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chososdiscordkitten · 3 months

Text

artist- Yunonoaii on twt

MDNI

Content: CONSENSUAL SOMNOPHILIA. no y/n used or pronouns, satoru is the one sleeping, established relationship, porn without plot, free use, reader has doubts abt somno, oral (m!receiving), satoru is too pretty for his own good, penetrative sex- no detailed desc of readers parts (?), he wakes up, only 1 round before sleep again, no aftercare (?), riding n brief missionary Word count: 2.7k

(a.n)I couldn't get this specific art out of my head while writing this. help me, yuana for president

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Batting your eyes open and feeling the light of the moon illuminate your skin. Pursing your lips and looking over to your sleeping boyfriend. Scanning his face, long white eyelashes that gracefully covered his eyes.

Plump lips parted effortlessly, a strong jawline that made his otherwise soft features pop even more. Looking at his perfectly pointed nose, eyes trailing to the slightly damp lily white hair that delicately rested on his forehead.

The moon lit up the side of his face at just the right angle so that you could see light dandelion like peach fuzz that graced his pale skin.

‘Flawless.’ you thought before sitting up, dangling one of your legs off of the bed and trailing your eyes down to his neck. His bobbing adam's apple when he swallowed lightly, refined collarbones that your hands ached to trace.

Trailing down his bare impressive torso that you knew he took his time crafting. You nodded your head ‘no’ slightly, almost disapproving of how he pretty he looked; even if he was sleeping. Milky long fingers delicately planted on his tummy, eyes going from his perfectly manicured fingernails, to his gaunt knuckles.

Scanning his light happy trail with endearing eyes.

Tracing your gaze down his sides. Pale velvety thighs that you were envious of at times. Eyes trailing back up to the softened appendage between his plush thighs.

Inhaling sharply as you felt the familiar warmth flood in your belly. Looking away, suddenly remembering the reason you stirred awake. Gently stepping off of the bed and quietly stepping out of the bedroom.

Cold tile hitting the bottoms of your feet, stepping as softly as you could. Not caring that you were nude walking in the dark of his apartment hallway before reaching his kitchen. Humming quietly as you poured from the brita water pitcher he had in his fridge.

Looking from the kitchen island out to the striking skyline from the floor to ceiling windows. Thinking back on all the times he had tried to convince you to fulfill one of his greatest fantasies.

“I'm just saying- if you were to ever wake me up by riding me? I would be over the moon~” he teased, resting his chin on your shoulder as you cooked breakfast.

“That's so strange- too weird. Even for you, Satoru.” You replied, shaking him off of you as you heard him give you an over dramatic sigh.

“Think about how hot it would be- if you ever told me you wanted that I wouldn't hesitate to do it.” he hummed, pressing his back onto the edge of the island.

You turned around to look at him, “I will-” you smiled sweetly, his expression showing over excitement at those two little words. “-never ask you to do that to me.” You finished, patting his chest with your hand.

Turning around, spatula in hand as he walked over to the living room couches. “And don't pout!” you exclaimed, knowing he already was sulking in the couches.

Even on his birthday, staring at the lit candles on the small cake you had gotten him. “Make a wish~” you hummed, seeing him close his eyes and think about what he wanted,.

“I wish to wake up with my cock in your mouth.” he whispered, blowing out the candles and looking at you with a thrilled smile.

“It won't come true-” you purse your lips looking at him with a deadpan face. Seeing him irk his chin almost asking what you mean. “You said it outloud- so it won't come true.” You teased, plucking off the candles from his over frosted birthday cake.

Three times he asked you to do it, knowing he wouldn't stop asking till you gave him some kind of hope that you'd fulfill his wishes.

And on the third time, you told him you'd think about it. And you did. You spent a good 30 minutes that night thinking on it. Wondering why he found it so appealing to be touched as he slept.

Remembering he said something about how arousing it would be knowing you couldn't wait till he woke up to play.

It was true, you had an adventurous sex life with Satoru, trying anything at least once to know if either of you liked it or not. But this felt off, you didn't know if it was because the only kind of somno you had been exposed to was always some kind of creepy weird fetish that always looked nonconsensual.

But you were sure that you'd never be interested in receiving it.

To Satoru, he found it appealing thinking if the day ever came; he'd wake up to you doing whatever you wanted to him, knowing he wasn't awake to protest or to tease you.

So riled up and caught up in the moment that you didn't even bother waking him, using him for your own pleasures.

He liked thinking that you found him so attractive that even if he was sleeping- you’d want to fuck him. In his own mind, he was yours, physically, mentally, emotionally, everything he had- he would give you. Yours to use whenever you'd like, rough, gentle, bottom or top.

At times he'd pretend to complain. “I act on your every whim and I can't even put in one request!?” he’d exclaimed with pouty eyes, knowing you were looking at him with a stern face.

“I do almost everything you ask of me, Satoru.” you smiled, being able to hear his feigned frustration in his dramatic sighs.

“It's like- a version of free use-” he'd tell you, knowing how riled up he got even thinking about how you could use him whenever you'd like, and he’d let you. Satoru had spoken about free use with you, it was one of the established things both of you had put the green light on.

This whole ‘biggest fantasy’ of his wasn't a red light to you, it was more of a yellow light. Unsure how to tread through it, or how to go about it really.

Which is why you found this so conflicting, standing at the doorway of his bedroom. Staring at his sculpture like body, chest rising and falling as he slept peacefully.

Mentally arguing with yourself, morally it would be wrong. But didn't he say he wanted this? All but begging on his hands and knees? And how could you resist when he was sleeping so beautifully?

Taking quiet steps towards him, standing next to the edge of the bed on his side. Gulping when you saw the light veins on his lower abdomen.

Sitting on the small edge beside him, leaning over and pressing a light kiss on his cheek. Whispering in his ear, “Satoru.” you called out, in hopes he'd wake up. You took your hand and brushed the light strands of hair from his forehead. Catching a glimpse of one of the few imperfections on his skin, one of his least favorite ones.

Planting a gentle kiss to the scar on his forehead, seeing his eyebrows slightly furrow feeling you.

“Satoru.” you whispered once more, hearing him let out a low hum. Placing a soft kiss to his parted lips, hearing him let out a small huff. Trailing kisses on his features, seeing his eyes tighten when you placed an open mouth kiss on his adams apple.

Reaching his plentiful pecs, placing a wet kiss to the swell of one of them. Looking up and scanning his face to make sure he didn't look unsettled before sticking your tongue out slightly and circling it to his softened nipple.

Hearing him let out a quiet huff at the sudden feeling, knowing how sensitive he was awake. Fully expecting him to be even more reactive while sleeping.

Feeling the pink bud harden in your mouth as you heard more frustrated puffs and light whines from his plush lips. Taking your other hand and pressing your thumb to his other nipple, gently rubbing it against the pad of your thumb.

Throaty moans leaving his lips, looking down and seeing his soft cock slightly jump when you flicked your tongue against him. Pulling your lips and hand from his chest as you sat up, scanning his face to see if there were any signs of him being awake. “Toru-” you whispered, seeing his eyebrows furrow at the lack of stimulation to his chest.

You slightly shifted down the bed, hands grazing his fair thighs. Eye to eye with his flaccid cock, hearing him let out a dissatisfied whine when you let out a sigh that hit his tip directly. You parted your lips slightly, leaning in with eyes looking up his torso. Being able to smell the floral body wash he had used before going to bed.

Taking an experimental lick at his pale shaft, scanning his expression for any discomfort. Finding none before licking a long stripe from his tip to his base. Seeing his upper torso shift slightly with a light blush appearing on his cheeks. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth when you saw his cock twitch.

Placing an opened mouth kiss on his light pink tip, hearing a light gasp fall from his lips. Gentle hand on his thigh for balance as you blinked. Wrapping your lips around his tip, seeing his closed eyes scrunch at the feeling with a quiet moan.

Already being able to feel his cock hardening, slowly pushing past his tip. Small whines from Satoru as his tip brushed against the roof of your mouth. Dragging his stiffening member back out of your mouth, wrapping your lips around his tip as swirling your tongue at the small opening of his cock. Taking your free hand and grazing the tips of your fingers against his balls. Seeing him purse his lips slightly at the new feeling.

Rosy cheeks deepened as he squirmed, sliding your lips tightly off his tip. Blinking your eyes to his half hard cock, placing wet opened mouth kisses down his shaft. A small tear fell from his tip as he shuddered, kissing back up to his tip. Gasping lightly when you saw he was fully hard, “Oh ‘Toru~” you cooed, admiring his expression.

Pinching your eyebrows together, seeing his back slightly arching. The warmth between your thighs felt too evident right now, slowly shifting from the bottom of the bed onto your knees.

Lifting one leg and tossing it to the other side of him. Looking down at his heaving chest, eyebrows pinched as your hands grazed his ribs. His cock stood at attention, slightly pressing against your tummy. Satoru turned his face- almost feeling your gaze on his skin.

His lower body shifting beneath you, you took one hand to his cock; raising yourself higher before lining him up with your entrance. Eyes scanning his tense face. Seeing how pretty he looked this way, furrowed eyebrows and pink cheeks.

Light film of sweat on his forehead and pouty lips. Frustrated hands not knowing what to do- what to grab onto, one trying to grasp the sheets. The other on his chest trying to soothe the itch he felt in that moment, hand inches away from your own.

You pressed his tip to your sopping entrance, gasping as you took a snail's pace lowering yourself onto him. Not needing any prep, recalling the way he slammed into you mercilessly earlier. Showing you just how much he had missed you when he was away.

One of the reasons why you were fulfilling his wish, to show him just how you had missed him too. Satoru’s face churned as you lowered yourself onto him slowly. Hand planted on his sternum firmly, Satoru’s yearning hand grazing your fingers. Seeing him part his lips with a low whine, his head pushing itself back into the pillows as you felt his tip brush past that special spot he liked to exploit.

You let out a frustrated whine, eyes blinking over to see his other hand is gripping the sheets firmly. You exhaled breathlessly, thighs already shaking from how slow you were going.

His cock now fully inside of you, a gasp left your lips. Biting into your lip trying to quiet your own moans, heavy breathing coming from Satoru as shameless whines fell from him. Dragging his cock slowly out of you, closing your eyes as you felt him twitch inside of you.

Taking your hand and pressing the back of it to your lips as you slid down him, the hand that was atop yours now lightly gripping your wrist. Trying his very best to soothe the ache he felt between his legs.

Pulling yourself up as a smile formed on your lips, sinking yourself down quicker. A loud whine falling from your lips without permission. Snapping your head down to see if Satoru had heard it as loud as you did. Slack jawed with a bead of sweat falling from his temple.

“Mm- fuck.” you gasped, feeling how deep his cock was nuzzled inside of you. Closing your eyes and tipping your head back as you fucked yourself, feeling the hand that was clutched on the sheets reach up to your thigh.

Hearing a small mutter as you ground yourself on him, thumb caressing your thigh as his eyes blinked open. You were so focused on staying quiet and not fucking yourself at the speed you wanted to not wake him.

Frustrated exhale from his lips when the image of you lightly bouncing on him graced his half open eyes, focusing on your own pleasure before his. Sweet smile formed on his lips when he heard the stifled moans falling from you.

With a sharp inhale, you looked down, feeling his cock somehow go deeper inside of you. Seeing he was looking up at you with hazy eyes. “M’sorry-” you gasped, feeling his hand on your thigh roam up to your hip. Slowly grinding yourself back and forth as you let out noisier whines.

A string of quiet apologies leaving your lips for waking him up. Only small gasps were heard from him as he tried to shake off the hazy feeling.

Satoru’s hand was trying its best to guide you to grind quicker, feeling your hips stutter against him. His grip strengthening on your side, closing his eyes and throwing his head back onto the pillow.

Now panting as you ground yourself quicker against him, “S-so pretty ‘Toru-” you gasped. Leaning down and pressing an opened mouth kiss to his neck, a whimper falling from his lips from your praise. Holding the side of his neck as you felt him guide you at the speed he wanted.

Both of his hands now on your hips, trying their best to get you to move quicker. Feeling himself unravel slowly by your touches. The more Satoru shook off the foggy feeling, the closer he felt himself come to the realization of what you were doing.

Unashamed whimpers directly in your ear as he mumbled a quiet, ‘M’cumming-’. Chest to chest as you pulled away from his neck, looking directly into his half lidded eyes. Looking at you slack jawed and blushed before you pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips.

He didn't feel he was deep enough inside of you, the need to be nestled fully inside of you was strong. A loud groan left into your mouth as Satoru gathered all the strength he could. With one swift motion, your back hit the sheets.

Eye to eye as he thrusted into you sloppily, gasping when you felt how deep he was thrusting into you. Pulling his lips from you and pressing his forehead to yours. For the first time, Satoru was silent, apart from his quiet whimpers; usually being all too talkative during sex. Now he found himself wordless, be it the fog in his brain or how you hugged his cock.

Gripping the sides of his neck as he thrusted out of you, inhaling sharply before thrusting into you once more. Making sure to get as deep as he could, pulling out quickly before snapping his hips back into you. Muffled whines from your lips as he let out a shivering groan, clenching his teeth together as he felt himself come undone. His warmth seeping inside of you as his arms struggled to keep himself propped up.

Placing a sloppy kiss to his open lips as he collapsed on top of you. Satoru’s head resting beside your neck as your hands found their way to his back. Holding him closer to your skin, Satoru’s eyes blinking shut slowly.

“Thank you-” he muttered against your skin, his back rising and falling slowed as he came down from his high. Hands rubbing small circles on his back to soothe the shivers that rumbled through him as he fell back to sleep.

I couldn't stop thinking about this. FINALLY I write something under 3k words. kk now im goin to work.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo #jjk satoru #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #satoru #satorugojo #gojo x chubby reader

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imwetforyourmom · 2 months

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HEAR ME OUT!

nicks has a girl best friend and they are super affectionate with each other (hugs, "cuddling" on the couch, etc.) and later on her and chris start dating and thats how chris knows she loves affection and is super lovey dovey. nick comments about chris stealing his girl and funny things like that. something super fluffy and cute. please and thanks <3

xoxo

thank you sm for requests love <33

if you want me to rewrite it, just lmk bae!!

affection.

warnings: none

to my bff: @leah-loves-lilies

y/n snuggled into nick, pushing her head into his side and wrapping her legs around one of his, she wrapped her arms around his torso. nick chuckles as he wraps his arms around the girl currently cuddling into him.

he slides down the couch some to get a better hold on her and to get a bit more comfy from his previous sitting position.

y/n hummed in content and mumbled the the lyrics of an audio playing on nicks phone as she watched.

chris looked at them, from the kitchen he stared at how y/n cuddled into nick like a sloth, looking awfully comfortable just hugging his brother and mumbling words.

* • •

y/n hugged nick, maneuvering her arms under his and situating herself so she was somewhat standing between his legs but also infront of him as she hugged him.

pressing her cheek into him he put his hand on her back and rubbed, before going back to buttering his toast as they stood in the kitchen, simply hugging and enjoying one anothers presence, even if they weren’t talking as long as one was touching the other, even if in a small way like hand holding, leg brushing even the smallest touch made them happy.

nick rested his chin ontop of y/ns head, humming lyrics to himself, before patting y/ns back and mumbling “I have to move, y/n.”

y/n groaned but unlatched herself from him and moved to the counter behind them, leaning into it slightly, watching her bestfriend prepare a meal for himself.

chris was sat in a chair by the dinner table, watching the whole interaction go down.

his bottom lip fed inbetween his teeth, thinking about how y/n was so touchy with nick all the time and how she was almost never seen not touching nick.

it was very clear physical touch was her love language, but what would it take for her to touch him as much as she did nick.

hell, for all he knew she might’ve just liked touching nick and no one else, shes never held or cuddled into chris as often as she did with her bestfriend, nick, I mean, they were all bestfriends just y/n tended to touch nick more than the other two boys.

surely she hugged and occasionally cuddled matt or chris, but as chris let his thoughts wonder, he couldnt help but think about how much he fucking adored her, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, how gentle she was, the way her hands gently grazed alongst someones (nicks) skin when they werent cuddling of some sort. she just always had to be touching someone, more nick than anyone else.

sometimes he likes to think its because nick accepts the affection every single time, and so shes learned that she can always go to him. and since that shes never tested the waters with chris — chris loved, loved physical touch. he liked touching people in ways to remind them he loved them, in a sense when he touched people it was some sort of comfort overtaking his senses knowing that they knew he loved them.

as chris’ thoughts wondered on and on, he couldnt help but ask “hey y/n, you always touch nick and tell him you love him so very often, but you almost never touch matt and i, why is that?”

y/n turned to look at chris, her lips twitching as she thought of what to say. “dunno, just like touching him. I guess ive never thought about touching- ew, I hate saying it like that. makes it sound weird, all like ‘im gonna touch you’” she giggled, before collecting herself from her soon to be rant. “ive just never thought about cuddling you and matt, ya know? never crossed my mind.”

chris hummed in response, letting his mind wander with what she had just said.

maybe he should start initiating affection aswell?

* • •

it was no doubt that chris had a crush on y/n, and y/n always noticed the stolen glances, the looks on her lips being far too long for friendly, the way his cheeks heated up when he saw or came into the same room as her.

y/n also liked him, she just hadnt noticed how much she made it obvious, but neither did chris so maybe they had it in common?

* • •

over the course of the few days chris and y/n became increasingly closer and closer, but their friendship ended one night, and something else bloomed.

chris mumbled something into the side of y/ns head, his words too muffled for y/n to understand.

she moved her head off his shoulder, loosening her arms from around his body.

“what?” she asked quietly, trying not to disturb the calm and quiet atmosphere they were currently in.

the soft sounds from the tv playing in the background, the lights off but red leds lighting the room.

“I said,” he took in a breath before continuing, “can I be your boyfriend please?” his voice suddenly got quiet, his eyes darting over y/ns face, looking for signs if she was confused, disgusted, concerned or any of the sort, but none present, only a growing grin on her face.

she fully removed herself off his body as joy was slowly but surely overtaking her emotions.

“yes! yes! yes!” she spoke, her hands coming to the sides of his face to pepper kisses all over it, not just his lips but everywhere else aswell.

chris’ stomach swelled with butterflies as he felt her soft kisses all over his face, the feeling of her soft lips on his skin and the words of approval making him grin aswell.

she pressed one last kiss on the tip of his nose before mumbling sweet nothings while moving back to his arms.

• • •

y/n stared at the two boys, nick and chris, currently sitting on the couch on their phones.

she debated on who she should sit and cuddle with, I already cuddled nick this morning. she thought to herself before finally taking in a breath and moving to crawl onto chris.

chris was laying on his back, leaving little space between him and the couch cushions, y/n absolutely loved sitting/laying in the small spots of the couches, because she knew she had better access to the person she was currently sitting with.

she crawled into the little space, moving onto her side and wrapping one arm under and around chris while her legs tangled in his and her head laid on his chest.

she moved slightly so now her belly was slightly ontop of chris’ hip. finding this position comfier she sighed and closed her eyes.

nick sat up, his phone at his side as he stared at the two. his mouth dropping and eyes widening.

“damn bro, you really stole my girl.” nick scoffed, looking at chris, watching as his arm came around to y/ns back, rubbing it, giving y/n all the more comfort.

“shut up, you had her all morninggg” chris groaned, dragging out the ‘g’ for dramatics.

“yeah, well, shes been my girl for months, shes only been yours for a week now.” nick crossed his arms, adding onto the fake/play arguing.

“shhh, im trying to sleep.” y/n mumbled, hushing them, before nuzzling her face further into chris side.

chris looked at nick and gave him a teasing look.

chris was so, so grateful nick was always so accepting of y/ns touches and her words consisting of endless compliments, “I love you”’s, and overall unintentionally showing chris just how much y/n loved showing her love to others.

1303 words.

tags

@luverboychris @luvsturns @meg-sturniolo @junnniiieee07

#sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets fluff #mollys requests

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mggsv · 5 months

Text

GOOD FOR ONE THING༉

f!reader x ryomen sukuna (18+) | not proof read | reblog if you like <3

summary : Sukuna gets tired of this “dumbass jar” you made.

warnings : bimbo!reader, plug/gangster!sukuna, sukuna calls reader a dumbass, degrading, hair pulling, rough sex, smoking during sex, second hand smoke, spanking, mild choking

If you had a penny for everytime Sukuna called you a dumbass, you’d have a lot of little pennies…and you do have a lot of little pennies.

“Kuna…you have to put a penny in the jar.” You followed behind him with a small frown, holding the half filled jar of copper. He grunts and shakes his head. “M’out of pennies mama.” The he puffed the smoke around the blunt in his mouth, digging in his pockets. “Nothing.”

“Well- that’s too bad. I need a penny.” You shake the jar to let him know you meant business. You were very serious when it came to a lot of things, like your relationship, like this jar. Sukuna curses and puts the blunt out as soon as you followed him into the kitchen. “I’m not putting a fucking penny that I don’t have in that shitty fucking jar. I said no damnit.” You huff, setting the jar down on the counter, watching him grab the chinese food you had grabbed just an hour before. “As long as you do put a penny in the jar.” You grumble. He glances at you, squinting. “I won’t, now what huh?”

“You have to!” you frown, “you promised me you would everytime you called me a dumbass.”

“Then stop being a dumbass and I wouldn’t have to put a fucking penny in the jar-“ “Thats two pennies now Kuna-“

“give me the damn jar.” He starts for you, making you flinch before you’re darting out of the kitchen- snatching up the jar. “No!” He’s on you in an instant, you barely made it down the hallway before he snatched you up.

“M’this fucking jar.” Sukuna holds it up from you. “I’m gonna put it away, find a fucking penny for it, and you’re gonna be satisfied you hear?” You nod, watching him look down at you before pecking your forehead. “Stressin’ me out and shit.” He mutters, walking past you. “I want you on your knees when I get back.” You knew where he was headed. His closet of “work” he called it. You knew the work Sukuna did and stayed out of it. He placed the jar next to one of many jars of weed he had, reaching over to put two pennies into the jar. He grabbed one of his many jars, huffing as he rolled up a blunt. His thoughts darted back to you, licking over the blunt before he lit it, cock twitching.

When he came back you were just like he wanted, on your knees..looking sad. “Tsk tsk, if you’re gonna be that way i’m not sticking my dick in your mouth.” Sukuna’s fingers graze over your lips, picking your chin up. His thumb taps your bottom lip, and on command you open to let it slip in. “You don’t give a shit about that jar. You just wanna get me riled up..fucking slut.” The word going straight down to your clit. He let out a puff of smoke, making you moan softly.

His mouth parts as you swirl your tongue around the thumb fucking your mouth. “That’s it..coat it real fucking good.” You moan around Sukuna’s thumb. He smirks, pushing it deeper into your mouth. “You need to learn to shut up sometimes huh?”

Nodding quickly you suck the way he’d want you to- like he taught you to. “You done being stupid? Want me to fuck your brains out or what?” You whimper, your thighs closing to stimulate that throbbing between your legs. “Gonna be a good slut for me mama?” you hum in reply, his thumb popping out of your mouth with a wet pop!

Now, if you had a penny for everytime Sukuna fucked you into tomorrow..you’d have many, many jars filled.

“a-ha…ah fuck-“ you whimpered into the couch cushion. You couldn’t breathe. Sukuna’s large hand held nearly your head, the grip on your hair insufferable. He held your face down into the cream colored cushion, his cock slowly pushing its way through your dripping cunt. Your perfect..perfect little pussy. “can’t..breathe K-Kuna..” you whine, trying to push back onto him, but he held your hips in plac.

“Don’t pass out on me mama.” Sukuna grunts, his thumb rubbing small circles into your skin. He cooed softly, cock slipping past that tight ring. You felt your eyes water, gasping when he pulls you up by your hair. You take a deep breathe before your face is back into the warmth of the couch. Your cunt squeezes around his cock, inch by inch disappearing until he’s fully sheathed inside of you..He lets out a shuddering moan as he bottoms out, head tipping back at just the feel of you. “That’s the stuff…” You choke on a small cry, cunt adjusting to him once more. He lets go of your hair, taking the blunt out of his mouth. “Talk to me mama..let me know if i can keep going hm?” He held the position, you shakily lifted your head, nodding, “Yes..yes please.”

“Gonna be good from now on?” His hand comes down on your ass. The smack sending a shock throughout your body. Your pussy squeezed around the thick length. You felt on fire. “Not gonna be a dumb whore?” Smack! “y..yes-“ you groan, eyes clamping shut while he rubbed up against that spot inside of you. Smack! “nnmm…” you were a sensitive little thing. Perfect for Sukuna, who loved every little bit of you.

“Promise you’re gonna be good for me from now on.” The first thrust knocked the rest of air out of you. Trembling lightly as he used his thumb to part your cheek, watching his slick coated cock slip back into your wet cunt. “P-promise…i’ll be good i promise ‘Kuna.” You squirm in his grasp, the hold on your hips becoming unbearable. Sukuna pounded into you. You did your best to work with him, you liked that..fucking yourself on his cock while he smacked your ass. The smoke going straight to your head. Lost in your pleasure, you felt your stomach cool before warming. Knowing that he budged your belly, threatening to fill you over and over again.

The sex raw. Sukuna didn’t like condoms, he liked to feel every inch of you. He wanted you pussy- his pussy filled until it spilled over. You reach back to slap at his hand, the pace becoming too much. Your eyes rolled, his balls slapping at your throbbing sex. You felt the hotness of your cunt gushing running down your legs, slick catching the pink hairs resting at Sukuna’s base. “Take it.” He watches you with a shitty smile. “..i can’t..i can’t hold it.” You reach down to rub your clit. “can’t..oh i can’t.” hips jerking at the sensitivity. Your body leans up, Sukuna’s hand coming down to wrap around your throat. He squeezes lightly, taking the blunt and putting it in your mouth, blowing smoke over your face. “You cum and i’m getting you pregnant,” he bites your ear with a small chuckle, “dumbass.”

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utahimeow · 7 months

Text

cw — nsfw content. minors dni. boxer!wriothesley, established relationship, handjob, slight size kink

warm water wraps around you as though a blanket, envelops you as though a coccoon. steam crawls softly into the air, wispy as it winds its way into your lungs and tucks away every last thought in your brain.

the scent of cherry blossom settles into every corner of the bathroom and mingles with the soft vanilla of the candles you lit. tealights glow like little fireflies all around the tub. with your eyes closed, you’re floating along a river in an enchanted forest, until a door clicks and you’re back in your quaint city apartment.

not that that’s a bad thing—after all, the noise signifies the return of your lover.

there’s about a minute of shuffling outside and the heavy thud of his duffle bag hitting the floor. then, the door handle dips slowly and wriothesley slinks into the haven you’ve made of your bathroom.

he crosses the room in one stride, but before you have the chance to open your eyes to examine his face like he knows you will, he cups your entire face in one huge hand and draws you in until his mouth is on yours.

his lips are hot, the bottom one slightly swollen and bumpy in a way that you know in an instant it’s been bruised.

it comes with the job is what he always tells you. you think he’s trying to convince himself more than you. he’s broken your heart a thousand times, coming home with cut cheekbones and blood streaming from his nostrils at least once a week, and still it never gets easier for you to see.

if it were up to you, you would lock him up inside your ribcage and keep him safe, stowed away from the relentless world.

he’s stopped letting you come to his fights. he did a while ago—his version of ‘protecting’ you. he figured it was worth giving up sharing the triumph of his victories with you if it meant you didn’t have to witness the violence he was paid to do, to have done to him. it also meant you were left to stay at home and bask in a pool of your own dread until he came through the front door again.

i fight for you, my dear is what he always tells you. he doesn’t listen when you tell him that you wish he didn’t have to.

wriothesley starts to climb into the spot behind you, but you shake your head no.

“sit in front,” you say, soft.

wordlessly, he obeys.

you continue, “did you win?”

“‘course i did,” he says, like he’s telling you the weather. “it was a rookie though. almost beat my ass. he could be trouble in a couple years.”

you hum. the water sloshes as he settles in the nook created by your thighs, his broad, hulking back facing you.

wriothesley is a mountain. he stands at six foot five, his muscles hard and thick and honed to perfection. he is the personification of raw power, and yet when your thumbs rub tight circles into his shoulder blades, he melts like wax.

your gentle fingers work away the stubborn knots beneath his skin. his breathing bounces off the bathroom tiles, deep and heavy yet full of relief, as your touch helps him slip further and further from the weapon that he becomes in the ring.

the tips of your fingers trace along his spine, sliding over each vertebra. they ghost over his shoulders, gliding forward until they run along his collarbones.

with your arms hooked around his neck, wriothesley allows you to pull him backwards lightly until his back is flush to your bare front, and you hold him. there is nowhere you want to be more than here, with your flesh moulded with his.

you reach for his wrist, lifting his hand out of the water, rubbing your thumbs over his bruised, bloodied knuckles. after you’ve cleansed them, you bring them to your lips and you kiss them one by one. then you reach for his other hand, wipe away his sins, and forgive them with your lips.

moments like this remind you of what wriothesley was like when you first met him. a stray dog in human form— he cowered from your touch, bared his teeth and growled and snapped at you. he had no trust left in him, therefore all he knew how to do was fight.

like all stray dogs, however, he started to let you in, slowly. he started to come to you. he knew he could come to you. quickly he figured out that your lap was his favourite spot.

now, he lays between your thighs, while your lips press wet kisses at the top of his spine, and along his shoulder blade, and in a trail up his neck. he lets you kiss and suck and bite and devour him all you want, mark him up, make him yours. there is nowhere he wants to be more than here, melting into you.

a deep moan, almost inaudible, rumbles in his chest as he breathes out, a sound that makes you throb between your legs and your lips twist into a grin.

you lean in close to his ear, let your warm breath ghost over the skin of his neck. “can i touch your cock?” you ask in a whisper.

“please,” he grumbles, but it’s far from desperate. wriothesley does not beg—his plea is to encourage you.

one of your hands trails down his rigid body until you find his cock, half-hard at the bottom of a dark trail of hair, and your fingers curl around him, but he’s so thick that your fingertips don’t even touch. you thumb at his slit, drawing small circles around his blushing tip, the way you know makes him utterly weak.

the moment you start to move, gliding your hand slowly up and down his cock, wriothesley’s head falls back against your shoulder, his body slumping as he surrenders himself to your touch. he sighs out, like he’s trying to expel the stress that’s within him, relishing in the way you work him.

biting your lip, you start to pick up your pace, jerking him off with a tad more vigour. you tighten your fist around the head of his cock, feeling the muscles of his back stiffen against your chest as you do.

it’s uncharacteristic how pliant he becomes sometimes, so putty in your hands in a way that makes you wonder if this is the same man who can put his opponents in a coma. he batters and beats them bloody, just to come home and fall apart in your arms.

“am i making you feel good?” you murmur into his skin, tugging at his cock steadily.

“fuck yes,” he replies, a low growl. “always do, baby.”

wriothesley’s gravelly voice travels straight to your core, spurring you on, so you flick your wrist just a little faster, again. you squeeze him a little tighter before loosening your grip, going back and forth in a way that makes the man’s head spin.

you’re peppering his neck and shoulder with kisses, lips fluttering over his skin tenderly in hopes of drawing him nearer to his edge. blood rushes to his face, his cheeks and nose burning hot pink, his lips parting slightly as he pants. the one downside to having him like this—you can’t see his pretty face.

he can’t help how his hips buck slightly up into your hand, following the swift strokes of your wrist. you go faster, filled with the urge to help him finish, determined to help him find euphoria.

he’s achingly hard in your hand now, throbbing against your fingertips.

“‘m fuckin’ close,” he mumbles, breathy and low, lifting his head off your shoulder to watch the way your hand drags up and down his cock.

and the sight alone is enough to make him cum—he groans, roaring loud, throwing his head back onto your shoulder, the ridges of his abdomen clenching as his cock twitches and his release dribbles from his tip, warm and thick as it covers your hand.

his body shakes against yours. you’re pressing your lips to his hot skin again while he comes back down from his climax, breathing hard, sinking further into your body now that you’ve loosened him up even more.

“fuck. need a nap now,” wriothesley rasps.

you giggle, full of affection for him. “then do it. promise i won’t drown you.”

“i would, but baby, this bath is not made for people who are six-foot-five. my back’s starting to hurt,” he says, rising out of the water and stepping out of the bath. fully bare, he looks like a greek god. when he turns back around, you’re pouting.

“maybe you’re getting old,” you quip. the way you stare at him reminds him of a cat.

he quirks an eyebrow. you don’t see it coming when he lunges forward and scoops you up out of the bath, and you’re squealing.

“good, so i’ll be dead soon. won’t have to put up with you any longer,” he says, but he’s wrapping a towel around you and patting you dry, and his icy blue eyes are brimming with a fondness reserved for nobody else but you.

#wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley imagine #wriothesley fanfic #genshin fanfic #genshin imagine #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — wriothesley

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marvelfanfics1 · 1 month

Note

omg omg idk if u take requests if u are can you do a winter soldier x little reader? maybe like bucky somehow gets into the winter soldier mode and is scary towards everyone else but the reader (like he goes soft for the reader)😭

Code: Winter

Pairing: daddy!Bucky x little!reader

Warnings: age regression, soft!Winter Soldier, mentions of guns, angst?, some fluff

⭒𖥸⭒

You whined when your nap got interrupted by the blarring alarm and constant repeating words 'code winter'.

Holding your hands over your ears you turned on your other side, expecting your daddy to lay beside you reading a book but frowned when you found his side of the bed empty.

Grabbing your stuffie you got up from your comfortable bed, making your way to the door and opening it slightly, peeking your head out.

You saw several agents and trainees running past your room, all seeming rather panicked and your little mind can't grasp the thought of there being a reason, or someone, for them being so scared, instead your curiosity got the best of you and you decided to go and look for yourself.

Meanwhile in the common area Steve was trying to console Bucky with Sam and Natasha behind him, aiming their weapons at him.

"Buck, come on, you know us-" Steve placed his shield down, trying to show he's no threat to the soldier.

"Steve! Look out!" Natasha shouted all three of them throw themselves to the side when the couch was being thrown their way.

Just as the soldier started approaching them he got send back by a repulsor shot from Tony who flied in just in time, in his iron man suit.

"That was a 2 thousand dollar couch, Terminator."

The soldier now grabbed the gun he had tucked in the waistband of his pants, aiming it at Tony when a small voice had them all turning their heads.

"Daddy...?" Your bottom lip trembling you held your stuffie close to your chest, not understanding why he was being mean to your aunt and uncles. "What you doin'?"

The soldier slowly made his way towards you, aiming his his gun straight at Steve when he took a step forward.

While walking to you the voice in his head he kept pushing away became even louder than before.

Do. Not. Hurt. Her. I dare you.

When he stood before you he tilted his head at the tear that was rolling down your cheek, his metal hand reaching up to wipe it away gently. In the deepest of his mind he knows you're no threat to him and picked you up with his metal arm placing you on his hip, his other hand still aiming the gun at the others to keep them at a good distance while walking out of the room.

The others all let out a sigh, still not at ease knowing the freaking Winter Soldier has you with him with no supervision.

"What are we gonna do now? If we step one foot in their room we'll have a bullet in our head." Sam said crossing his arms.

"He won't hurt her." Steve assured them.

"And how do you know that?" Tony laughed at him.

"I just know, alright. As much as the Winter Soldier wanted to, he couldn't. Bucky would never let that happen, even in this state."

"You better be right, Capsicle." Tony pointed a finger at him.

Back in your room, you were sitting on his lap, trying to analyze his expressions but there were none. Cold and dull eyes where staring at you, not the bright blue ones that you got used to and loved so much.

"You not daddy?" You asked, nervously playing with a lose seam of your stuffie.

When he shook his head you frowned a little. It confused you how he can be the Bucky you've known for years now but also doesn't at the same time. It's like talking to a clone, a much more colder one at that but still you can't help but feel safe in his arms.

The soldier doesn't like to see you upset, some inner part of him feels the need to comfort you in any way possible.

"Call me papa." He said with a russian accent and your face lit up at that, glad you didn't lost your caregiver completely.

You nod with a small smile, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, your interrupted nap now catching up with you.

"Love you, papa." You mumbled, yawning before finally closing your eyes again.

The soldier hummed in response, his metal hand rubbing subconsciously on your back and feeling your body relaxing against his.

⭒𖥸⭒

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For Bucky:

@almostcontentcreator

Crossed out are the ones I somehow can't tag!!

#little!reader #little reader #daddy!bucky barnes x little!reader #daddy!bucky barnes #daddy!bucky x little!reader #daddy!bucky #daddy bucky barnes x little reader #daddy bucky #daddy bucky barnes #daddy bucky x little reader #winter soldier x little reader #winter soldier x little!reader

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asumofwords · 1 month

Text

Unsought Betrothal - Part 2 - Part One Here

Dark!Aemond x Reader Velaryon x Cregan Stark

Summary: After attempting to humilate your betrothed by laying with Lord Cregan Stark the night before your wedding in the hopes that Aemond would call the wedding off, you find that not only is he determined to still wed you, but also to punish you for your indiscretions. Part One Here

Pairings: Dark!Aemond x Reader, Cregan x Reader, Cregan x Aemond

Warnings: Arranged marriage, threats of violence, acts of violence, forced voyeurism, dubcon, elements of noncon, naked reader, clothed men, fingering, finger fucking, pussy slapping, p in v sex, creampie, pussy eating, cum eating, degradation, praise, voyeur.

Word Count: 13k oops... sorry

Notes: Wow, whelp, its been a while since I have posted some of my writing, and even longer since I wrote the first part of this abomination, but when you get the urge, you just gotta scratch it. Thank you all for all your beautiful messages of kindness as usual, I'm sorry I've been gone a while. I have had a bit of a rough time this year but hopes for a brighter future! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, and I hope I can write again very soon for you, hehe ;) Enjoy! <3

The wedding came just as it was planned. Just as it was arranged. Sleep had evaded you, anger and confusion clouding your mind with memories of the night before, ache still throbbing between your thighs. Your little attempt at stopping the engagement had no affect on your betrothed. No affect on the uncle you had grown up with. On the man you would now call husband.

You had thought that if you could humiliate Aemond in court by flirting with Lord Cregan Stark that he would call off the engagement. That the embarrassment would be too much for the pious prince. That the shame would turn him away from you, making him demand to his mother that they call off the engagement.

You had thought that maybe if you lost your maidenhead to the Northerner, Aemond would be so disgusted, so filled with rage, that he would call the engagement off, what with him being a dedicated follower of the Seven.

But you were wrong.

And so you spent an evening limping back into the Keep, escorted by none other than the One-eyed Prince himself and Ser Crispin. The front of your bodice had been ripped by Aemond's hands, but thankfully your hooded cloak covered up your sullied gown, the bottom of it dirtied with mud from where Aemond had bent you over in the alleyway and taken you roughly. With each step you took, you felt his seed slide down your legs, sticking to your inner thighs tackily.

When you got to your chambers, you used the small basin at your dressing table filled with water to wipe and wash away the blood and seed from your body, pain and a lingering dull ache causing you to jerk with each swipe.

You didn’t get much sleep that evening, staring blankly up at the ceiling. The urge to run was strong, to just leave out into the night through one of the secret passages and onto your dragons back, but the urge to stay was stronger. You hated him, truly hated him, but the way he had treated you that night, the fire in his eye, it lit something inside of you. It almost made you want him.

Need him.

Yet, there was another urge to stay, to make his life hell. To humiliate him at every turn, to ensure that he knew that forcing the engagement to continue would ensure him a life long marriage of discontent and disharmony.

You were not going to bend to his will. You were not going to bend to his needs, to bow at the husband, and say ‘yes’, and ‘thank you’, and ‘please’. You were going to be who you have always been.

A Valaryian.

Your eyes stayed open, watching as the ceiling eventually became light with the sun, indicating the break of dawn, and soon enough your maids were entering your chambers to get you ready to be wed. You were thankful that none of them asked questions about the dirtied ripped gown, or the bloodied rag in the basin, though you knew they were likely already aware.

The doors to your chambers opened as they pulled your hair back, pinning it atop your head in masses of braids with gold pins, tips glowing red with circular rubies. The colour of your mothers house dripping from you. Footsteps moved through your chambers, your head lifting to find Rhaenyra coming towards you, wearing a dress of black. Her silver hair half up, half down, small braids weaving around the back of her head beautifully.

A soft smile pulled on her lips as she came towards you, causing you to turn in your seat to fully face her. She looked sad and also lovingly devoted all at once. And whilst you knew it was not her greatest wish to marry you off to her half-brother, you also both knew that it was the only way to prevent bloodshed.

“My sweet.” Rhaenyra cooed, a slender hand coming to brush against your cheek dotingly, the scar on her arm from Alicent peeking beneath the cuff of her dress.

Blood already shed.

“Muña.” You smiled back, pulling her hand down into your lap.

Your mother leant forward and placed a kiss atop your head, “You look so beautiful, my love.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“Are you ready?” Her tone was gentle, as though she didn’t wish to startle you. As though she didn’t want to break the bubble that was the safety of your chambers.

The last time in your chambers as an unwed woman.

You gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes, and she could see it, “I must be.”

The small smile she had worn slid away, “This is not what I had intended for you. I did not wish to force you as I had been. I wish-“

“-I know.” You squeezed her hand, “I understand. It is my duty as your daughter to be wed to the Hightower’s to prevent bloodshed and war. To ensure your ascension to the throne. Let me perform my duty for you.”

“You know that we love you.” Rhaenyra squeezed your hand back, “Daemon has almost gone mad with rage. He does not wish to see you be wed to him. Luc feels that it is his fault.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from either of them.” You stood, still clutching her hand.

Her violet eyes roamed down your body.

The dress you wore was similar to the one she had worn for her wedding to Laenor, white with gold and licks of red in the lining. The dress sat below your collarbones and drooped against your shoulders, pearlescent beads sewn onto the short sleeves like dragon scales with a red silk peaking underneath.

“I wish this could be different for you.” She came to your side, placing a white cloak atop your shoulders, the Velaryon House sigil embroidered on the back, readying you to leave your chambers.

You looped your arm in hers, steeling a breath before you gave her a confident smile, “I don’t.”

Your heart rattled in your chest as you tried to stop the anxiety that churned nauseatingly in your stomach. Your hand was clenched tightly against Daemons arm, who slowly walked you down the many tables filled with people towards the man who would soon be your husband.

“Breathe.” Daemon cooed softly in your ear, his hand attempting to soothe you with soft brushes against yours.

Your eyes had not once left Aemond, who watched you with a dark glare.

The second son stood before the table, Viserys slumped behind him in his chair, the barest of smiles on his rotted face, half covered by a golden mask as you came towards them all. Your mother and Alicent sat on either sides of the King, followed by your brothers, your uncles, your cousins, and your aunt.

Aemond stood stiffly as he always did, the perfect posture with his shoulders back. He was higher on the stairs so that he looked down his nose at you, which wasn’t different to any other time he did. Each step towards him was nerve-wracking, the Lords and Ladies who had travelled far and wide watching you with keen eyes.

When finally you were standing before him, Daemon let go, coming to stand between you and Aemond momentarily, breaking your eye contact for the first time since you entered the room. Your uncle Daemon’s face was a kind one, and one you had grown to love as a step-father. He did not offer you a reassuring smile like your mother did, nor did he offer a consoling one. Instead, he leant forward to press a kiss to the side of your face before standing straight, towering over the both of you in both height and size before he moved back towards the table, sitting beside your mother.

And so the ceremony began.

In the light of the chambers Aemond looked sinister, shadows cast across his sharp face as he continued to look down his nose at you, chin still raised high. The Prince’s hair was styled in the way that it always was; straight and down his back, with two plain pieces pulled away from the sides of his face, tied neatly behind his head. He wore all black, the lining and undershirt the deepest of greens that was almost onyx. A symbol of his mother and her war that she had declared on a night such like this, many years ago.

The room felt hot, the back of your neck sweating as you stared at each other, all eyes pinned on you as the Septon’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“Father, Mother, Warrior,” The old mans voice was so loud in your ear that you winced, “Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. Hear now their vows.”

You swallowed thickly, momentarily looking down at your hands before back into his sole lilac one, watching as his posture straightened further, surprised that he could even do so.

“I am yours, and you are mine.” Aemond’s voice dipped lower, “Whatever may come.”

Your throat felt dry, but your gut was filled with anticipation. You were frightened, but there was something else simmering beneath it all. A need for the danger he brought, a feeling of protection from him. Not from him and his anger, but from others.

A possessive desire.

The Septon looked at you impatiently to say your vows, and a small wave of quiet whispers spread across the room as you stood silently. The Prince shifted on his feet, muscles in his jaw clenching.

“I am yours,” You breathed softly, hands gripping each other tightly in front of your dress, “And you’re mine. Whatever may come.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye was half hidden by his lid, his gaze having softened at your short vow. You watched as the corner of his sharp lips twitched upwards lightly into a small smirk.

The Septon continued, “Here in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim Aemond of House Targaryen and Y/n of House Velaryon to be man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Man and Wife.

Wed to Aemond Targaryen.

Your husband.

Now and forever.

An eruption of congratulatory joy spread throughout the room, the noise almost deafening as everyone celebrated what could be your demise. And though the noise around you was distracting, you could not look away from him, even as he shifted closer.

Aemond’s hand lifted and you flinched, the only people having noticed was your family seated behind you. His hand continued despite your shock to cup the side of your face and jaw, and as quickly as it happened, it ended. Aemond’s face grew closer as his eye slid shut, pressing his lips tenderly to yours in a brief moment before he pulled away, hand dropping back down to his side. The hand that had cupped your face grasped your hand for all to see, before he led you around to your seat at the table.

The night of celebrations became a blur, too in shock to really enjoy yourself, but wine still flowing heavily. Most of your evening you spent ignoring your new husband, opting to speak mostly to your mother and brothers, as well as Daemon and his daughters, who threw you pitying smiles, yet words of encouragement.

Aemond sat by your side, though he made no effort to join your conversations or create ones of his own. He had always been the quiet of his siblings, always sticking to the shadows and tomes of the library, never quite fitting in.

Helaena leant forward towards you, Otto eyeing her warily whilst Alicent looked as though she was about to chastise her daughter. In your aunts hand was a beetle, all black, though when the light of the candles shone on his shell, it seemed to glow. Greens and blues, and purples and pinks, danced across the beetles wings as it crawled atop her hand.

Your aunt had always loved insects, and had always been a sweet and kind person. You loved Helaena, and if there was anything that could help you endure living in the Red Keep alone without your family, it would be her.

“He appears dark,” She breathed watching as it crawled through a gap in her fingers and back towards her palm, “But if you look closely, you’ll find that he’s not.”

You shuffled in your seat, your shoulder pressed to hers as you ducked your head to look closer at the beetle, “He’s quite beautiful.”

Healaena lifted her face towards you, as she smiled at you dreamily, “He is, if you let him.”

Frowning, you looked back to the beetle, “How do I let a beetle be a beetle?”

Helaena did not answer you, instead continuing to twist and turn her hand as the bug crawled around on it.

Aegon watched from above the rim of his cup, drunk with red rimmed eyes. His hair was oily and wavy, unbrushed atop his round face. You could not help but feel a shiver crawl over you as he smiled.

“Our sweet niece and brother are finally married.” Aegon purred, Helaena barely giving him a second glance as though over the years she had attuned herself into pretending that he did not exist.

“A joyous occasion, uncle.” You smiled falsely back, picking up your own goblet of wine, ready to go back to talking with Helaena. Or the beetle.

Anything to escape Aegon.

“Do you know what happens tonight? After the celebrations of course.” Your uncles voice creeped along the surface of the table like a snake, so that only you and his siblings could hear.

You swallowed thickly.

Of course you did.

You had done it last night.

Bar a bed. Or walls.

In fact, it wasn’t even in the Keep, and instead in a dirty alley in Flea Bottom, hidden amongst the shadows.

“I’m aware.” Your voice was clipped, which seemed to goad Aegon.

“And how does our sweet little niece know of such things?”

You swallowed thickly, head turning to look at Aemond, whose eye was trained on his brother.

“My Septa.” You tuned back to face him, “And your whoring.”

Aegon chuckled, filling up his goblet with wine once more, “I suppose then you know what to expect.”

“Yes.”

“Should you ever be in want of a demonstration-"

“-Leave her be.” Came Aemond’s voice, almost a growl. His hand was clutched tightly around his own goblet as he challenged his older brother to say something more.

Aegon laughed loudly, eyes on his brothers clenched hand before looking up to watch him, “I only jest, brother! It is a night of celebrations!” He thrust his goblet towards the One-Eyed Prince, “It’s not everyday that my little brother is married off to such a beautiful princess. The daughter of the Realm’s Delight, no less. Do you think-“

Helaena shifted, turning her body towards you, “It isn’t so bad.” She spoke emotionlessly into your ear to distract you from Aegon, “It only hurts the first few times.” Your aunt paused in thought, lavender eyes still on the beetle as it moved, before looking at you, “Or when he’s angry. Or drunk.” She added as an afterthought, “But mostly when he’s drunk.”

Sorrow coursed through you for your aunt, your gaze immediately staring into Aegon’s angrily. How could he do this to her? How could he treat her like one of his whores? If not because she is his wife, but because she is his sister. Aegon seemed to sink into his chair after Helaena’s comment, soft anger simmering off of him in small waves.

But Aegon has never truly known when to stop.

“I am sure my brother here will barely draw blood.”

“I am sure your interest in your brothers cock speaks loudly.”

Elbows sloppily placed on the table he leant towards you, “I tried to take him once you know, to a whorehouse.” His voice became more hushed, “He hated it. Made me think that maybe our dear Aemond was perhaps like your father, Laenor.”

Blinding rage shot through you, “Don’t speak about my father.” You hissed, “He was more man than you shall ever be.”

A cruel smirk pulled at Aegon’s lips, “I am sure he has had more men than I ever shall.”

Your hand shot forward to grasp your goblet, ready to hurl it across the table at him, peace be damned, but Aemond was quicker and snatched your wrist before the tips of your fingers could even reach the cup.

A quiet fell over your table as all watched the interaction, your wrist in Aemond’s hand, Aegon smirking cruelly at you, and your face hot with anger.

“I pity you.” You quietly seethed, “Always so desperate to get a reaction out of the people around you, because if you didn’t you would simply cease to exist. Though you are the first son of Viserys, a peasant bastard from Flea Bottom would garner more respect.”

Aegon’s gassed darkened, his mouth readying to fire back at you.

“Aemond.” Alicent called to her son, a questioning and yet chastising tone in her voice.

Aemond looked at his mother, and then back to you, checking to see if you were going to continue on with your thought. But you had grown tired of the grip he had on you, his large hand squeezing your bones painfully as they shifted beneath the skin.

“Don’t touch me.” You sneered at him, snatching your hand away as you stood, chair scraping loudly against the flagstones.

The throne room quietened, all stilling to watch as you stood at the table, seething down at your husband. The rest of your family all watched warily, except for the Rogue Prince who smirked broadly at you. Your chest heaved with anger as you looked down at Aemond, who stared up at you with similar rage.

King Viserys sensing the tension smiled, though it looked more like a grimace, “Our young lovers wish to dance!” A distraction on his end, and a clever one at that.

The room erupted into cheers and clapping, and the musicians in the corner began playing music loudly for all. Lords and Ladies stood from their seats and moved into the centre of the room to dance together.

Glaring down at your husband, your hands clenched into fists, waiting for him. Aemond slowly stood, towering over you, a large hand stretched out towards you, palm up.

“Wife.”

“Husband.” You growled, taking his hand roughly, digging your nails into his skin as you led him down the stairs towards the people.

The court parted to the sides like a wave, creating a path for you straight to the centre as you lead Aemond down to it, almost like a dog. Each man and woman watched with excitement, either for the celebrations or the rising tension between the two of you. You’d be a fool to think that the court wouldn’t love a quarrel to arise so that they may whisper about it in corridors later to come.

It could be a way to press the wound so to speak with Aemond later.

You stopped in the centre, finally letting go of your husband as you spun to face him.

He stood as he always did, stiff, emotionless with a hint of arrogance, watching you with a cool glare. The court waited for you to begin, as the music continued to play, but even then you couldn’t push yourself to touch him. To feel his hands on you once more, alighting a fire within you that you did not know was possible, the embers still burning from the night before.

Would they be able to tell?

That he had already deflowered you in Flea Bottom?

In a dirty alley like one of Aegon’s whores?

In a way, you hoped they would. Let it bring him dishonour. Let it bring him humiliation from the court that his wife would take him in such a filthy, commoner way. You wished for his disdain, you wished for his anger, anything but the clear desire which seemed to move through him as he watched you from down his nose.

“Well?” You snipped, waiting for him to make the first move.

Aemond came forward swiftly, much like he had in the alley, and you had to bite your cheeks to stop the gasp that would have escaped your mouth.

It came to him so naturally to touch you, to hold you. One large hand immediately grasping yours by your side pulling it up, the other skating up your hip, over your collar bone, slowly down your shoulder, and down, down, down your arm.

Goosebumps rose on your skin, a shiver running down your back as his other hand connected with yours, and slowly but surely, the dance began. Even with the noise of the room, the music playing, the talking, and laughter, and joy from the guests, you could still hear the small little gasps and breaths you let free as you danced with Aemond.

It was likely one of the only times you hadn’t bickered after so long in his presence, let alone whilst touching him. The two of you stayed silent, moving this way and that, your gaze occasionally flitting to the table to your mother and Daemon, who watched with kind eyes.

“Don’t let Aegon goad you.” Aemond finally spoke.

His hand brushed against your shoulders, and round the back of your neck, a heat beginning to simmer in your gut from his touch. You turned to face him, watching as he observed you closely.

“He won’t stop if you show it bothers you.”

“He always bothers me.” You snipped, but this time with much less anger, “He is like a fly you wish to swat but can never reach."

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked at you, turning around you slowly, “Mm.”

“Mm.” You mimicked, turning away from him.

“Behave yourself, wife.” Aemond purred, irritation flitting through you momentarily.

“What? Like how behaved yourself last night?”

“I could say much the same to you.”

“A shame then.” You sighed, moving to come chest to chest with him, your breath stilling in your lungs as you looked up at him. You would never get used to how tall he had grown over the years, “You bring much dishonour to your mother.”

“As do you. Whoring yourself to a Lord of the North-“

“-King of the North-“

“-In a dirty, whore riddled tavern.”

“A dirty, whore riddled tavern that you knew about.”

Aemond stilled, his head dipping towards you, “Did you think that I wouldn’t know of your movements in Kings Landing? Did you truly believe that I would be so foolish as to think that you would come to me willingly?”

You swallowed thickly.

“No.” He continued, sucking on his teeth, “You forget that I know you. You are much like your brothers. Getting into places where you don’t belong.”

“And what of yours?” You became defensive at the mention of your brothers, remembering how he and his would call you all bastards, “Loudly and brazenly whoring himself to any and all who would dare risk fucking him.”

“My brothers whoring does not concern me.”

“Then I suppose I am not a concern either.” You sniffed, “You needn’t worry, I am sure that he should find his way into our chambers one way or another.”

The hand on your arm tightened to the point of pain, your cheek twitching as you tried to hold in a wince, “I told you, he is not of concern.”

“I know Aegon. I have heard of what he does-“

“-And you know me. Know that he will not-“

“-He will not, what? Sully me? Taint our marital bed? It is already tainted. You made sure of that last night.” You stood closer to him, still as the others danced around you, your gaze peering up into his as your chest heaved, “But what if I want him to? What if I willingly invite him to take me? I’m sure you do not mind sharing after all, he is your brother.”

Aemond’s eye flashed with anger, before his head slowly ducked beside your ear, “If you think I am fool enough to stoop to your provocations then you must forget that we grew up together, side by side. I know your tricks.” The hand on your arm released its strong grip, coming to brush against the back of your neck, “I know that you despise him just as much as I. I know that you used to cry at the Godswood when he called you bastard.”

You bristled, purposely stepping back as you stared at him angrily. You hated that word. You hated what it meant for you and your siblings. You hated that he and his brother and his mother and the court whispered about all of your parentage. You hated that once, when you had been young, despite all of this, you had been friends.

Rage bubbled up inside of you, and before you could stop yourself you leant forward, hand coming to touch the side of Aemond’s face with his one seeing eye, the other covered by his leather patch.

You rubbed your thumb atop his cheek, “Imply that I am bastard once more, and I shall blind you with the purpose that Lucerys lacked.”

Aemond’s chest rose and fell jaggedly, inhaling breaths faster than yours, anger coursing through his veins. His sharp lips twitched as he watched you, “I wouldn’t dare. I know just how Strong you are, Princess.”

Your thumb moved fast, but Aemond was faster, anticipating your movements. His hand caught yours against his cheek, trapping your fingers between his hand so that they may not move further to pluck his remaining eye from its socket like intended.

“People are watching, ābrazȳrys.” Wife, He purred, though there was a lick of danger behind it.

A warning.

“Ivestragī zirȳ urnēbagon.” Let them watch, You sneered, “Nyke kessa laesdaor ao hae iā dīnilūks irudy.” I shall blind you as a wedding gift.

Aemond’s silver brow lifted, “Skoros iā sȳz irudy.” What a good gift, His eye turned dangerous, “Eman iā irudy syt ao, mēre nyke gōntan daor jaelagon naejot tepagon.” I have a gift for you, one I did not wish to give.

“Is it your death?” You countered cheerily, not wanting to show him that the way he spoke to you set your hair on end.

“No. I think it will be much better than that. We will both come to enjoy it.” The danger in his eye still flickered like a flame, “I was considering not giving it to you, but since you are behaving so wonderfully, I simply must insist.”

You turned away from him, moving to go back to your seat, “I want nothing from you.”

“And yet, you'll have everything.”

As the night grew long, your fears grew larger. And though he had taken you the night before in an alley, his subtle threat of what may come tonight lingered in the back of your mind. Each cup of wine was drained eagerly by your lips, hoping and wishing that you could somehow make yourself sick enough to not have the bedding ceremony.

But it came all the same, just as the wedding had.

Aegon was the one who initiated the beginning of the end.

A large clap came from in front of you, the short haired Prince leaning towards you on the tables with his hands clasped together, silver and gold rings adorning them. A sinister smile pulled at his lips as he beamed at you and his brother.

“The night is late!” He proclaimed loudly to the chambers, many Lords and Ladies turning their heads to watch, “I think we have held these two young lovers hostage for far too long!” Aegon smiled out to the room and then stood, lifting his goblet.

His shirt was untucked, his gait unsteady and he swayed on his feet as he continued, “My brother is too polite to remove himself from festivities such as these! But brother,” He thrusted his cup towards you, “I can see that you wish to take your new wife to bed! The love these two share is a tale for story books, though they are too polite to say a thing.” He chuckled, and laughter followed from the Lords behind you, “Worry not! We will continue the festivities without you!”

Cheers were heard from about the room, though none came from your own table. Aegon sipped his wine greedily, eyes watching you from above the rim of his cup. The Prince took the goblet from his lips and clicked his fingers impatiently beside him, pointing at an uncomfortable Criston Cole who came to his side like a well trained mutt.

“Ser Criston, take these newly weds to my brothers chambers. It seems it is time for the bedding ceremony.”

Ceremony.

Your blood ran cold.

Aemond stood abruptly beside you, head on with his brother.

“No need, Ser Cole.” His smooth voice icy, “I shall escort the Princess there myself.”

Aemond pushed his chair backwards as you continued to stare at Aegon, not quite ready to be alone with the Prince.

Your husband.

You blinked, turning your head towards your family, who all gave you pained smiles. But it was your duty. And you had given your mother your word. Slowly you stood, letting your eyes scan the table, softly landing on your grandsire before meeting with a pair of large brown eyes. Alicent Hightower watched on with a nervous energy, her hands shifting on her lap as you assumed she picked at the skin around her fingers. The look in her eyes almost held empathy.

Almost.

You bowed your head to the King and Queen, ignoring Aegon’s shit eating grin.

“Your Grace.”

Pushing your chair back you ignored the outstretched arm of Aemond and made your way down the stairs, Lords and Ladies watching as you made your slow exit from the room, taking false prideful steps through the court to delay the inevitable, giving all who watched smiles and nods of your head.

The shifting of armour moved loudly behind you, before soon enough, Ser Criston Cole was overtaking your step to lead you out of the chambers and soon to Aemond’s. The white cape attached to his shoulders billowed behind him as he speedily kept on.

The skin on your elbow burned, a hand gripping it tightly as you were momentarily slowed as Aemond came to your side. You refused to meet his eye, feeling his gaze upon the side of your face as you exited the chambers, the sounds of cheering and laughter loud behind you. The chamber doors shut with a thump, the sound dampened and muffled, footsteps echoing down the darkened corridors of the Red Keep.

“Does Ser Criston not wish to watch you bed me?” You sneered, eyes flickering to the lit lamps on the walls as Aemond led you down a wing of the Keep you had scarcely been down.

“I have instructed him to prepare my chambers for your arrival.” Aemond replied, his strides long and rigid as he almost hauled you with him.

“Do not pull me.” You yanked your arm back, halting your steps, “I am not your dog.”

Aemond stilled, looking down his nose at you as he towered above, “Dogs are better behaved.”

The Prince’s head snapped to the side, pain spreading through your palm as you sneered at him. The side of his cheek bloomed an angry red, yet Aemond did not react to your slap, nor did he hit you back, instead, a slow smirk pulled at his lips.

“I shall allow that, but only because I know you will regret it.”

Rising to your tiptoes you tried to make yourself come to eye level, “I regret nothing.”

“Mm.” He looked at you blankly, “I shall give you a choice.” Anger rose within your chest, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, “Come with me to the Godswood.” Your brows furrowed, “Pray to the Gods for forgivingness for striking your husband, kneel and apologise. Swear obeisance to me-”

“-If you think-“

“-And I shall let you go to your own chambers alone. No need for a bedding ceremony after last night.”

You flushed, swallowing thickly, “I would never lower myself to apologising to a second son. And especially not to a Prince who is owed no inkling of respect.”

Aemond watched you for a beat, eye scanning your face as his held flat, “Then we continue to my chambers.” The hand that pulled you began again, and your feet struggled to keep up with his, bruises no doubt to be on the tender flesh of your arm in the morning.

Your heart raced in your chest as you felt yourself get closer to his chambers, his strides not once slowing down, though you tried to dig your heels into the flagstones to slow him.

“You care not to have a woman enthusiastic in your bed?” You tugged fruitlessly at your arm, “You wish to drag me to a night of suffering, like a savage. Like your brother, Aegon.” You sneered, fruitlessly tugging your arm to escape his grip.

“A savage would have had you atop the table before all to see when you first defied me. I gave you a chance to apologise, remember that you scorned it.”

“A chance? What chance was I given? A loveless marriage with a man who is not my equal? A burden I am forced to bear as I am forced to lay beneath him!”

Aemond’s steps halted once more, almost causing you to crash into him, his fingers tightening against your arm as he yanked you against his chest angrily, “You needlessly make this more difficult. I extended an offering to you of peace, and you burnt it.”

“Peace?” You screeched incredulously, “You have done naught but provoke me! Naught but push and prod and goad me into reaction so that you may justify your sick desires.”

“Provoke you? I seem to recall you sneaking into Flea Bottom to try and lay with a Lord to spite me.”

“I was trying to save us from a loveless and cruel union.”

“Us? Or yourself?”

You paused, mouth feeling dry. Anger and fear swirled within your gut viscously as you stared at him. The both of you panting heavily at one another. Aemond shifted, moving away from the wall beside you, revealing two large wooden doors.

You were there.

And you had not even realised.

“Wife.” Aemond purred sarcastically before pushing open the door, the smell of his room engulfing you.

It smelt of him, but far more intensely. Of leather and smoke, and spices which he dabbed his skin with, and still, behind all of this, the natural scent of him. The smell that was only his and his alone. A scent that had wrapped around you in that alleyway the night before.

The fireplace raged wildly, the room filled with dark mahogany furniture. There was a chaise, arm chairs, a table seated for six, a large bed on the other end, a reading desk with piles of books and scrolls, and candles sitting on every surface, lighting the room.

The second thing you observed as your eyes roamed the space was that you were not alone.

Your heart skipped in your chest.

There by the bed, was a man sat in a chair. Arms tied down to it as his feet were tightly bound to the legs. His long dark hair was knotted atop his head as he stared at you in shock, and beside him, Ser Criston Cole.

“Cregan?” You breathed in shock, running towards the Northerner as you dropped to your knees, hand reaching out to cup his face as he only looked at you with sorrow, “Are you hurt?”

“I did warn you,” Aemond growled from behind, “That you would regret it. I had a plan, you see. A moment of mercy to let you apologise at the Godswood, for you to go-“

“-Let him go!”

“-To your chambers untouched and unscathed. I had given you a choice, and this is the one you have chosen.”

You turned your head sharply to face Aemond, “What have you done?”

“This man was caught conspiring against the crown. He planned to take the Princess’ honour and humiliate her betrothed. A Prince.” His lilac eye held Cregan’s icy blue ones, “I have done my duty by capturing this traitor to the realm.”

Fear began to bubble inside of you, eyes looking back to Cregan. The left side of his face was bruised, small cuts littered across his cheek and brow. His soft lips were swollen and split, and dried blood had gathered in one corner.

“He is innocent.” Your knees ached as they dug into the stones below, your upper body turning to face Aemond again, “He knew naught of what I was doing. Punish me. Let him go.”

Aemond hummed and walked towards you, “Brave. Admirable if it wasn’t for nothing. No. I gave you a choice before, and you have made your choice. I gave you the option to apologise, to bend to me as your husband, to go to your chambers alone, but this is what you have chosen. This was your choice.”

“You gave me no choice!” You sneered, moving to stand, shielding Cregan’s body with your own, “All this talk of choices when all you have gave was an unknown ultimatum.”

“A choice nonetheless. Godswood or chambers. And so here we are. The consequences of your actions.” The Prince came closer, shadows cast across his face, “I told you that you would regret it.”

“You’re a savage! A foul beast.”

A smile pulled at Aemond’s lips, “Choose your words carefully, wife. I have no qualm with slitting his throat where he sits should you continue to defy me.”

Cregan pulled against his restraints, angrily sneering at Aemond, who simply hummed once more as he came to stand before you, looking down at you with false pity, “But, it is the night of our union, and the betrayal is still fresh and something I am willing to move past. I shall give you another choice. One that I feel may be far too lenient.”

Tears began to well in your eyes.

This was all your fault.

“The Lord of Winterfell shall sit where he is, and watch as I fuck you in ways that he never shall-“

“-You disgust me!”

“-Or he shall be tried and hung for treason.” Aemond came closer, his chest almost brushing against yours as he stared at you, “The choice is yours.”

You sneered upwards at your uncle, tears gathering in your eyes, “I would rather die than let you touch me again.”

“I recall you seeming to enjoy it, wetting my cock in that filthy alley as you begged for it.” He purred, hand lifting to brush hair from your face as he sighed, “I don’t mind what you choose, I could simply slit his throat myself right now? If you'd prefer it?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek as you turned and held Cregan’s gaze, his brows furrowing as he saw you come to your decision.

“Y/n, don’t-“ Cregan’s head was jerked back roughly, Ser Coles hand in his hair as he stuck a blade beneath his chin. The edge of the blade nicked the skin lightly, a small bead of blood travelling down his neck.

He would die.

He would die and it would be all your fault.

“Please, Aemond.” You begged, “Please do not do this. Let him go. Let him go and I swear to you I will obey your commands. Let him free and I am yours.”

The silver haired mans head tilted as he cooed you, “I am sorry, my love. But it is too late to beg for my mercy as I offered it to you before. What kind of man would I be if I excused such treason?”

You stepped forward swiftly, “A strong one. A merciful one. A man who can see the error of my way. That I am repentant.” You tried to cajole him, “I promise you I will be good. I will perform my duty and do what is expected of me.”

“You are sweet when you beg, but it is too late.”

“Uncle, please! I will do anything! Anything you ask of me. I swear to the Seven.”

Aemond smiled at you, “I know you will. And that is why you will do this.” Aemond swallowed, eye roaming down your wedding gown hungrily, defiantly.

Angrily.

“Strip.”

“Aemond-“

“-Strip, or he dies.”

Tears rolled down your cheek, your stomach rolling in disgust and fear.

“Please do not make me do this.” You sobbed, arms limp by your side as you looked down at the flagstones, feeling defeated.

Your husband tutted you, long slender finger brushing the tears that fell from your eyes away, “Do not waste your tears on him, my love. I can be gentle, and soon you will come to love my touch. This, I promise you.”

Pain bloomed in your jaw as you ground your teeth together, wary to not trigger Criston’s excitable hand. Short breaths puffed from your nose as fury and sorrow rose within you like a tide, little by little building in a wave. In your periphery, Aemond stepped back, a pale hand presented in front of you, palm outstretched for you to take.

Slowly, you let your gaze meet his, heated glare ignoring his offering as you refused to move. One last act of defiance. And one Aemond did not take lightly. Pain bloomed in your shoulder as you were roughly yanked forwards, and thrown backwards against the bed. Cregan shouted from behind you, the chair creaking beneath him.

“I said, strip.” Aemond growled.

Your eyes flicked to Cregan, and then up towards Ser Cole who watched with conflicted eyes.

“Please,” You begged softly again, keeping your eyes on Ser Criston, “Not him too. Not Ser Cole.”

A shifting of armour moved from behind Aemond, and a small ‘Your Grace’ fell from the knights lips.

Aemond spun, momentarily ignoring you as he turned to the knight standing awkwardly beside Cregan Stark, “You may leave, Ser Cole.” Aemond sniffed, “I am certain our guest will behave accordingly.”

Ser Criston’s eyes flickered to yours and then to the Prince as you tried to plead to him with yours for help.

To help the daughter of the woman he was once sworn to.

But no help came.

The Dornish knight bowed his head and left without another word.

“Let her go-“

“-Ah.” Aemond turned slowly towards Cregan, slow steps coming forward until he stood towering over the northerner, “Speak again and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“Kepus,” You stood from the bed, grasping Aemond’s elbow tightly, hoping, praying that if you asked once more that he could see reason, “Please, let him go. I am yours. I will always be yours.”

Aemond stared at you, his pupil dilated as he stared at you intently.

“Strip.”

You fought the sob that threaten to rise up your throat and slowly lifted your chin.

You would not show weakness.

You would be strong.

With shaking hands, you let your fingers find the strings at the back of your dress, and slowly but surely you pulled the laces, keeping your eyes on your husband who watched with intent.

The gown sagged against your frame, the soft material falling down your chest slowly as you held it for one last moment, hoping that it was all a test, that he would change his mind and stop this madness.

But he didn’t.

Breath held in your chest, you let the gown fall to the floor below you, leaving you in your thin shift before the two men. Cregan looked away, his eyes focusing on the stones of the wall in shame, his hands tucked into tight fists against the arm of the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white.

A shiver ran down your back as the cool of the chambers stiffened your nipples into peaks, brushing against the white of your chemise. Aemond took a slow step towards you and then another, hand lifting to brush under your chin, an attempt to direct your gaze to him. You turned your head defiantly; looking to the wall where Cregan’s gaze laid.

“Y/n.” Aemond warned softly, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin as he turned your face towards him, “Look at me.”

Reluctantly you let yourself, and all you saw was the black of his pupil as he devoured you with his darkened gaze, “You’re so beautiful.” He cooed, “My wife.”

You swallowed thickly, his hand slowly skimming down your neck raising goosebumps along your skin as his fingers came to rest against the edge of your chemise. The tips of his nails scraped softly against your skin as it slipped beneath, and with an even slower movement, he tugged the chemise down off of your shoulders, the thin material floating down to the floor below leaving you completely exposed to the two men in his chambers.

“I will not harm you, though you would deserve it.” Aemond purred, his eye roaming your exposed body, your stomach and core clenching in anticipation, “I plan to make you beg for it.”

You opened your mouth to snap at him, but in the moment his long fingers came to brush under your breast, fingers teasing your nipple softly, your mouth clamped shut. You shyly glanced at Cregan, who’s eyes were scrunched tight. Aemond followed your line of sight, sighing.

“If you do not watch,” Aemond fully turned to Cregan, “I will take out your eyes.”

Even at the One-Eyed Princes threat, Cregan did not lift his gaze from the wall. The Lord of Winterfell willing to risk his sight so that you may keep your dignity.

“Fine.” Aemond grunted, pulling the blade from his belt, “Then I shall take hers.”

Fear shot through you as you stared at Aemond tearfully, watching in your periphery as Cregan’s head turned towards you and yelled.

“No!”

“Then,” Aemond sneered, “Watch.”

With eyes filled with shame, Cregan looked up at you. You didn’t know what to do, what could make it better. What could make any of this not what it was, and so you tried to offer him a reassuring nod. A small promise that it was okay to look when all you knew was how very much it wasn’t.

“Good.” The Prince hummed.

Aemond resumed his touch against you, hand coming to cup your breast fully as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. His touch sent sparks across your chest, shame washing over you in a wave.

Aemond ducked his head towards your face, beckoning you to kiss him. Would he be gentle as he was when you were married? Would it soften his actions? Or would it only make him worse?

Deciding that you didn’t want to push what little patience he had, your eyes slid shut, breath stuck deep in your chest as you felt the heat of his body come closer, the hand on your breast skating around your ribs to pull you closer to him.

When his lips pressed against yours it was light, gentle, almost cautious, your hands staying stiff by your sides. But that softness was short lived, and soon Aemond deepened the kiss, his teeth clashing against yours roughly.

You gasped softly as his other hand wound into your hair, tugging you closer as he nipped your bottom lip roughly. Your hands instinctually came up to his chest, gripping onto his jacket tightly to steady yourself. Anger poured into the kiss, and from behind you could feel the reluctant glare of Cregan.

Aemond pulled away, your eyes fluttering open to look at him. His lips were swollen, having turned a rosy pink as a blush settled across his cheeks. His chest heaved against yours, the stitching on his coat brushing roughly against your stiffened peaks.

“Have you ever bed a woman, Stark?” Aemond asked smugly, brushing the back of your neck as you turned you to face the Northerner again, your back to Aemond’s chest.

Even as exposed as you were, Cregan’s eyes did not shift to look at your body, keeping his simmering glare on Aemond.

Clicking his tongue, Aemond continued, “I’m sure you’ve fucked wildlings and mudmen alike, being a man of the North.” An arm wrapped around the front of your chest, breasts squeezed beneath the toned arm of your uncle behind you, “Tell me, are Winterfells brothels full of sheep like the Vale? Or maybe they’re full of pigs since you’re both fond of the mud.”

The chair beneath Cregan creaked, his jaw tensing in anger as Aemond taunted him. His pale eyes narrowed, lips tensed together in a sneer as his nostrils flared, breathing heavily whilst his hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

“No? Hm.” Aemond’s other hand slid across the skin of your back, travelling around to the front of your stomach slowly, brushing his fingertips along your hip bone as he continued, “You see, Stark, mudmen of the North have no place with the blood of Valyria. The Blood of the Dragon would never sully itself by laying with a Northerner. Nor would a Princess.” His hand continued to dip down, fingers brushing into the hair atop your mound.

Your back arched in instinct, trying to escape his hand, but it only pushed your backside into his clearly hardened member, “Targaryens don’t fuck like animals,” His voice dipped lower, “We bring pleasure to our lovers.”

Aemond’s hand continued down, parting your folds with a finger, seeking out the heat and slick that had gathered at your entrance. Once found, Aemond’s chest vibrated from behind with an appreciative hum, dragging a long slender finger from your entrance, back up to your pearl. You jerked in his hold as he pushed lightly against it, slowly and torturously swirling the digit against your bud, your arousal aiding his movements.

You watched Cregan curiously, the urge to hide yourself strong. His eyes never once left Aemond as he continued to bring you soft pleasure. The Stark’s chest rose and fell shallowly as he glared at the man behind you, who watched back with impatience.

“I won’t tell you again.” Aemond purred, fingers dipping down to your entrance as he suddenly shoved one long finger inside of you, causing you to gasp at the small sting, “Watch her, or I blind her.”

Cregan’s eyes shut as he took a shaky breath, Aemond’s finger crooking inside of you, pressing against your front wall roughly. A whine fell from your lips causing the icy blue eyes to catch yours finally. Cregan swallowed thickly as you stared at one another, your hands gripping the sleeve of Aemond’s arm across your chest, twisting the material between your fingers as you shifted your hips back, pressing against him as he sped up his fingers movement.

Cregan’s stare was hard, his eyes apologetic, watching you shift against your husband behind you as he began to fuck his finger inside of you, the sound of your slick filling the room. Your face flushed with embarrassment.

“She’s quite reactive,” Aemond purred, slipping his finger from within you to rub at your bud again, causing you to jerk in his hold, his arm tightening further around your chest, “Her body knows what it wants, even when she tries to fight it. Do you hear how she needs me?”

Aemond’s finger moved back to your entrance, but instead of one, he forced in a second, the ache from the night before settling within you again.

“Gods.” You whispered softly, pain and pleasure mixing into a confusing blend. Your head fell back against Aemond’s shoulder as he sped up his hand, fucking his fingers inside of you roughly. All you could do was lean your weight back against him, his arm the only thing that held you upright as his arousal pressed into the small of your back.

A familiar warmth began to build within you quickly, a coil rapidly tightening within your gut as Aemond switched from fucking you with his hand, to rubbing slick circles against your pearl. You scrunched your eyes shut, mouth going slack as your breath hitched. You were so close, so close, to reaching your peak, but each time you would almost get there, Aemond would slow his hand down.

You whined in his arms, shifting as you just wished it would end, wishing he would let you peak. It was torture. And with each time he did it, the frustration and desperation built, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

“What is the matter?” Aemond cooed into your ear, his fingers slowing to almost a halt, “Did you need something?”

You huffed a breath through your nose, eyes scrunching shut as you tried to thrust your hips into his hand, anything to alleviate the pressure that was strung to snap at any moment. You didn’t care anymore, you just needed it to end. Aemond’s fingers stopped, hovering over your pearl.

You didn’t even want to think of what you must have looked like, bare, hair likely a mess, and body aching for release.

All while Cregan Stark watched.

“If you want something,” Aemond’s lips came to the side of your ear, pressing a ghostly kiss to them, “You need only ask.”

You bit on your bottom lip, willing yourself to not give in, to not give him what he wanted, but all you could think about was reaching your peak. Logically, you told yourself it was for Cregan’s sake so that it could all end quickly, but in reality, it was so that the throbbing in your core would cease, and the sweet feeling of relief could wash over you like it had the night before.

“Come now, you’re not one to hold your tongue. Ask.”

You wet your lips timidly, keeping your eyes shut in shame, not wanting to see Cregan’s face as you begged for the man behind you to touch you again as he watched.

A sharp sting shot through your centre, your eyes springing open as you gasped, you gaze immediately meeting the cold icy glare of Cregan, who’s fists tightened around the arms of the chair.

“Speak.” Aemond commanded, voice sharper in your ear as he watched Cregan tensing to the chair he was tied to.

Your mouth felt dry, and you licked at your lips once more before you softly whispered, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Cregan’s gaze looked back to yours, his eyes softened.

“Please,” You begged softly, “Touch me.”

You heard Aemond hummed from behind you, his finger slowly pressing into your cunt as he gathered slick from your entrance to drag back up to your bud.

“Like this?” He purred, slowly making circles against you, the coil within tightening again.

All you could do was nod, but that was not the answer that Aemond demanded. His fingers left your pearl as he waited, and you huffed in frustration.

“Touch me. Please, Aemond.” You weakly begged, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment, not wanting to see Cregan’s face.

His touched resumed once more, but the arm wrapped around your chest shifted, his hand coming to grasp your chin as he lifted your head to look squarely at Cregan, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks.

“All you needed to do was ask, sweet wife.” Aemond purred, the movement speeding up, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, “I want you to wet my hand, and watch him whilst you do it. If you do not,” His voice dipped low, fingers pressing almost painfully against you, “I will know.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded your head in his grasp, feeling your peak begin to barrel towards you. Cregan watched your face, his own a soft pink and ice blue eyes half lidded.

“Does this feel good? Am I making you nice and wet?” Aemond cooed, hand plucking pleasure from you in ways you didn’t know was possible.

You nodded weakly, “Yes.”

“You can do better than that. Tell him what it feels like.”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment flaring inside of you.

“Tell him or I’ll stop.”

“It-“ You paused, swallowing the last of your pride, “It feels good.”

“What feels good?”

“When you touch me.”

“How so?”

You exhaled shakily, shifting in his arm as his fingers softened their movements, “It feels good when you touch my cunt.”

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, Aemond praised you, causing arousal to spark inside, “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Does it feel good when I fuck you with my hand?”

“Yes, uncle.” You whined weakly.

“Tell Cregan that it feels good when I fuck you with my hand.”

Blinking at the man tied in the chair, you grit your teeth, “It feels good when he fucks me with his hand.”

Cregans nostrils flared as he shifted in his seat, and your head fell back against Aemond once more, “I’m close.” You panted.

You were so close, so, so close to just tipping over the edge, the smell of Aemond behind you suffocating you as heat began to rise through your body. The gaze of the man before you wavered, his eyes momentarily dipping to where Aemond’s hand was rubbing swift and slick circles. That was all it took for you to feel yourself fall undone.

You writhed against Aemond as your peak washed over you, the Northerner watching on as Aemond’s fingers became wet with your release, his gaze darting up to watch your face, jaw slack as he breathed shallowly.

“Shh, shh, shh. Good girl.” Aemond praised you, his hand finally stopping as he smoothed up and down your sides.

A warm glow settled over your body and your eyes slid shut, head lolling to Aemond’s chest behind you as you breathed deeply, the pulsing of your cunt halting any and all thoughts that you had.

But as quick as the calm had come, the quicker it left, your world tilting as you were spun and pushed back onto the bed. Your eyes shot open as you watched Aemond step towards you, Cregan observing with slight concern before you were yanked back down the bed towards the Prince by your ankles, legs splayed open.

On instinct they tried to close, too exposed to the room, but your husband wouldn’t allow it, standing between them as he held them open with his hand, his lone eye commanding you to stay still from above.

Would it be painful like the night before? Would he bring you pleasure as well? Or would it be something entirely different now that you lay down on a bed, the way that your Septa’s had told you it would happen, and certainly not inside a dirty alley in Flea Bottom?

But what your Septa’s had not informed you of was that your husband, who seemed to be more concerned with punishing you than bringing you any reward, began to kneel before the bed, his back to his prisoner.

“I need to taste how sweet you are, and then I shall fuck you.”

With a broad swipe of his tongue, Aemond parted your folds from your entrance to your bud, collecting your release on it as he went. His eye closed as he hummed, coming to lap at your folds once more, pleasure sparking up through you.

You gasped softly, the feeling foreign but not unwelcome. It was more intense than you had thought it could be, but perhaps you were over sensitive from the release you just had. You watched Aemond, his lilac eye opening to look up at you with a smirk.

He pulled away from your centre, lips wet with your slick, “You are as sweet as I thought you would be.”

Aemond stood, towering over you as he began to pull at his belt and breeches, wherein he began untying them, lace after lace ripped from its eyelet until they sagged. His shirt was pulled away, revealing the pale skin of his lower stomach, and the dusting of hair that trailed down from navel to pubis.

The Prince’s length strained against his breeches, the base of it just showing, a purple vein standing out against his starkly pale skin. You hadn’t gotten to see it properly the night before, and the sight of it made your core clench around nothing.

Before he pulled himself from the confines of his pants, Aemond grabbed you once more and shifted you to lay sideways atop his bed, the plush green sheets soft beneath your skin. Your eyes rose to the ceiling, looking at the soft canopy that lay atop before the screeching of a chair on stone caught your attention.

You snapped your head to the side, watching as Aemond effortlessly dragged Cregan by the chair closer to the bed, only an arms length away. He towered over the man from Winterfell who looked up at him with nothing but contempt.

“You’ll watch me fuck her,” Aemond began smugly, “And know that it could never be you. Know that it will never be you.” Cregan attempted to sit up higher in the seat, chest pulling at the ropes that held him back, “You’ll watch me bring peak after peak from her as she wets my cock and likes it, and you’ll remember that it was me doing it.”

“Aemond.” You tried to distract him, try to take the attention away from Cregan, who watched with burning eyes, “Please.”

The silver haired Prince turned his head towards you and smirked before looking back at Cregan, “You see? She already begs for more.” Aemond walked back towards you, only two short steps from the bed as his eye roamed your naked body, gaze settling into the crux of your thighs, “She only had me last night, and already she begs so nicely.”

With jerky movements, Aemond pulled his length from his breeches, the length and girth large and intimidating. The tip was a rosy pink, and long veins travelled up its length. A bead of arousal had begun to form on top, slowly leaking down the base as he knelt on the bed, pulling you down to meet his hips, and had you not already experienced it, you would have been filled with fear.

Aemond thrust into you quickly and sharply, pain filling you before a feeling of fullness, his tip pressing at the end of your walls. You hissed softly, hands having raised to grasp his arms, nails biting into his skin beneath his shirts.

Your husband leant down, lips brushing against your cheek as it moved to your ear, “Do you like when I spear you on my cock?” He purred, his breath tickling your neck.

With clenched teeth you nodded, willing your body to adjust to his size quickly.

“Use your words, you’re not a mute.”

“Yes.” You grit out, turning your head away from him as he loomed above you, arms on either side of your head as he lay between your parted thighs.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Aemond.”

“Close.

You swallowed, “Yes, Husband.”

“Good.” Aemond pulled out of you swiftly before he thrust back in, “Girl.”

You exhaled sharply, the angle so far different from the night before. He felt deeper, more intense, everywhere all at once.

It was overwhelming.

You scrunched your eyes shut as Aemond began to rut into you, your hands not once leaving his arms as you clutched onto him, shifting your hips to alleviate the way his tip pressed harshly against your cervix with each thrust.

His hips clapped against yours brutally, speeding up, the movement shifting you up the bed as you squeaked with each impact, a warmth beginning to pool in your gut once more. The hair at the base of his cock brushed against your pearl roughly as his pelvis slid against yours, the stimulation winding that all too familiar coil again.

A moan broke free from your lips as Aemond shook a hand free, hoisting up one of your legs atop his hip, shifting the angle entirely so that his cock brushed against the small spongey patch within you deliciously, pleasure sending sparks through your limbs. Your eyes were shut so tightly, you could see stars behind them, your bottom lip gnawed between teeth.

“Open your eyes.” Aemond breathed from above, his pace not once faltering.

Your head tipped to the side, away from where Cregan sat, eyes still scrunched shut as you whined beneath him.

“I said,” Aemond grunted, hand roughly coming to grasp your chin as he turned your head back towards Cregan, “Open.”His fingers squeezed painfully against your jaw, bruises likely to show in the morning, your eyes finally opening to find Cregan watching you already.

“Lord Stark knows how to follow orders. He’s not once taken his eyes off you.” Aemond purred, thrusting particularly sharply into you causing you to wince, “Do you think he wishes he were I?”

Your mouth felt dry again, and all you could do was watch as the blush on Cregan’s cheeks depend and his eyes momentarily flashed away form you before returning, remembering Aemond’s threat.

“I think he does, sweet wife. I think he wishes that he was in your tight, wet, cunt as I am now. Don’t you agree?”

Your breasts moved with each thrust, the sound of your slick sliding against his length loud as it was before as you huffed beneath your husband.

Aemond’s fingers tightened against your jaw, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

Another squeeze.

“I do.” You breathed, your face suddenly feeling flushed.

The man on top of you pulled out suddenly, hands moving under your sides to flip you over onto your stomach.

“Do not-“ You began angrily.

“-Quiet.” Aemond snapped, grabbing your hips as he pulled you up onto your knees, your hands fisting the sheets as you looked ahead, uncertainty filling your features before you felt the head of Aemond cock slide through your folds, and push straight back inside.

“Fuck you.” You hissed as he began to fuck into you, “Gods.” The angle made you feel even fuller than before, but shallower too, his length constantly batting against your walls as his hips clapped against your ass.

You struggled to stay upright as he continued, his grip on your hips painful as he pulled you back onto him, the air being punched from your lungs each time, making you gasp out small little high pitched huffs. A hand in your hair wrenched your head back and then to the side, directing your face to meet the Stark’s who’s eyes were not on your own, but instead upon your body.

The heat of his gaze caused you to clamp down on Aemond’s length, the Lord’s roaming eyes watching as the Princes cock buried itself over and over inside of you, before slowly roaming back up your body, catching sight of your breasts below you as they moved, and then finally to your face.

Seeing that he was caught, Cregan flushed, eyes casting down briefly before looking back up at you. He shifted against the chair, hands still tightly clenched against the arm, chest heaving, his thick muscled thighs clenching against the seat, and to-

Oh.

Cregan shifted again, knowing where your gaze had fallen, his hips trying to shift back against the wooden chair, but there was nothing to hide the hardening length within his dark leathered breeches, which pressed painfully to the front of his pants.

Your core clenched again, and from behind you heard Aemond grunt.

You should have been upset, you should have been horrified, but all it did was set the heat that was already simmering in your gut ablaze, your nipples stiffening to peaks. Instinctually you arched your back, hoping to better the view, which got another grunt of appreciation from your husband, who’s pace was yet to falter, his stamina owed to years of hard work in the training yard with Ser Criston Cole.

Cregan’s lips parted as he watched you, the pink of his tongue coming out to wet his lips, and that was all it took for you to come undone. You cried out loudly, keeping your eyes on Cregan as Aemond fucked you through your release, triggering his own. He came with a growl, his hips slowing to a halt as you felt his seed pulse inside of you.

You collapsed against the bed, eyes half lidded as you watched Cregan shift again against his chair as Aemond slowly pulled out of you with a hiss. Warmth dripped from your folds and down your thighs as you felt the soft press of kiss against your shoulder blades.

Your uncle manoeuvred you on the bed again, your body pliant in his hands as he pulled you to the edge of the bed, legs spread wide for Cregan to see. The man’s pale eyes drifted down to between your thighs, watching hungrily as Aemond’s spend dripped out from within you.

“Tell me Cregan,” Aemond stood by the bed panting, tucking his length back into his breeches whilst he brushed a loose hair over your shoulder, “Did you enjoy watching me fuck my wife?”

The taunt earnt him a sneer.

“An honest question deserving of an honest answer. I thought Stark’s were known for the honesty and oaths?” Aemond pressed.

You breathed heavily as you watched Cregan’s gaze fell to you and only you in that moment as his answer was given.

“Yes.”

There was no denying the edge of arousal that roughened the edge of his answer.

“Hm.” A beat, “Would you like a taste?”

You brows furrowed as you looked up to your husband, who kept his eye on Cregan, his hand atop your shoulder brushing gently in thought.

A taste?

Did he mean to-

Your heart leapt into your throat, watching as Aemond took his blade from his side and moved towards the Stark man.

“Stop!” You yelled, watching as Cregan did not flinch when Aemond approached him.

“Worry not, I mean no harm. I am feeling generous.” Aemond purred, lifting the blade towards Cregan, “He watched dutifully as I put my seed inside of you.” His lilac eye dropped to Cregan’s hardened member, “And it seems that he has enjoyed it.” The Prince turned to face you, “I only wish to give him a parting gift. Something to remember… to agonise over for years to come.”

With a swift hand, Aemond sliced the ropes that bound Cregan's chest to the back of the chair, the Northerner staying still in his seat. The tall Targaryen bent down and cut the ropes on the mans legs loose, one by one.

“Now,” Aemond stood to his full height again, pointing his blade towards Cregan’s wrists, still tied to the chair, “Know that I have your men in a holding cell, and should you try anything, I shall have them all cut into seven pieces and strung about the gates.” Aemond paused, his gaze hardening, “And then I will stay true to my word.”

Cregan’s chest heaved with anger as he watched the prince, still not speaking a word.

“Do we understand each other?” Aemond questioned him, one silver brow lifted in challenge.

Cregan’s jaw clenched, a click audible to the chambers, “Yes.” He growled.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement and released his hands, taking a step back as Cregan stood slowly, rubbing at his raw wrists as he looked at you on the bed. His head turned back towards your husband, uncertain of what he meant.

Impatiently Aemond thrust his arm towards you, blade still in hand, “Go to her. Taste how sweet she is, and know that you will never taste her again.”

Cregan shifted on his feet uncomfortably, looking to you for permission, for denial.

You didn’t know what to do, or what to say, so instead, you widened your legs in invitation, feeling desire begin to stir in you once more.

It was wrong.

But Gods did you need it.

“Clean her up.” Aemond commanded, and with slow and cautious steps, Cregan walked towards you.

The scent of Aemond was overpowered by that of Cregan’s. He smelt of cedar wood and fur, and the soft smell of musk beneath it all that just felt right for a Northerner.

It felt as if each stepped dragged on for days. You shifted against the bed nervously, casting your eyes to Aemond, who watched with a desire of his own.

Cregan dropped to his knees, his hands twitching by the side of your hips on the bed, cautious to even touch you, a stark difference to the way Aemond simply took. The dark haired man looked up at you breathlessly as you gave him a nod, shifting your hips towards him again, likings the way his eyes dropped down to your centre and then back up.

His large calloused hands grasped the soft meat of your hips, his eyes keeping on yours as he leant froward slowly, the heat of his breath fanning across your sensitive folds. Your mouth parted as you panted above him, watching as he wet his lips before finally pressing a chaste kiss to your core.

A soft moan escaped your mouth, head dropping back momentarily, giving him a strike of confidence before burying his tongue between your folds. You dropped back onto the bed, hands coming to grasp his hair as he licked and suckled at your folds, lapping at both your and Aemond’s release which only served to spark your desire further, that same familiar coil winding rapidly.

You tilted your head to watch him, his eyes still on you as you began to come undone on his tongue. Your name pulled you away from his stare, and you turned your head to face Aemond who watched hungrily from beside, his jaw tensed.

Already sensitive from such an intense night already, you writhed against Cregan’s mouth with a moan, his ministrations bringing you to your peak swiftly, your slick gushing into his mouth. You kept your eyes on Aemond this time, watching as he breathed deeply, his cock already beginning to swell in his breeches.

You panted and whined as the pleasure became too much, and only then did Cregan remove his face from between your thighs, roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The chambers became still as you all breathed deeply, warmth spreading through your limbs as you couldn’t decide who to look at for longest.

Your husband.

Or the Northerner.

All you could think about was what you had done.

What had just transpired.

Your husband had trapped a Lord of the North in his chambers and forced him to watch you be fucked by him, and not only that, commanded that he cleaned you after. But what was the most confusing part of all, was that all in the chambers seemed to have liked it.

“Cole.” Aemond’s voice broke the stillness of the room, the door to the chambers opening swiftly.

Cregan stepped in front of you to shield your body from Ser Cole at the same time Aemond did, his back turning to his knight as he grabbed the sheet of the bed to drape over your exposed body.

The knight entered, flagged by two guards.

Confusion flashed across Cregan’s face as he stiffened, body gearing itself up for a fight.

“Relax, Stark.” Aemond mused, not even bothering to look at the man as he observed the guards, eye landing on Ser Cole again, “Take Cregan and his men to the travel roads. Ensure they have food for travel and water for the ride. They are to leave Kings Landing immediately to return back to Winterfell.”

Ser Cole nodded, as did the guards who swiftly approached Cregan, grabbing each arm as they began to remove him from Aemond’s chambers. The dark haired man looked back at you in confusion as you clutched the sheet your chest, unsure of what to do.

“Stark.” Aemond called out before the dark haired mans foot could cross the threshold. The Northerner stilled, eyes suspicious, “Expect a raven.”

Without another word, the guards pulled Cregan out of the room, Criston shutting the door behind them. The silence in the chambers was nerve-racking, and you turned to look at your uncle, who was already making his way to fill two goblets of wine.

Your mouth opened, a myriad of questions ready to pour out your mouth, but as usual, Aemond seemed to be one step ahead.

“You’re my wife.” He began, the sound of wine filling goblets. He turned with them in hand, coming to stand beside the bed as he handed you one.

You kept one hand with the sheets against your breast, the other shakily grasping the goblet, fatigue weighing your body down. Aemond spun to sit in the very chair that Cregan had been tied to, the ropes still on the floor in a heap.

“Our marriage is one of a prospect of peace, not love.” His words stung you in a way you didn’t realise they could, “Though, I do hope to change that one day. I wish to make you happy,” He paused, taking a sip from his goblet as he thought carefully, “And it would be remiss of me to say that what just happened didn’t spark something within me.”

You frowned, “I do not understand.”

“You looked like a Queen having him kneel before you.”

A beat.

“My Queen."

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macabr3-barbi3 · 1 month

Text

CTRL ALT DELETE- Task Manager (Vox/Reader)

Something's up with Vox and you offer to help troubleshoot- it both does and does not go how you're expecting it to.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54688282

The least serious thing I've ever written: inspired by the time i started a timer in class one day to see how long my teacher talked about her son instead of teaching us; i ended up realizing 4 months later that i never stopped the timer and it was just running in the background and making my shit slow that entire time lmao there's a screenshot in the ao3 notes

Tags: Stress Relief, Sexual Tension, Chair Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Begging, Computers. Dirty Talk, very basic knowledge of computers

<3<3<3<3<3<3

Your new boss seemed stressed.

Not in the usual way that he was stressed, either- the note from the assistant you had replaced was that usually when Vox was having an off day he would call for Valentino or have you pull a list of low earners for the month, banishing you from the room in either case. But he hadn’t spent any time with Val in months, basically the entire time that you’d been working with him as a personal assistant after getting promoted from a stage grunt for the news channel.

You had thought for a bit that he might make a move- that maybe that was why he promoted you, that he was charmed enough by you to end the on/off thing he had going on with Val, which made sense based on the timing. But when you tested that theory recently- made double entendres, brushed your hands against his arms or leg or back, blatantly invited him out for dinner and drinks- he didn’t seem interested. He declined your invite, allowed you to touch him without being overcome with lust, and the sex jokes just seemed to go whoosh.

Right over his head.

He was on edge and twitchy. He took longer to respond to things than he normally did, his processors slow, occasionally getting a ‘buffering’ message that flashed across his screen when someone asked a question. His hypnotic eye seemed to be suffering as well, the swirls having slowed down now to the point that they were no more mesmerizing than watching paint dry. It was frustrating and enraging him, and in turn frustrating you- he was fucking hot when he was angry, which didn’t help your attraction to him that he was ignoring.

He was sitting at his desk in the control room when you entered, head in his hands as he stared at a piece of paper on his desk. The monitors were all lit behind him, showing recorded footage of the Tower throughout the day- you spotted a short recording of yourself talking to some of the marketing team a few hours ago. Like a Valentino caricature he read the paper, blinked his eyes a couple times, read it again. Picked it up and pulled it closer to his face like that would help, and his screen scrolled the words along the bottom like his internal system was trying to transcribe it so something he could understand. He finally dropped the paper with a groan, letting it flutter to the floor where it slipped under his chair and stopped just before you.

“Are you okay, sir?” The question is out before you can stop it, and as was the normal recently it took a few minutes for him to answer.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered, swiveling around to look at you. He clutched the sides of his screen, eyes narrowed and mouth delayed in its movements as he spoke. “I feel like I can’t focus on anything. I can’t process anything. My- just, fucking everything is slow and useless in my head right now! How am I supposed to be a master media manipulator when I can’t fucking concentrate for more than two minutes at a time?”

“You have seemed more… stressed than usual,” you agree. “Are none of your usual relaxing activities helping? Or have you done any troubleshooting?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Troubleshooting,” you say again, and at his blank stare you chuckle a little. “You know, doing a couple ‘quick fix’ things to see if that’s what’s causing the problem. Do you have like, a cache or something that you have to clear? An archive dump to get rid of old files?” You let your eyes track his body from top to bottom. “I’m not super familiar with how your… anatomy works?”

God, but you wanted to be.

He blinks a couple times. “I think I used to have someone that did that for me,” he says. “Years ago. I fired them because it didn’t seem necessary, I was running perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, well, that might be what the problem is.” You offer him a soft smile. “Sometimes stuff will work in sub-optimal conditions for a while before it starts causing issues. I used to do programming customer support when I was alive- it’s been a while but I could take a look if you want?”

His mouth twists in a frown. “I guess so,” he agrees. “I’m desperate enough to try anything. I need to be able to fucking concentrate if the Vees are gonna stay on top, everyone fucking knows that Val is hopeless with the business aspect of everything.” He gets the buffering symbol on his screen for a few seconds, groaning and shaking his head as he clears. “What do you need access to?”

“Do you have a way to access your… system? Externally,” you clarify. “I’m not a surgeon- I don’t plan on cutting into you to get to anything.”

Vox gestures behind him. “I can hook up to the monitors,” he says, “but we’ll have to be pretty close, doll. I have to be sitting here to be hooked up, and since this is the only chair, looks like this will have to be your seat.” He pats a hand on his thighs, not so much an invitation as a statement.

You fucking wished. You know this isn’t him trying to initiate anything though- you’d been trying for long enough that you’re ready to give it up and just accept that your hot, overlord boss didn’t want to fuck you. Helping him out felt more important than that anyway, so you would do your best.

“You got it,” you say, and cross the remaining space to perch yourself gracefully on his lap. You push the inappropriate thoughts about how firm his muscles are underneath you- how exactly did this man’s body work? Was it really just his head that was not organic matter?- and let him rotate the chair back to face the monitors.

The sight is intimidating, as is the position- you’re surrounded by reflections of yourself from every angle, Vox’s lithe frame seated behind you. This is where he does most of his business, the background site of everything that VoxTec handles. And he’s trusting you to help him fix whatever is wrong with him so he can get back to handling all of that, free of distraction.

You watch as thick wires come up from the floor to plug into the back of his head, the sharp hiss making you wonder if it was painful or intrusive. You won’t ask though, not when you’re getting ready to try to restore him to his usual ruthless self; he might consider that to be prying.

He pulls something up on the main monitor, the one that sits directly across from you, and waves a hand to it. A little keyboard and mouse emerge from the desk as the monitor powers on, and when you glance back you can see the same thing reflected on his face. “Have at it,” you hear him say, even though you can’t see his mouth moving.

Ignoring his open programs for the time being in case he needs any of them, the first thing you do is go in and clear his archived files. He’s got entire terabytes of useless information; employee records for people that have been dead or fired for decades; funny videos that he saved; resources for old news stories that are no longer relevant. Some of it you help him upload to a cloud server- after explaining to him what a cloud server is- and create files to designate for actual important shit.

You find the internal browser that he uses to pull information on the fly and help him clear the cache and cookies.

You help him sort security footage from Vee Tower and get rid of stuff that wasn’t actually necessary, like the short bits of static and dead air that happened whenever he used the cameras to teleport around the building. Everything that he has saved about mentions of that fucking radio demon also goes into the garbage. There are some files you can’t access, things like his memories and day to day recordings of conversations and things that he personally is part of.

You delete what you can and empty the recycling bin.

As the process has gone on, Vox has relaxed more and more behind you. “I still don’t feel completely back to normal,” he murmurs, “but this is already loads better. It’s like a massage directly on my brain. You know, if I still physically had one.”

You hit the keys to open his task manager- CTRL ALT DELETE. “Unholy fuck- Jesus, sir, if you thought that was good this is gonna feel orgasmic,” you say absently, scrolling through the opens apps and programs that he has running. Has this man ever closed anything? You hadn’t realized a person or device could even have so many things going at once. “Do you just leave everything open in the background?”

He peers around your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips as he sits up a little straighter. The movement causes your stomach to drop, arousal threatening to make itself known, but you push the notion down as he sets his hands back on the arms of the chair. “I guess so?” He watches you scroll through the extensive list. “I guess it just never occurred to me to close them. Opening the programs to use is just like my stream of consciousness I suppose.”

“Kay, well, that’s stopping now.” You click on the first item on the list- VoxtaGram. “I recommend closing non-essential stuff out at least once a month. More, if you have the time to go through everything. For now, just in case, there is something important we’re gonna go through some of the more recently opened things, set them up to open automatically when you start up, before we reboot your system- wait, can we reboot your system entirely without killing you?”

“No worries there, dear. I can, I just haven’t done it in years because it can take a while to start back up afterwards.” He sneers at the social media page. “You can close that shit. Any of Velvette’s crap she can handle on her own. Same with any of the fucking games that Val loads up when he’s bored- can I delete those entirely? Or block them? Fucking moth and his blue-light addiction…”

You get through a lot of the list, Vox kind of dozing off and only passively participating in the process. You’ve got the gist of it; things like his news sources, contacts list and phone, and the notes app are staying open and set to automatically launch when he does reboot and start back up. Pretty much everything else is closed out, things he pulled up for two seconds weeks ago to check on something or another before abandoning it. You’re making excellent progress when the next thing on the list gives you pause.

“Vox? Why is this- oh my god.” You can’t help it- you start laughing, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder as you look at what’s now displayed on the screen.

A stopwatch had apparently been started and never stopped. The elapsed time was over three thousand hours, which came out to something like four months if your mental math was correct. He had had this running constantly in the background since you had started working for him, possibly even before. “I think I found the problem,” you chuckled, and his eyes were narrowed as he looked at the timer continuing to tick. “What is this?”

“What the actual fuck?” He buffers for a second- and you’re pleased to note that it’s already much faster than it has been lately- before you hear a dinging sound coming from him. ‘Fucking Hell, I should have known this was all Valentino’s fault.” He drags a clawed hand down his screen in an imitation of a facepalm. “I was timing him. He was fucking ranting about Angel Dust again while we were in a strategy meeting with Velvette- I had the stopwatch going to see how much of the hour session he wasted talking about that whore. I must have forgotten to turn it off.” He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back with the force of it while you look at him with amusement. “I’m gonna owe you big time for this, doll, you’re a lifesaver.”

You close the app out with a smile. “Just trying to help,” you say. “I think that was probably the worst of it- do you want to just try rebooting now?”

He lets out a groan when the app closes, and the sound shoots through your body straight to your core. “Go for it, hun,” he says, eyes closed as he leans back against the chair. “I think I’m good to go now, but it can’t hurt. You were right, sorting this shit out feeling fucking good.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the dampness of your panties as you bypass ‘kinda horny’ straight to ‘fuck me on this desk.’ You scold yourself mentally: Don’t jump your boss. He’s trusting you to help him right now- do not take advantage of that. Do not ride his leg like you very clearly want to because his voice is fucking hot. Fucking focus.

You clear your throat, closing out the task manager and hitting the button to restart him. “See you in a bit, sir.”

You stay seated on his lap just in case- he might still have something he wants you to do when he comes back online, some settings you could apply to close out things that are used for more than a week or so. It’s definitely not because you like the feeling of his strong thigh underneath you, tantalizingly close to your cunt if you, by chance, decided to tilt your hips forward and start grinding down on him.

After just a few minutes get a message on the main monitor telling you to wait a moment- things start popping up on the other screens surrounding the central one, and it takes you a moment to recognize the pattern.

Its all videos of you- shot from Vox’s perspective, and a mortifying blush takes over your face. They’re all the moments that you had tried coming onto him. The innuendos and subtle entendres, the times that you touched him, pressed yourself against him in a tight space despite having another way to get to the copy machine, when you had invited him out for dinner. There’s also videos where he had just been watching you, apparently, taken from a distance as you spoke with Velvette or passed instructions along to a member of the team or discreetly tried to hide behind a vending machine when you noticed Val coming into a room.

There’s a satisfied grumble behind you, and before you can turn to look at him Vox has settled his claws onto either side of your waist and shifted you over a bit, to rest directly on the erection straining his pants.

Which is a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

“Thanks for the reset, doll,” he says, and his voice is a quiet growl as he lets his hands wander from your waist to your hips and back again, claw tipped fingers catching on the fabric. “I got a chance to look at some files while I was under and found quite the treat in your logs.”

This could either be very bad or very, very good. “Sir-”

“You know, I’m usually pretty good at picking up what a woman is putting down. Imagine my surprise when I realize you’ve been coming onto me for weeks and my shit was so fucked up and bogged down that I didn’t even notice. Like that?” He uses one hand to point to a screen in the far left of the central monitor, while he snaked his other hand down to rest on your thigh, his hand large enough to encompass the muscle at the edge of your skirt. On the screen, you had come to his office to drop off meeting notes for something you attended on his behalf. You had dropped the stack as you came around his side of the desk, and got down fully on your knees to pick them up, glancing up at him through your lashes. You blush watching it now- it had seemed obvious to you even then, but watching it now, the way that Vox had seen it? When he didn’t say anything about you being face level with his prick you had used a hand on his thigh to brace yourself to stand up, letting your fingers run along the inner seam of his trousers when you rose back to standing. Still no reaction, and you had left his office equal parts turned on and irritated with yourself. Him not having acted on it had been the final nail in the coffin cementing the fact that he was not interested in the slightest.

You let out a weak exhale as the Vox sitting under you gets his other hand in the same position as the first, using his grip to ever so slightly spread your legs on his lap. He lets his fingers skim your inner thighs and you shake with the effort of not begging him to just touch you. This was delicious, agonizing torture.

“Had I been in my right mind for that display, baby, I would have fucking ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧd̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡.” His voice crackles and glitches on the last words, and the sound of it forces a moan from your throat as you let your head fall back. You clutch your hands to the arms of the chair as his tongue- and who even really knew he had a tongue, what the fuck?- licks down the side of your jaw and at your exposed neck. “I would have had you choking on my cock before getting a taste of that sweet cunt and fucking you into the desk for hours.”

One hand finally slips under the edge of your skirt and you shiver when his fingers make contact with your soaked core. “Is that what you want now, babygirl? You want me to give you my cock as thanks for helping to set me straight? To make up for lost time?” He slides a finger under the thin material of your panties, groaning in your ear at how slick he finds you. “That’s what I want, doll. I want you to ride me so hard you go stupid with the feeling, and you never feel whole without some part of me in your cunt for the rest of for-fucking- ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧv̹̹̘̼̞̻͆ͩ̓ͪ͢ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟.”

“Fuck, please,” you gasp out, the word devolving into a cry as Vox finally slides a finger into you, mindful of the claws as he pushes in and quickly follows the first with a second. He uses his free hand to hold your hips still as you try to grind into his digits, keeps you held firmly against his erection as you squirm in pleasure.

His sharp fingertips angle to prod gently at a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars; your eyes are clenched shut as you ride the feeling, so close to the edge you feel like you’re going to implode with the force of it when you finally tip over. “Fuck, sir, please, so c-close,” you mumble, and his tongue is back to licking at whatever parts of your skin it can reach.

“You wanna come like this, sweetheart?” The main monitor in front of you glitches out, and when it comes back into focus you see yourself on the screen- like a mirror, you’re reflected, and you can see Vox’s grinning face behind you. Your skin is flushed, sweat dripping down your face, the hint of tears along your lashline as your mouth drops open when he adds a third finger. “Look fuckin’ beautiful, baby, you were made for this- maybe we give Valentino a call, he could-”

“No!” You release the arms of the chair to grab onto his wrists where his hands meet your body. “No one- no one but you, sir. Vox, please, l- let me come. Please?” You let a little whine into your voice, and you can see the way his mouth goes lax and his eyes laser-focus on where you’re grabbing at his hands.

“I didn’t mean to join us, dollface, just to record- but you’re right, you’re right.” He pulls his fingers from your pussy, slicing the center of your panties in the process before he brings his digits to his mouth- you watch on the screen as he curls his tongue around each one, licks the flavor of you from his skin and glitches out at the taste. “How could I possibly share such a fucking vision with anyone else?

He shifts you to one side so he can get his dick out, and the sight of it in the monitor, his own arousal beading at the top and rock hard, has you whimpering before it’s even inside of you. He carried himself like a man with a big cock, but Christ.

“Hope you like what you see, hun, cause it’s all yours.” He scoots forward in the seat, tilts his hips forward for the right angle, and moves you back into your previous position with ease- this time, the tip of him is pushing inside you, and you watch in the monitor as you sink inch by glorious inch onto him.

Once you’re fully seated, Vox seems to lose capability for rational thought. “Fuck me, you’re perfect,” he moans, bracing his feet more firmly on the ground to thrust up into you, getting a firm grasp on your hips to pull you down into it. The result is a beautiful stab at that sweet spot inside of you that makes you clench and cry out, watching Vox’s hypnotic eye start spiraling at its normal speed on the screen, and you can see backwards scrolling text of his stream of thoughts- a bunch of nonsensical letters and cuss words interspersed with your name. “I want to fucking- chain you to my desk so I can have this perfect pussy whenever I want it. Fuck, I can’t believe we- we could have been doing this for weeks.” He punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust.

“A-all the more reason to regularly clear your task manager, sir,” you say, so caught up in the feeling of him railing you from below that you can hardly believe you formed a coherent thought. He feels so fucking good and you’re a hair trigger away from collapsing and wringing him for all he’s got.

With one quick movement he’s shifted, and there’s a hand on your throat arching you backwards at the same time that he gets a couple clawed fingers rubbing at your clit. The shock of the combination makes you flutter around his length, a choked noise escaping your throat before he tightens his grip- not enough to really cut off your air supply, but enough that your brain starts going soft and mushy and the vice grip your cunt has on his cock gets impossibly tighter. You can see the shine of your slick arousal coating him every time he pulls out to rut back into you, and the sights and sounds are threatening to rip you into the chasm of ecstasy that you’re flirting with.

“Vox,” you whine, “please, I’m so fucking- please please please-“

“Christ, babygirl, whatever you fucking want.” His eyes are wide and frantic as they watch the place you’re joined, his mouth set in a snarl as he fucks into your pliant body. The cry you release is nothing short of agonized- it’s so fucking close you can taste it, nearly overwhelmed with the tension.

“You wanna fucking cum on my cock? Do it, angel, let me see it- come on, baby, cum for me-“

Your walls clench down hard as you reach your orgasm, Vox’s grip on your throat making your vision and mind go fuzzy with the force of it as you choke on a moan that tries to escape your tensed muscles. You’re distantly aware of Vox thrusting hard into you, more praise and curses falling from his lips as he hits his peak as well, pressing his screen to the side of your face when he relinquishes his handle on your throat to clutch at your hips and grind into your cunt as he spills inside of you. The aftershocks of your release leave you twitching, milking his cock of everything he has to offer before he collapses into the chair behind you, a boneless pile of a man now simply running his hands over any bit of skin he could reach.

It’s truly a testament to how helpful the reset and reboot had been that Vox’s system doesn’t simply crash. “Fucking Hell, I haven’t felt this good in decades,” he mutters in your ear, and you shiver at the feeling of his tongue brushing the sensitive skin.

“Ha, you think that’s the reboot or the mind-melting orgasms?”

He hums contentedly. “Jury’s out on that, doll. Guess we’ll have to do a re-run on both and see how it stacks up to this one.”

“I’ll make sure to schedule some time out for it,” you chuckle before fixing him with a stern glare through the monitor. “I’m serious about clearing your apps and shit more frequently though. Christ, you had decades of backed up shit open-“

“Don’t berate me while my dick is still inside you, fuck.” He leans you forward far enough to pull out, and you grimace at the feeling of his cum starting to spill back out of you. He notices the expression though- “Whoops, sorry,” he says, and after a quick second during which he tucks his softening prick away he scoops you into his arms, standing from the chair and stepping away from the desk. “Let’s get you cleaned up at the penthouse, angel, what do you say?”

“If you’re carrying me then lead the way.” You gesture towards the door out of the control room. “Just don’t start any timers to see how long it takes to get there or anything and we should be good.”

The glare he fixes you with shouldn’t be hot, but it fucking is. “Hardy har,” he deadpans, and rolls his eyes while he stalks towards the elevator, control room door closing behind you; but there’s a small smile on his screen despite his ire and he’s functioning normally, and when you see the little stopwatch icon pop up in the bottom right corner of his face and start counting, you can’t help but laugh.

#vox x reader #vox smut #hazbin vox #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #hazbin hotel #x reader #my stuff <3

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illyrianbitch · 1 month

Text

Insatiable

Pairing: College! Reader x Frat Boy! Rhysand

Summary: There are countless reasons why you and Rhysand don’t work… but those reasons don’t seem so important when you’re tipsy in a bathroom with him inside you.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT!! drunken lil tipsy sex (between two consenting adults: drink responsibly), fingering (f receiving), p in v. all the funsies

Word Count: 2.9k

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You knew you were a goner when you saw him, your gaze catching his through a gap between the shifting sea of people— a gap just wide enough for your eyes to meet as he grinned, bringing a red plastic cup to his lips.

Now, your hands grasped at each other as Rhysand guided you backwards. The pulsating bass of the music followed you, echoing in your ears as you finally slipped through the door and into the relative quiet of the neon-lit bathroom. It was surprisingly clean for a frat-house. But then again, it was Rhysand’s, and he had an image to maintain. Not that any of it mattered, anyway, not as his hands snaked themselves around your waist, warm and eager to explore you.

The counter was hard against the small of your back as Rhysand pushed himself into you, your hands wrapped around his shoulders, pulling at his hair as he kissed your neck. His kisses were hot and wet, soft in a way that made you weak at your knees, practically purring at his touch. Your breathless gasps filled the air, mixing with the echoing music that blared from outside of the door.

"This is a bad idea," you murmured. But you made no move to stop. Instead, you tightened your arms around Rhys, fingers grasping at his hair. He lifted you up onto the edge of the counter, pushing your knees apart in order to slot himself in between them.

His lips trailed along the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he murmured against your skin, "Is it?”

It was. You and Rhysand could never seem to make things work. The fire was there, the chemistry was unlike anything you've ever felt— but it never mattered. Rhysand was selfish, arrogant, and stubborn. He made stupid decisions in the name of good intentions, found no error in spending his fathers money on every whim and desire, and never knew when to leave well enough alone. But from freshman year, to sophomore, and now far into your junior year, you still found yourself in moments like this. Moments pressed up against Rhysand as you told each other that it was the last time, that it would never happen again. You shouldn’t be doing this, you told yourself.

But as you pulled him back by his hair, locking eyes with him in the dim glow of the bathroom, any semblance of rational thought fled your mind. The red glow of the shitty LED strips pasted to the walls casted an almost sinful allure over his features, hair tousled and lips swollen. You wondered if this was how the devil looked, hauntingly beautiful as he lured people to sin.

"We can't keep doing this," you whispered, “We don’t work.”

He moved a hand to cradle your chin, his touch sending a spark of electricity that coursed through your veins. His thumb brushed against your lips. "And yet I heard you were the one looking for me?"

Your breaths were heavy, chest rising and falling with each erratic heartbeat as you looked at him.

"Maybe.”

He placed the pad of his thumb on your bottom lip, giving it a small tug.

"I didn't throw a party just to get a maybe.”

You pulled back slightly, swallowing hard as you searched for the right words. “Did you, did you throw this party for-”

"Yes," he answered before you could even finish the question, bringing his hand to cradle your cheek. “I did.”

Your eyes met his. There was a certain vulnerability in his features, in his furrowed brows and parted mouth, as if he was preparing himself for your answer– getting ready for, what he must have thought, was the inevitable dismissal. But no part of you felt like running away, like lying to him as you’d been lying to yourself. Your stomach tightened.

"I was,” you confessed, “I was looking for you.”

In an instant, he closed the distance between you, pulling you into a kiss that was pure heat, a firestorm of passion and longing. Even the blaring music faded from your ears as you lost yourself in Rhys’ touch, in the wetness of his mouth and the grip of his hands. There was a faint taste of some liquor on his tongue– what it was, you couldn't tell. It didn’t matter. You were sure your own lips matched the flavor, a hint of whatever was mixed into the drinks you’d taken while you attempted to convince yourself to leave.

His hands were everywhere, one at the base of your neck, pulling you closer with a possessiveness that made you pool at your core, while the other now gripped your ass, fingers digging into the fabric of your tight black dress. The dress you’d worn just for him. You moaned into his mouth as your body responded instinctively to his touch, arching against him, begging to get closer, to feel every inch of him against you.

His lips trailed along your jawline, leaving a searing trail of fire in their wake as you tilted your head back, offering yourself up to him completely. Your breathing was ragged, each exhale coming out as desperate pleas that had Rhysand’s cock stirring in his pants.

With a swift, almost impatient motion, Rhys pushed the fabric of your tight black dress up your thighs, pulling you forward as his hand grabbed a handful of your ass. You gasped into his mouth, fingers tightening on the fabric of his shirt as you leaned into his touch. You welcomed the warmth that rippled through your body, the sense of arousal that you felt drenched in.

"Tell me you wore this just for me," he murmured against your lips.

Your heart leapt, a nervousness now filling your veins.

"Shut up," you managed breathlessly, your response drowned out by another searing kiss that left you reeling, pawing at him like an animal in heat.

You could feel it, the smirk that now played on his lips, no doubt relishing in the effect he had on you— the effect he always had. If it was another time, another night, you would’ve been embarrassed, maybe felt the need to gain control. But it wasn’t any other night. It was tonight, and tonight you wanted Rhysand.

A low, guttural moan escaped your lips as his touch grew bolder, his hand dipping between your legs, the heat of his touch setting every inch of your skin ablaze. You arched against him, seeking more, craving the intoxicating pleasure that you both knew only he could provide. Rhys, your body seemed to scream, touch me, feel me, fill me.

You pulled him closer, your hands trailing down his chest as you sought to feel every inch of him against you. You reached forward, hands trembling as you fumbled with his belt. The sound of the metal clinking against the buckle was drowned out by sounds that filled the room– your harsh breaths and the bass of the music pounding against the walls.

He grinned against your lips, his touch hot against your skin as he began to pull your dress up further, exposing the bare skin beneath. With a soft gasp, you pushed yourself farther against him, body trembling with need as his fingers traced along your soaked core.

Rhys groaned as he pushed his hand in the front of your underwear, the material stretching out over the back of his hand as he used two fingers to spread you. You whined as he dipped a finger lower and pushed it inside of you.

Your body immediately clenched down around it, cunt pulsing as you gasped his name, lifting your hips in response. He kissed you as he brought a second finger into your soaked core, the sound of your moan swallowed by his mouth on yours. You were grasping at him, hands in his hair, on his shoulders, everywhere you could reach.

Rhysand’s lips found your neck next, nose running along your smooth skin. He peckered kisses in a small trail, stopping to give a harsh suck that had you murmuring his name once more.

With each curl of his fingers, the coil in your stomach tightened, a deep sense of urgency in your body growing, a need to feel him even more. "Please," you gasped, your voice a broken and desperate plea.

“Please what?" he teased, voice husky with desire as he brought his fingers deeper inside you with each stroke.

"Fuck me.”

Rhysand maintained his rhythm, the heel of his palm brushing against your sensitive clit as he brought his fingers in and out of you. "Patience, gorgeous," he murmured into your ear, “I’m getting there.”

But you didn’t want to fall apart like this, not on his hands. You wanted to feel him inside you, feel him stretching you out with every roll of his hips, feel him come undone with you– inside you.

"Well get there faster.”

Rhysand pulled back slightly, hands still buried inside you, fingers coated in your slick essence. "What's the rush, huh?" he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as he gazed down at you.

You squirmed beneath him, an ache for release burning deep within you. "I don't want to finish on your hands.”

A smirk played at the corners of his lips as he withdrew his hands, leaving you feeling empty and achingly needy. "As you wish," he conceded, as he brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting you with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

The sight of him licking his fingers clean sent a surge of arousal coursing through you, and you reached forward. Your hands fumbled with his pants, eager to feel him against you, and with a swift motion, he pushed them down with underwear, his cock springing free. Your mouth watered at the sight of him, at the desire to taste him and feel him everywhere. God you missed this, you missed him.

He pulled you closer to the edge of the counter and began teasing you with his length, holding it in his hand as he rubbed it against your folds with maddening slowness, coating the tip of his cock in your wetness. You whimpered in frustration.

"Rhys.”

He grinned against your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a wave of heat through your body. "Yes, darling?"

“Please.” You bit your lip, the sensation of his touch clouding your thoughts, mind hazy with a desire that consumed you. "I need you.”

His movements stilled for a moment, his gaze locking with yours. "Then you shall have me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed himself inside you. You choked on a moan, head dropping forward to rest on his shoulder, fingers clutching at his shirt.

"You’re fucking divine," Rhysand murmured, his voice low and husky as he began to move. "Gods, I've missed this."

You nodded against him, unable to form coherent words as waves of electricity washed over you. Rhysand grunted as he increased the rhythm of his movements, each thrust desperate and passionate.

“Haven’t you missed this, too? Me inside you?”

You pulled him into a deep kiss, feeling his tongue against yours. “Yes,” you whimpered against his mouth, one hand holding his jaw as the other clawed at his bicep. Your voice was barely a breath, barely audible between the sounds of skin slapping against skin.

Rhys leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours as you both panted. He looked at you through dark lashes, pupils blown wide as he murmured, “Does anyone else make you feel this way?”

You met his gaze, hands holding onto him as he bucked his hips up into you, feeling the way your cunt massaged his cock from inside. You clenched around him, breathing heavy.

“No.”

No one, ever. And it wasn't for a lack of trying. You’d tried hard, tried your absolute best to get Rhysand out of your system. But no one ever compared. The prick was in your bloodstream, in the air that you breathed. You craved him. Even now, as he fucked you, it wasn’t enough. You wanted more.

Rhysand pulled out for a moment before he pulled you off the counter and flipped you around, repositioning you so that he could enter you from behind. He guided himself inside you once again, gripping onto your hips, the bunched fabric of your rolled up dress above his knuckles.

You arched your back as every snap of Rhysand’s pushed you further onto the counter, closer to the mirror. Your hands desperately searched for something to grab onto as he fucked into you– one hand gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles, the other reaching back to lightly brush Rhys’.

With every snap of his hips, a new wave of pleasure rolled through your body, the sensation of him filling you from this new angle making you feel fuzzy and weak. You met his gaze in the mirror, watching as he leaned forward and placed a kiss on your bare shoulder. And then his lips were hovering over your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your neck.

“Does this feel like we don’t work?”

You couldn't answer, couldn’t bring your mouth to move as he held your stare. Your body quivered with each movement, every sensation heightened by the reflection of him fucking you from behind. Rhys moved faster and harder, his hands reaching around to push the flimsy straps of your dress down, exposing your bare front to the cool air of the bathroom. Your nipples peaked instantly, and with a possessive grip, Rhys pulled you up against his chest, one gripping your breast as he claimed you as his own.

"Because it feels like we were made for each other," he breathed against your skin. Your breath hitched, mouth falling open in bliss as he pushed into you, the warmth of him against your back strong and commanding.

"Rhys," you moaned as he continued to drive you towards the edge of your release. With each movement, each touch, he pushed you closer and closer, a tight coil in the pit of your stomach slowly unraveling.

And then, with a swift motion, he moved a hand from your hip to circle your clit, sending waves of white-hot pleasure rippling through your body. You felt him everywhere, his cock inside you, his hands gripping your body.

Your breath caught in your throat as he locked eyes with you once more in the mirror, his eyes burning with raw desire.

"You're perfect," he said, his words almost reverent, gentle like a prayer falling from his lips. Your heart clenched at his words, now pounding fast in your chest, a fluttering sensation in your ribs. “You look so beautiful like this.”

With one final snap, you felt the tension within you reach its breaking point, pleasure washing over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy. Your cunt clenched around him, the sensation driving him over the edge with one last harsh snap, his release echoing yours with a loud moan that had his head falling onto your shoulders.

It took a few moments for you both to catch your breath once more, Rhysand pulling out gently, making sure to keep his hold on your trembling legs. His movements were careful, almost tender, as he helped you clean up.

Turning to face him, you found yourself lost in his gaze. You knew that your hair mussed and your makeup was smudged, both things you’d noted as you watched him fuck you, but didn’t quite acknowledge until now. With a soft smile, Rhysand reached out and brushed the skin around your lips with his thumb, wiping a small streak of your lipstick.

"Beautiful," he said, his words a whispered caress that had you blushing and looking down.

He brought you into a sweet, small kiss, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that had your heart fluttering. "You should get back to your party," you whispered.

"I should.”

Rhysand’s hand dropped from your face, your skin now feeling cold and empty, already begging to be touched by him once more. He paused, his eyes searching your face for a moment.

"Guessing this is the last time?"

You stilled, breathless and nervous, knowing deep down that it should be the last time. But the truth was undeniable, your heart was hammering in your chest and there was already a new wetness pooling at your core at the thought of him before you. You wanted to kiss him, to hold his hand, to lose yourself in the intoxicating heat of his touch over and over again.

"It should be." You reached to readjust your straps, a feeble attempt to conceal the uncertainty that coated your words.

Rhys narrowed his eyes for a moment, his expression unreadable, before a small grin spread across his lips. "You know where to find me. I’ll be waiting.”

As he opened the door, the sounds of the party flooded back into the room, the thumping bass reverberating through your bones. You cringed at the sudden smells and sounds that were now filling your senses. Turning back to you, Rhysand met your eyes one last time.

"You're always worth the wait.”

Despite how low his voice was, you heard him in perfect clarity, the words echoing in your ears long after he disappeared into the pulsating chaos of the party.

Taking one last look around the red- lit bathroom, you gathered your resolve, pushing aside the fluttering sensation in your chest as you straightened your dress and adjusted your hair, setting out to find your friends.

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college bat boys and frat boy rhysand is something i think about daily 💋

i’m in such a writing rut so enjoy this lil one shot that i think is ASS 🧎🏻‍♀️ but it’s okay we ball.

MWUAH

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader smut #rhys x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #rhysand #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhysand smut #acotar smut #rhysand fanfic #rhysand fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #rhys acotar

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cyripticchronicler · 2 months

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Love Potions and Unspoken Desires - Sirius Black

A mishap with Amortentia has you and Sirius head over heels for each other. Except, your feelings are genuine. But what is his were too?

A/N: I haven't posted in forever and I'm so sorry! I've been busy with school and have been studying a lot. I'm really proud of this one shot though and I hope everyone likes it!! If there are any errors or constructive criticism you want to give please tell me <3

Warnings: Slight mentions of abuse, kissing

Masterlist

The torch-lit halls guide your way as you walk towards Potions, mind racing at the mere thought of the lesson. You wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to make yourself more comfortable, trying your best to keep your back straight.

They slump as soon as you enter the room.

“You’re late,” Professor Slughorn announces loudly causing your cheeks to heat. Everyone's heads whipped around to face you and you prayed to Merlin the ground would swallow you up whole.

You clear your throat so your voice doesn't come out scratchy, “Sorry, Professor. I was helping out in Transfiguration.”

He nods in dismissal and you take that as your queue to find a seat, eyes scanning the crowded room for an empty spot. Your eyes land on the only free seat next to Sirius Black and you tense. You can barely be in the same room as him and now you're going to have to sit next to you? Merlin, you wish this day was over.

And he looks so pretty today too. His hair was freshly washed, Gryffindor tie slung loosely around his neck, and shirt sleeves pulled up to his elbows.

A pointed cough snaps you out of your thoughts and you hurry towards the seat, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

You’re pretty sure everyone just saw you check out Sirius Black.

Could this day get any worse?

Turns out it could.

You go to chuck your bag underneath the table but miss by a long shot, the bottom of your school bag hitting Sirius in the face, causing him to let out a surprised groan. Some people behind you let out a laugh and you squeeze your eyes shut, kicking your bag underneath the table and sitting in your seat.

You barely make eye contact before you look away, muttering a hushed ‘sorry’ and attempting to catch up on the notes you missed.

“Today we’re making Amortentia. Can someone tell me what this is?” At the lack of answers, he turns to you with a pointed look.

You raise your hand nervously. “It’s the most potent love potion. When consumed it causes a powerful infatuation or obsession in the drinker towards the person who administered the potion. it does not create genuine love; rather, it amplifies preexisting feelings or creates an artificial attraction.”

“Very good. Five points to Gryffindor.”

You nod your head awkwardly and look back down at your notes.

“Write down the ingredients and instructions and then get started. You’re going to be working with the people next to you.”

You tense up, head snapping up. Sirius chuckles next to you and you turn to face him.

“Looks like we’re working together, Love. I’ll go get the ingredients.”

You nod your head awkwardly, too shocked to respond. Did he just call you love? Are you okay?

Your cheeks heat and you groan internally at yourself. Stop blushing you dipshit.

Attempting to distract yourself, you make quick work of cleaning the workspace, spotting Sirius talking to James and Remus out of the corner of your eye. James smacks Sirius’ back, whispering something that causes Remus to shake his head and Sirius to grin.

He comes back a minute later, ingredients in hand.

“You seem to know a lot about this potion, you ever used it on someone?” He smirks teasingly causing your cheeks to flush. “No,” You mutter quietly, “I just like making potions.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, eyes searching your face. You look away quickly, his stare burning your face as you pour some ingredients into the cauldron.

You continue the work in comfortable - for him at least- silence, working with him easier than ever.

You were finished in no time, grinning in triumph as you tried not to breathe in the strong smell.

“Well done you too! Grab a vile and bottle some up why don't you.” Professor Slughorn smiles, hurrying off to another table whose cauldron is smoking.

“Good job, love. I might have to work with you more,” Sirius flirts and you jerk in surprise, hand flying back and knocking the vile that he was holding with your own, Amortentia effectively spilling over you both.

His eyes grow dilated in seconds and you assume yours do the same, heart thumping and palms sweating as you stare up at him with heart eyes.

“I-I'm so sorry.” You force out, too focused on how he looked at you like you hung the moon.

“For?” He questions, seemingly in a daze. He looks down at his shirt and grins. “Right, it’s no problem, Love. You can do nothing wrong in my eyes.” He flirts and you go back to respond but are successfully cut off by James.

“Sirius! You’re in deep shit, man.” He laughs, slapping him on the back. You track the hand, wishing it was yours instead.

Sirius doesn’t respond, too busy grinning at you. Merlin, this potion is good.

“Dear, dear.” Professor Slughorn mutters as he comes to inspect the chaos. “Right, it will wear off soon. You’re just going to be partially in love with each other for a bit.”

Sirius grins, “I am in love with her-” James cuts him off with a hand on the shoulder, dragging him towards the door. “I’ll just keep him away until the potion wears off-”

“The class isn’t over-” Professor Slughorn protests but James is already gone. You frown in disappointment, already missing Sirius.

—

It was a few hours later, the potion's effects still thrumming through your blood, your infatuation for him stronger than ever. You were distracted the whole day, mind always seeming to stray away to thoughts of Sirius. How pretty he looked, how he’d let you put his hair up, maybe even braid it, how he’d smile at you. He’d probably be great in bed too-

“You’re doing it again.” Lily mutters, face scrunched up in disgust and you groan in shame. “It’s like my feelings for him have been amplified by 100. It’s amazing but unbearable at the same time.”

She grabs your hand in comfort, grabbing the mashed potatoes with her other hand and piling them onto her plate. You’re in the Great Hall for dinner, loud chattering filling the crowded space. From just a few feet away Sirius and his friends sit and if you listen hard enough you can hear James’ obnoxious laugh.

“I'm sure the potion will wear off soon,” Alice reassures from beside you, grinning at you in hopes of making you feel better.

You shake your head in disagreement. “It’s only been two hours and these potions can last for days.”

“We just have to keep you away from him. How hard can that be?”

Very hard, you realise, eyes widening at the sight of Sirius Black stalking towards you, encouraged by the jeering of his friends.

“Hello, Love.” He smiles, eyes soft as he admires your face. You sigh, chin resting on your hand, too distracted by his beauty to respond. He seems too distracted by your beauty to call you out on your silence.

“Fucking hell,” Lily whispers from somewhere behind you but you pay her no mind, continuing to smile at Sirius as he does the same.

A loud laugh from James who still sits at the table, snaps him out of his daze, “W-would you want to have breakfast with me tomorrow?”

You nod immediately, smile blinding, probably losing a few brain cells from how intensely you were nodding.

He flashes his pearly whites, “Great! I’ll meet you in the common room at seven?” He questions and you nod, too distracted by this freckle you just spotted right underneath his eye. He doesn’t make a move to go, eyes tracing your jawline slowly.

“Okay!” You jump at Lily’s hands on your shoulders, slowly dragging you out of the hall. “Time to say goodbye.” You and Sirius both frown. “Don’t be like that, you’ll see each other tomorrow.” She grabs your arm and waves it back and forth, “Now say bye-bye.”

“Bye,” You whisper, cheeks flushing. “Bye, Love.” He mutters back.

—

“Why did today of all days be the day nothing turned out properly!” You whine, head falling in defeat onto your folded arms that rest on your dresser, abandoned mascara bottle hanging loosely in your hand.

Lily coos softly from behind you, distracted by getting dressed. “Sweetheart, you look amazing. You’re not having a bad eyelash day and your hair looks great! Sirius is going to fall to his knees when he sees you.”

You look up from your arms slowly, meeting Lily’s eyes in the mirror, “You think?” You question hopefully. She nods. “And my eyelashes look okay?” She nods again and you smile softly. “Thank you,” You stand up, moving to get dressed. “I don’t even know why I care so much, it’s just breakfast. I swear this love potion is making me go crazy.”

“Sure, it’s the ‘love potion’ that’s making you go crazy,” Lily mutters sarcastically from behind you but you’re too busy daydreaming about Sirius’ eyes to notice.

–

“Hello.” You mutter, successfully gaining Sirius’ attention as he turns to face you. He’s dressed in his uniform but he’s obviously tried to tidy it up a little bit. His usually loose tie wrapped tightly around his neck, his white t-shirt tucked into his freshly ironed slacks. “You look nice today, but-” You walk over, hand gripping his tie and losing it. “That’s better.”

You notice a faint blush on his cheeks and grin. “Thank you, love. So do you. Are you ready for breakfast?”

You nod you both start walking to the hall together, his hand brushing yours slightly. You take in a deep breath for confidence, trying to calm your racing heart as you link your fingers through his.

He doesn't pull away.

You make it into the hall a few minutes later, taking a seat beside Sirius. James attempts to sit across from us but one look from Sirius sends him sitting at the end of the table beside Remus, a pout on his lips.

“You didn't have to send him away,” You mutter, feeling bad.

“He’ll live. Besides, I wanted to spend time with you.” Sirius states, causing you to blush. He grabs your plate, piling it with the stuff you get every morning before handing it back to you.

“How do you know what I eat for breakfast?” You question, face scrunched in confusion. Sirius pauses his movements of piling his own plate, cheeks tinted pink. “I-I guess the potion has made me more aware of what you eat.”

“Yeah, but the incident happened after breakfast yesterday.”

He shrugs, “Huh, I don’t know then.”

“Have you-”

“Do you like to read? There's this really pretty bookstore that just opened up in Hogsmeade. Maybe we can go after breakfast? Get some butter beer too?”

You decide to let it go, “Yeah, I’d love to go. I’ve been meaning to get some more books to read, too.”

He grins, eyes sparkling in delight as he stares into your eyes, “Great! It’s a date.”

—

“I don’t believe you!” You laugh, knocking your shoulder against Sirius’, hands linked as you make your way down the snowy path to Hogsmeade.

“It’s true!” Sirius insists, pulling you closer, nose red from the cold. He looks so pretty, you think. If only his feelings for you were true.

“And Euphemia let you stay after that? She must have a heart of gold.” You tease playfulling, relishing in his laugh that warms your insides.

“Oh she does, I owe her my life.” Before you can question him he’s pulling you towards The Three Broomsticks. “Now c’mon, let's get you a butterbeer before you freeze to death.”

You comply, following him into the warm building, the quiet talks of chatter greeting you as Sirius leads you to a table in the corner.

“So,” He begins, leaning forward for suspense. “Tell me something that you’ve told no one else.”

You impulsively grab his hand, letting it warm up your cold one. He doesn't mention it as you speak, “Um, in first year I once walked in on The Grey Lady and The Bloody Baron trying to ‘get it on.’ I was too traumatized to tell anyone.”

He stares at you, shellshocked. “Well- That’s certainly not what I was expecting. Is that even possible?”

You chuckle quietly at his shocked impression, “No, actually. They kept on going through each other. It was horrible to watch.”

“Your poor eyes,” He winces in sympathy, squeezing your hand tightly.

“It’s still engraved in my mind. It’s put me off kissing ever since.”

He freezes slightly. “So you haven't kissed anyone?” He questions quietly, eyes shining in delight. Your cheeks flush, “No.”

He takes in a breath, leaning forward and you instinctively do the same until your noses are brushing. “So if I were to kiss you right now, I’d be the first one to ever touch these precious lips?” You nod and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. “Can I-”

“Here are your two butterbeers.” You jerk back at the unexpected voice, watching as Sirius does the same. “T-thank you,” You mutter to the waitress who is already gone, taking a big gulp of your butterbeer in the hope of cooling down your flushed body.

You sit in silence until it gets too awkward for you and you attempt to start a conversation, “We’re still going to the bookstore after this, right?”

He jumps, not expecting you to speak before he breaks out into a relaxed grin. “Of course, Love. I’m not much of a reader but I know you are.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. If you don’t want to go then we can just head back-” “I want to go. I want to spend time with you.”

“Oh.” You curse internally. You’ve already said ‘Oh.’ “Thank you? Yeah, thank you.” He laughs, “Don’t thank me, love.”

You flush, “Sorry-” “And don't say sorry either.”

You nod, “Sorry- I mean, shit.” He laughs at your ramble causing your cheeks to go bright red. You attempt to turn the conversation around, “What do you mean you owe Euphemia your life?” He visibly tenses and you curse. Fucking idiot.

“You don’t have to- That was rude-” He links your fingers together, placing them on the table and successfully cutting you off.

“It’s okay. I trust you, love.” He grins but it seems fake. “My parents and I never got along, and after I joined Gryfindor things started getting worse. Whenever they got violent I went to James and Euphemia would take care of me. My family successfully kicked me out last summer and I’ve been living with James ever since.” He falls quiet and you squeeze his hand.

“I’m sorry-” You cut yourself off at his glare. “I hope you’re okay.”

He manages a grin, a true one this time. “I’m okay, especially with you.” He teases causing your cheeks to flush.

“That’ll change once the potion wears off,” You attempt to joke but Sirius is silent. “Yeah…”

Crickets.

“Want to go check out the bookstore?” You grasp at any shred of confidence.

Sirius practically jumps out of his seat, taking you with him. “Let’s go.”

—-

“I had fun tonight.” You state, awkwardly standing by the steps that will lead you to your dorm. Sirius stalks closer towards you.

“I did too,” He grins, diamonds in his eyes as he brushes your hair behind your ear before cradling your cheek gently. “Remember to tell me what you thought of that book,” He shrugs down at the book in your hand, unable to keep his eyes off you.

“Yeah. I should go…” You make no move to leave and Sirius makes no move to remove his hand from your cheek.

“You should,” He whispers, eyes trained on your lips, swollen from how many times you’ve bitten it out of nervousness.

And then his lips are on yours.

And then you're kissing him back.

And your back is against the wall, his tongue pushes into your mouth, and he’s holding your waist. You can't breathe and you're scratching your nails down his shirt-clad back until he groans against your mouth in pleasure.

And then you’re pulling away. “Stop,” You whisper against his lips.

He stops immediately, taking a few steps away from you, “I-I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.” His lips are swollen and wet and you want nothing more than to kiss him again.

But you can't.

“No, I’m sorry.” You hide your face in your hands, back against the wall. “I-I should’ve said no to the date. I just- I wanted so badly for your feelings to be real. That you’d actually like me but it’s not fair on you. And I’m sorry.”

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “I do like you.”

You shake your head, “Sirius-” “I do! I’ve liked you for years. I’ve been wanting to tell you but you just make me so nervous-” “Sirius-”

“C’mon, listen to me-” “This is the potion!”

“The potion wore off hours ago and you know it!”

You slump against the wall in defeat, legs against your chest as you look away from him. You know he’s right. The once amplified feelings you had for him are more sane and you no longer feel like you’d kill every single person who so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“You can’t like me back. I don’t believe you.”

He crouches down in front of you, hands shaking as he reaches to touch your knee. “Why don’t you believe me, my love?” He questions, his voice much quieter than it was before.

“Because you’re Sirius Black,” You whisper like it explains everything. And it does. He’s Sirius Black, the golden boy who could have anyone he wanted.

“And you’re you. If anything I don’t deserve you. You’re smart, beautiful, way out of my league.” You open your mouth to protest but he cuts you off. “But I’m going to work every day to be the man you deserve because I want you. So badly it hurts.”

“I want you too,” You mutter shyly, you look into his eyes that still look at you like you’ve hung the moon.

“Aw my love,” He pulls you closer, breath fanning your cheek. “You’ve had me for a long time.”

Taglist - If you want to be removed feel free to comment. I won't be offended :)

@aremuslupinsimp

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mrsriddlenott · 9 months

Text

~ Caught ~

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!reader

masterlist

Warnings:Language, Fingering, Smut&Fluff, Choking, Thigh Riding, Praise Kink, Breeding Kink(kinda), Aggressive Sex

You, Mattheo, Theo, Draco, Blaise, and Lorenzo had been best friends since you first met each other on the Hogwarts Express seven years ago. It was so simple up until your fourth year when girls started hating you for how close you were with the pack of Slytherins. Every girl that wanted them seemed to think you did too, when in reality you just wanted the one.

Ever since you knew what it meant to like someone, you liked Mattheo Riddle. You just couldn’t explain it, where everyone else saw a rude and careless jerk, all you saw was a damaged and neglected boy who needed to be shown what it meant to be loved. You never expected him to like you back and you definitely never expected to be in an almost year long secret relationship with him.

You knew your friends, and girls Mattheo had never talked to nor thought of talking to, would react negatively and possessively. So when Mattheo finally admitted he had been developing feelings for you halfway into your sixth year, you came to a mutual agreement to keep it a secret.

Just until graduation.

You knew it wasn’t smart by any means but the late nights alone together at the top of the Astronomy Tower. And the walks around the Black Lake after curfew. And nights spent sneaking to the kitchen just for an excuse to spend more time together, were the nights you would remember most. You were meant for each other, and neither of you wanted your idiotic peers to ruin it before it could properly begin.

When Mattheo saw you walking his direction on the way to breakfast on a Saturday morning he gave you a subtle nod towards an empty classroom. You made sure it was clear, and excitedly entered after him. Almost as soon as you shut the door completely you were pressed against it with Mattheo’s hands on either side of your head, towering over you.

“I haven’t gotten enough time alone with you this past month,” He spoke, as though just accepting that fact hurt him, “So, I’ve told the boys I’m tutoring a third year and can’t make it to Hogsmeade with them. I expect you’ll find an excuse to stay behind before breakfast ends, right Princess?” He smiled at you as he brought his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Definitely.” You had been unable to spend more than an hour together ever since lessons and his Quidditch practice started picking up and you were eager to get a whole day with him.

“I want you to try something new for me Princess.” He smiled while you eyed him suspiciously, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, if you don’t like it we’ll never do it again.”

“…okayyy, are yo-“

“Great. Come to my dorm when you’re done eating.” You couldn’t get a question out as he placed a peck to your cheek and slipped out the door behind you.

You were straddling his lap as he sat against his headboard less than an hour later with you hands in his hair as his ran up and down your body and his lips explored your neck. Before long he readjusted your hips so you were now straddling his thigh instead of his lap.

“Alright, time for my request,” He watched your face contort into confusion with a smile and wiggle of his eyebrows, “I want you to ride my thigh Princess,” Your face lit up bright red as your hands gripped his shoulders.

“I- you what?” You were confused but there was no denying the wetness growing between your legs as he placed his hands firmly on your hips ready to guide you as he whispered in your ear slower this time, “I want you to ride my thigh,” He roughly bit at your neck making you instinctively buck forward, the rough fabric of his jeans against your clothed core making you shiver, “I want to watch you come all over my pants before I fuck you Princess,” Mattheo could feel the growing puddle in your now damp underwear as he licked up your neck with a groan before meeting your eyes.

“Come on Baby, for me?” He leaned his head back with a tiny pout and light tug on your hips. The feeling only the smallest movement gave you had you giving in and bucking forward on his leg in a matter of seconds. As you grind yourself on him you let your moans slip out of your mouth as Mattheo watches your face intently.

“Mm, you like that Baby? Oh fuck I thought you would.” He practically moans, looking at your movements on his thigh as he spoke. As you sped up your movements and knocked your head back one of his hands shot up to your jaw with a firm grip bringing your eyes to his.

“You’re gonna keep looking at me if you want to cum Princess. Understand?” You nodded as much as you could in his hand as he arched an eyebrow at you. His free hand snaked around you to your back, stopping your movements on his thigh, “Use that beautiful voice of yours, okay Baby?”

“Okay, I understand,” You whimpered as he moved his hand from your back to your hip, guiding your movements once more. “Good girl, I think you deserve a reward.” He was now holding your hips in his other hand as well as he guided you towards your orgasm. Before long you were a moaning mess on top of him, your back arching as you kept eye contact while coming undone above him. Almost as soon as you came he was flipping you over with his thigh still between your legs as he fumbled to remove your shirt, quickly becoming annoyed and ripping it apart allowing the buttons to scatter across his floor.

Your gasp and moans were suppressed as he pulled you up into a kiss and removed the remnants of your shirt. Your fingers fumbled with his belt as he leant back to watch you with a smile, he let you slightly struggle with the belt before you unfastened it and pulled it from it’s loops. “Good job Princess,”

His praises had you moving faster as you both removed each others clothes, throwing them in different directions while smashing your lips together and laying back on the bed as soon as you were both fully exposed.

Mattheo readjusted to watch your face as he slowly pushed himself inside you with a moan. You squirmed around him and shut your eyes before his actions stopped and his hand slithered up to your neck with a soft but dominant grip. “What did I say Princess?”

You quickly opened your eyes while mumbling his previous order back to him before he immediately began plowing inside of you, gripping the sides of your neck harder. His thrusts were rough and fast as he maintained eye contact with you, fucking you at a steady pace as you began to moan loudly.

He was practically driving you into the mattress as his speed pushed you slightly up towards the headboard before both his hands grabbed your hips and pulled them towards him as you yelped. He moaned while he positioned your legs along his chest fucking you faster still, hitting angles he hadn’t before. Your moans quickly became higher in pitch as your walls fluttered around him, back arching while you came on his dick.

His pace remained steady as he let you throw your head back and close your eyes as he fucked you through your orgasm. His actions slowed slightly, “Look at me Princess.” His voice was demanding and laced with lust, when your eyes met his again they were even darker from being disobeyed yet again.

Mattheo shoved your legs away as he pushed himself forward onto you, his hand gripped the back of your neck as he rested his forehead on yours, speeding up his movements to an unrelenting pace you’d never felt before. You were practically screaming his name as he chuckled and lightly smacked the side of your thigh that now tightly wrapped around his waist. He smashed his lips onto yours as his eyes shut, silently giving you permission to do the same while both your moans were drowned in the sloppy, sensual kiss you shared.

The kiss seemed to egg him on as Mattheo’s thrusts became irregular before he stilled, muscles twitching as he came inside of you. He immediately slid up and out of you as he shoved two of his fingers inside of you, moving them quickly against your g-spot pulling out your final orgasm.

Mattheo slowly pulled his fingers from you, chuckling at your whimper before bringing his fingers to your mouth for you to suck them clean. Mattheo then reached to his bedside table for a towel and cleaned his and your own cum from your thighs before kissing and licking at the many marks his lips and hands had made.

“You did so good for me Princess,” You smile at him while his lips work to pamper your body while repeatedly telling you how much he loves you. He then plops himself down next to you as you both turn to look at each other, “I really do love you, you know that right?”

“Yes,” you chuckled at him with a slight shake of your head, “and I love you too Mattheo,” He smiled at you slightly before looking away.

You both lay on your sides still out of breath and facing each other as Mattheo plays with your fingers before his eyes found yours, speaking again, “So, I was thinking that…maybe…if you’re okay with it…we could try and tell the others?” You smiled at him as you brought your hand up to cup his cheek, his eyes fluttered shut with a happy sigh at the contact, “Of course my love, I think it’s time.”

His smile grew so large that his dimples you love so much were popping out prominently as he lay with his eyes shut still, letting you graze your fingers up and down his cheek. “We should start getting dressed, they’ll be back soon.”

He let out a childish groan as he stretched his arms out to wrap you in a tight hug, “Just five more minutes Princess,” He sighed contentedly into your neck. But five minutes turned into ten, and ten into twenty, and eventually you had been talking and cuddling for almost an hour without noticing the time. Luckily you thought to glance at your watch before shoving Mattheo, who clearly hadn’t caught on yet, off your chest mid-sentence, “Dinner’s almost over, help me find our underwear before they walk in on us naked.”

“Fuck Princess they’re definitely back already,” Mattheo rambled as he rushed to find the clothes you two had thrown somewhere around the dorm in the the heat of the moment. “I bet they’re on the way down here right now, I don’t want them to find out like this, I had this whole thing I was gonna say and everything.” You smiled at that as you searched the side of the dorm you thought you saw your underwear thrown at.

“Here’s your bra Lovely,” Mattheo said as he tossed the black piece of lace over his shoulder. When you found your underwear you quickly covered yourself with the garments and grabbed Mattheos boxers from between the mattress and frame while he was too focused on finding your clothing to worry about his bare ass. Which was pointed at the now open door revealing your best friends.

“Mattheoooo, we got yo- WAIT!! Y/N IS THE MYSTERY GIRL YOU’VE BEEN HIDING FROM US AND SNEAKING AROUND WITH?!?!” Enzo yelled in pure shock as he pushed his way past the other three larger boys, who were frozen, open mouthed in the door frame. Mattheo rushed to cover your body with his as the three stayed standing at the door, eyes wide and pointed at you.

“Sorry sorry sorry,” Enzo turned, closing his eyes while attempting, and failing, to push the others away in order to close the door.

Mattheo held his hands cupped over what he could cover of himself as he nervously bounced back and forth in front of you. The three boys remained in the door with Enzo desperately trying to get them to listen while Draco unapologetically attempted to look past Mattheo, who suddenly lost all his nervousness upon noticing this.

“Get the fuck out and stop looking at my girlfriend’s body right now or you will fucking regret it.” Mattheo snapped in a calm but demanding voice that made you wish there was time for round two.

After the door was shut you held his boxers out in front of him, “So much for the thought out speech about me being your girlfriend.” You giggled from behind him as he covered himself and grabbed his button up from the floor. He began putting it over your arms and buttoning it himself as you gave him a quizzical look.

“Since I ripped yours Princess, now get your pretty legs under the covers and I’ll invite our friends in for a civil conversation.” You narrowed your eyes at him and crossed your arms over your chest. “Okay okay, civil as long as Draco never ever looks at you that way again,” He shrugged with a smirk.

~~~~

Caught ll

Caught lll

Caught IV

Caught V

Caught VI

~~~~

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #harry potter #harry potter smut #smut #secret relationship #theodore nott #draco malfoy #x reader #yn #smut and fluff #fluff

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macfrog · 4 months

Text

champagne problems sex on fire chapter ten

i'm not sorry!!!!! you'll never catch me!!!! (im, like, super sorry)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: the secrecy between you and joel comes to a head. one huge, explosive, painful head.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, whew boy the angst is big in this one sorry, reader has a lot of internal struggle, daddy issues and commitment issues to the max (ha), memories of parental abandonment and adultery, sort of vague mention/description of reader having panic attacks, attempts to initiate sex (but alas, only one small mention of previous sex), Big Argument, alcohol consumption, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 11.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

The lavender is the first to wilt.

It stares glumly at the kitchen counter. Posture hunched and drooping. You stand before it, clutching a jug of water like you’re starving the purple sprigs for information. Why did he lie to me why did he lie why would he lie to me tell me why.

The daisies look on, awkward and curious. Their petals streaked with green – still fresh and still at least trying to bloom. The news hasn’t reached their delicate stamens yet – they still have blind hope. But they’re drinking from the same rotten water their lilac neighbors are. They must know it’s futile.

You fill the vase up and fix the lace bow – the one you’d transferred from the brown paper wrap to the vase last night, after seeing Joel out. He stayed until nightfall, until the rest of your apartment faded into a pale gloom, forgotten about while the two of you watched TV and kept secrets from one another in your warm-lit bedroom.

When he leaned down and held his lips over yours, you pushed yourself onto your toes and kissed him goodbye. He ruffled your hair, clipped your bottom lip lovingly. Said, I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, pretty girl.

You lay staring at the ceiling the whole night.

He was out all day Saturday at a charity event. He called you as he arrived home – you heard the elevator’s ding through the receiver, announcing its arrival at his top-floor apartment. And you stayed on the phone, the thing discarded on your mattress, as sleep blurred the edges of the world in and out of focus all evening.

Three times you thought about just telling him to come back over, hold you until you forgot what he’d even done. Pretend that the man who, possessed by lies and jealousy or something much worse, had taken your wrist and swept you off out of Jean-Marc’s penthouse isn’t the same one who brought you tea and Chinese food yesterday. The one who held you, blood and broken wings safe in his arms, while you wept into his body.

Three times you stamped the flame out, remembering. As if you needed reminding. Your stomach still sinks anytime the reel jerks back to its beginning behind your eyes. The words unfortunately and unavailable. The rustling of the bag in the kitchen. The padding of his footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.

Your phone buzzes somewhere across the room. You set the jug down and shuffle over, tilting the screen in the morning light.

We’re outside baby. Take your time.

You haven’t mentioned it to him, yet. Haven’t breached the conversation. You’ve no fucking clue where to start. It hurts too much to look at it just yet – like scalding yourself with boiling water and clamping a wet towel to the burn until you can stomach the sight of your skin, all blistered and bubbling.

The towel is still covering the wound. You’re still frantically pacing around the kitchen clutching it, heavy and sopping. You’re not sure what it looks like, but from beneath the cold cloth, it doesn’t feel good.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

Joel’s leaning against the Rolls when you totter down your front steps. Fall plucks the leaves from the trees one by one; they swirl down to the smooth pavement, brown and amber and golden. You’re in a floral tea dress, which took you an obscene amount of time to decide on, given the cocktail of nerves and confusion and outright panic rolling around your stomach.

Your heel scuffs to a halt in front of him. He pushes off of the car and swings your door open, squints at you in the sunlight. You watch his eyes move down your frame, a misplaced desire to impress him dripping through your veins, and then he looks back up.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, and your veins sizzle. “You look…” he shakes his head simply, “…you’re beautiful.”

Your lips betray you. Your mind – that poor, dead lavender; your body – the poor, naïve daisies. Still has blind hope.

You can’t help but reflect his expression, attempting to mask it with a soft shrug. “Are the heels too much?” you ask, glancing down and lifting your foot.

Joel shakes his head instantly. “I like ‘em. And even if they were, we’re late. You ain’t got time to change.”

“You said you’d be here at twelve. It’s ten after.”

“I run a construction company, not a watchmakers. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. Unconvincingly.

“I mean,” he circles a hand over his stomach, lifts his eyebrows, “you feelin’ okay? We don’t have to go – Martha wouldn’t mind, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you chirp, and your painted lips flatten against one another as you dip into the car. “Hi, Rand.”

The driver lowers his sunglasses and tips his head in the rear-view. “Hi, baby.”

Joel shimmies along the leather, shifting his jacket from between you to scoop your body against his. You glance down, eyeing his soft sweater, the light shade of it paired against that of your dress. The glint of his watch as his wrist slips happily between your legs, hooking under your thigh. The bloody crimson of the birthday card envelope, trembling in the door pocket.

The car pulls off, dragging you from your daydream. Stealing you back from the dystopia where you and Joel match, where you go together. A couple. Removing the notion of it from your makeup, each cell in your body slowly reverting back to yours again. Just yours. No CEO boss to stake his claim to any of them.

Martha’s place sits at the end of a cul-de-sac; neighbored on one side by a retired couple who spent their entire summer arguing in the backyard, according to Martha, and on the other by a row of quaint cypress.

The front door, bordered by polished mosaic squares of glass, sits inside one of four gable roofs. Dark green shutters either side of each stark-white window frame. A smooth path snaking between neatly-fringed grass, a hierarchy of tiny bushes growing greener and greener the closer they draw to the front steps.

Come in through the back, she’d said. Gate will be open. We’ll be in the yard.

Joel makes some quiet remark just to you about how perfect the house looks. The red brick and marengo tile. How much effort gone into polishing the front, only to tell you to use the back entry. ‘s only for looking, he decides, and then offers his hand to pull you from the Rolls.

He bends over the car, hand flat on the roof, and calls back to Rand. “Do me a favor – don’t go far. Just –” he jerks his head in your direction, “– just in case.”

When he straightens up and the car purrs off, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you whisper, and he hooks two fingers around the string of the giftbag, taking it from your grasp.

He replaces it with his hand, his huge palm against yours. “I know,” he mutters, glancing down the drive, “but it’s an excuse for when I get sick of Alan ‘n all his damn friends.”

“Henry,” you remind him.

He tosses you a half-second look, smirk scrawled on his lips. He knows.

She’s waiting for you by the French doors when you arrive – Martha. Glass of sparkling champagne in each hand. Your fingers slip free from Joel’s before you’ve even rounded the corner.

“Saw the car pull up,” she tells you, leaning to let Joel kiss her cheek. “Here,” she hands you a glass, then one to Joel, “and here.”

You sip at the bubbling drink, letting the sharp fizz assault your tongue. Letting the feeling wash down your throat, stinging and bitter. Joel seems to swallow his just fine.

He swings the bag in her direction, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Just a little somethin’ from the two of us.”

You frown, holding a hand up to shield your eyes from sunlight too faint to cause the stiffness of your face and the drawn string of your brows. Where is Deb? And her two sons? And their shared gift? Isn’t it totally platonic and professional after all, to sign something from you and Joel?

Martha’s hands clasp. She reaches gleefully for the bag, smiling at the striped pattern. “I got no idea where he is. Last I saw, they were all headin’ up to his room. Some zombie game on his PlayStation. He promises me they ain’t playin’ the R-rated version.”

“That’s alright,” Joel says, “I believe ‘im.” He leans closer, a weight apparent at the small of your back. It shocks like a surge of electricity up your spine, hurts like a sudden muscle spasm. And then it soothes the pain, his thumb rubbing delicately. “’s a nice place,” he tells Martha.

She feigns disbelief. “Well, thank you, Mr. Miller, C-E-O,” she sings, and then, cocking an eyebrow, “y’all want a tour?”

You both nod politely, following her towards the kitchen doors. Joel nods towards a table by the barbecue – an island amongst a sea of candy and pastries, chopped fruit and bowls of nuts: a two-tiered, sky-blue cake. The name Henry piped in red icing – the letters swirling much like a birthday card you once read in a house on Maple Street.

“Nice little cake for Alan,” Joel mutters, squeezing your waist.

A stolen laugh shudders from your lips; the two of you snicker together, and despite your best attempts to cover your grin with your champagne flute, Martha spots you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, sidling back over.

“Martha,” you clear your throat, “would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Would you please tell Joel your son’s name?”

She looks at you blankly. Blinks between you and the man at your side, both staring back expectantly. But her stone-set expression begins to crack, the lines deepening around her mouth.

“As in,” you clarify, “his real name. Not Alan.”

She makes to reply when the swish-thud of a window opening interrupts, the prepubescent bellow of an almost-teen from overhead.

“Mom!” Henry calls, his dark head of curls and long, boyish arms dangling over the sill.

Martha glares up at him. “What have I told you about hangin’ from there” she yells, fists propped on her hips. “What is it?”

“Mike brought Blood Cry III; can we play it?”

She shakes her head indignantly. “I have told you – how many times? No!” She holds her hands out in apology to you and Joel, and then scuttles off into the kitchen. “Go explore,” she waves, “I trust ya!”

Joel wordlessly takes your hand, leading you in Martha’s wake through the kitchen to the living room: its navy walls and white paneling, bookshelves spanning the entire length of one wall, and a pale-brick fireplace centering two leather couches. Very pristine, very perfect. Very Martha.

You amble around, slowing in front of the mantelpiece above which a gallery of framed photos hangs. Henry as a toddler on a green trike; Martha’s stepdaughter and her kid; Alan on a golfing trip. Your eyes jump from plump cheeks to missing teeth, sunhats and Thanksgiving meals, until they land on a photo of Martha and Alan on their wedding day – her veil pinned neatly into a permed updo, her puffy-sleeved dress and the lemon bouquet spilling from her hands.

Joel’s shoulder brushes against your own, his eye journeying across the photos, too. “Ha,” he tosses a finger towards the wedding photo, “nineties Martha. Nice hair, huh?”

You smile, lazily swatting his arm. “She looks beautiful. They seem happy.”

Joel agrees. “Wonder what their first dance song was.”

“I bet it was something classy. Sinatra or something. Martha wouldn’t be breaking the marriage in to anything cheesy, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, spinning off towards the dining room. “You ever thought about what you’d pick?”

You hesitate, rounding the table on the opposite side. “Uh…no. Not really.”

“Not your thing? Marriage.”

You chance a glance at him over a vase of lilies in the center of the mahogany table. The smell twists towards you, leering as it coats your skin and your clothes and the back of your throat in a sickly film that makes your head spin. “I guess not. I’ve never – Not since…”

He nods. He knows. “That’s fair,” he says, hands finding his pockets. The idea of Blake – his name, his shaking hands, the tiny box in his suit pocket – the thought of those images flitting through Joel’s brain pinches the air from your lungs.

You watch the silhouette of him as it crosses over the bay window, looking out onto the trimmed grass and smooth asphalt street. Something cracks deep in your chest. Something begins to unbind.

“What would yours be?” you ask him, and he turns.

“Depends,” he shrugs, “on when I’m gettin’ married or not. Makes no difference to me.”

You bypass the point he’s making. Turn away from it like you would a shadow in the night. “If you were,” you insist, “what would you pick?”

He nears you, never breaking your stare. His confident matches your nervous, his steady gaze on your shy. “Somethin’ special to me ‘n her. An our song kinda thing.” And then, as he brushes deliberately by your shoulder to head for the stairs, “AC/DC or som’.”

Your heels stick like they did that night in the dive bar. Ears hurt with a ringing loud enough to blur the edges of your vision. Your skin feels the same hot – only, not from the crowded room you’re in, or the mix of alcohol and sweat and something akin to lust seeping through your pores.

You stare fixedly at the view from the bay window, the perfect little cul-de-sac with its perfectly smooth roads; perfect for kids learning to ride their first bikes, perfect for couples wandering arm in arm, perfect for angry fathers taking off in cars packed with belongings.

When you were a kid, buckled into the back of your dad’s car, you used to fight sleep to watch the moon race you home. Her white glow surviving being split over and over again by the trees you’d whip past. Your eyes would flit from hers to the windscreen, watching the road up ahead as it threatened to twist and turn. No matter how fast you thought your dad must be driving, no matter which direction he turned – every time you looked for her, there she’d be.

It makes sense now. The notion of staying. Occupying somewhere in space or in time, and forgetting how to leave. Forgetting how to try. Forever fixed there, glowing in a brilliant melancholy, singing to nobody in the dark expanse of the sky. Waiting for the sun to make her return. Just waiting waiting waiting.

You – the moon, and your sky – that fucking driveway. The Toyota, the rust on its underside so bitter you could taste it like blood on your tongue. Searching all over for the scraps of yourself, the pieces he tore away as he fled: veins tangled around spokes, severed fingers tinged crimson and hooked around the steering wheel. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

And then, the sun – some sharp-suited, quick-witted Texan; enough charm and ease to lift himself over the horizon, to give you something other than the glimmer in your own tears to reflect.

The moon stares down at you now as you sit, perched on your balcony. Your knees tucked under your chin, watching two cats wrestle down on the street below. It’s just gone two; Joel’s in bed fast asleep. You slipped from his grasp and crept out of your room, a blanket over your shoulders, and disappeared between the sheer curtains. Your chest tight, your breathing short.

It keeps happening, that thing from Paris. Your head begins to spin, your voice withers to nothing. Your legs push you to your feet and force you to flee, though you’ve still to figure out where to or what from. All you know is that blue-eyed stare of your ex-fiancé has been wiped, replaced by the dusted beard of your boss instead. The plastic ring between his fingers. The creaking leather of his office chair.

Those same four words keep circling your head, replaying on a loop between your ears: why did he lie why did he lie why did he lie. Like white noise droning around your skull, bubbling nausea in the pit of your stomach. No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?

Why did you lie to me?

Why did he do any of it? Take you to Paris, let you meet his client. Why has he been sleeping with you, treating you like some kind of girlfriend? The word plucks goosepimples all over your body. His body around yours at Aspen Heights – what you wanted so badly to believe was endearment, was comfortability and generosity, now feels like territory-marking. Feels like the white-knuckled tightening of a leash in his wide fist.

The leaves of the trees across the street tremble, lit luminous green by the 7-Eleven sign they fringe. You watch as two men swagger out of the store; their chatter drowned by the buzzing of the fluorescent sign. They split off with a quick handshake at the curb, disappearing into two different cars, driving off in two different directions.

You sniff. Some skunky smell hangs low in the air. So thick that you can feel it coating your lungs from the inside out. You sink back into your chair, push your fingers into your eyes until you’re watching a mirage of stars pull across your vision. Blow a cracked, nervous breath into the sky. Slip your nose beneath the collar of your tee.

Joel’s tee, which pools in the dip between your stomach and thighs. You suck his scent in like one hit of some intoxicating drug, for every three hits of clean air. Just seeing you through. Pretending there’s no addiction there.

But fuck, if you’re not screwed. One half of you holding back on mentioning the email because – what the fuck do you even say? How do you begin to ask him about it? How do you approach the topic, without prefacing it with feelings you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself?

And the other half – for fear of what you might cause. What you might make him do. For the pure, cut-throat fear that he’ll become the third in a list of men to just – leave. To let you down, to let you go. Change between couch cushions. Wild flowers torn from the earth’s scalp.

Then, the fracturing realization that you don’t want him to go. That you’re used to him, now, in a way you never were with your dad or with Blake. Your dad – who would choose poker night over parents’ night. Who would choose a drink with his buddies over a movie with you and your mom.

Or Blake – who would schedule sex on the nights he figured he’d have enough energy to fuck you until at least he came, and would buy you chrysanthemums on your birthday even long after you’d told him you were pretty sure you were allergic.

And then there’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Who turned up at your door less than thirty minutes after Martha told him you were sick. Who said in the car ride to her house earlier, Tell me your favorite flower.

Why? you asked.

Just so I know.

Joel – who has never asked anything more than you’ve chosen to tell him about your father, but whose face still screws into an angry grimace anytime he’s forced to think of him. Who reaches out to adjust the broken heart around your neck, slip the clip back to your nape without you asking Who offers you the last slice of pizza, and when you refuse, compromises by splitting it. Giving you the bigger half.

Joel – with whom sex feels like a form of communication: Here are all the things I don’t know how to say, yet. Yet yet yet. A conversation, each movement deliberate; each nip and lick and bite weighted with purpose and meaning. It lives under your nails, behind your teeth. Here – I don’t know what else to do with all this longing.

Joel – who has not only set every foot right, but has carved his own path through your heart. Explored the caves himself, a lonely lamp hanging from his fist as he carefully, gently, politely weaved his way through a jungle of valves and tissue, monsters and darkness, slowly winding his way to the center.

Joel. Who has never let you down. Until that fucking email.

A 7-Eleven employee, some scrawny kid with a mop of black hair and a polo hanging from his skeleton, drags a cloth in wide circles on the inside of the windows. He swipes his forehead along his wrist, thick tresses disturbed, and stares out at the empty street.

You blink twice, and a figure materializes at your balcony door.

“Baby?”

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah. Easy – ‘s just me.” The pale drapes surrender to his wide frame, letting him pass. “Sorry, pretty girl. You okay?”

“You scared the crap outta me.”

Joel bends before you, a sweet little chuckle in his throat, and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. You lift your chin, letting your eyes close over and your thoughts melt away on his lips. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“What are you doin’ out here at this time of night?”

You shrug as he settles into the wireframe chair opposite. Groans as he leans back. His wide chest constricted by a tight, gray hoodie splattered with paint.

“Just can’t sleep. Nice hoodie.”

His eyes dip to the mounds of your chest under plain cotton, the blanket slack around your breasts. “Someone stole my T-shirt. Stole somethin’ of hers back. Why can’t you sleep? You hurting?”

Yeah. “No. Just – not tired enough, I guess.”

“You want company?”

Not really. “Sure.”

He laces his fingers over his stomach as he settles back, studies you as your gaze skims the street below. He knows you’re lying. But it’s two a.m., and you’re weeks into an affair that you’re both pretty sure has gone past the point of no return, and so, voice plain, he asks, “What’s on your mind, angel?”

“How d’you know there’s something on my mind?”

“There’s always something on your mind. It’s you.” And then, readjusting in his seat, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You scrunch your nose with a sniff. Pull your arms inside the sleeves of his shirt and cross them under your breasts. “Your dad,” you say, locking eyes with him.

Joel lets it hang for all of three seconds. “My dad?” His face curls into a perplexed smirk, jaw tilting. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable, or maybe you think he is, and you’re not sure which one scares you more.

You laugh, chest lightening disobediently. It felt more comfortable when you couldn’t breathe. “What he did,” you explain.

“What he did,” Joel repeats, lifting his chin. Like a dog, sniffing out the truth. Something concealed in your fist.

So you unfold your fingers, holding it out in the palm of your hand: “Do you think he would’ve done it, still, if he knew what would happen?”

And then he really shakes off the humor. Sits forward, elbows leaning on his bare thighs. “What’re you talkin’ about, pretty girl?”

“Like,” you sigh, “if he knew he would split his entire family in two. You and your mom cut him off; Tommy moved halfway across the country. Was it worth it?”

“To me, or to him?”

You shrug again. He’ll choose the one he wants to answer. You’ll figure him out either way.

“Look,” Joel says, and hooks his fingers under the seat of your chair to pull you closer. He takes your ankles and you stretch your legs out, heels propped in the boxer-clad valley between his legs. A deep breath, hazel eyes pointed upwards like searching the skies for the words, and then: “People want what they want, right? They’ll do whatever they think is necessary to get it. He wanted to cheat, so he did. And he paid the price.”

“He wanted to cheat?”

It seems obvious to him. As though people seek out ways to hurt the ones they’re supposed to love all the damn time. The silver glint of a Labrador’s teeth as he sinks them into his owner’s skin.

Joel nods. “Wanted it badly enough that he did anything.”

“Lied?” you offer.

“Lied, cheated, left. Yeah.”

“And he risked everything.”

His head tips in agreement. “I guess he did. He was a damn idiot, you know? Had a wife who loved him, had two kids. He had the whole world in that house, and he threw it all away.”

“And,” the soles of your feet rest gently on the curve of his stomach, “would that – would it stop you? If you at least knew you were riskin’ something?”

“From cheating?”

“Anything. If you knew what you were risking was everything to you – would it stop you doing what you really wanted?”

His face tightens, brows knit with confusion and something else more difficult to place. “It depends. I wouldn’t risk something like you. I would n–”

“Somethin’ like me?” you interject.

Joel clears his throat. Looks up to the pitch-black sky again. “You…” He sighs. His answer is simple, black-and-white. There’s no way to hide it anymore. “I wouldn’t risk you, no. Not for the world.”

You fall silent. The moon stares down, seeming to melt around you. Her light like two steady arms holding you together, nudging you to ask the last question – the one spiraling around your mind like circling a drain.

Joel squeezes your ankle. “Where are you goin’ with this, baby? Are you asking me if I would cheat on you?”

Your heart jumps. The moon scatters.

Does he fall into the category of people who could cheat on you? Two months ago, he was just your boss. Two months ago, you hadn’t touched him more than a slap after a witty comment, the brushing of fingers as you handed him his morning coffee. But now…now, you’ve kissed his lips to shut him up. You’ve felt him come inside you. You’ve set foot inside his childhood fucking home, for Christ’s sake.

He makes you feel as though your heart is made of glass, delicate and laid bare but safe in his hands. He makes you feel as though a part of you exists outside of your own body – like there’s a piece of your soul wandering the earth by itself, touching base every time his hands are on your hips, his teeth in your neck.

Yeah. Fuck – yeah. He’s someone who could cheat on you. The way that email made you feel – he’s someone who could break your heart.

“I know you wouldn’t cheat on anyone,” you say, voice breaking. “No, I just – I don’t know what counts as a good enough reason to hurt someone you’re supposed to…supposed to love.”

Joel sits back in his chair again, the frame creaking under the weight of him. He reckons he gets it, now. You reckon he’s still wrong. “Come here,” he says, fingers flicking.

“What?”

He leans forward, takes your waist in his hands and pulls you from your chair into his lap, curling you up between his thighs. Safe. Protected by the shell of his body, protected by everything except from the thing scaring you most: the quickening of his heartbeat when you settle against it.

Your head slots under the curve of his chin, his voice a deep rumble over your skull.

“Your dad,” his chest swells, “he did what he did because he wanted to do it. Wanted it badly enough that he gave up you and your mom. And there wasn’t nothin’ you or her could’ve done to stop him, or convince him otherwise. You hear me?”

You turn into his neck, letting your tears fall hidden from view of streetlight or moonlight. You feel fucking tiny – a kid again, sat in a grownup’s lap, asking a never-ending series of why questions. Then, why did he do it? Why did he leave? Why are you staying? Why did you lie to me?

Joel presses his lips to your head, shushing you quietly, his body rocking back and forth like a boat on light waves. When he hears you sniffling, he holds you closer. Tighter. Your heart melds to your chest wall, desperate to seek his out. The hoodie he’s wearing smells like you, smells like him, smells like the chemicals of paint and the poison of love.

“It wasn’t your fault, darlin’, none of it.”

His arm hooked over your bare knees, the cotton keeping you warm. The other around your back, keeping you whole. You unstick yourself from his embrace, pulling your body straight until you’re straddling his lap, face to face with him in the light.

He looks up at you, almost afraid to blink. Afraid to lose sight of you at all. Your thighs lean heavily against his, your bodies locked together. You link your arms over his shoulders, anchor yourself to him as though the storm in your mind might sweep you away. And in the glimmer of light in his eye, the dazzling bulb of a lighthouse – you see the reflection of yourself.

Joel notices the shift in your expression. Holds you by the hips, follows the turn of your head. “You okay?” he asks, and you look down, avoiding his eye.

Glowing brilliant and lonely, blinking slowly. Your towering silhouette and caged-glass top. Drawing ships nearer just to ward them off when they pull too close. When they begin to notice the jagged shape of your shoreline, the ugly mess of your soul. Casting a blinding light on them, warning them to flee. And he didn’t fucking listen.

He docked anyways. Drew up on the beach, pulled himself into your body time and time again. You kept moving, kept warning him with each flicker of light, kept daring him to leave. And he never did. And there are pieces of you now living in him because of it, pieces you don’t understand how to take back. All you know, all you’ve ever known about Joel, is –

Your body sinks, hips lowering until you’re sure you’ve proven yourself right.

A stubborn weight between his legs. Not quite as hard as you’ve felt him before, not quite as heavy, but – a shape which sends a hot hiss between his teeth when you move over it, when the thin strip of your underwear courses over the thin cloth of his.

“P-retty girl,” Joel says, a groan seeping from the corners of his lips. A groan he holds onto with his molars, letting it snap like elastic when your hips circle again.

A weight as stubborn as the need slowly swirling in your chest. And pulled up into the cyclone are those same words: It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t nothin’ you could’ve done to stop him. Why did you lie to me? It wasn’t your fault.

It hits you at once, the sudden realization that you’re lighter than you were before you first touched one another – really touched one another. Parts of you missing, passed over gladly the second his hand reached for them. The taste of you behind his lip, gums absorbing you like nicotine.

And you’re kissing him, your lips harsh against his, his stubble hurting your skin. Your tongue seeking out those parts of yourself. No. You don’t have me anymore. I’m taking me back.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into your mouth, steadying your hips. He pulls back and holds you still. “Why don’t we slow down? It’s late, you ain’t feeling too good –”

“I feel fine. I want to do it.” You lick again between his lips though he doesn’t budge; your attempts to move again, ineffective. “Joel.”

“It’s been a long day, you’re tired. Work in the mornin’, baby, I just don’t think we oughta –”

“You don’t wanna fuck me?”

He pauses, his tongue between his teeth. His brows pinch, almost painfully. “That is not what this is, ‘n you know it. I can see how tired you are – you ain’t even slept yet.”

“I don’t care. I want you to –”

His voice lifts to something you’ve only heard within the four walls of his office. Like chiding one of his guys, like snapping back at their red ties and crumpled collars. “I know what you want me to do. I just think we should go back to bed.”

“’n what if I don’t want to go back to bed?”

Joel sighs, looking out across the street. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t get what the problem is,” you complain, still holding onto his shoulders. “You’ve fucked me in public before.”

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Why don’t you go grab a sketchbook or something? Show me some of this artwork you been promisin’ since Paris?”

You blink back at him, watching the lighthouse swirl. The black waves begin to carry him off, sweep him from your view. “Maybe some other time,” you mumble, pushing yourself off of his lap.

Joel watches you, defeated. Keeps ahold of your hand when you stand between his knees. He swings your interlocked fingers gently. “Can you…can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you know?”

Your lungs pull in a deep breath, your shoulders rolling. “Same thing as always, I guess. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“Wait, pretty girl,” he tugs on your hand, reeling you back in, “waitwaitwait.” And then he’s standing, enclosing you in his arms again, asking, “What can I do to fix it?”

That same shrug. Tired. Deflated. Terrified. “If I only knew.”

You wait for Joel to move first, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulls the sheer curtains back, taking you by the hand and ushering you between. He follows your lead back into your apartment, sliding the door closed behind.

The living room is flattened by a gray silence, the liminal night swallowing up the air. Joel’s hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, and when you turn to him, he says, “You wanna know if he thought it was worth it?”

You pause, fingers playing with the hem of his tee at your thighs.

He’s close enough that you can feel the heat near enough sizzling from his body. The right side of his face is shrouded in darkness; the chalky wash of streetlight painting the left. “My dad.”

You swallow hard, blinking in the shadow cast by his tall figure. The light clings wearily to his beard.

“She left him after two weeks. Went back to her husband. My dad died alone in an empty four-bed in Rosedale. You tell me.”

And then he pats the small of your back, takes you back through to bed – where you let him fall asleep on your chest, listening to make sure your fractured heart is still beating.

Joel Miller is in your shower. For the second time this weekend.

He’s not fucking you, not holding you against the rough tile wall as his cock draws come and blood and tears from your body. He’s not wrapping a towel around you, handing you a fresh tampon, kissing the parts of your skin still alight from your orgasm.

He’s just showering, before work. Using your peach-scented soap, pushing suds under his arms, over his stomach, between his legs. Lathering your shampoo like treacle between his palms, hair slick and foamy white between his fingers. Fixing the head so that his height fits under the stream of water, turning the knobs until it’s as hot as he likes it.

You’re lying across your bed, suffocating in the smell of his side and pretending none of it’s really happening. Face buried in his pillow, waiting for the intoxication to throw you under or wipe your mind clean or maybe just cut the air supply from your lungs completely. Whichever’s quickest.

The bathroom door opens; the sound of footsteps padding over to you. His weight sinks into the bed by your hip, then hovers over your back. His nose, still steamy and damp from the shower, nuzzles into the spot behind your ear. His lips leave a wet trail down your neck.

“You need another day?” Joel asks, kissing.

“I’m good,” the cotton absorbs the nervous edge of your voice, “just coming.”

“Stay home if you want, angel,” he says, hands roaming south to hold your waist. Like warning the pain, tempting it to show back up. See what he does about it. “I gotta go take this shareholders meeting, but I can come back as soon as it’s done.”

“Nah,” you groan, pushing your heavy frame up. Joel’s grip slackens. “I need the distraction, I think.”

He sits back, smiling dumbly when you straighten. His tongue runs along his teeth.

“You can use my toothbrush,” you mutter, heel of your palm wiping sleep from your eye.

“Hm?” He’s fixing the mess of your hair. Brushing one side flat, then the other; leaning back and forth with this dumb, half-there smile on his face. And your chest heaves, and you almost surrender to the impulse to throw yourself into his arms, almost lean into his cupped hands and burning caresses.

“I owe you. From Paris. You can use it, just this once.”

He scoffs. “I won’t use your toothbrush, darlin’. It’s alright.”

But you’re indignant. You already have every other part of me, don’t you? What’s one more? Just fucking –

“– use it. I swear I don’t mind.”

Joel’s head tilts, conceding. “Alright. Come get ready, then.”

Martha’s at her desk when the two of you wander back into the office. “Wait!” she calls, clicking around her desk as you pass by. She twirls a blue envelope between two glittery nails, holds it out to you.

Joel takes it, examining the childish scrawling of your names. “Nice, but – your calligraphy needs a little practice, Martha.”

“Hilarious,” she drones, sitting back against the desk.

You drift over to your own, dropping your back over the back of your chair, and shrug the coat from your shoulders.

Joel’s voice draws nearer as he speaks. “He have a good time?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Martha replies, and Joel sits the card from Henry by your monitor, “barely saw ‘im the entire day. Thanks for comin’. For his gift, too – y’all really…You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Was all my idea, wasn’t it?” Joel asks, smirking to you.

An airy laugh pushes from your chest, loose with nerves. “Som’ like that. Glad he had a nice birthday.”

Joel saunters back toward his office, hands in his pockets. Fucking casual, like the world isn’t crumbling beneath your feet. Like the walls aren’t closing in, the sky lowering by the hour, the sun being steadily eclipsed minute by minute. He nudges the door closed with his foot, leaving you, Martha, and an awkward mist of realization between you.

“Your idea,” she muses, once you’ve plucked up enough courage to face her again.

You pick up Henry’s card, staring at the smudged handwriting to mask the horror peeling its way across your face. “Thought it was easier that way, y’know?” You gulp. “Don’t make it into anythin’.”

She grunts, something shaped like Ha. Her arms cross over her body, her eyes flitting between Joel’s office and you. “I sure as hell don’t remember me ‘n Alan ever doing something like that before it meant anythin’.”

“What are you saying it means?” you ask, rhetorically, dryly – a little meaner than you want it to sound. “What’s…?”

Her plucked eyebrows lift, forehead creasing. “Nothing, sweet. I’m just saying – you two are close, now. It’s nice.”

“We were always close.”

She holds her finger up. “Uh, no. Not turn up at my son’s birthday party together, leave together, then turn up at work the next day also together close.” Her eyes narrow, and you almost believe she might’ve been hidden between the trees last night – hell, for a second, you believe she might’ve been that scrawny kid wiping down the windows of 7-Eleven.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, when your throat closes around your nothing answer, “if something’s happening, I’m rooting for it.”

It shoots from your jaw like a bullet. “Nothing’s happening.”

Martha’s just as quick. “Okay,” she says, sweet and light. Breezy.

And then she shuffles back to her chair, resumes focus on some email. Twists the dial on her radio and fill the tense silence in the office with some smooth seventies song which lifts the hairs on the back of your neck the same way it did in that Parisian hotel. The dark suite, his eyes black and seeking. His hands on your body like he knew every curve and dip already.

Didn’t you believe that he might? That his hands were sculpted to fit the space below your ribcage? The plush cushion of flesh above your hips. The hinge of your jaw between his fingers.

Didn’t you think, for one fleeting moment, that maybe he was made just for you? As if you were so fucking lucky. As if anyone might stick around long enough to earn that label. Yours.

You settle back into your chair. The bubble writing on the front of the card stares menacingly back at you, the shapes seeming to swell and shrink in size the longer you stare at them. A bad trip, you think, this whole thing is just a bad trip. I’m gonna sober up any second, and I’m gonna be in bed, still dizzy after that night at the bar.

And none of it’s gonna be real. It’s not fucking real.

But then – lying on the opposite side of your computer, delicate and tiny, sparkling in the sunlight from over your shoulder: your ring. Your ruby ring, two euros in a gumball machine by the Seine. Like it’s winking at you, the accent rhinestones a taunting smirk. And the sight of it slings a thin wire around your heart, tight tight tightens until you’re sure you feel the tissue slice in half.

You take the ring in two shaking fingers, eyes bleary with sleep and salt. Blinking the dispersed light away, red rays bleeding all over your vision as you tilt the plastic. Joel’s voice muffles against his office door, like fists echoing against the flimsy walls of your little daydream. Time’s up. Hand him back over. It’s not fucking real anymore.

You roll the prize back onto your desk, letting it scatter shards of ruby until it hits the keyboard, the rattle echoing around your ears as you pace over to his office door. Your knuckles drum once, twice, three times against the wood before he opens it, and then he’s –

Staring down at you, breath shallow between slack lips. And he reads it all over your face, the panic and the words swimming around the tears in your eyes, and he steps back, and you step forward, and then the door’s closing again, and you’re settling against the arm of his couch.

“Ken? Hey, Ken?” Joel strides back over to his desk, hastily reaching for the phone. The voice from the receiver doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. “Ken. Can I –? Jesus Christ.” He lifts the handset and drops it less than a second later, cutting Ken’s fucking droning, cutting the only sound in the room, cutting your blood short in your veins.

And then – “Alright. Talk to me.”

You don’t reply. He seems to tense up. Moves almost robotically over to you, lifts his hands to hold your shoulders. And when you lift yours to push him away, he almost flinches.

“Baby.”

Your jaw shakes once. You wrap your arms around yourself, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been actin’ off since yesterday,” he mutters, giving you some space. He’s moving slow, like he’s afraid you might lunge for him. “You gotta tell me. You’re scaring me, now.”

You haul your gaze from his open arms, his broad chest, the idea of letting him pull you in and calm you down. Your eyes land on his monitor. The text of that email flashes before you again. And your shell hardens.

“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” you ask, staring at the Apple logo. Your voice sounds timid, sounds so little that you swear you see Joel catch the words as though they’re made of glass.

His head tilts. His eyes narrow. It’s genuine confusion, you think. The penny hasn’t dropped yet. “…What?”

It pisses you off. Seems to shatter that glass into fifty angry shapes, brittle and sharp. The shards cut like a knife through the air between you. “Nothing you think I oughta know?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, baby, I don’t…”

Your glare finally lands directly on him. Piercing straight into his eyes. But your jaw locks shut around the words.

“What the hell are you about to accuse me of?” Joel asks, mirroring your stance. Pulling his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “Cheating on you?”

Your chest jumps with a tiny laugh. “Why would I accuse you of cheating on me?”

“Sure sounded like that’s what you were thinkin’ last night.”

“No. I don’t think you’re cheating on me.”

“Then what is it?”

The gun fires. Gates open. Thunder rumbles. A fire lights in your stomach, blazing through your entire body.

“When were you planning on telling me about Jean-Marc?”

He goes quiet. Still. Realizes exactly what you mean in almost an instant. “How did you…? Where did you –?”

“I saw the email. On Friday. Gave me your phone to look for Alan’s Twelfth fucking Birthday, didn’t you?”

His face drops; a broken sigh falls from his lips. He looks up to the ceiling, something of a disbelieving, disappointed, fucking dismayed laugh loose between his jaw. “I wasn’t,” he eventually concedes.

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

You can’t believe him. You actually can’t believe him. Fists balling to hold your nerve, to hold the tremble in your voice steady, you ask, “Why?”

Joel’s body twists, rolls like some awkward wave as he readjusts, searches the surrounding room for an explanation. “There’s – there are a number of reasons why.”

“Start with the first one.”

“Alright.” He grips the wooden desk either side of his hips. Meets your stare, and it’s almost fucking admirable, the bravery with which he’s walking into this. You don’t scare him at all, not yet, anyway. Not even in the midst of a standoff in his office – guns loaded, eyes never blinking.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then lifts his arm, waving his palm like he’s swatting the image of the Frenchman away. “He’s…He freaks me the hell out.”

“He freaks you out,” you repeat, voice flat. “Really, Joel? Big guy like you?”

You can’t help yourself. This is so fucking insane, it’s laughable. You’re like a snake shooting sharp shots at the ankles of a bear – and it’s too easy to take jabs when you’re still in disbelief at what’s fast turning out to be the truth.

“He’s sleazy, and inappropriate, and he doesn’t respect boundaries.” He counts them with three steady fingers. “Not mine, certainly not yours. I don’t like him, darlin’.”

“You like him enough to go have two meals with him in one weekend. Fly all the way to fuckin’ France for ‘im.”

“That was business. At least, the lunch was. The breakfast was a mistake.”

“What’s the second reason, Joel?”

He licks his lips. You can’t tell if it’s anxiety or anger. “You’re too good at your job. I didn’t wanna lose you.”

It’s simple enough. It’s more believable than six-foot-two Joel being afraid of five-foot-two Jean-Marc. You accept it a lot quicker.

“Any more?”

His expression drops. Yeah. There’s one more. And he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Joel.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Got that one.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Expression unmoving. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You suck in a deep breath, chest wobbling as your lungs fill. The snake retreats from the bear, jaw slackening. Your eyes sting, Joel’s figure blurs a little, and then you rein it back in.

“I didn’t want you to go. That’s all,” he offers, plainly. “Just…wanted you to stay here. With me.”

“’n what if I wanted to leave?”

“Then…” Joel’s arms lift again, gesturing to nothing, “…then we’ll work something out.”

You lift your chin, some sick expression pushing your eyebrows up. “We’ll work something out?”

He nods.

“Who’s we?”

And it’s the first time you see him falter. The first time he has to catch himself. “You said it yourself,” he says, “you ‘n me. This.”

You shake your head. No no no no. Not this. Not now. The snake coils up, preparing to strike again. “What, us sleeping together?”

“That’s…What?”

“You don’t think there are plenty other women you could be sleeping with here, ‘n plenty other men I could be sleeping with over there? You really want me to stay here just so you got someone to fuck?”

Joel’s lips fall apart. His grip loosens on the desk. “That’s all this is to you?”

“Uh, yeah. Last time I checked.”

You don’t believe yourself. You know you don’t. You don’t believe a fucking word being tossed out of your mouth. You’re being an asshole, deliberately being a dick to him, and you can’t stop. There’s a wall being built at rapid pace, shutting him out. Shutting you in. Bricks made of angry words, each one separating you a little more, hiding you from his view.

And then his mouth closes. Lips form a thin line. Brows lower, blocking any of the light you’re so used to seeing from his eyes. Dark, cloudy, angry. “Got it,” he snaps. “Anything else?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need anything else? Or are you just in here to piss me off?”

You lift from the couch, arms loose, hitting your hips with a slap. “Fuck off, Joel.”

“Oh,” he nods, “right. Fuck off, yeah. Keep goin’, baby. Tire yourself out. ‘s all you’ve been doin’, ain’t it? All this time? All you’ve been using me for?”

Good. It’s good. You want him to argue back. You want him to hate you as much as you hate yourself right now. You want to see the bear’s claws; make all the hurt you’re dragging up through yourself, just to dish at him, worthwhile.

“You know what?”

“What?” he spits.

“I knew you were gonna do something like this, eventually. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Joel follows suit, pushing himself off the desk in one motion, and then the pair of you are chest to chest, squaring up to one another atop his five-thousand-dollar rug. “You knew what?”

“Knew there was something about him. Knew you couldn’t stand him. And this is why, right? All ‘cause he wanted to hire me?”

He turns away and laughs, almost recognizable as the same laugh you could draw from him with a silly look on your face – except sharper, colder. “Not even close,” he says, reeling back in. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you? The way he talked to you? About you?”

“Of course I saw it, Joel, I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Then use your good sense ‘n catch up, baby. You’re right: you’re not fuckin’ stupid. You were like fresh meat to him, and what? You reckon I should’ve let him just – sink his teeth deeper? Really?”

It lights something in the back of your mind; a memory flickers to life. Loops like a static radio message through your ears. “Right,” you nod, “right. Because you don’t like other people’s hands on things that belong to you, do you?”

His head jerks back, face warped with confusion and…disgust. “The hell are you talkin’ about?” he demands, voice muscled with anger.

“Martha said it once. You don’t like people playing with your toys, or whatever.”

And that seems to hit him low in the stomach. Seems to knock the wind from him.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and you swear his breath cuts in his throat. “That’s what you think?”

No, you think, it’s not. You know him better than that. But admitting that you know him better than to use you as some little plaything – something he had any control over, some accessory to wear on his arm – would mean admitting that the problem lies elsewhere. Lies with you.

And that’s not something you’re prepared to do right now, either.

Maybe before you found that email. Before you found out he’d been keeping you on some invisible leash. Maybe when he had you in his arms, kissing you so soft you thought you might die right then and not even notice.

Maybe when he looked at you, twirling chopsticks clumsily in his fingers, face lighting in a grin when you giggled at him – and three words floated through your head. Dared to dance over the tip of your tongue before you caught them and hissed, What the fuck are you doing here?

But – no. It’s all fucked up now. And you can’t break the tightness in your jaw to admit any different.

“You don’t think there’s a chance I actually care about you? That I – Jesus, that I respect you? Are you this goddamn hellbent on convincing yourself that everyone’s out to hurt you?”

“Joel,” your voice says, and it’s not you controlling it. Some gravely, pained thing. A shriveled part of yourself, cowering from the light. You’re recoiling, physically backing up from him.

“Darlin’, I can’t –” He reaches for your wrist.

You whip it away. “Stop.”

“I am trying to understand you,” he pleads. “I’m tryin’ to figure you out. Why won’t you let me –?”

“I don’t want you to.”

A laugh ejects from his throat and plummets straight to the floor. “Yes, you do,” he says. “You don’t do everything we’ve done unless you’re in it.”

“In it?” you seethe. “In what? What are we in?” You pinch your fingers: air quotations around the words, or possible claws digging four more wounds into the same chest you wept into last night.

Your head shakes rapidly as you speak. “We were just sleeping together. We were just having sex. That’s all. We were just having sex,” you repeat under your breath.

“I wasn’t,” Joel says. Matter-of-fact. Like reading from a contract. He takes a deep breath, and then repeats, “I wasn’t.”

The words splinter painfully from your tongue. “Well, I was.”

And though your eyes are pinned to the buttons of his shirt, though his expression sits just too north for you to see the way his face pulls – you notice his head lift. Know that there are creases digging between his brows at the same rate cracks appear across his heart. You feel the warmth of his gaze slowly cooling. Freezing over.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding a shaky palm out. The fear begins to sink in, plunging through ice water. He’s beginning to bargain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve, I should’ve told you ev–”

Your body moves as the words ricochet, refusing to let him finish his plea. “Glad we got that cleared up, Joel,” you say, near-leaping for the door.

But he’s faster. He steps in front of you, blocking your exit path. “Please hear me out. Please listen to me.”

Your body writhes under his gaze, twists like some little creature under a microscope. He waits for your go ahead before he continues. You toss your head, acquiescing.

“I just – I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t sleep at night thinkin’, what if you went for it? What if he managed to swindle you into taking him on? I wanted to get you the hell outta that penthouse the second he laid eyes on you.”

“So why take me in the first place?”

Joel scoffs. “I ain’t in control of you, baby! You had to figure him out on your own – and I thought you had. Christ, one minute you want me to step back ‘n let you make up your own mind, next you’re askin’ me why I took you somewhere? The hell am I supposed to do here?”

Read my mind. Don’t let him near me. Don’t let me go.

And at the same time –

Mind your fucking business. Let me make my own decisions. Keep your hands off me.

The truth is: you want him to go back in time. Take you back with him. Never touch you, never look at you any more than to ask for a coffee, or thank you for fixing up his office. Never make your heart skip that first beat, never set your skin on fire with that look in his eyes.

You want him to go back in time, and undo every knot he ever tied in your body. Let go of every string of your heart he has his fist around, every nerve which undoubtedly belongs to him, now.

Undo it all, so you might have a half-decent reason to hate him.

In the deepest, darkest parts of yourself, echoing around the caves you were always too frightened to explore yourself – you want him to tell you why he kept it from you. The real reason. And you want him to grab your wrist and pull you back into the room, back into his arms, when you inevitably flee at the sound of his reasoning.

Because you fucking know why he didn’t tell you. It’s scrawled on his face right now. And even though Jean-Marc is all of those things – sleazy, inappropriate, a scumbag in thousand-euro moccasins – that only makes up for part of the reason.

There’s a bigger piece to the puzzle, and you both know what it is, only neither of you will turn to face it. You’re simply cast in its shadow, playing blind chess under the silhouette of something you both refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re supposed to be my boss, and nothing else.”

He just stares at you. As if he’s waiting for you to say, Kidding! and laugh. As if he’s waiting for what you really mean to shove what you just said out of the way and tell the truth. It hurts all the more.

After a few seconds of awful silence, his breath falls from his lips in the form of a sigh, staggered with a laugh of disbelief. “I don’t…I don’t get it.”

But you’re tired now. You feel drained. You’ve less fight, energy gone to waste before you could make it to the real contest. Kicking his door down and yelling at him over Jean-Marc was the pregame show.

“What don’t you get?” you whisper, slumping back against the arm of the couch.

His answer terrifies you more than anything.

“You.”

You sigh, eyes falling closed in time with the drop of your head. Your breathing labored, your heart pounding. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Fear. Fear. Fear.

“You never let me in, did you? All that stuff you told me – your dad, your ex – like you want me to know. Like you’re lookin’ for me to do somethin’ about it. And then when I try, you slam the door closed again.”

“I don’t…I don’t want you to do anything about any of it,” you cry, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Lie number one.

“Then what do you want? Tell me, pretty girl, ‘cause I’m – I’m at a loss here.”

“I want you to – fuck, Joel, why can’t you just –? I want you to back off.”

Two.

“I can’t,” he whispers, leaning closer. “’s the thing. I care ab– I lo– I…”

He rubs his eyes with his palms. Maybe his head hurts as bad as yours does. Maybe the office is becoming too bright for him to look, too.

“You think you’re broken,” he mumbles, “you think all that stuff makes you – I don’t know, what is it? Unlovable?”

There’s a spotlight creeping over you – bright white and burning. Lighting every inch of you up, every dark shadow uncovered. The monsters and the phantoms and the six, eight, twelve-legged beasts scuttling off in search of refuge.

Jeers and cackles from an audience behind him as he cranes the neck of the lamp and positions it right on you.

“Don’t –”

“…Worth nothin’? I don’t know, angel, but I can’t do anything about it if you won’t let me, and –”

“Joel –”

He’s not listening. He never fucking listens. He’s still going on, but your ears are ringing, and your vision is whitening, and your chest is constricting, and your throat is dry and your lungs are closing and your skin is hurting and your –

“What the fuck did you even expect?” you hiss, before your brain catches the words.

Joel halts. He finally stops talking. The room finally dims again. You can hear cars on the street. Your phone is ringing at your desk.

You repeat your question, quieter. Heavier. “What did you want from me?”

He’s frozen. Looks concerned. Looks…afraid of you. “I never wanted anything from you,” he says.

“No? Sure sounds like you wanted something.”

He doesn’t say a word. It gives you time, you think – time you know you should put into backing up, thinking it through, not saying it. But you don’t do any of those things. You fucking say it anyway, don’t you? You are your father’s daughter. The anger is woven into your skin, ivy around your bones. The fire behind your eyes isn’t love, or passion, or determination.

It’s rage.

“Is this what you did to Avery? This why you didn’t wanna marry her?” And then, steeling yourself, gritting your teeth: “What secrets were you keeping from her, Joel?”

He still doesn’t bite. Avery’s not the sore spot, and you know it. There’s a different weakness to him, now. Newer. She’s stood right in front of him.

“I mean,” you scoff, incredulous, “what did you think – that we were gonna end up married or something? AC/DC first dance? Big wedding in Italy, three kids and a fucking prenup to save your ass ‘n your millions?”

You swear you hear the crash from here. The bear hitting the ground, or the door of the Toyota slamming shut, or Joel’s heart falling apart, maybe. He gathers it up, sweeping it into his hands with what little dignity you’ve left him with, straightens, and –

He’s angry. Looks it, sounds it. Feels it. A way you’ve never seen him before – not directed at you, anyway. Accounting, when they fuck up the budget for the year. Jean-Marc, when he flirts with you too much. Never you. He’s never this mad at you.

Like kids in a playground, coming up with the worst, most poisonous insults to throw at one another – your words swing fast, and he only just manages to swerve them, hitting straight back with a punch made up of his own.

“Naw, you’d probably say yes to my face ‘n then break it off two days later, wouldn’t you?”

It’s low. It stings. Shocks the life back into you, once it’s looped twice around your ears.

Joel knows it. Sees the glint in your eye before you have the chance to clear away the tears. Hears the tiny gasp that escapes your lips. The bear just stepped right on top of the snake.

“Fuck,” he says instantly. As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he’s undoing it. “That wasn’t – I didn’t mean…” He’s stepping forward, trying to wrap his hand around your arm. “Baby, I’m so sorry –”

Your wrist slips from his grasp. “Don’t – don’t touch me. Don’t.”

“Hey,” he says, almost cooing, almost trying to fan the burn with light breaths, “look at me. Please look at me. I did not mean that, alright? I was just –”

You shake your head, staring off past him. “It’s fine, Joel. No, I knew exactly what you meant.”

He staggers backwards, running his hands through his hair; almost growling into his palms when he drags them down his cheeks. “Darlin’,” he says, and leans in again. He speaks slow and seriously. “I would give you anything. There is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. I would do anything. In the whole damn world. This is – It’s not –”

“Anything?” you ask, your stone-set gaze refusing to meet his.

He mirrors your curious expression, his own brows lifting. He can’t believe you’re even asking him. “Yes. Anything. I care about you more than anyone in the fucking world.”

He probably says more to convince you. Probably promises a load of stuff, apologizes a couple more times. Probably says sentences that would lodge themselves between your vertebrae and paralyze you with fear, if your hearing weren’t muffled and your mind elsewhere.

Your shoulders tighten. Jaw ticks. When you pull your eyes to finally meet his, you nod. “Alright,” you interrupt, pursing your lips, “okay.”

“Okay?”

Another nod. Yeah. You’re about to do this. Father’s daughter aren’t you just your father’s daughter always running out always running off –

“This is over. It’s done. You don’t look at me, you don’t touch me, you don’t talk to me unless it’s somethin’ in your job description or mine. Hell, even then – see if Martha can do it before you ask me. We’re done.”

It wipes him clean. Every thought, every desire, every motivation – gone. Dissolved, by the venom seeping from your fangs. No more bear. He stares back at you, eyes glossy, lips trembling. He flattens them against one another, steadies himself. Angry, upset, fucking – heartbroken.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice breaks. It sends a blade through your chest.

You hesitate. Your eyes are searing. Between your tears and the nauseating tilt of the room, you can barely see him.

The third lie rolls from your tongue like a marble.

“Yeah. It’s what I want.”

And you know it, better than anyone: you’re lying through your fucking teeth. The way you have been this entire conversation. Pasting over wounds and scars, bricks laid over sodden sand foundations. But you’re petrified – stood on your own, fighting your own corner. The only person who ever managed to make you feel safe, calm you down, lower your gloves for you – now stood opposite with his fists up, too.

Joel nods. Anything in the whole damn world.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “Fine. We’re done.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #sex on fire

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murdrdocs · 3 months

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dark content; ghostface!luke; explicit sexual content; MDNI

you have your suspicions that luke castellan isn't the man he portrays himself to be.

beneath his mournful gaze, woven between his sorrowful words, you're so sure that luke is insincere. his words of condolences to other campers lack a certain depth. his motivational speeches, always on the topic of remaining brave in the face of fear that these tragic incidents are creating, are disingenuous.

it's only natural that you have to investigate.

sneaking out past curfew on nights you weren't patrolling, offering to take up someone else's shift or just being there to provide a second set of eyes. but not on the scenery. on him.

because you're fairly certain that the monster isn't coming from outside of camp.

eventually you catch him standing in the center of the strawberry field facing away from you, swinging his sword as if the weapon is simply attached to his arm, the infamous mask described by others sticking out of his back pocket for you to notice.

you've seen luke fight. he's trained you in combat. you know that if he wanted to kill you, he would barely have any trouble doing so.

you would put up a good fight, but you would end up on your knees, waiting for the fatal blow.

is that why you don't bother fighting in the first place? or is it for some sicker, more sinister reason?

you like to think that your lack of resistance derives from knowing deep down that it would have failed. but it's hard not to consider the other implications whenever luke is smirking down at you, holding the weapon he affectionately introduced as backbiter to your neck, and your blood is rushing to places it shouldn't be.

your limbs should be taking most of the blood flood, creating a vibration in your legs and arms that would get you out of this situation quickly if need be. instead, your blood has rushed to your center, creating a thump! thump! that luke's hand—cupping your mound under your bottoms and above your panties—definitely can feel.

confirming your suspicions, luke's eyebrows furrows as he speaks. "is that?..."

your throat dries out. your nostrils flare as you take a sharp inhale designed to disguise the way you urge to roll your eyes back when luke starts to rub his hand along your center.

"are you turned on right now?"

the way he says it is so fucking cruel, but you honestly can't blame him.

it's deplorable, your behavior. your head tipped back not only to attempt to avoid the sharp tip of luke's blade against your jugular, but also because luke's fingers pumping in and out of you is so sinfully delicious.

here, in the middle of the field, surrounded by strawberries with the scent wafting to your nose with every gust of wind, you hope that the wind doesn't carry your noises.

the two of you are only lit by the torches off in the distance and the moonlight up above, providing a shameful spotlight onto your bodies. one standing strong and tall, shoulders pushed back with assurance and horrifying confidence making his gaze hard as he stares at you over the slope of his nose. and the other, slumped over with your head resting on luke's shoulder as an orgasm forces itself through your body.

it's wrong to curl up in the arms of a killer. it's idiotic to feel safe there.

backbiter has been stabbed into the dirt, sticking up straight, and with his freed hand luke cups the back of your head, stroking the area while his fingers replicate a similar motion in your panties.

"sh, it's okay, just let it happen, angel," he tells you, voice a rough whisper.

(does his voice sound deeper, or is that your subconscious acknowledging his sins?)

"i know you're feeling guilty, being with someone like me." he chuckles dryly as your orgasm fades out. "but it's okay. i promise you. i won't hurt you."

you know you shouldn't believe his words. but this is luke, the guy you at least thought you could trust with your life.

you do know you can trust him to give you a good orgasm, as his fingers refuse to stop within you, the digits picking up speed despite your feeble protests in the form of wobbly words.

#lukesworld!#ghostface!luke #celeste writes pjo #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut

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hyunsvngs · 4 months

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hyunsvngbinimas!

pairing: han jisung x fem!reader

warnings: u fuck jisung with a dildo made from his own cock, sub!jisung, dom!reader, degradation, sph, mommy kink, unprotected sex, jisung cums twice, a lil bit of feminisation, cumswapping

You’ve been holding it for about five minutes now. You’re not sure what to say.

It’s a dildo, complete with veins and a tip, silicone bouncing everytime you move your hand. A red bow is tied neatly around it, like some sort of comedic gift. Is this a joke? It has to be a joke, but everytime your eyes flit to Jisung, he’s still beaming with a content look in those round eyes. He got you a dildo for Christmas.

“You got me a dildo for Christmas,” You deadpan, an eyebrow raised. It’s not that you’re not excited because in all fairness, the dildo is the perfect size for you. Chubby, with a flared mushroom tip and not too long, not too short either - just big enough. You’re just confused. It kind of reminds you of-

“It’s not just a dildo! It’s my dick, look!” He points to the present excitedly, unabashed glee in his eyes. “It’s the same as mine. I got one of those kits and put my dick in it. Kinda felt good, to be honest.”

You giggle, running your fingertips up the shaft once more. “I knew I recognised it,” You muse, and Jisung shifts to get closer and stare at the toy. The wrapping paper on the sofa scrunches under his knees. “Chubby cock, veiny. Perfect length. Did you want to see me fuck myself with this?”

Jisung blanches, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “Well, it’s- yeah,” He admits, round cheeks turning pink. You pull him closer by his shoulders, letting him nuzzle into your neck in his shyness. He’s so cute, especially in his cute little plaid Christmas bottoms and an oversized hoodie. He looks so boyfriend. He gains the courage, hot breath panning over your skin as he speaks. “I thought maybe you could send me videos when I’m away, too. I got you other presents too, but I thought this would help you the most when you miss me.”

He’s right. When Jisung’s away, you do sit and think wistfully about his cock before fucking yourself with your fingers and whining that it’s not enough. He likes hearing about it, likes thinking about how needy you are for him, but it would be good to have a little help when he’s gone. It would stop you thinking about his cock, his mouth, his ass-

Wait.

“Sungie,” You begin, and he shivers. He must know what you’re about to say. He cuddles closer to you, fingers gripping on the fabric of your shirt as he hums in response. It’s shaky. “Baby, would you let me fuck your ass with this?”

He whines. It’s long, drawn out, and fully desperate. “I- baby, that’s dirty,” He gushes, acting the perfect image of anguish, but he’s already climbing into your lap. “I- it’s for you, not for me!”

“You’ve already thought about it, haven’t you?” You smile, and he shakes his head vehemently. He’s on your lap now though, cock already solid and pressing at the front of his cute bottoms, hair lit up by the lights on the Christmas tree behind him. His toes curl in his socks while he tries to get comfortable on you, cheeks pink and pouty lips just slightly parted with every breath he takes. He’s already fucked up just from the idea of it. You toss the dildo to the side of the couch, running your thumb over his bottom lip. He shivers again. “Tell me.”

Jisung shifts on your lap, erection pressing against the bottom of your stomach. “It’s- I- maybe it would be hot,” He begins, and then he shakes his head rapidly, eyes blinking shut. “Okay, yeah, I did think about it. I- my ass, it’s- baby, feel.”

He grabs your hand, shoving it down the back of his bottoms. You’re pleasantly surprised to find that he hasn’t worn boxers for this gift giving exchange, and even more pleasantly surprised to find that his hole is slick with lube. Wait. Slick with lube.

“Sungie, baby, you’re so wet for me,” You run two fingers over his hole, and he whines, bucking his hips forward. “You wanted it that badly? Why didn’t you ask, princess?”

“I- I-” He’s huffing with every breath, cock heavy and hips canting back into your fingers. You hook a finger just past his rim, making him gasp with shock. He’s looser than you expected. It makes you smile. “Nervous. I- It’s weird, it’s kind of dirty, isn’t it? It’s- it’s my cock, and-”

Oh. It’s that type of scene. Jisung’s a self proclaimed slut, and he wants you to tell him it’s dirty, and wants you to be a little mean to him. You could do that.

“Mm, it is dirty,” You agree, nodding. Jisung stares at you, wide eyes, licking his lips over and over. You pull your hand back, and then you’re pushing two fingers past his rim instead. This time, you let them sink right down to the knuckles, and he moans, head lolling back. “This pussy’s so fucking wet for me. I think you’re already ready, you stretched it out that much. Fuckin’ whore.”

Jisung nods eagerly, feet kicking in his impatient state. “I am! I’m a whore for you, for you, god, can I- can I fuck your pussy, and you can fuck my ass with it while I’m inside you, please, please, please-”

“No,” You scoff, stroking over his hair with your spare hand. It makes him pout, but he leans into your touch nonetheless. “I’m fucking your ass first, and if you can hold on for long enough, you can cum inside my pussy.”

“Hnnng, that’s mean! You’re so mean, you know I’ll cum,” Jisung pouts, and you just giggle in response. The laugh makes your eyes crinkle, and Jisung lets himself make a purely fond smile of his own. “You’re so pretty.”

“Yeah? Mommy’s pretty?” You question, head tilting to the side. Jisung shifts on your lap at the use of the title, nodding shyly. “Why don’t you strip off for mommy, honey? Show me that pussy, yeah?”

Jisung dives off of you, yanking his bottoms down and pulling his hoodie over his head. It leaves him fully naked on the sofa, bent over and presenting his ass to you. His thick cock hangs heavy between his legs, balls looking agonisingly full just from a bit of dirty talk and ass looking slick with his antics beforehand. You slide your hands down his back, feeling the smooth skin beneath your fingers. You reach around and grab his ass, spreading his cheeks and exposing the tight hole between. You lean in and lick his rim, teasing him with the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t tease, mommy!” He protests, shaking his head. He leans down further, head resting on his arms to tilt his ass further back for you. “Gimme it. I’m ready, I’m ready, if you lick me there I’ll cum.”

“Slut,” You muse fondly, using a hand to flip him over onto his back. He’s pliant, instantly wrapping his hands in the pits of his knees to pull them to his chest, bent in half. It exposes his hole to you, clenching and unclenching impatiently. You grab the dildo, and before he can say anything, you’re pushing the head past his tight hole.

“Oh, yes,” He nods, tongue lolling out of his mouth. You snicker, pushing the silicone the rest of the way in. It meets little to no resistance, bottoming out quickly and making him shift his hips. “Fuck me with it, c’mon, mommy, fuck me with it! I need it, c’mon.”

“Shut up, Sungie,” You admonish, shaking your head in disbelief. Jisung giggles, shoulders shaking with the cute laugh, and then you’re pumping it in steadily. He shifts his hips, trying to get it to hit that delicious spot inside of him, and when he lets out a long, anguished noise, you know he’s found it. “There? Is that hitting your g-spot, baby? Dirty princess.”

“Oh, oh, keep- mama, keep talking like that, please! Faster, mommy, mama, please, faster!”

He’s thrashing around already despite the slow pace, and when you finally speed up, his hands drop from his legs to grip the sofa. You push his legs back with your spare arm to keep him in position, forearm firm on his lower thighs, and he starts to bounce against the thrusts.

“Is that good?” You question, and he nods eagerly, unabashed whines and high-pitched moans falling from his parted lips. “Yeah, I can tell. Look at you, whining like a little whore. I know you would’ve preferred to ride my strap, feel that cock deep inside your slutty hole.”

Jisung practically wails, head shaking rapidly. “Don’t- don’t- don’t make me cum, mommy, mama, mommymommymommy, please, please, please, don’t make me cum, I wanna cum inside, please-” He’s babbling, eyes clenched tightly shut and fingers gripping the edge of the sofa in his lust-filled haze. Despite his words, his hips are bouncing back onto the silicone, cock jumping with every thrust and adding to the pool of precum on his honey-toned tummy.

“You want me to stop, baby? But what if I just sit on your cock after you cum? Do you think you could cum again for me?”

“Yes!” He wails, nodding rapidly. His hips buck onto the dildo a few more times, little “ah, ah, ah”’s being let out with every thrust of your hand into his hole. “I can cum again! I can, I can, I’ll do it for you, for mama, please!”

“You’re so pathetic, baby,” You coo, leaning over him to kiss his neck. It makes him whine even more, pink flush travelling down to his neck and chest. “Cumming so quickly from this small cock. How can you even feel anything? I know I can’t when it’s inside me.”

A loud moan, a gasp, and then he’s spilling onto his tummy untouched. The ropes of thick white cum shoot out of him, cock jumping and bobbing against his skin with the pleasure of it. You pull the dildo out softly, taking notice of the way his asshole clenches to avoid the loss. As he’s coming down from his orgasm, you wrap your free hand around his cock and pump rapidly, making him thrash and wail at the overstimulation.

“Ah, baby. If you can’t take that, I don’t think you can take my pussy-”

“I can! Mama, just fuckin’- just sit on it, I promise. I can, look, I’m still hard,” He grips his cock at the base, showing you the unflagging erection. He’s not lying. His cock is covered in his own release, but it remains solid, chubby and messy for you. His eagerness makes you giggle, and he watches with wide eyes as you pull your underwear down, and then you’re sitting on his cock in one go.

Seeing him whine and thrash around like a slut had gotten you way too wet, and Jisung notices. His eyes roll back into his head at the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him, tight walls soaked with your excitement.

“Oh, baby,” You moan, high pitched and desperate. Jisung’s hands go up to your tits beneath your shirt, grabbing almost painfully, and you let him. You’re too needy at this point, and your hips start to rock against him. His cock always presses perfectly against your walls, ridges and veins hitting you just right and fucking against that sensitive spot inside of you. “Mm, that cock’s so good. Fucking mommy just right, ‘s so good Sungie.”

“Yeah, ‘s good?” He huffs, thrusting up against you. It’s obvious by the tears in his eyes that he’s desperately trying to calm down from the overstimulation, but he tries to stay good for you nonetheless. “Pussy’s so good, please- please go faster, please make me cum again, please?”

“I’ll make you cum again, Sungie, mommy’s got you,” You reassure, nodding, and then you splay your hands on his chest. Your fingernails dig into his pecs, flesh spilling around your fingers, and then you’re bouncing.

You ignore the ache and strain in your thighs in favour of fucking down onto his cock over and over, the mess of your pussy mixed with his previous release making slick slapping noises in your living room. The noises make Jisung whine, head rolling around in pleasure.

“Mommy, mommy, hnnnnnfg…” He slurs, drool slicking his bottom lip. “So wet. So wet on Sungie’s cock, so wet, so wet, mommy, please cum, please, need it.”

“You need my cum?” You sigh, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his cock grinding against your walls. It’s almost too wet, but you fight through it to get some more friction in your hole. You slide two fingers past Jisung’s lips, and he blinks up at you in shock, sucking them diligently. Taking the two fingers down to your pussy, you rub over your clit, sensitive and swollen past your slick folds.

“Oh, yeeeees,” Jisung nods, eyes flickering down to watch you touch yourself. “Rub that clit for me, so dirty. Dirty mommy, oh, I’ll cum again if you keep going so fast-”

“Cum then,” You scoff, rubbing harder on your clit. The circles you form on the nub are imprecise, but the friction is just enough to have you hurtling towards your orgasm. You’re too excited, too eager after fucking his hole open. “C-Cum and I’ll cum with you, Sungie, c’mon. Squirt it all inside mommy, please, baby.”

“Okay, okay, okay, I can, I’ll cum, I’ll-” He cuts himself off by gripping firmly on your ass, and then he’s thrusting up into you. His hips slap against yours, eyes rolling back into his head as he fucks you hard and fast to cum inside of your pussy. You surge forward, fingers digging harder into his pecs at the change in pace, moaning at the stimulation on your g-spot. Your hand drops from your clit, but you can’t even think about it with the way he’s fucking into you.

“Oh, mommy’s gonna cum, baby, keep fucking me just like that,” You keen, and then you’re cumming. Jisung wails through your cunt fluttering around him, hole clenching and unclenching around his shaft.

After a few more thrusts, his hips still on an inwards thrust, cock pressed tightly against your cervix and you can feel him spilling inside you. It’s less than it normally would be given his previous orgasm, but it still leaks out around his cock and fills your hole to the point you’re panting, head dropping to loll into his neck. Jisung sighs a heavy puff of air, wrapping his hand around your head to keep you close as he slips out.

His cock is still half hard, only slightly flagging, and he dips his fingers into your pussy to collect yours and his cum. He turns to you, the white substance stringing his digits together.

“Open wide, jagi,” He muses, and you let your lips part, his fingers forcing your mixed fluids into your mouth. You let them rest on your tongue, and then he’s kissing you, tongue soft and wet in your mouth to taste the release. There’s a few wet slaps of your lips together, a messy exchange, and then he’s pulling away with a stupid grin.

You blink, knowing he’s about to say something stupid. “Jisung.”

“I guess we are having a white Christmas, huh?” He giggles, hands wrapping around your middle. You roll your eyes playfully, kissing his nose.

“You’re so fucking dumb, Sungie.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

#hyunsvngbinimas!#han jisung smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines #han jisung fanfiction #han jisung fic #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fics #skz smut #skz x reader #skz fic #skz imagines

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