring you up and down. Suddenly, the carefully chosen outfit feels silly on you: the shirt too modest, the skirt too proper, the ponytail too tight; like a child playing dress-up. Heat burns at the back of your neck, but you stare at him head-on, unwilling to back down.

His eyes snap back to yours, grin digging in his cheek like he’s figured you out in a matter of seconds. Like the results were easy and unthreatening. Matty’s voice is low but teasing when he finally answers, “Oh, you know nothing about the things we do.”

You give him a deadpanned look. “I’m new, not stupid.”

He nods, humoring you. “Okay,” he licks his lips, cheeky. “Then what do we do?”

A sinful thrill pumps up your legs at the sight of him, hot shame contrasting it. He’s condescending you, two steps short of speaking slow and short like you couldn’t figure the words out properly, and you’re clenching your thighs in answer. It’s embarrassing. Still, the low thrum of excitement reverberates up your limbs.

You swallow thickly, redirecting your attention to the overfilled shelves. “What don’t you do?”

Matty tsks. “That’s evading the question.”

“I’m not being quizzed.”

In the corner of your eye, you see him throw his hands in the air. “You’re right.”

You shake your head, looking through the shelves to busy yourself with something other than the tempting need to stare at him. Though your eyes wash over the cans and boxes, your brain registers none of them, too busy playing back the flash of flexed biceps and curly hair falling down his forehead.

Matty doesn’t seem willing to let your thoughts order back to functional sense. Instead, he hums, adding, “Three restaurants, yet you’re still working. You’ve been cut off or something? Been really bad?” You practically hear the smirk in his voice. You shake your head, glancing at him. How wrong he is. You open your mouth to tell him such, but he cuts in, “Let me guess.”

You snort. “Good luck.”

“You got busted at a politician’s son's powder party? It almost made the news, but daddy bought your name out of the press.”

You cock your head, amused against your will. “How rich do you think I am? My dad owns middle-rated restaurants, not the Ritz.”

“Flunk out of college?”

“I’m actually on the dean’s list.” You hate how proud your voice sounds; it’s silly to care about such things in the real world. Matty cooks and sweats and bleeds all day, and a smile sticks to your cheeks for flimsy things that will immaterialize in a few years.

“Bought prostitutes?” You give him a look, which he laughs at. “Alright, fine. I give up. What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

His eyebrows rise. You’re a little glad to unroot him. “Nothing?”

You blush, turning back to inspect your row of dry ingredients. “I just— I haven’t had much to do since I’ve been back from college. My dad thought it might be a good idea to get some real life experience.”

“Nothing to do in New York?” His tone is incredulous. He coos, “You’re really not bad at all.” Again, you feel embarrassingly your age. A little girl amidst the real world, too fast and large for her to make sense of it. You’re ill-fitting.

Annoyed, you scoff, “Cause I’m not doing coke off someone’s tits in the locker room?”

Matty grins, elated. “She finally said it.”

You roll your eyes, electing to focus on the shelves of ingredients instead of the shape of his lips in a lopsided smile. It’s doing too much on your soupy brain, spinning with the inexplicable need to appear older to him, more mature.

His steps ring through the cramped space. Matty brushes against your back. You tense, freezing on the spot, hyper aware of the heat of his body. He smells like cigarettes. You close your eyes, breathing him in, fragile heart racing against your ribs. His arm reaches above you, grazing your shoulder. The ghosting touch is enough to have you shivering.

“There,” Matty whispers in your ear, the letters tickling the skin. He grabs the salt.

He’s off you in the blink of an eye, quicker than you can make sense of. Again, just a few feet behind in a fast paced world, left to catch up in the race. You slowly turn, pressing your back against the shelves, trying to hold yourself up on shaky knees. Matty smirks, still too close to think properly. Between you is the box of salt.

You accept it hesitantly. “Thanks,” you whisper, trying to focus on his eyes and not his lips stretching over spiky teeth.

“You’re welcome, princess.” He goes for the door, leaving you breathless from the sudden lack of him. He lingers in the doorframe, turning to add, “If you need anything, just ask me.”

You grip the salt like a lifebuoy. The world spins beneath your feet. “Okay.”

He’s out the door. You’re out of breath.

—

You slam the backdoor open, stepping out into the alleyway with a scream. You bury your head between your hands, trying to wipe away the boiling frustration, like a soothing hand on your forehead could make it all better. Fuck this job. You scream again, muffled by your palms. Fuck this fucking job.

With a deep breath, you emerge out of the safety of your fingers. You exhale, plastering a fake smile on your face. You can’t see, but you surely look clownesque, all red and puffy from anger, grinning like the butt of the joke.

You turn to get back inside, ready to bite your lip as guests and hosts and waitresses lay into you for being too slow, and too lost, and too stupid. You’re starting to think you might have done something terribly bad after all. This summer job is looking more like some cruel punishment than a special shot at experience.

Something catches in the corner of your eye. You jump, whipping your head, finding Matty smoking on the stairs of the fire escape, grinning to himself. Your heart races. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Evidently.”

You linger in the moment, feet strangely glued to the ground. Matty takes a drag of his cigarette. You follow his lips as the gray smoke pours out of them, drifting around him like some sort of fire signal you’re not decoding.

He holds his hand out, cig burning bright orange in offering. “You look like you need it.”

You stare at the offending rolled up paper. You’ve spent twenty-one years of your life categorically refusing any smoke, wrinkling your nose at the very smell. Yet, it somehow seems attractive hanging limply between his long fingers, one bandaged from some cut.

You nod before you register the action, walking up to him. Matty smiles at that. It’s strange to tower over his sitting body. He always seems larger than life in the restaurant, filling up every nook with his presence.

“Thanks.” You take the cigarette from him, shivering as your fingers graze over his. You inspect it, incertain on how to handle it, before placing it between your lips. You inhale, then cough, bending away and burying in your elbow. You leave it with a grimace, your mouth coated in tar.

Matty laughs. “First time?” You flush, hating to look so inexperienced and young in front of him. That’s enough answer for him. “Cute.”

You scowl. “It’s bad for your lungs.”

“Why’d you take it then?”

You feel strangely cornered, like a finger pinned you in place. You up your nose, “It’s impolite to refuse a gift.” Matty snorts at that.

“You’re real proper.”

“I was raised right.”

Matty smiles to himself, laughing. “I’m sure you were.” Your stomach clenches, unnamed thrill waving through you.

You cock your head, volleying, “Is this where you make a daddy joke?”

He arches an eyebrow, shit-eating grin on his face. “Do you want me to?”

“I think they’re getting redundant,” you sigh dramatically. The cigarette resting primly between your fingers, burning away, seems to give you uncharacteristic confidence. You feel oddly cool, like the tipsy girls smoking on balconies at the parties you never stayed long at. Like you could be anyone.

Matty holds his chest, eyebrows furrowed in hurt. “You wound me.”

“Get some better material, then.”

He tsks, reaching out for the cigarette. You offer it gladly, mostly to get electrified from the grazing touch; alive because he exists to prove it.

Smoking seems so easy when he does it, pouring out of his lips and drenching you in the cloudy air. You can’t look away from him, breath hitched. Your eyes focus on his mouth, following its movements religiously. Matty tips his chin towards the cigarette, grossly misunderstanding your fascination. “Do you want me to show you how to smoke it?”

You resent the idea of inhaling again, smearing your tongue in the awful taste just to embarrass yourself. But you resent the idea of walking away more, finding back the dizzying dance inside. Losing his overwhelming presence, pressing into you even when you’re a respectful foot away.

Your chest feels tight. You shrug, faux-nonchalant. “Sure.”

“You have to suck on it,” Matty says, and you’re almost sure he’s emphasizing the word suck on purpose. Now there’s a dirty vision of your knees pressing meanly on the asphalt, wrapping your lips around— You blush to your roots. Matty continues, smug, “Inhale, let it rest in your mouth to cool, breathe in, let it go down to your lungs, blow it out. Easy.” He offers the cig again.

You grasp it, surer in your fingers this time. “Easy for you.”

“I’m sure a girl on the dean’s list can figure it out.” Your heart skips a beat, but you ignore it dutifully. It’s stupid to care that he remembers. It’s stupid to flush. It’s stupid to feel embarrassed.

You try again, placing the butt of the cigarette between your lips, almost nervous to breathe in after being burned. You inhale, but it goes offly down your throat, and you cough again, blinking away the taste.

You shake your head, giving him back the cigarette. “I don’t think it’s for me.”

Matty accepts it back, taking an easy drag. The smoke blows around you and the warning signs look a lot clearer in the fog this time. Still, you don’t step away and run to the bathroom to wash the smell out of your fingers.

Matty eyes you up and down, raking his burning stare over you. “Do you want to shotgun it?”

The vision of bending down, leaning into him, lips almost close enough to be something — something to prove you’re living, some experience to recount to your college friends — is a tantalizing sight. A thrilling idea, perhaps too much so. You shouldn’t be thinking of him this way. You shouldn’t be pressing your legs together at the very concept.

“Why not?” You smile. You’re weaker than you used to give yourself credit for. A mind of steel, down a straight and narrow path, arrowing to success in a precise line.

It’s one bend, you tell yourself. Barely that. A small curve, like a faltered step.

You close the distance, ready to lean over him, but Matty surprises you. He grabs your wrist, tugging you down on one of his spread knees. You balance yourself from the sudden fall with a grip around his shoulder— strong and big and, shit, now you’re going to be thinking of them all day.

“Hi.”

His eyes dance with amusement. “Hi.”

You sit straight on his lap, prim and proper, almost a caricature of yourself. Matty’s hand travels to your back, spreading across your spine, warm over your flimsy uniform. Maybe to steady you, if you weren’t sitting straight-bolt, fixed. You can’t figure out a reason for it at all, and it leaves you growing hot in his arms.

From up close, Matty looks disheveled. A faint stubble, eyebags, gray-streaked hair drooping down his forehead, small silver hoops looping from his ears; he’s completely unmade. Near like this, you can smell the sweat sticking to his skin under the cigarette smoke. It should repulse you, but there’s something raw and real about him, something tangible and palpable contrary to the white-collared boys your father has paraded in front of you. You’re not against it.

“What do I do?” You whisper, because that’s how loud you need to speak for him to hear you crystal clear.

“Don’t have to do a single thing, princess. Just inhale.”

His lips wrap around the cigarette. A shot of excitement rings up your spine. You wonder if he feels it buzzing under his fingertips. If he hears your heart slamming dizzily fast against your ribs. If he sees the way your stare hangs onto his mouth. It parts and leans into yours, blowing softly.

You inhale just like he asked, but it’s more an inherent gasp at the proximity of him than a fully formed thought. Smoke slips past your lips, swirling down your throat as you breathe in. It doesn’t taste so bad like this.

Matty rubs his thumb on your back as a reward. “Good girl.” You bite your lip to contain the pleased grin, too childish in the lap of a man. “Knew you could do it. How’d you find it?”

“I liked it.”

“And here I thought you were raised right.”

You lick your lips. “There’s been some faults.” He grins at that.

“Do you want another one?”

The thought of his lips nearly pressing into yours again is desperately appealing. You shift on his knee. “Yes.”

Again, Matty blows smoke into your open mouth, practically shoving the warning bells past your lips. They slide on your tongue, but it tastes strangely sweet when you’re in his arms. You exhale a faint cloud of gray. His hand travels down to your hip, squeezing there.

Your thighs press together, hand digging into his shoulder. Arousal drips down your stomach, pooling between your legs. He hasn’t done much to warrant this, other than share a ghost of a kiss. The word spins in your mind, hot and exhilarated. You want to feel the stumble between your palms, want to lick the smoke off of his lips, want to wipe your mind from the mere concept of restaurants and guests and plates.

You think of leaning in. You consider it, clawing at his shoulder, fearing dripping on his thigh. Your fingers tingle. You’re getting a story, an experience, a proof you’re alive— if it’s fucking in a New York alleyway, so be it. At least your heart will beat with something other than nerves.

You’re doing it.

Your chin tips towards him, but Matty retreats, leaning back into the stairs. He takes a drag of his dwindling cigarette, blowing it into the air, far away from your readied mouth. Hurt splashes behind your ribs, but you don’t let it show.

Stealing the cig from his finger, you take the last puff. It falls down to your lungs with more ease and you try to contain your giddy excitement at finally getting it right. Breathing out a plume of smoke in his face, you wash him in gray.

Adrenaline rushes up to your head. You close your eyes, breathing in the dirty air, face buzzing pleasantly. A smile ghosts your lips. Maybe you’ve been wrong all these years. Maybe smoking is for you. Your tongue tastes like fire.

“It’s bad for you,” Matty says. Your eyes snap open, locking with his. His stare is dark.

You arch an eyebrow. “Now you’re concerned for my health?”

He pinches your hip. “Brat.”

You press the butt of the cigarette on the staircase railing, throwing its carcass to the ground amidst the others. Pushing yourself up with his shoulder, you find yourself gleeful that he bends his head back to watch you, literally looking up at you. Your fingers linger on his shirt, itching to climb them up to his neck, his jaw, his cheek. Trace the shape of his lips, then taste them yourself.

“Thanks for the cig.”

Matty nods. “Sure.”

You finally let go of him, taking a step back, then another one, before turning around and walking back to the restaurant. Your whole body is feverish.

You shake your head, making your way back to the table of a prissy elderly couple. Your smile is wide and relaxed. “Is everything good here?”

—

You clutch your handbag as you step through the dining room. The crew crowds around the bar, hunching over the counter in a laugh and downing back shots, spreading through the unmade tables on squeaky clean floors. You’re unsure on your feet. You’ve never been to shift drinks before, instead practically running back home with your sweaty uniform shoved in your bag. This time, as you slipped into your white flowy camisole, you felt a strange resolve climb up your spine.

It’s been happening more and more these days. As you get a feel of the land, zigzagging through bustling tables without a second thought, you find yourself chatting with the other waitresses, pestering the host, bumming castaway cigarettes from line cooks.

Matty spots you from his seat at the bar. A smile splits on his face as he waves you over. “Hey, princess. C’me here.”

There’s a giddiness you can’t control swirling in your stomach. You walk to him, now more certain in your steps. There’s a sense of belonging when you’re near Matty; when he talks to you; when he makes you a plate and slides it your way wordlessly. Like you’ve been tapped. You’re in because he opens the door.

You climb up the stool, slamming your handbag on the counter. “You need to stop calling me princess,” you say.

Matty is already amused, wiping beer foam out of his smirking lips. “Why? It fits you so well.” You narrow your eyes at him. The digs about your father don’t hurt when it’s from him. He makes them bulletless.

“People will get the wrong impression.”

His chin rests on his palm, staring you up and down, tongue digging in his cheek. “And what impression is that?”

You flush, looking away. Your skin burns at the memory of him, feeling his gaze still seeping through your cheek. You inspect the collection of bottles on the shelves behind the working bartenders instead of answering. Painstakingly reading the labels is a better activity for your mind than the whirlwind images of you on your knees, on the floor, gasping, giggling, coming— fantasies you’ve indulged in more times than you can count, although you always close the pandora box almost as quickly as it opens.

Matty follows your eye line. He leans into you, asking, “What do you want?”

For all your meticulous label-reading, the letters suddenly become blurry jargon. The bar is far-stretched, out of your depth. A world of unknowns rippling in amber-colored bottles. You bite your lip, hesitating. “I don’t know.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Have you never had alcohol before?”

It must be written on your face from how quickly he clocks you. Again, you find yourself wishing to grow a few inches taller, be just a little older, more complete.

You purse your lips. “I just turned 21.” Matty laughs, throwing his head back. It’s a nice sound— rare in the overwhelming kitchen where a swear is better currency. Still, you despise the mocking undertone. Defensively, you cry, “What? It’s the law!”

Matty shakes his head, turning to his bartender friend polishing glasses, a constant sour expression on his face. “George, make her a sex on the beach.”

George nods, putting down his glass and reaching for a shaker. He twirls his vodka between expert fingers, pouring it in freely. You watch, a little intrigued by his sure moves, biceps flexing as he shakes the concoction with one hand.

“He’s a show-off,” Matty says. “A sex on the beach does not require all this.”

“Fuck off,” George retorts, though he sounds little bothered. He pours the cocktail in an ice-filled glass, topping it with an orange and a cherry, before sliding it towards you. “There you go, sweets.” Beside you, Matty rolls his eyes.

The drink is an orangey pink, seemingly fruity. You give Matty a look. “Did you give me the girliest drink you could think of?”

“Well, I wasn’t about to start you with straight whiskey, was I?”

Tentatively, you raise the drink to your lips, self-conscious of his heavy stare on you. You throw a glance his way, locking eyes with him as you finally tip the glass. You take a sip, licking the rim clean, smiling as he swallows thickly. “I like it,” you declare.

His hand clenches around his beer glass. “Good,” he says, sounding rough. Thrill beats up your thighs. You clench them, crossing one over the other.

You drink another mouthful. You grin as you lick the pink off your lips, hyperaware of his transfixed watch on them. “Why is it called a sex on the beach?”

“Some bartender named it that.”

“That’s not a very precise answer.”

He scowls, taking a sip of his beer. “Do I look like an encyclopedia to you?”

“Nah, you’re right.” Matty side-eyes your taunting face, pink grin teasing him. He seems to ready for a cheeky comment, which you provide happily, clicking your tongue, “Not smart enough for that.”

He arches an eyebrow, spinning on his stool to face you. His knees trapp your thighs. Your skin is on fire almost immediately. Tingles where his legs graze you climb up and up your body, growing wetter at his unimpressed stare. You’ve lost all of your bravado.

“Miss dean’s list has a lot to say, I see.” You lick your teeth, standing a little straighter. How you want to be good. You shake your head. He peers at you, almost pouting. “No?”

Again, you shake your head, biting down your smile. A sudden paragon of excellence, you affirm, “I don’t have anything to say.”

Matty hums. “Better watch that mouth if you can’t walk it.”

“Why should I when you watch it for me?” Your heart roars under your ribs. Nerves and thrill mixes in your belly, making a heady mix that shoots up your spine.

Matty presses his knees on your thighs. “Careful.” He smirks down at you, leaning in to whisper, “People will get the wrong impression.”

You press your legs back. “They could be right.”

Matty laughs, reaching for his beer and taking a sip. His Adam's apple bobs as he drinks; you clench your thighs together, watching as he licks the condensation off his lips. He narrows his eyes at you. “You know, you got that innocent act, but you’re trouble.”

You chuckle, faux-offended. “You’re the one who gave me my first cigarette,” you argue. Your eyes find your lonely cocktail, grabbing it. “And my first drink.” As though to prove your point, you swallow a long sip.

Matty eyes you. Heavy meaning drips from his lips as he trails, “And…?”

You scoff, swatting his knee. “I’m not a little girl.” Your hand lingers on it. Primly, you add, “I’ve had sex before.”

“Oh yeah?”

You sit straighter. “Yes. I’ve had a boyfriend.”

“And how was he?”

You blush. “He was…” Memories of awkward meetings in his dorm room as he rutted above you flash back to you. The messy rubbing just under your clit, always too hard yet too slow. The falling sweaty over your naked body, laughing to himself, asking if you’ve come. “Fine.”

Matty arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “Fine?”

“Yes!” You cry defensively. “I don’t know. We were 19. It wasn’t gonna— rock my world.”

He smirks, voice low as he says, “Baby, he wasn’t doing it right then. It should always rock your world.”

It’s so fucking obnoxious of him to say. You should be disgusted by the ego-fueled words— should doubt them, coming from a man and all.

Yet all you can think about is the way his hands work in the kitchen, quick and precise and dexterous. How they would feel on your skin, rough and callused. How they would work on your body, expert and certain and steady.

Fuck, you wanna know them. You want them at your clit, fucking into you, pinching a nipple, wiping your lipgloss off your chin.

Dirty images fill your mind. Again, you clench your thighs, soaking your underwear. Your breathing has grown heavy. He watches you with dark eyes, like he can tell. Like he sees the thoughts as they cross your brain. Sinful pressure builds in your stomach.

You take a nervous sip of your drink. You lick the vodka off your lips, but still it’s not enough to stop you from breathing out, “How so?”

Matty warns, “You’re teasing.”

“I’m asking.” Your hand pinches his knee.

Danger pumps in your veins, alongside something dirtier, but still you stare at him straight on. His eyes intensify, his fingers clenching around his pint. You can imagine the feel of them on your trembling thighs, digging into the flesh to bruise it. You think he’s imagining it, too.

“Well, firstly, he needs to make you come. On his knees preferably— just worshiping that cunt. Gotta be fucking starved for it, you know? Dive like it’s his last meal.”

Your breath hitches at the filthy words, toes curling in your sneakers. You swallow thickly, trying to brush away the invading images of Matty devouring you on a table of the dining room. It’s a poor attempt— the idea of his tongue lapping at you, swiping your clit, fucking into you is so vivid you can almost feel it.

Matty gives you a conspiratorial look, whispering, “But I bet he wasn’t doing that, was he?” You shake your head, dazed. He tsks. “Shame.”

You keep a vice-like grip on Matty’s knee, trying to reattach yourself to some kind of reality. He’s tangible under your fingertips— warm.

“See,” Matty continues, smirking down at your clear mesmerism: breathless and dark eyed, following his lips religiously. “After she’s come a few times and she’s all dopey and relaxed and fucked out— when she’s wet enough she’s dripping on your chin— that’s when you can first slide in. Then you gotta find what she likes best, you know? If it’s rough and fast or slow and deep. You can’t just thrust uselessly. That’s what your little boyfriend did, right?”

You nod, too taken in his honey web to care to keep up with your aloof, fine experience act. “Yeah. Yeah, he would just drill.”

Matty shakes his head, rubbing his lower lip. “Fucking nineteen years old. They never do it right.”

“Oh, so you were also kind of shit?”

He smiles. “Well, no. But I’m a prodigy.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, “Oh, my God. Shut up.”

Matty grazes your bare thigh with a cold, rough hand. You shiver, spreading your legs instinctively. He smirks at that, cocky and smug, letting one callused finger draw up your skin.

“Finish your drink,” Matty orders, tipping his head towards the nearly over cocktail.

You don’t even think twice before grabbing the glass, downing the end of it. Two fingers find your thigh in reward, dancing on the flushed skin.

He leans into you, locking his eyes with you as he whispers, “The trick is to never let her get too used to something. Speed up then slow down. Switch positions. Always rub and rub at that little bundle of nerves until she’s come on your cock so many times she’s begging you to leave it be.” His whole hand swallows your thigh. You sit straighter, pleasure coiling in your belly. “And then you make her come one more time. That’s how you rock her world.”

You’re shortwinded, waves of overwhelming excitement razing through your fragile limbs. You open your legs wider, inviting his adventurous fingers, practically begging for them, really.

Matty gives you a purposeful onceover. You must look desperate, staring at him like you could swallow him up.

His hand leaves your thigh, grabbing his beer to finish it in one long sip. He stands up, leaving your burning cocoon. You miss the press of his legs once they free yours.

“I think it’s time to go home,” Matty declares.

Again, hurt at being rejected pinches your heart. He’s raised your temperature to a sinful degree and now he’s backing down, leaving you wet and throbbing around nothing, hair risen at the prospect of dust.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks. You scowl, crying, “Oh, come on. I’m not a child.”

Matty gives you a dark stare that makes you shudder in thrill. His voice is low and gravelly when he says, “Believe me, I know that.” His head tips back to the door. “Let me drive you home.”

You bite back a smirk. “Yeah?” A drive home, to an empty house without onlookers. You can’t contain your excitement.

Matty rolls his eyes, grabbing your hands to get you off the stool and onto your feet. He takes your bag next, swinging it over his shoulder. He starts walking. “Come on, princess. I can’t have her majesty home after midnight or she’ll turn into a pumpkin.”

You skip after him, knocking his shoulder with yours once you finally catch up. “You got the metaphor wrong. Cinderella didn’t transform into a pumpkin, she lost her dress and slippers.” He gives you a side look which you giggle at, suddenly all giddy. “Plus, it’s already 2:25AM. You’re too late.”

“Yet you still have your dress.”

“That can be arranged.”

Finally outside, you breathe in the fresh air before stepping into Matty’s car. It smells like cigarettes and weed in it, some useless pine car scent hanging from the rearview mirror with blue dices to cover it. You buckle your seatbelt.

Matty doesn’t say anything as he drives, focused on the dark roads stretching in front of you. Your heart beats faster as every known house catches your peripheral vision. Every inch brings you closer to the tantalizing end goal. It’s a miracle you sit still.

He parallel parks in front of your house, gripping your headrest to look backwards before dipping his wrist over the steering wheel.

You can’t wait anymore, unbuckling your seatbelt as soon as the car stops and practically running to your house. Matty doesn’t follow. You turn back to his open car window as he sits still, frowning at him.

“Alright,” Matty nods at you. “Goodnight.”

Your lips gape in utter disbelief. “Are you serious?” All that teasing, all that talk, all that promise. He drove you home, for fuck’s sake. And he’s saying goodnight?

Matty arches an eyebrow, taunting as he says, “Do you want to have a bad night?”

You might very well see red. Fuck him. You scoff, flipping around purposefully and trudging to your house, already apprehending the hour you’ll spend with your hand between your thighs thinking of him.

“Sweet dreams,” Matty screams after you, a fucking shit-eating grin resonating in the letters.

“Fuck off!” He laughs, unbothered.

The sound follows you as you slam the door close. It’s only once you’re inside that Matty drives away.

—

“Can nobody do a fucking sauce right anymore?” Matty yells, dipping a spoon in a brown concoction, anger and stress sweating off of him. Gray streaked hair swoops over his forehead, curls taken inch by inch down through the day’s unstoppable dance. His cook’s jacket is wide open, stained near the hem, sleeves rolled up to reveal just a hint of his tattooed arms.

“What did you say about my sauce?” A fellow cook bites back, several inches shorter than Matty yet crowding him threateningly still.

Matty throws the pot back on the stove’s top and it bangs loudly. “That shit’s runny as fuck. It’s not going out.”

“It’s perfect.”

He scoffs, shoving the spoon on his chest, smearing his black shirt in leftover sauce. “It’s uneatable. Do it again.”

Although the cook seems to want to bite something back, Matty turns back to his station before he gets the chance. Fury radiates off of him as he grabs his knife, making quick work of his peppers, forearms flexing as he chops. His jaw clenches while he works, looking like he has more to say, like he’s actively biting his tongue to hold them back.

You follow the cut of his jaw religiously, wondering if it’d leave you bloody. Scarred on your open palms, on your titled neck, on your spread legs—

“Don’t fuck the line cooks.”

You jump, turning to come face to face with Veronica. Her hair is up in an unmade ponytail, arms full of perfectly dished plates, and she looks impatiently towards you. “What?”

“I said don’t,” each word get enunciated through her red lips, “fuck,” she presses, “the line cooks.” There’s a vague ominous air as she adds, “They’ll destroy you.”

You blush, feeling shy at being caught ogling. “I wasn’t going to.”

A derisory snort comes out of Veronica, looking you up and down. “Sure.” Her stare turns soft, almost worrisome. You realize her genuine care as she sighs, “Just— beware of him.”

Your eyes burn with the need to look his way. “Who?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.” There’s a note of pride in her. There’s a note of pride in you. Seen through the stuck-up ponytail and daddy’s name; accepted.

She twists around, walking away in a hurry. As you make your way to your recently seated table, you can’t stop throwing a self-indulgent look Matty’s way. He looks back.

You grin, wiggling your fingers in a wave. He snorts, shaking his head as he laughs.

—

You walk into the kitchen still wearing your uniform, although you’ve swapped the heels for some sneakers, your trusty bag swung over your shoulder. You rake a hand through your hair, scalp sore from the pigtails you’ve kept it into.

Matty is bent over the top of the stove, scrubbing at the iron with a dedicated look. You linger in the spectacle for a second, his arm flexed as he works the scraper, his frustrated little frown, his clenched jaw. He’s a sight to be savored; unfortunately, you’ve got no time.

“Hey,” you call, breaking him out of his transe. Matty straightens, turning to you with a nod of acknowledgement. “Front of house is all clean,” you say, pointing towards the doors leading to the dining room as though he could forget where it was. “Adam just left. Wife and kid and all that,” you continue with the lightness of a joke. “I’m off, too.”

Matty discards his scraper, leaning against the stove as he wipes his dirty hands with a towel. He frowns, asking, “How are you getting home?”

You snort at that, as if it was a silly question. “The bus,” you say with a condescending duh tone you must have picked up from one of the waitresses.

Matty throws the towel over his shoulder, repeating, unimpressed, “The bus?”

“Well, it’s kind of like a car, you see, but it’s longer, and it stops at several—”

He gives you a deadpan look, not even upping the corner of a smile for your wit. “Don’t be cute.”

You cock your head, trying to maintain that cool you’ve managed to exude instead of falling into some giggly, blushing thing. He always seems to bring that daunting side of you, like you revert back to a shy, innocent girl in his presence. It’s ironic, considering that divergence from the fatalistic line you’ve always followed is all his fault.

“It’s not safe,” Matty continues.

“It’s the bus.,” you laugh.

He stares at you, unflinching. “It’s New York. And it’s, what, two AM?” Matty shakes his head, falling further into his convictions. “I can’t let a pretty, young girl like you walk around at night.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not my dad.”

He snorts, though there’s a cruel edge to it. He’s vicious when he retorts, “I think we’re both well aware of that.” The purposeful onceover leaves a dizzying dance through your belly, ravaging down your legs in childish excitement. You can’t stop the blush from spreading on your face this time. Winning, Matty declares definitively, “Just wait for me. I’m almost done. I’ll drive you home.”

“Fine,” you sigh, dropping your bag on the floor and climbing up the counter. You dig your phone from your waistband, scrolling as your feet kick through space.

You take a peek over your screen. Matty turns back to his work, scrubbing at some black grease as his hair falls over his face. There’s a panting, dedicated look on his face that’s not too far fetched from what you imagine— You shake your head.

Biting your lip, you call with faux-innocence, “Be quick, though.” You smirk, gleefully apprehending his reaction as you set the fatal trap, “I’ve got a date after.”

Matty freezes, though he does not look up. Stilted, he asks, “Really? Who?”

You sigh, kicking your feet, acting like you’re not hyperaware of the effect of your words on him. “One of the waiters. He said he’d come over after the crew’s night out. He’s 24,” you start conversationally. Matty's hand clenches around the unmoving scraper. You lick your teeth, trying to kill the devious smile on your lips as you finish, “I listened to your advice.”

Matty whips back to you. He finally sees you, sitting like a queen on your throne made of stainless steel, mischief and tease written all over your grin. His eyes narrow at you. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I don’t know. Am I?”

“You’re fucking with me.”

You cross your arms, shrugging. “Maybe. Maybe I just really want that orgasm you were talking about. Maybe I have to get it somewhere.”

A beat of silence lingers between the two of you as Matty stares, clogs turning in his mind. He takes a warning step towards you. “If you’re fucking with me…”

“Oh, my God,” you roll your eyes. “I can’t be anymore clear—”

Matty stands in front of you before you have time to finish. The words die in your throat as you blink up at him, losing that carelessness you had when he was several safe feet away.

He slithers between your thighs, pressing his hands on your naked knees, cocking his head at you. Your heart races inside your chest, skipping beats every time a fingertip presses into your flesh. He wants you to feel him, feel the merest edges of him like they are digging under your skin.

“You’ve got nothing to say now.” You swallow thickly. His fingers tiptoe up your thighs, smirking down at you as he coos, “Come on. What’s the other advice I gave you?”

“Give her one more—”

“Don’t talk it if you can’t walk it.” His hands near the hem of your skirt. He cocks his head at you. “Well?”

“I was fucking with you,” you breathe out, eyes mesmerizedly locked with his. “I said no to the waiter.”

Matty grins at that, proud. “Good,” he whispers back. “Because 24 years old are just as shit as 19 years old.”

“Except your prodigious self.”

“Except that, yeah.”

You smile. “I’m starting to believe you just think there’s no one who can fuck me like you.”

“Princess,” Matty starts. “I promise there’s no one who can fuck you like me.”

You hook your hands behind his neck, tugging him into you, smirking. “Prove it.”

He catches your lips with no hesitation, drawing you into a hot kiss like a starved man. He tastes like the cigarettes he chainsmoked with two bartenders, like the salt he added to his sauce, dipping a spoon in to taste test it, like the bourbon he let you take an indulgent sip of before downing it, laughing at your grimace.

There’s a giddy laugh threatening to slip out of your mouth, some unbelief that Matty Healy is finally kissing you. You’ve spent hours in that juvenile room of yours thinking back on your exchanges — the glances, the squeezes, the ghost kisses, the unbearable tension — one hand dipped between your thighs, eyes wrinkled close trying to remember the way his lower lip drooped with the weight of his cigarette. Wondering what it would be like to take it out, lick the tar off his tongue, finally know what he tastes like.

Your fingers travel up to his hair, messy and tired from a long day of work in a boiling kitchen. You pass your hands through — finally, finally — kissing him back with equal fervor. You slide your hips closer to him, trying to nestle his body into the crook of yours.

Matty grips your thighs like a lifebuoy, holding onto you like you could disappear from his hands with the trick of the light. There’s hunger in his mouth, hunger in the way he clutches you, hunger in the climbing hand groping one of your breasts, rolling his palm on your pebbled nipple. You moan into his mouth, shocked and terribly turned on.

You realize how much he must have been holding back all the times you’ve teased him, poking and prodding at him in hopes he would snap; the tension you’ve built inside of him, like a string pulled too far. Matty kisses you like he fears it might be the last time, like he needs to make it count. Like there’s a lesson to teach you.

He must not have figured you out as well as he’s been boasting about if he thinks this could ever be the last time.

You grip his hair, drawing him closer to you. He’s all limbs and lips, overwhelming, overheating. You break from his mouth just to catch your breath, forehead falling on his as you pant.

“Fucking hell,” he laughs, lazily thumbing at your tits. You difficultly stifle a moan, your lips parting as pleasure swoops in your belly.

“Don’t stop,” you already find yourself begging.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Matty tuts, sneaking a hand under your shirt to take your naked breast instead. The sensation is double the intensity, and you find yourself incapable of holding back a whiny groan. “When I’m done with you, you’ll have to call in sick tomorrow,” he boasts, watching the spectacle under him with mesmerism.

You laugh at that. “Sure.” Matty dips into your neck, leaving wet kisses down your collarbones. Your breath quickens, though you still find the words to tease, “You know, you’re such a boy still.”

Matty’s head snaps up, daggering you with a stare. You giggle at his offense, petting your hand through his curls. “I’ll show you boy,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

His hand falls out of your shirt, finding back its rising course on your thighs. He flips your skirt up, showing the pink underwear you wore into work. A groan comes from the back of his throat. You smirk, parting your legs further, giving him an eyeful.

You think he’ll kiss you again. Unbuckle his belt. Drag the pink lace off your legs with a wink.

Instead, Matty kneels in front of you.

Your breath hitches at the sight; Matty on his knees, looking up at you with those intense, brown eyes, swollen lips from a torrid kiss parting in anticipation. Thrill descends down your belly, gripping it tellingly. You wait for his next move on the edge of your seat— literally, as he drags you near the end of the counter and kisses up your spread thighs.

Your ex-boyfriend went down on you once, some awkward, wet thing between your thighs he came back up hating. You didn’t mind; you found the whole experience strange too, faking moans as he lapped at the wrong place, overthinking about what you must taste like. You were glad, secretly, that you didn’t have to go through the whole ordeal again, even though you were giving him plenty of head.

When Matty kisses a stripe up your skin, swallowing your thigh with a rough hand, there’s a strange sense of excitement. Through his nonchalance, he’s always been precise and dedicated. A dexterous man, with surely a dexterous tongue.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe 19 year olds are shit. Maybe Matty can blow your mind.

You stroke your hand through his hair, grinning as he shivers. “You’ve talked a big game,” you say, though your voice is choked. “I hope you can back it up.”

Matty hums, sneaking a thumb straight to your clit. He finds it with practiced ease, pressing into it before faintly circling it. Euphoria shoots up your spine. You bite back a scream, gripping his hair, rolling your hips into him for more. Your eyes widen, surprised by your new reaction. Even when it’s your own knowledgeable hand between your thighs, you never find a hit of pleasure this true this quickly, let alone your sloppy ex.

“Don’t you worry your pretty, little head, princess,” Matty whispers, continuing to raise your temperature impossibly high with a focused finger. “I can.”

And then, before you can quip back something else about his clear bravado, his lips latch around your clit, sucking on it. “Fuck,” is your visceral reaction, your head thumping against the wall. His stubble rubs on your inner thighs.

Matty doesn’t stop there, of course, descending his hand to tease at your entrance. His tongue swipes at you diligently, overwhelming you with ecstatic feelings. You can’t make sense of the waves attacking you, following the rhythm he licks on you.

You tug on his curls with a death grip, half-convinced you might unroot them. You grind into his face, your thighs closing in on his cheek in a desperate attempt to keep him close. As though he, too, could disappear any instant. Stand up and leave the room, say he didn’t mean it.

But he doesn't. Instead, he slips one finger inside of you, thrusting and curling expertly. Your free hand grips the counter, attaching you to some semblance of reality.

He leaves your cunt long enough to whisper, all cheeky and smug, “How am I doing?”

“Fuck,” you cry, drawing him back to your soaked entrance. He licks your sensitive bundle of nerves with a smile as you drip on his chin. “You’re fine,” you say, still out of breath, because you can’t stop being difficult.

Matty makes a noise of offense from the back of his throat, breaking away again as he arches an eyebrow at you. “Fine?” He repeats, unamused. He adds a second finger inside of you, letting the pornographic sounds of your sopping cunt ring through the empty kitchen.

You bite your lip to hold back the scream you want to let free, your legs shaking around him. Pleasure so thoroughly builds inside of you, stretching languidly under your heated skin. A moan ends up slipping through your tyrannical guards. Matty latches onto that, fucking into you quicker, drawing eyerolls and whines out of your swollen lips.

You’ve always been implacably in control. A girl of steel, focused and stubborn. How easily he wrecks you, unbuilds you from your very careful bricks.

Matty smirks at your reactions, thumbing your clit next as he watches you washed with bliss. He kisses your knee, quickening his pace. “Is this fine?”

“Yes,” you nod. There’s something boiling under your skin, bubbling in warning. You sense the fire, curling your toes, licking up your weak legs, joining in Matty’s relentless fingers inside of you.

He pouts. “Only fine?” Turning his head, he kisses your other knee. The delicate press of his lips tingles up your thigh.

“It’s—” You cry out a moan, wrinkling your face shut. Fire dances in your belly, pressing against your skin. You want it free.

“What?” Matty asks. He bites your knee, demanding your attention. Your eyes open in electroshocked surprise, peering down at him as you pant. The room spins around you, a world of spice and stainless steel. “Come on, admit it.” Your eyes lock with his, dark and intense and so fucking smug. He’s amused at your pathetic attempts to lie to him. He knows.

You huff. “It’s okay.”

His eyes darken. You halt your breath, waiting for the shoe to drop. You’re afraid he’ll stop, feel his desire to do so in the bated breath, to teach you a lesson. Your legs buzz, ready to trap him between them, beg him to forgive you. Apprehension swoops in your belly, meshing terribly well with the building bliss.

Matty doesn’t even slow. His mouth finds your clit again, furiously licking at you as he thrusts his fingers. You scream once more, your hips moving in instinct, bucking against his sticky face.

“Matty, Matty,” you chant, in complete contradiction to your taunts. Fire climbs up your chest, flushing it, falling down your arms. Your entire body shakes, the hints of an earthquake hitting you. “I’m—“

His fingers curl just so, finding the perfect angle. Your head lits aflame, fire swirling around your putty brain, and you’re burning down. You come with a guttural cry, gripping Matty’s hair, the letters of his name loosening on your tongue.

You come down slowly, difficultly, as your limbs unclench their choking hold on him. You can’t seem to quite catch your breath, panting as you blink and blink, trying to get used to this new world.

Fuck. This is what a real man does.

You grin, a laugh bubbling out of you. “Wow,” you say, smiling down at him.

Matty still looks at you with that dangerous, hungry look. He wipes his chin, sharp teeth flashing at you as he stands up. He kisses your jaw, your neck, relishing in the moans you give back. Your skin is oversensitive, already too hot and only getting worse when he spreads a hand on your waist.

He sneaks under your shirt, raising it, throwing it off your shoulders. His eyes find you, ravenous, taking in the matching pink bra to your long lost underwear. You flush, looking away shyly.

His callused fingertips find your waist again, teasing a ghost touch over your ribs, to your back, up your spine, slowly and faintly enough you’re half sure you might be dreaming this whole thing up.

Matty kisses your collarbone, undoing the claps of your bra with one hand, letting it fall down your shoulders. He dips his head out of your neck, looking down at your bare breasts, nipples peaked in perfect offering. A groan chokes in the back of his throat. His hand finds one of your tits, swallowing it as he grabs it. You sigh, pleasure waving through you already.

Matty finds the crook of your neck again, kissing up its curve to whisper in your ear, “What’s your name?” You frown, cocking your head, telling him.

Matty tsks. “I’m not done, then.” He takes you by the thighs, picking you off the counter and lowering you to the squeaky clean floor. You cry in surprise, clutching his shoulders.

The tiles are cold on your back. He spreads your legs out for him, kissing back down your body. You rest on your elbows, watching him as you pant.

“You’ve already—“ Surely, he must be wanting something more reciprocating now.

Matty shushes you. “Let me do my job.” He unzips your skirt, dragging it off your legs, taking a second to take in the sight of you.

He opens your thighs, readying you for him again. You breathe quicker, incapable of keeping up with his moves, head turning at the idea of another earthshattering orgasm. You want your body to crack and break next.

Matty looks up at you, smirking. He spits on your cunt. His tongue sticks out, licking up your juices next. You roll your eyes, pleasure razing through you, your elbows giving out as you fall to the ground like a wireless doll. A teasing laugh blooms out of him as he dives back in.

It’s sloppier this time, given you’ve practically drenched your inner thighs. He throws two of your legs over his shoulders and eats you like a starved man, licking and fucking and sucking. You can’t keep up with his burning tongue, though you don’t try to, letting yourself be washed in the feelings he coaxes out of you instead.

You moan freely, unashamed of the pathetic sounds you let out for him. You’re glad to be on the floor just so you don’t have to hold up any part of your body. You’re weightless, discombobulated, choosing to exist as only a body overtaken with euphoria.

You say his name most of all, grinding on his tongue. Matty seems to like that, answering with a particularly skillful swipe, gripping your hip bones with two greedy hands.

It’s honestly obnoxious of him to not even use his hands.

His tongue fucks into you, his nose rubbing at your clit. He holds you like you could shatter under him, melt into syrup and seep into the cracks. It might very well be possible with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins.

“I’m right there,” you pant in warning, gripping his hair to keep him still, rolling into his face with sloppy hips. He laughs at that, the sound resonating in your cunt, and ecstasy weeps inside of you. “Just—”

You don’t have time to warn him of anything as he runs his tongue furiously. Your cunt flutters, clenching around his tongue. You scream, your thighs dropping completely open in surrounder. He sucks on your clit and you crack, splintering apart, falling into the ground. You feel yourself shake, buzzing and buzzing, reality slipping from your fingers as he continues to lap at you.

It’s too much too soon; you push him out of your legs with a whine, pouting down at him. Matty indulges in your silent request, dipping into one of your thighs to wipe the slick from his chin. It dries on your skin as he climbs up your body, out of breath.

Matty kisses the tip of your nose, smiling down at you. You’re wrecked, your sweaty hair spilling around your head, your lips bitten raw, your skin flushed. You grin at him still, slack, thoroughly happy and satisfied. You rake a hand through his hair, messier than they were before your ruinous hold on them.

“Fine?” Matty teases.

You hum, looping your arm around his neck. “Maybe a bit better than fine,” you taunt back, raising your head to catch his lips. He scoffs in your mouth, though kisses you back indulgently.

He leaves it to litter kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, finding a nipple and sucking it. Your breaths quicken, something close to pants leaving your dry mouth. As he licks at it with a tongue you’ve grown sinfully familiar with, his hands slip to his jeans, undoing the buttons eagerly. You hear the zip go down, excited shivers climbing up your spine.

Matty tugs himself out of his pants. You look down to watch the spectacle, biting your lip as his hard cock springs into his hand. He strokes it once, twice. Rises from your tits to kneel between your legs, towering over your body.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even walk into work tomorrow.” Thrill burns at your skin. Your legs fall open for him in devotion, obeying to his words like gospel.

“Promise?” You smile up at him, cheeky.

Matty snorts, gripping one of your thighs to raise your hips, lining his cock with your dripping entrance. “Only promise of mine you can trust, darling.” Locking his dark eyes with yours, he slowly enters you.

“Shit,” you cry, spasming around him. You reach out blindly, catching his hand on your hip, wrapping your fist around two of his fingers and tightening. It sends the message clear enough; he chuckles, bottoming out. You moan in relief, bliss blooming around your bones, heart fluttering in great apprehension. You bite back a giggle, playing with the curls at his nape.

Matty bends back down to kiss your cheek, holding himself up with one arm, laying still between your thighs. He’s buried so deep, you feel your nerve endings rearrange for him. Your cunt throbs around him, begging for more, but he just sweetly sprinkles your face with love.

You scrunch your nose, shaking him off. “I want more,” you demand, raising your hips as proof. Faint pleasure ripples through you, but it’s still not enough.

Matty nips at your jaw, torturously frozen between your thighs. “Wait. You haven’t had sex in two years. I don’t want to break you.”

You furrow your eyebrows, a bratty pout storming on your face. Meanly, childishly, you clench your fist around his digits. “You won’t break me,” you argue. “You need to check that ego of yours.”

Matty snorts. “The lady is impatient. As if I didn’t already give her two great orgasms.”

“They were fine, remember?”

“A bit more than fine.”

“Just a bit.”

Even slower than he entered you, Matty thrusts out of you, watching intently as the pleasure reverberates inside of you, all the way to your lips parting in greed.

He lingers in that moment once more. You sigh frustratedly, staring up at him unimpressed. His shit-eating grin catches on his lips. He thrusts back in just as unhurriedly, repeating his vicious cycle until you’re so thoroughly ready you might lose your mind from the lack of something.

Something quick. Something hard. Something great.

“I’m not fucking breakable,” you finally snap.

Matty hums, shaking off your hand easily to palm your tits, kissing down your neck. “This is how you treat princesses.”

“I will make you eat that nickname until you have to spit it out in chunks.”

Matty laughs in the curve of your neck, shaking his head. His hair tickles your jaw. He comes back out to peer at you, amused. He grinds his hips into you, barely any real friction. “She’s got threats.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I’ve got more if you don’t fucking move.”

Matty tsks. “For a smart, college girl, you’re not being very bright. Have I fucked your working brain out of you already?”

You cock your head, frowning at him. Matty smiles, hooking your knee higher. The angle is heavenly— though he still doesn’t fuck, he hits you deep. You bite your lip, shivering, feeling pleasure tingle up your legs. “I thought you were all proper. Raised right. Weren’t you?” Again, you give him a confused look. “Don’t good girls say please?”

Your eyes widen in understanding. You cup both his cheeks, staring into his eyes as you moan, “Please, Matty. Fuck, I need you to fuck me. I need you to—“

Matty snaps his hips into yours, a quick, relieving rhythm. You mewl, head rolling on the tiles. “There she is,” Matty coos. “My good, little girl.” You nod at him, agreeing with anything out of his mouth now that he fucks like this.

Matty searches for the right pace, switching up his flow and scrutinizing your face as he does so. Hard, fast, deep, slow; he tries it all, mixing and matching and making your insides throb around him. Your mouth parts uselessly, slack moans rolling down your chin. He licks your jaw, leaving you wet as he pants.

Your hands on his cheeks flex in place, digging into his jaw, the faint stubble rubbing on your palms. You might very well be hurting him, but you’re too gone to care. He deserves it, anyway. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does.

“Is this what you wanted?”

You smile wide at him. His eyes narrow, expecting the taunt as you say, “Well, I still know my name.”

“Is that so?” Matty says, sitting up on his heels. He holds his weight with a hand near your waist, using the other to raise your ass up the ground. With this new angle, he fucks into you deeper, quicker.

You whine, your hand wrapping around his grounding arm, holding onto it desperately. Your claws dig into his tattoos. Ecstasy waves through you, pushing and pulling with his strokes. Your head suddenly feels very light, faraway from your bared neck.

Finally, he seems to settle on a pattern. How quickly he’s successfully read the mindless sounds, figured you out from the pathetic eyerolls overtaking your face when he quickens his pace. Pleasure weeps inside of you, burning through your skin. You don’t ever want him to stop.

He thrusts in and out of you frantically. Deep, long strokes that perfectly hit this heavenly spot inside of you. He grins down at you like he knows, burying against it again and again until you’re melting in his arms.

You can’t do anything but cry for him as Matty undoes the last remnants of your brick walls. You lose any semblance of shame, bucking your hips in the same rhythm as his, calling his name in your father’s kitchen. You’re too gone to care, too gone to even think of it.

“My pretty girl,” Matty moans above you. His hand caresses your hip, that godforsaken callus on his index finger rubbing the bone. “Even prettier than I imagined.”

You give him a slack smile, thrill and pride spinning in your head. He thought of you. How you want to know all the fantasies he holds in that treasure chest brain of his. Want to know if he touched himself thinking of them.

Your hands dig into his forearm, staring up at him. “Tell me.” Matty shakes his head. “Come on,” you plea, spoiled. Matty is unflappable, smirking down at you as he fucks into you. “Please, sir.”

Matty’s hips falter in their movement, a low groan slipping from his lips. His hand digs into your hips, staring down at you in shock. “Fuck,” is all he chokes out.

You grin, a greedy thing finding its new weapon. You palm your own breast, playing with your nipple as you moan. “Was it like this, sir?” You whine, twisting your fingers, letting the pleasure wash over you. “Is this how you imagined it?”

Matty moans at the sight of you, flicking between your face and your tits, unsure of where to settle. He’s lost that shit-eating smirk of his, that certainty, that unshakeable control. He’s watching you, obsessed.

“No, you were actually well-behaved in my dreams.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Not true.”

Matty sighs, climbing a hand from your hip up your waist, groping the forgotten, lonely breast. “Nah, you’re right,” he admits. He mirrors your moves, rubbing his thumb as you do. “I wanted you like this,” he whispers, mesmerized with you. “Under me. Fucking purring for me.”

His hips find back that relentless pace between your thighs, quick and hard. Ecstasy coils in your belly, breathing, alive, eating through your limbs. You shiver, moaning his name.

“I wanted you on the steps of the emergency staircase, riding my cock for everyone to see. Good, proper girl like you, fucked dumb by a dirty man like me.” You nod, encouraging him, biting your lip raw.

He lays back over you, maintaining his quick strokes. His pelvis rubs on your clit with every thrust, making your body tingle tellingly. Pleasure presses against your skin, fire simmering beneath it. Maybe you really will crash and burn this time, maybe you’ll split.

Matty leans into your neck, sucking your earlobe into his mouth, whispering in the crook of it, “Bending you over the bar. Tugging on that ponytail. Railing pretty princess so hard she starts crying.” Matty’s hand cups your jaw, rubbing on the skin as he peers up at you. “Fuck, I wanted to ruin that makeup.” One finger wipes at your chin, surely spreading your strawberry lipgloss. “I’d spend my days on my knees.”

His words, his hands, his cock, it’s all too much for you. You scream, the sounds falling into his hand. Hot ecstasy bubbles under your skin, threatening the very edges of you. You roll your head, but Matty keeps you grounded, his fingers digging into your jaw.

He stares at you unflinchingly. “Open your mouth, princess.” You do as you say, parting your lips wide open. Matty eyes you with a smirk.

He leans in, spitting in your open mouth. A thrilled shiver pianos down your spine. You should find this repulsive, but your cunt clenches around him in complete contradiction. He grins condescendingly at you, undeniably aware of his effect on you. “Here’s that nickname.”

You roll your eyes. You throb around him, bliss razing through your limbs. Your toes curl, your fingers flex, and you feel everything in you pull tight in preparation—

“Matty—”

“Tut-tut,” Matty says, patting your lips. “Not my name.”

“Sir,” you whine, throwing your head back. “I’m gonna come.”

He flashes his teeth at you, wolfish. “Magic word?”

“Please.” Matty rewards you with deep strokes, hitting again and again at the exact right spot, and soon you’re trashing under him, completely boundless.

“Oh, God,” you scream, “Oh, God.”

You tremble under him, your face completely shutting, your lips parting. You burst, crying out for him, trapping his hips with two strong thighs. You crash against the floor, spilling on the tiles like dropped salt. Flecks of you roll on the linoleum as you finally come. His name rips from your throat, a delicious chant you can’t control. It’s all you know.

The world slips from your fingers; everything relaxes in great waves. Relieving fingers dancing on your skin, making you not a stone, but a girl. A woman.

You sigh happily, letting go of Matty’s arm, opening your eyes to examine the crescent moons you left on his skin. Some branding iron of yours.

Your head falls back on the ground, rolling lazily. You feel lax, drooping on your bones. Maybe you’re truly one with the ground.

Matty kisses your cheek. “You did so well, baby,” he whispers proudly. You smile, too tired to open your eyes again.

His hips rock into yours slowly, grinding. Everything in you is hypersensitive to him. Your skin buzzes just from the faint movement, burning ecstasy waking up in your belly from nothing.

“Do you want to ride me?” Matty asks, voice rough in the crook of your ear. Just the idea sounds sore and exhausting.

You pout, shaking your head, whining, “‘M too tired.”

“Alright,” Matty kisses your temple. “Just lay there and be pretty.” You nod in agreement.

Indulgently, Matty doesn’t follow that brutal, heart racing tempo. He fucks you slow and deep, grinding his hips into yours, reaching between your bodies to rub at your clit. You whimper under him, clutching his shoulders, wrinkling your eyes as pleasure drips on your ribs.

It’s barely anything, but it’s still too much. You’re fucked out, sensitive and exhausted, and every stroke just resonates deep inside of you. His name dances on your tongue, languid pleasure coursing through your sloppy veins. Matty accidentally slips out of you, his cock hitting your thigh. He groans frustratedly, slipping back into your wet cunt, though you’re barely aware of it.

Your hands paw at his shoulders. A frown dents your forehead. You blink your eyes open, staring at him unhappily. “Take off your shirt,” you demand. Really, it’s not fair you’re naked and he’s perfectly dressed.

Matty huffs a laugh, stilling to reach behind his head, pulling his white shirt off his shoulders. Though he makes an attempt to drape back over you, you keep him away. Your eyes greedily takes him in: his tattoos, his stomach, his biceps. He’s stronger than you had imagined, his muscles sharper, rippling and flexing with strenuous effort. You bite your lip, feeling arousal pool in your belly.

“Happy?” Matty says, although there’s a faint blush on his face.

“Extremely,” you nod curtly, flashing your teeth at him. Matty shakes his head, thrusting back into you.

Your mind drips from your ears, faraway and drowsy. He’s faintly there between your thighs. Your lips part in pleasure, but you’re mostly distracted by the sight of him. Your eyes wash over all his tattoos, tracing a finger over his deer tattoo, trying to memorize it.

Matty slips from your legs again, this time hitting your swollen clit. You jump, biting your lip. Frustrated, he lines himself up, sliding in slowly, watching your face. He makes another low growl of dissatisfaction, leaving you entirely.

“Fuck, you’re too wet,” Matty sighs. You laugh, watching him in disbelief. Too wet. You shake your head. Here’s a fucking problem. “I’m serious,” he says, though there’s definitely an amused smile on his lips.

He grabs his discarded apron, wiping your wetness off his dick. Then he cleans the mess between your thighs meticulously, shaking his head. “You know, it’s not better if you’re too wet. You lose friction. When I’m fucking you, I want you to feel it.”

Matty dips two fingers down your entrance, taking a pool of your soaking arousal, bringing them back to your lips. You open up before he has to say, sucking them into your mouth. He grins proudly, fucking elated to have you finally obeying for him. “Good girl,” he praises, lining his cock again.

He thrusts into you and this time, shit, you feel it.

You feel awoken from your daze, zapped into reality. You grip his shoulders uselessly, moaning around his fingers. He’s wild and rapid, showing you how it’s really supposed to feel. You can’t wrap your head around the feeling, overrun by his hips.

Matty slips his wet fingers out of your mouth. Pathetic whines and moans leave your lips unsmothered, caught in a hot tongue kissing you. His stubble rubs at your chin, but it quickly leaves your mind as his freed digits find your clit again. You hiss at the first contact, sensitive. He circles it gently, kissing you better.

Your lungs are on fire. Your head spins. You’re so deeply aware of his cock inside of you, driving you wild. You can’t make sense of the ground under your back. You scream for him, scream for the sky, scream because you can’t do anything else.

“I can’t—” You shake your head. “Fuck, it’s too—” Another moan leaves your mouth. Pressure grows in your stomach, spreading through each limb. Already, you almost want to snort.

Matty’s mouth grazes over your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. He kisses each spot, leaving a few sweet pecks. The complete opposition of his ruthless cock makes your head dizzy. Licking your shoulder, Matty opens his mouth and bites you. Pain and pleasure strikes through you; you cry, falling apart.

“Matty—”

It almost surprises you that you can still, feeling the edges around you blur into non-existence. You live only in the euphoria, in momentary feelings, in the now. Your body trashes under him, ecstatic, boneless. Your climax hits you hard and true, a mighty hunter hungry for blood.

You come back down slowly, difficultly, trying to make sense of his arms as you breathe. “Fuck,” is all you can say, shortwinded and gooey. “Oh, my— Fuck.”

Matty flutters kisses on your shoulder, surely loving away the marks of his teeth. He rises slightly to whisper in your ear, “Remember what I said?” You shake your head, not in any place to think, let alone remember anything. A smirk grows on his face, tickling your skin. “Give her one more.”

You blink your eyes open, staring at him incredulously. You can barely feel your legs and he wants to— He’s dead fucking serious. “I’m too hot,” you whine. “It’s fucking burning in here.”

“Alright, princess.” Matty slides out of you. A moan of dissatisfaction leaves at the feeling of emptiness. You clench around nothing, suddenly unused to the lack of him. Matty stands up, tugging you with him, picking you up in his arms as he walks the kitchen.

He opens the walk-in fridge. Cool immediately surrounds you, making you sigh pleasantly. He caresses your hair, whispering, “Can I?” Though you know you’ll regret it tomorrow, you nod at him. “My brave girl,” Matty coos, delicately putting you down.

Like his favorite doll, you let him puppeteer you to your knees, pushing you until your tits hit the freezing ground. You hiss, jolted awake by the sudden cold. Your head turns back to stare at him, kneeling behind you. “Does that feel good, baby?” You nod, which he tuts at. “Use your words.”

“Yeah, it’s—” In complete contradiction, heat pools in your stomach. Your hard nipples on the icy floor sends a rush of ecstasy up your exhausted body. You’re suddenly quite aware of the world, though it restricts to this walk-in and Matty Healy’s cock as it teases your entrance.

“That’s not really using your words, is it?” He slides over your wet cunt, hitting your overeager bundle of nerves, but never giving in. You huff, understanding his silent demand.

“It’s really good,” you nod, moving further up to rest your tits on a fresh bout of frozen ground. Again, a thrilled rush makes your head spin. You cry, laying your cheek down, surrendering yourself. “You’re— You were right. No one can fuck me like you.”

“I know I’m right.” Finally, Matty enters you. His hips buck into your dripping core, sloppy and messy from extenuation. There’s a lack of technique, just raw need and want as he fucks into you with abandon. He grips your thighs, bending into your body to kiss at your shoulders, whispering dirty promises again. “Just me,” he pants. “From now on it’s just me.”

You nod at him. He’s ruined you for other men anyway; you don’t think you’ll even be able to walk without remembering the shape of his cock inside of you.

One of Matty’s hands leaves you, resting on the ground beside your sweaty bodies. He lingers there for some time, then sneaks it under you, finding your clit expertly. You gasp as his cold fingers make contact with the hot bud. He swipes them rapidly, making you drip on his cock.

“I’m close,” you moan already, feeling that telltale euphoria wave through your trembling limbs.

“Me, too,” Matty moans above you. He grips your hair and tugs, raising you from the ice, kissing your jaw. His low sounds bury in your skin. His hips snap harder into you, chasing both of your cosmic ends.

Your face wrinkles as pleasure overwhelms you. You shake it frantically, whining, “I wanna see you.”

Matty laughs, slipping out of you just to flip you around. Again, he pushes you on your back, raising your legs until your knees near your shoulders, wasting no time to bury inside of you. He hits you even deeper this time, shockingly possible. You whine. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it with precision. You travel the planes of his back, digging your nails in desperately.

He looks as fucked out as you. His gray-streaked, sweaty hair falls over his forehead. His swollen lips part in euphoria, chin still sticky with you. His skin is flushed. His arms shake, exhausted and overworked.

“I’m there,” Matty pants above you. You nod in agreement, feeling the same building bliss spin around your head. “Are you gonna come for me, princess?” Again, you nod eagerly.

“Yeah— Yes, sir!”

Matty hits the spot with one artful stroke and you’re done, mewling loudly as you come on his cock. You soar out of your bones, pleasure ravaging through you with deadly fingers. You shake under his body, screaming and crying, breaking apart. Vengefully, your nails rake down his back, clawing at him.

With a hot groan in your ear, Matty slips out of you, coming on your stomach. He shivers above you, wrinkling his face in euphoria, white cum hitting the planes of your belly. He breathes in heavily, opening his eyes to smile down at you.

The world sways around you. You’re bone-deep tired, struggling to keep your eyes open, to even think of moving a finger. Everything is hazy, some ghostly daze draping over the walk-in. You sigh, fluttering your eyes closed.

Teasingly, Matty goes down your body, spreading your thighs to lap at your juices. You cry, head raising up the ground miraculously, pushing his head away. “Goddamn, enough. I get it. You’re the best sex of my life.” Matty chuckles, pinching your thigh, before falling beside you. He pants, exhausted. “That was even better than I imagined,” you say languidly, smiling slackly at no one.

“Same.”

“I don’t think I can take the bus now,” you frown. “Or tomorrow.”

“Call in sick,” Matty says, smirking at you cheekily. You roll your eyes at his antics. “What? If one person can do it, it’s daddy’s girl.”

You slap his shoulder. “Don’t talk about my dad when you were just inside of me.”

“No?”

You up your nose. “It’s uncouth.”

Matty laughs, shaking his head, sitting up. He groans as he stands, as though his entire body was sore. His back is littered with furiously red scratches; you flush, recognizing the shape of your nails. He leaves the walk-in just to come back with your clothes, pulling his shirt down his chest.

He wipes at your soaked thighs with his apron, then at the cum on your stomach, cleaning you thoroughly. With delicate care, he puts your shirt over your head, pulling your skirt up. He stashes your bra in your bag, giving you a teasing look as he shoves your underwear in his pants. Again, you roll your eyes at his obvious antics.

“Do you need to eat anything?” Matty asks. “We’re in the walk-in, afterall.”

Your face scrunches. “Oh God, I fucked in the walk-in. I won’t ever be able to come in here, now.”

He snorts. “Believe me, we weren’t the first and won’t be the last.” You wrinkle your nose in disdain. “Wow. Miss can get railed in the fridge but it’s a problem when others do it?”

“It’s unsanitary.”

“I think there's still some of your juices on the floor,” Matty says, pointing randomly at the ground. You flush, trying to spot the rumored stain, embarrassment seeping through your cheeks. Matty doesn’t let you linger on it, grabbing two of your hands and pulling you up on your feet. “Food?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Well,” Matty smiles smugly, and you already groan in regret, “I already ate.”

“Nevermind.” You try taking a step, but your feet wobble under you, pain prickling up your thighs and the inside of it most of all. You fall into Matty, clutching his arm. “Shit.”

“Call in sick tomorrow.” You shake your head stubbornly. Matty cups your cheek, making you look at him. “Call in sick tomorrow,” he stresses again.

You narrow your eyes. “You just want to say you fucked a girl so hard she had to take a day off.”

Matty gives you a shit-eating grin. “Nah. This is a regular Tuesday for me.” You slap his shoulder again, harder this time. “There she is,” he coos. “Come on. Let me drive you home. I’ll make you something.”

You let him guide you out of the walk-in fridge, resting on his body. “I don’t think I have any food,” you warn.

“I can whip something up. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a chef.”

“Really?” You say in faux-shock. “I just thought you were the eye candy.”

“Not everyone stares at me as much as you, princess.” You roll your eyes, though don’t try to claim otherwise. Matty slaps the lights shut. You leave the kitchen behind, strangely untouched, like it hadn’t seen some very vile things a few minutes ago.

“Oh,” you cry excitedly, “Can you make me some mac and cheese?” Matty sighs.

—

You’re hanging around the host stand, picking your nails and giggling as Veronica describes her recent affair with a pharmacist in explicit details. She mimes the moves, stalling when a guest approaches. You both plaster a smile on your face and point to the bathroom with a sickly sweet voice.

You bite your lip to stop yourself from describing your recent affair. The memory of Matty between your thighs is still omniscient on your skin— mostly because you’re still sore, walking the restaurant a little funny. Although you burst with the need to tell someone, you’re half-convinced Veronica would bite your head off if she knew.

Adam walks back to his stand, sighing as he sees the both of you. “Must you guys hang here?”

You cock your head, teasing, “How else would we annoy you?” Veronica laughs.

He shakes his head, grabbing a pen and pointing towards you. “The boss wants to see you,” is all Adam says.

“Ooh,” Veronica sings, poking at your ribcage. “Someone’s in trouble.” You give her a deadpan look. “You’re right, you’re right.” She nods. “He probably just wants to know which color you want your new pony to be!”

You shake your head, chuckling at her. “You guys are seriously deluded on how much money we have.”

Veronica sticks her tongue out as you walk away. You zigzag through the tables, nodding at a waiter in greeting, grabbing empty plates and piling them on your arms. You push the kitchen doors with your back, dropping the dirty dishes in the sink. You smile at Larry, fluttering your lashes at him. He always cleans your utensils first if you flirt a little with him.

You can’t stay to chat, crossing the kitchen for the office door. You dodge a bus boy, giving him an annoyed look, reminding him to call corners. A small snort comes from beside you. You turn, finding Matty sizzling onions in a pan. He gives you a grin, knowing and smug, like he’s thinking of you naked in the spot where you stand. He winks at you. Your cheeks heat, biting back a smile as you continue your walk.

You knock at the door. Behind, a somber voice tells you to come in. You crack it, peering your head inside. Your father sits at his desk, flipping through papers, frowning.

“You wanted to see me?”

He jumps as he looks at you, seemingly surprised as though he’s not the one who asked you here. He nods eagerly, waving you in. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Dad,” you answer back, walking into the office. Instinctively, you start organizing the messy, scattered papers on his desk in neat lines. “Why did you call me here?”

“I wanted to ask you how you were,” he explains. “I didn’t have time to welcome you. I’m sorry— God, I’ve just been so busy.” He frowns at you, a concerned look on his face. “You like it here, right? I know you missed your shift yesterday.”

Memories of Matty’s tongue licking into you, his fingers curling, his cock pressing— Dirty words sticky with want— Vile things on the tiles— The world slipping from your fingers— Pleasure pumping, coiling, bursting—

You flash your teeth. “Oh, I love it.”

#she is here and she is Foul #linecook!au #matty healy smut #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 smut #writing #smut #imagine

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stargirlrchive · 1 year

Text

late night talking ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: soon to be dad!jake sully x female!reader, talks of pregnancy and discomfort but its so minimal, literally pure fluff babes i need to carry his babies fr

word count: 718 - short and sweet

syulang (n) - flower

comments: i hate this title w/ a passion, i feel like the vibe does not match? but whtvr, we are pushing through! <3 anyways i was in a silly goofy mood when i wrote this, like yall are gonna see what i mean lol but this can be like a prequel to this other jake fic but can also just be a standalone, kk bye! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Jake woke to the sound of your discomfort, feeling you move around in his arms as you tried to find a comfortable position. The task was proving to be impossible. You let out a long sigh, realizing there was no way you were going to be lulled to sleep again.

“What’s wrong, Syulang?”

Your eyes flew to your mates, unaware you had woken him up, “Nothing, he is just kicking so much tonight.”

Jake's hand instantly went out to sooth your belly, the bump growing beautifully everyday. He began to rub small shapes into your skin, hoping to calm his child down and ease your discomfort.

He whispered quietly to you, as if it was his biggest secret, “I wish we were Seahorses.”

Your mouth dropped in shock, that was not at all what you thought was going to leave your mates mouth. The confusion clear in your eyes, “What for?”

“Well I don’t know how true it is, but once on earth I read that male Seahorses carry the babies. I would do that for you.”

You wanted to laugh, it was fighting its way up your throat, but Jake was looking at you so seriously that you could not dare poke fun at him. His hands had made their way to your back, soothing the knots that had begun to form. “You would not last a day, JakeSully.”

You pressed a kiss to the widest part of his nose, “Besides, I should get used to it. I want more.”

“Is that so?”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his hands trying to massage any area of exposed skin he could find, your body relaxing into his with each swipe of his hand. “Mhm, I want three more after. He needs siblings.”

Your hand rubbed gently along your own stomach, feeling a small thump from within. “Two girls and two boys.”

“Now wouldn't that be perfect.”

He was teasing you, trying not to smile as you shuffled closer to his body. Neither of you spoke for a while, your eyes were beginning to feel heavy, begging to sleep. “You keep referring to the baby as a boy?”

You nodded absentmindedly, practically melting under his fingers. “Because he is, I can feel it.”

Jake's nose scrunched up, “Has Eywa given you a sign?”

He was teasing you again, pure amusement dancing in his eyes as you looked up at him. His hand had fallen back to your stomach, fingers treading over you with a featherlight touch. “She has actually.” You huffed in his direction, noticing his eyes dilated at the new information. “Tell me Syulang.” He was pleading, softly tapping against your belly.

Jake had already adored you beyond belief, swore the sun rose when you smiled, but when he learned you were carrying his child, he practically worshiped the floor you walked on. “Please.”

You decided to end his suffering, laying your hand above his so they both rested on your stomach. “Well-this was only a few days ago, Ma’Jake, but I had gone to the Tree of Souls, I wanted to see my mother.”

Your shoulders caved in a little, pressing yourself impossibly closer to Jake, “There were so many ancestors trying to speak to me that day, but I could not make anything out. There were too many of them.”

Your face pinched together as you recalled the events, “Then, out of nowhere I heard something so clear, only one word. It was a name.”

You nervously played with the beads that fell on Jake’s braid, “What was it, Syulang?.”

“Neteyam.”

Jake blinked rapidly, ears twitching gently. It was perfect. “Do you like it?”

He nodded, unable to form words, suddenly struck with an overwhelming amount of adoration for you. He had to blink back the happy tears that threatened to leak from his eyes.

Silence fell between the both of you, Jake’s hands only stopped moving when he heard your breath even out. “Neteyam.”

He liked the way the name rolled off his tongue, he felt a soft thud from your stomach. Letting him know his son liked it too. His eyes instantly jumped to your face, wanting to make sure you had not woken up.

You remained peacefully sleeping, not even waking as Jake shifted to lay his arm under your head.

#jake sully x reader #jake sully #avatar jake sully x reader #avatar x reader #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #loak sully #kiri sully #avatar #atwow #atwow x reader #neytiri #avatar 2009 #avatar 2022 #avatar 1 #avatar 2 #Jake Sully fluff #Jake Sully angst

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spark-of-teal · 19 days

Text

I was going to do this back when the fishing craze was still happening but I took a break from the internet for a bit. But,

Hermits as fish!

Grian: Tadpole Cod

Obvious reasons for cod, also it's the smallest cod

Pearl: Chinook salmon

Obvious reasons for salmon, also it's the largest salmon

Gem: Needlefish

Aw it's so small and cute AHH IT SLICED ME IN HALF

Etho: Manta ray

Manta rays are iconic like Etho, smart like Etho, and scary like Etho

Scar: Seahorse

Limited mobility but super cool in other ways; they’re like the hummingbirds of the fish world, they can move in any direction they want with more energy expended. Scar does whatever he wants even though it’s harder for him

Joel: Whale shark

“I’m a shark! Aha! I’m big and scary!” “But you just sit there eating krill” “Shut up no one likes you anyway!”

Bdubs: Cleaner wrasse

Cleaner fish, Bdubs is usually a sidekick, also one of the main fish they clean are manta rays

Tango: Firefish

It looks just like him :D

Joe: Narwhal

He would totally be the only mammal. He would finagle a way to be the only mammal. And he would also want to be a unicorn.

Doc: Hammerhead shark

Bro is willing to look silly for maximum efficiency. Hammerheads have 360 degree vision. (Also they’re terrifying. Like Doc.)

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft 10 #geminitay #pearlescentmoon #grian #goodtimeswithscar #tangotek #bdubs #ethoslab #smallishbeans #joe hills #docm77 #I have a lot more #but I stuck to ten pictures #needed to impose a limit since I don’t know all the hermits

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alvivaarts · 2 months

Note

How does mer Leon go through labor and delivery?

Oooh! This idea got me thinking of a scene, which got me drawing for four straight days. (The page is divided, but warning for those who aren't a fan of viewing birth, blood, or 'eggs' - clear eggs? I'll get into it. They aren't actually eggs.) Anyway, full image below the break! Let's get into how it works first.

Anatomical charts/explanations and more below the cut!

Anatomically and reproductively, most species of mer fall into the first example- the male can deposit genetic material into the female, the eggs in the female are fertilized, though females have a very long/large clitoral structure that is perfectly positioned to get into the male's 'sheath'. This locks them together fairly well and is the reason that mers tend to produce very quickly and in large numbers (though infant/childhood survival rates are another discussion altogether).

Leon, Ada, and their other pod members fall into another category: Their reproductive anatomy is very unique in that the interlock is very initially hard to get. The female also has a structure that comes out of her sheath very similar to that of a female hyena- there is a hole along the shaft that allows her eggs to be deposited elsewhere. Again, much like seahorses, this species found it more beneficial to have females deposit the eggs into a pseudo-womb in the male, which is either self fertilized by the male, or fertilized by other males. This way, the females can get right back to producing eggs and gathering enough nutrients to feed the young when they're born- which helps, because their infancy survival rate is much lower and their prime living conditions are much more particular. It also works out well, considering the social structure of most mers is already extremely matriarchal- so the eggs would be safer in the parent/guardian that's remaining in the den/home territory area. However, under extreme circumstances, females can and will carry their own eggs. They also vary in that they carry for 3 months longer than other species (ranging from 9-10 months), with fewer pups upon birth, and there's practically no 'egg stage', eggs are broken immediately after birth if it's safe to do so.

Ada and Leon's (and Luis', though none of them knew that at the time) gestated for about 9.5 months. They were hanging out on the beach, though Leon had to stay in the shallows because it was far too much of a hassle for him to move on land. While he had experienced contractions in the months leading up to it, once the actual contractions hit, so did the new stress hormones, which tipped off Ada and Jill. They made their way down to deal with it. It should be noted that, at this time, Luis had been allowed to interact freely with the pod and was recognized as Leon and Ada's mate, however, being human, Jill wasn't thrilled on him being present for the birth or being directly in their den. (Also considering they were still being documented pretty thoroughly and it was pretty much a must for Luis to record what happened, at least for his fellow researchers). Leon had already insisted, however, so he was pretty quick to get geared up and come down. Normally births happen in a den, but the birth actually ended up happening outside the den. Though they did initially get there to hunker down in one of the bottom alcoves, the labor was taking about an hour and a half at that point, and Leon was getting restless. It actually ended up happening just outside their den while Luis kept his distance (for his own safety, considering Jill in particular was getting very territorial).

Of course Ada was present, though he was assisted by Jill (her being their matriarch and his defacto sister) and Sherry (considering she was already courting at the time and would likely have to assist her own mates in the future). Manuela and Ashley were a bit too icked and ended up cheering from the sidelines while their other pod members patrolled to keep any blood-scenting predators away from the area. Thankfully, they're already located in a very safe area, with lots of protection from the neighboring pod, so it went off without a hitch.

That didn't make it any less painful, though, and it's not like mers have access or the tools to use painkillers. The full labor was fairly quick and took about two hours, with a lot of yelling, swearing, wiggling and pushing. Ada helped a bit by pushing with her own hands, though she became pretty occupied as soon as the first pup was born. She was pretty quick to nurse all of them, though three total pups came out. Normally mers will 'wet nurse' for each other, but they weren't able to do it within their own pod, so they had to wait until Ada's cousin from the neighboring pod could come over (considering she'd recently had her own pups).

Lillie was born first, with a half hour gap between Lucia and Amaya... who were pretty obviously also Luis'. Which led to some shit for him on the surface, but hey, new babies!

Sorry for the extremely long post!

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yxami · 9 months

Note

For the yandere aquarium, imagine the cute and shy seahorse boys wrapping their tail around your tummy and dancing in slow circles in the tank for onlookers to see 😖💕💕

Grumpy shark boys playfully bumping reader to make them slightly afraid (it never works) only to blink confusedly as they’re tipped upside down (it doesn’t hurt shark boys like it does regular sharks)

CUTE LITTLE GUPPIES INSISTING ON PLAYING WITH YOU ON THE SPONGE BEDS 😭😭💕💕💕

Shy seahorse boys sounds like a such a cute idea omg. Imagine how much they curl around you, quietly trying to get your attention by pressing themselves against your side while looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

Grumpy shark boys would definitely pull another move that would include nibbling at you when you don’t pay attention to them, specifically at your arms and torso. They’d probably also sneak their heads under your hands so you’d have to pet them! How could you not?

Little guppies that love to swim around you, might as well cause a whirl pool by how many laps they do. They love to play 24/7 and make sure to bring all their toys for you to throw so they can chase it and bring it right back

#yandere #yandere aquarium #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #gn reader #soft yandere #yandere shark #yandere seahorse #seahorse yandere #yandere shark hybrid #yandere aquarium animals

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anatay004 · 1 year

Text

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ | ᴊᴀᴄᴀᴇʀʏꜱ ᴠᴇʟᴀʀʏᴏɴ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ 5)

Jacaerys hated you ever since you were kids, but after years of enigmatic feelings and constant fighting, he finally realizes he’s in love with you on your wedding day.

Warnings: Sexual references, smut, profanity & Targaryen incest.

ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴡᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ

ᴡᴇ ᴋɴᴇᴡ

"WHERE IS SHE?"

Jacaerys whispered the decibels in his voice notched down just enough for his mother to hear. She sucked in a breath, trying to keep the worry in her features disguised as she placed a reassuring hand on her son's shoulder.

"Let us give her a moment, Jace, I'm sure she's a little overwhelmed, that's all." His mother's words were meant to comfort him, but the fugitive tone in her voice made him tense.

She's not coming, he thought.

And it was almost funny because, a few hours earlier, he was certain things had elucidated between you and him. The vestiges of last night rested in the back of his head – his confession, your caring touch, and the blissful kiss that he had longed for what felt like eternities.

But something pestered his certainty.

He wasn't aware of the reason, the fever that torched his head disoriented his memories, but he knew something unpleasant had happened. Why else would you take a step back again?

"Perhaps, my niece decided to leave at last."

"Daemon – " Rhaenyra began, a berating tone in her words before the sound of parting doors interrupted her and the room grew silent.

Perhaps, it was the blatant surprise of you stepping into the room or the dazing image you radiated but, whatever the case was, everyone looked at you walk towards him.

He faltered the moment his gaze landed on you.

Subconsciously, his eyes leveled down to scrutinize the snowy fabric that embraced your shape, and – he swallowed hard. Perhaps, it was the sheets of fabric that slipped down your shoulders, the bitter seahorse pendant that rested against your skin, or the evident goosebumps that peppered your skin.

But he was spellbound.

"Blood of two, joined as one," The Septon began, the words loud and in High Valyrian, but they slipped out his mind almost immediately.

You weren't looking back at him.

And his worries were confirmed when your hands slipped into his own, hesitantly and with a nonchalant warmth that made him tense. He tried to search for your gaze, but the wisps of eyelashes that shadowed your face were the only thing that stumbled into his line of vision.

"Ghostly flame and song of shadows. Two hearts tethered to one future promise in glass."

"Why are you avoiding me?" Jacaerys suddenly whispered in High Valyrian, his words were barely audible, but he knew you'd caught them, the sudden shift in your shoulders confirmed it.

You didn't respond.

He took a deliberate step forward.

"Are you angry?"

You clenched your jaw.

"The vow spoken through time, of darkness and time, let the two dragons come together as one." The Septon finished, indicating the ceremony was on the brink of ending, meaning – you were his wife, now and forever.

You turned to him then, but you didn't deign to make a move towards him. Your brown irises blazed with challenge, daring him to make a sudden move before everyone in the room.

And he thought about it for a moment.

He really did.

But when he looked back at you, he allowed the hesitation to dissipate as he subconsciously closed the gap between you and him. The palm of his hand slide down to curve against your cheek before you could even react, he steadied his other hand around your waist and pulled you towards him in a swift movement. His lips pressed against yours warmly, but there was something that differ vastly from the kiss you shared the previous night – this one was deeper and miserable, and prolonged.

Apologetic.

"May the gods drape the cloth of eternity over your union."

You fell back a step, breaking the kiss as you tried to discreetly catch your breath. He held you still, suddenly remembering everyone was watching, he cleared his throat and slide his hands down your arms to rub your skin.

You tensed.

The clapping was eventually stifled, and when he turned to his mother, she smiled and nodded indicating the small celebration was ready. "Please, let us celebrate in the Great Hall, we'll be more than happy to have your company as we honor this marriage!"

"This farce, you mean." You mumbled in High Valyrian, and made to follow the crowd, but he latched his hand onto your wrist and pulled you back almost immediately.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just a silly thought I had." You spat, narrowing your eyes at him as you tried to lose his grip.

"What?" He questioned, blinking in utter confusion as he slide an arm around your waist to stop you from moving so much.

Your eyebrows knitted together, leaning back to examine his disoriented gestures carefully. "You don't remember, do you?"

He shook his head. "Please, remind me."

"Very well," You began, straightening your posture. "If I remember correctly, you mentioned it was almost silly to have a whore for a wife."

His face went pale.

There it was, what he had feared to hear.

"I didn't mean it, love – "

" – it really doesn't matter, anymore."

"You're my wife now, shit like this matters." Jacaerys pushed forward.

You tilted your head.

He narrows his eyes, and a hint of mischief flashed across your eyes so briefly that he almost missed it, but it had been there and he swallowed hard. You leaned closer to his face and pressed your breath against his skin hotly as you whispered, "Prove it."

__________________________

The celebration was warm and crowded, the perfect scene that Jacaerys hoped to imagine when the thought of marrying you anchored in his head. However, it wasn't alluring in the slightest, not when everyone was stealing and asking you for a dance before his eyes.

He tried to dismiss it.

When you asked him to prove himself, he knew it meant placing trust in you. He knew it meant to behave and act nonchalant when someone else slide an arm behind your waist and pulled you close – he knew it, but you made it hard.

So fucking hard.

He watched you in the limelight, the snow-white fabric of your dress and the waves of hair that cascaded down your back were luminous – impossible to miss. You were the light in the room, everyone could see it, dancing and mumbling something that made you itch a smile as another twirled you around.

He clenched his jaw.

"Here," Daemon's voice broke into his thoughts, as he offered him a cup of wine and took a seat next to him. "It'll help enlighten the mood."

Jacaerys swept the cup a look, it was filled to the brim with tempting alcohol that he knew would most likely cloud his reason. But he was on the brink of climbing to his feet and dragging you out the dance floor, so, he decided to dissipate the malicious thought with a cup of wine.

And then another.

And another.

Until he was laughing at something Daemon had mumbled and both were acting the fool. You didn't notice it at first, you were distracted by the music, until their voices raised up a few decibels and you finally turned around.

"Bring us another bottle of wine!"

"Fuck, I think I lost my dagger."

And then their laughter ricocheted off the walls.

"Excuse me," You whispered, a hint of embarrassment glossed over your features as you began to trace back your steps to the dinner table, where your family was sitting at.

But your muscles faltered the moment Baela made her way towards Jacaerys. She placed an almost caring arm around his shoulders as she leaned close to his face to whisper something to his ear, which he quickly shook his head too.

It was harmless, you knew.

But the blood rushed into your skin and tinged with scarlet your cheeks.

"Jace, you need to slow down." Baela pushed forward, sliding an arm around his waist when he suddenly stood up and fell back a step.

"Where's my wife?" He loudly questioned, dropping an arm around Baela's shoulders in support as he searched for you.

"This is embarrassing, Daemon." Rhaenyra breathed out, darting her husband a look that he dismissed as soon as it was thrown.

"I was lightening the mood." Daemon defended and Jacaerys' laugh quickly followed.

"What the hell happened?" You questioned, rushing to Jacaerys with evident confusion.

"My father got him drunk," Baela answered, helping him ease down onto the chair again.

"My love," Jacaerys happily called, pushing back on his chair when you stumbled into his line of vision. You quickly wrapped an arm around his waist when he abruptly stood up and Baela helped. "You look so beautiful tonight."

You blinked. "How much did he drink?"

"We lost count, I'm afraid." Rhaenyra answered as she rubbed her temples in distress.

Your eyebrows jumped.

"My love, I never meant to hurt you – "

" – We can talk about this later, Jace." You swiftly interjected, not wanting everyone in the room to hear about your relationship troubles.

"I'll call the guards to help him back to your chamber," Rhaenyra informed when she noticed your arms were growing weaker and Baela was falling back a step tiredly. "I think the celebration comes to an end now."

__________________________

"We will have many children, all with your white hair and beautiful brown eyes, I hope."

You tried to stifle the faint smile that itched your lips, but it was truly impossible. After the guards had maneuvered him inside the room and eased him down onto the bed, he began to mumble incoherences again that almost touched you.

And, after debating with yourself for a minute, you eventually decided to go along with it. Even if you were still mad at him, you supposed he kept his promise and did not accuse you of anything that night, despite you dancing with everyone in the room to rile him up on purpose.

He did try.

"What if they have your brown hair?" You questioned, taking a seat next to him on the bed.

Jace sighed in concern. "I wouldn't want that."

Your eyebrows knitted together. "Why is that?"

Jace shrugged, taking a strand of your hair in his fingers. "They'll be bastards in the eyes of the kingdom, just as my brother and I are."

Your gestures dropped. "That's not true."

He scuffed, pushing back some of the hair that draped over your shoulders to expose your neck. A shiver kissed down your spine as the pad of his finger brushed against your skin – warm and careful. "I'm not stupid, love, I know what I am."

You couldn't coherent an answer, so, you grew quiet as your features radiated faint sadness. You'd never thought about this, never would have the idea of your children's paternity being in question stumbled into your head.

But there he was, growing anxious as the shadow of his past adorned his dear future.

"You're a good man and our children will be lucky to have you as their father." The words slipped past your lips before you could even think twice and, for a moment, his lips curved in utter amusement – teasingly.

But he didn't answer with words, instead, he took your hand in his. He intertwined his fingers with yours, resting his flesh against the cool touch of your skin willingly as if it didn't matter. For a second, the silence that ensued in the room was comforting and you relished the moment until a silly question broke the peace.

"Do you love me?"

The words were low and quiet as if he was almost afraid of being too bold and pushing down your bottoms all at once. But you didn't answer at first, you held back your breath as he looked back at you searchingly, a hint of insobriety seeped into his irises as he waited....hopeful.

"Because I do," He suddenly confessed. "And I don't think you're a whore. Unlike, I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. You're kind and brave and strong. And I hate that I can't be the only one to notice it, sometimes that anger gets the best of me, but believe me, never in a million fucking years will I ever allow that title to fall under you again. I swear it."

You remained quiet.

I do love you, you thought.

But your head reeled when you tried to whisper it into the open air – you couldn't. Not because it wasn't true, but because it had lingered in your tongue for so long that it was almost troubling to mumble. "I'm not good with words."

"Then don't say anything." He pled.

You wanted to avoid the situation, you wanted to climb back to your feet and make your way out, but something anchored you. You couldn't let go of his hand and, as he waited for an answer, you subconsciously dropped your gaze to his lips.

Gods, you thought.

"It's okay if – " but the words never slipped out.

He was taken aback when he met your lips. It was fleeting and almost feather-like, but the moment you pulled away for an instant, he raked his fingers through your hair and tilted your head so he could deepen the kiss. Then it was a different kind of heat altogether; it was desperate and lusting and he shivered as your tongue swept past his lips almost subconsciously.

"I want you," he suddenly breathed out. His words were hoarse and in the back of his throat, as the fingers that threaded your hair yanked back your head to meet his eyes evenly. "To myself."

You swallowed.

The sudden hue that dimmed his eyes was unrecognizable, it was a shade of brown that tethered to night and mist and darkness. You couldn't exactly place it into words, but it rolled sheepishness over your flesh.

"You're drunk," You whispered carefully, but a mirth of laugh echoed in his throat as he pressed his lips against your jawline breathlessly.

"I haven't been drunk in years."

You leaned back to examine him. He was suddenly looking back at you with a clearheaded facade that made you shake your head in amusement. "You fucking liar."

Shamelessly, he only looked down at your flustered lips. "Question me."

You paused.

Oh, you thought.

You tried to quench down the heat that tinged with scarlet your cheeks when you realized he was serious, but it was almost futile to hide. His fingers began to travel up the skin of your thighs slowly, slithering between your legs as you held back your breath in evident surprise.

"Question me." He repeated.

"How bad do you want me?" You sucked in, when his fingers stilled just below your drawers, toying with the damped fabric of your undergarment – relishing the sudden response from your body as he met your eyes.

"How fucking bad do you think?" He whispered as his eyes roamed over your face and, although you were not naked, you felt like it under his gaze. "I didn't threaten Jason Lannister for nothing. Nor did I beg your father to make me your husband for a stupid peace I desire not. I could give two fucks about the Queen and her children, but I wanted you so bad."

He threatened a Lannister.

He toyed with your father's reason.

He wasn't drunk.

You tried to open your mouth, but his long fingers entered you before a word could escape. Instead, a strangled moan was your response and he pushed into you until your back was pressing against the mattress and your legs were shaking softly beneath his touch.

"And you wanted me, did you not?" He groaned and captured your lips in a brusque manner that forced a breath to escape your mouth. He tasted like alcohol and soft delight, like secrets and thinly-veiled passions that made him so unfamiliar to you. His kiss was bruising and commanding as his fingers slide out your cunt and began to undress you. "When you relished the jealousy in my face and the anger in my bones, did you not?"

You didn't answer.

He was almost intimidating as he tore the last piece of your gown from your body and the cold seeped into your skin almost immediately. He stopped then, only for a second, as he looked down to examine your naked flesh.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He mumbled, tracing the curve of your hips with his fingers and slowly traveling up to touch the round edge of your breast – placing a kiss on the swell. "Were you not jealous when Baela touched me?"

Your jaw clenched. "You did that on purpose."

His lips trailed up your neck, sucking your skin with teeth and strength until he stopped just below your ear. "Admit it."

"Or what?" You swallowed, subconsciously licking the dry skin on your lips as he pensively faltered on his spot.

"She was to be my wife, did you know?"

"Fuck you."

He bit back a chuckle, finally sliding out his clothes to press his member hard against your bare skin. "Think about it, all the things I could have done if you hadn't been in the picture."

Your skin was searing with anger.

He wanted to riled up your head.

Somehow, the anger that settled on your angelic features turned him on like no other.

"I would've never allowed that," You admitted, wrapping your fingers loosely around his neck, prompting up on one arm to close the distance between your faces. "I would've pestered your thoughts with lust and slithered into your bed before she could have the chance to."

He sucked in a breath. "And I would've fallen, every fucking time I would've picked you."

"Fuck me then."

That's all it took for him to come inside you. It was painful, of course, you'd never been penetrated despite the malicious rumors that spread around Westeros. A moan collected in the back of your throat immediately as he thrust in and out of you with fervor, eyes moving along each movement – at the white cum that gathered around him from you.

"If I didn't know better, I would have said you look like – " he paused, letting out a deep groan as you clenched around him. You knew what he wanted to say, you knew what he fantasized about and what made him weak at the knees.

So, you whispered.

" – say it."

He hesitated.

"Say it." You repeated.

"A fucking whore."

The words made your skin shiver as his thrusts became faster and, after what felt like hours, he eventually approached his own orgasm, and the searing cum soon fest your cervix with loud moans and breathless bodies. He almost collapsed on top of you when you both finished, but he composed for a second to watch you catch your breath as he removed himself from you.

"Do you love me?" He whispered again, brushing the damp strands of hair from your face. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips were nibbled and your skin was drenched in sweat and fluids, but he looked down at you with pure adoration – as if you were the most beautiful thing.

And this time, you answered. "Of course, I do."

#house of the dragon #daemon targeryan #fanfic #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #aemond targaryen

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